But then he hissed, his fangs grew sharper and longer, and Riley knew that hallucination or not, there would be no salvation for her.
This guy was going to kill her.
Right here.
Right now.
And just like that night when Phil had dragged her into that closet and locked the door, there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.
Chapter Eight
PAIN RIPPED THROUGH Kit’s chest where the knife plunged deep, and she staggered backward. Heat clawed up her throat as she opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Just the blood. Spurting over her lips, running down her chin as she stared up at the shadow looming over her.
So big.
So deadly.
So hungry.
The knife plunged deep again, ripping and tearing and rendering her right arm useless. She wanted to reach out, to defend herself, but her limbs refused to move. She could only watch as the shape came closer, leaning down until she stood nose-to-nose with the blackness.
“You’re not supposed to be out here.”
She wasn’t. She’d finished helping Seth behind the bar and had come out for a quick smoke before meeting Maddie and the other girls for a nightcap. Just one measly cigarette because those damned patches weren’t working.
“You should try those e-cigarettes.” That’s what Maddie had told her, but Kit hadn’t listened. She never listened to her boss because the woman nagged her worse than a mama bear, even though Maddie was only a few years older than her. Twenty-six at the most. Yet she acted as if she’d been around for ages.
“That nicotine’s going to kill you, Kitty Kat.”
Damn straight. Or so she’d thought. But the man with the knife had taken that glory for himself.
“Where’s Madeline?” the shadow demanded. “She’s the one I want first.”
Inside.
That’s what she wanted to say, but she could barely breathe, much less speak. There was too much pain. Too much blood.
Still, she had to try.
Not to rat out her friend, but to cry for help. Maddie and the others were just inside the saloon. Mere feet away. The music had died down and the guests had cleared out. The only ones left were Seth and Maddie and the girls who helped with clean-up.
They would hear her. They had to hear her.
She opened her mouth and willed her lips to form the words, but it was too late. She was dying.
And so was the guest slumped nearby . . .
BOONE BOLTED to a sitting position. His chest heaved and his pulse raced. He stared at the dark emptiness of the room that surrounded him a split second before he lunged to his feet and snatched up his jeans.
It wasn’t just another bad dream that had upended his sleep this time.
Something real was happening.
Something bad.
And Riley Davenport was smack dab in the middle of it.
SHE WAS GOING to die.
Riley came to that heartbreaking conclusion as the vampire slammed her up against the wall and closed in, blotting out the moonlight until she could see nothing but darkness.
Death.
The nothingness edged closer, threatening to consume her and rip away her power. She struggled to keep her eyes wide, to stay awake. Alive.
“Stop,” Riley managed to say a split second before his jaws closed over her throat.
“I can’t.” The deep, guttural voice vibrated against her skin and she closed her eyes.
She braced herself for the pain, but one minute the fangs were rasping her sensitive flesh and the next . . . nothing.
He stiffened and stumbled backward as if an invisible hand had pulled him away.
He glanced toward the front of the building and the dusty street. “Not yet.” The words sizzled across the distance, and then he turned and bolted in the opposite direction as if the devil himself were chasing him away.
Before she could even turn her head, Boone appeared. He knelt in front of her. A string of curses exploded from his lips.
Relief rushed through her.
But then she saw the red of his eyes, the gleam of his fangs, and she realized the nightmare wasn’t over.
No, it was just starting.
She scrambled to the side, clawing at the ground as she fought to get away from him. She pushed to her feet. And then she was running.
From the blood.
The fangs.
The truth.
Run!
The command echoed in Riley’s head as she raced around the front of the building and down the street toward City Hall and the one and only phone. Panic zipped up and down her spine, and her heart pounded so hard she thought it was going to burst out of her chest.
No, she told herself. It couldn’t be.
No, no, no, no, no.
Vampires did not exist.
But cold-blooded, psychotic killers did, and she’d just witnessed one with her very own eyes. Maybe the guy had been drinking Kit’s blood. But he was probably just some sick crazy. Or a cult member. Or a poor, pathetic dweeb obsessed with the undead. That didn’t make him an actual vampire.
And Boone?
The memory of his eyes glowing as fierce and unearthly as the murderer’s pushed into her head.
A show. That’s all it had been. The entire thing, from Kit’s dead body to the vampire looming over her, to Boone himself.
A very convincing show.
At the same time, this was Tombstone. The premiere western experience, not a Twilight thrill town. While she expected a few good gunfights, a fanged and fabulous showdown was not part of the ultimate vacation package.
At least not in any brochure she’d read.
It was shock. She’d freaked at the sight of all that blood and so she’d imagined things. Like the growling and the razor-sharp incisors and the blood-red eyes.
No way had she really seen one vampire, much less two.
Boone’s image rushed at her, his eyes a hot, bright crimson, his fangs bared, his—
No.
It was a trick of the light, or lack of. A hallucination brought on by the trauma of facing death. Her own and poor Kit’s whose blood had spilled out into the dirt.
Christ, she had to do something. Call someone.
Her brain raced as she leapt up the steps and tugged at the knob. Locked. She raised her fist to pound and her hand stalled.
Her gaze snagged on the sticky red that caked her own fingers. She could feel the tiny trickle of blood from her neck where the man had been about to rip open her throat before Boone had stopped him.
Her noble outlaw had saved her.
Or so she’d thought. But then she’d seen the truth. The rage in his eyes. The vicious curl to his lips. The fangs.
Fear clawed at her, threatening to choke her. She swallowed, slamming her fists against the door, determined to wake someone. Anyone. She needed help. She needed—
“I won’t hurt you.”
The deep, masculine voice whispered through her head and she snapped around to see the sheriff standing in the middle of the street, his arms out by his side as if trying to prove that he meant her no harm. Gone was the angry red gleam. Instead, his pupils pulsed a bright, brilliant blue. The same blue she’d glimpsed when they’d been having sex.
Which made absolutely no freakin’ sense because he had green eyes. Green.
A vampire.
As soon as the notion struck, he was standing right in front of her, mere inches away, his hard body warm and inviting. He’d moved in the blink of an eye. One minute there. The next here.
Impossible.
“Don’t be afraid.” He stared down at her, his green eyes filled with concern.
Green, she reminded h
erself. Not the blue she’d seen a few seconds ago. They were green, and he was right in front of her even though he hadn’t so much as taken a step in her direction.
Her heart pounded that much faster and the ground seemed to shake.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, but he was wrong.
He was a vampire. And she’d just witnessed a murder by another one just like him.
Nothing would ever be okay again.
Her knees buckled. And then everything went blessedly black.
BOONE CAUGHT Riley before she crumpled to the ground. He swept her legs out from under her and hiked her into his arms. In the blink of an eye, he reached the jailhouse nearby. Clay had closed up shop and so the front office sat dark and silent with the exception of a tiny gleam of light beneath the door that led to another group of cells out back. The one and only cell in the front stood empty and open. He took her inside and stretched her out on the small cot.
Making a quick call on the radio located in the adjacent communications room, he briefed Clay about Kit and what had just transpired. The deputy promised to spread the word while Boone turned his attention to Riley.
Sitting on the edge of the single cot, he stared down at her.
Despite the lack of adequate light, he could still see her smooth skin and full lips. The soft fan of her lashes on her cheeks. The steady lift as her chest rose and fell with each breath. A trickle of red oozed from the twin prick points that dotted her neck.
Shit.
It was just a puncture. The wound wasn’t nearly deep enough for the vampire to have actually drunk from her. But still. He couldn’t leave her bleeding. He had to do something.
Hesitation rushed through him. It was crazy, of course. It wasn’t like he was going to turn her. She would have to be on her deathbed for that. Only if she drank some of his blood while dying would she become a vampire.
She was merely hurt, which meant his blood wouldn’t turn her. It would only heal her, not to mention strengthen the fragile bond that already existed between them because he’d had sex with her.
He’d drunk in her orgasm—her essence—which meant he could feel her. Slightly. Ever so slightly. It was a bond that would quickly fade once he took the next woman to bed.
He knew that.
Hell, he’d lived it over the years. Time and time again.
But sharing his blood with her? That would turn one night into a hell of a lot longer. She would be able to feel him, just as he could feel her. His lust. His anger. His regret. How strong those feelings would be, he didn’t know. He’d never shared his blood with a human. He only knew the bond would become a two-way street and make it damn near impossible for her to ever forget about him the way he hoped to forget about her.
Don’t do it.
That’s what reason told him, but his damned conscience whispered otherwise. He should have left after their first encounter to keep an eye on the town. He should have trusted his gut about the danger coming his way. He should have listened to the fucking nightmare that had been dogging him all damned day.
He would have if he hadn’t been so fixated on her.
He focused on the hunger twisting at his gut, let it rise up and take control. His fangs sharpened and lengthened. Biting at his own wrist, he drew a steady stream of blood. He held the wound to her lips and let the precious life trickle into her mouth.
He knew the moment her survival instincts kicked in. Her eyes didn’t open, but she arched toward him and grasped at his arm.
Holding his wrist as if it were a lifeline, she lapped at his skin.
At the first feel of her tongue flicking against him, his groin tightened and his muscles went tense. She suckled, the drawing sensation sending a bolt of desire straight to his already-aroused cock. He braced himself against the wall with his free hand and fought the urge to explode right there in his pants.
The agony went on several more seconds before he found the strength to pull away.
Her eyes opened then and she stared up at him. Her forehead wrinkled for a split second, but then he touched her, his fingertips trailing over her smooth skin, down the side of her face. Again, he felt a surge of protectiveness.
Worrying about a bond between them was already a moot point. They were connected. Committed.
Crazy.
He leaned down and lapped at the two tiny prick points at her neck. The taste hit him like a shot of the most potent white lightning. Heat curled through him, stirring a blazing inferno that made him want to strip her bare and shove his throbbing cock into her warm, welcoming body.
His fangs sharpened and vibrated, but he resisted the draw of her sweet life. Instead, he laved the nicks with his tongue, tasting the salty sweetness of her skin, relishing it, before forcing himself away. His entire body shook with the effort.
He lapped at his own bleeding wrist before untucking his shirt and ripping off a strip from the bottom. He wrapped the cloth around the self-inflicted wound and tied a tight knot. The gash hurt like hell and looked even worse, but he knew the pain wouldn’t last for long. A day of sleep and all traces of the injury would be completely gone.
For her, as well.
She had his blood flowing through her veins now.
He slid off his shirt and draped it over her. Her heartbeat echoed in his head and his hands lingered on her smooth, warm cheek.
“It is going to be okay,” he assured her, his voice gruff. “Everything will work out, and this will just be a bad dream that you’ll eventually forget.”
He would be a bad dream that she would soon forget because he would make sure of it. He would mesmerize her and erase any and all memory of anything vampire in Tombstone.
But first, he had to make sure that she survived her stay.
There was a rogue vampire in town and someone was almost killed. No one was safe while such a threat was out there, especially an eye witness who’d gotten a good look at the bastard’s face.
Vamps didn’t like to leave loose ends. And while he didn’t know anything about this particularl bloodsucker, he wasn’t stupid enough to think that the bastard was in Tombstone by chance.
It had been a warning of things to come.
One Boone intended to heed.
Scooping Riley into his arms, he started for the door and the only place he knew where she would be really and truly safe.
Chapter Nine
SHE’D EATEN ONE too many of those M&M’S.
That’s what Riley told herself when her eyelids finally fluttered open and reality sank in.
She lay on her back on a soft down sleeping bag. Several small lanterns burned nearby, pushing back the shadows enough for her to see that she was in a monstrous cavern. The minerals buried in the slick gray walls glittered and sparkled in the dim light. An underground spring bubbled several feet away, the steam whispering and rising toward the twenty-foot ceiling. A sliver of moonlight pushed between the mouth of the cave and the large rock stuffed in the opening—
Wait a second.
Panic rushed through her, along with a stream of images. In her mind’s eye, she saw Boone underneath her, his hands bunched in the sheets, his head thrown back, lost in the throes of a gripping orgasm, his teeth clenched, his fangs gleaming in the moonlight.
Fast forward to the alley and the vampire lapping away at Kit. The same vampire who’d come after her and would have sank his fangs into her throat if Boone hadn’t shown up and scared him away.
Boone.
Standing in front of City Hall, his green eyes morphing into a blazing neon cobalt that actually hurt to look at.
She shook her head, shoving away the thoughts as she forced herself upright. Eager to kill the memories that pushed and pulled at her, she focused on her surroundings, drinking in the glistening walls, the dirt floor, the petrified ceil
ing that dripped with icicle-like crystal formations.
“It’s the safest place I could think of.”
The deep, husky voice slid into her ears and she twisted to find the hunky sheriff sitting a few feet away, his back against the wall, his legs stretched out on a brown bedroll, his booted feet hooked at the ankles. Another lantern gleamed just to his left, casting a spray of shadows across his face.
He wore the same black pants he’d had on earlier, but he’d shed his duster for a simple black T-shirt. The sleeves stopped just shy of the intricate ink that circled his massive biceps.
Her attention lingered on the detailed pattern on one arm and his voice slid into her ears.
“I woke up with the tattoos the day after I was turned.” The words drew her attention and her gaze locked with his. “They’re a reminder that I’m no longer the man I once was. I’m a slave to the hunger deep inside of me. I always will be.” His gaze deepened, shifting from the usual green to a bright purple as he regarded her.
She blinked, but the color didn’t fade. She didn’t wake from some vivid dream and no one rushed from the sidelines screaming, “You’re being punk’d!”
“This is crazy,” she said, as if by voicing the words out loud she could deny the truth beating at her brain. “All of this.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”
“So you’re telling me that you’re a . . .” Her voice trailed off as she tried to find the courage to say the word out loud. “You’re a”—she swallowed—“a vampire.” There. She’d given voice to the outrageous notion and now it was out in the open. He would laugh and tell her she’d simply had too much sugar. She’d been hallucinating. He was no more a vampire than she was a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model.
“I’m not telling you anything. I don’t have to. You saw for yourself.” He stared at her for a long moment. His gaze burned such a bright shade of purple that it hurt her eyes and she blinked. “You see it right now.”
“There has to be some other explanation.” She shook her head. “There has to be.”
The Quick and the Undead: Volume 1 (Tombstone, Texas) Page 10
