She was soaking wet between her legs. She had trouble even thinking about anything except Pete's lips, hands and glorious body. She was in dire need. Her breasts felt hot and heavy and she ached between her legs.
Rolling onto her face and rubbing herself against the sheets wasn't enough. If anything it made things worse. She turned onto her back, and slipped down her pajama bottoms. Spreading her legs, she gently brushed her bush. Yes! Her body responded at once. She went deeper, parting her vulva to slide her finger over her damp flesh. She pressed two fingers inside, working in and out as she imagined Pete's cock inside her.
Beyond inhibition, she was a wild woman flying on need and desire. Letting her fingers fill her, Vickie rubbed her nub with her other thumb. A jolt of sensation met each touch. Wanting to make it last, she eased the pressure, circling her nub as waves of pleasure thrummed out from her core to all but engulf her mind. She was soaring on a raging tempest of emotion and pleasure. As her arousal built, she worked her thumb faster and harder, magnifying her pleasure, until all she knew was her body's wild need and desire. She was climbing great breakers of joy, vast billows of physical sensation, until she reached the crest. Her mind flew. Her being took off on a wild climax that left her body throbbing as she lay in a sweaty heap. Her heart raced as the last ripples of delight fanned out across her mind and body.
She was so loose as to feel boneless, so satiated as to think she'd never experience such intensity again. Vickie pulled the sheet over her still-heated body and closed her eyes. She'd sleep like a babe after a release like that.
An hour later, she gave up.
Sleep utterly eluded her.
It wasn't tension. She was still relaxed, her body loose, and her mind pretty close to the same condition. She was just unable to settle. Stupid as it seemed, she wanted to walk in the woods and feel the night around her.
And no doubt encounter the Adamses poaching or dynamiting fish.
She'd stay away from the lake. She just needed to stretch her legs. A good brisk walk and she'd no doubt sleep like a log. Vickie pulled on jeans and T-shirt, and walking boots over her socks. Grabbing a flashlight, and making sure the doors were locked behind her, she set off down the track. She was going in Pete's direction, she admitted that much to herself. She just wouldn't walk that far. The old cabin was a good five miles up the road.
It wasn't even a mile to the old logging road. She hadn't been up here in years. Wasn't sure why she went now. An odd nagging drew her. A sense that something was wrong. Right! Most likely Sonny Adams hunting deer out of season. She ought to go home and read to cure her insomnia. Or clean out the attic, as she'd promised her grandmother. Vickie walked on, the flashlight on full beam now. If Sonny was out here, she'd be sure to scare off the wildlife to thwart him. She rounded a bend as the road narrowed where the woods encroached on the verges and paused. A dark shape lay huddled to the side of the road. A fallen tree? Wrong shape. Wavering between flight and investigation, Vickie shone her flashlight in that direction, ready to snap it off and freeze if it turned out to be a bear or mountain lion.
She took a step closer as she heard a weak voice call, "Help!"
"Pete?" It was his voice, but sounding wrong. She ran towards him, the beam dancing wildly.
She knelt, as he tried to sit up. "What happened?" Being careful not to dazzle him, she directed the flashlight beam down his body until she saw his foot. She couldn't hold back her gasp. His right foot was tight in the teeth of a bear trap. She'd never actually seen one before—but she'd heard tell of them. This was big enough to take down a bear, let alone a man. The wavering beam of her flashlight revealed mangled and torn skin, blood, and the white glint of bone. No way could she release this with her bare hands. If it was bear-proof it was definitely woman-proof.
"Have you been trapped long?"
"Too damn long," he replied, "but I'm happier than hell to see you here. Often stroll through the woods at night like this?"
If he was trying to lighten things, it wasn't working. "Seldom. You're darn lucky I had insomnia tonight. These things are illegal!"
"You don't say! Can you get me out?" He sounded desperate, his voice tight and sharp.
She stood up. "I hate to leave you. You keep the flashlight. I'm going back to get something to force that trap open."
"Take the flashlight. You need it more."
She wasn't sure about that. Trapped and immobile in the dark, that was the stuff of nightmares. "Keep it, Pete. If only to scare off animals, and it will help me find you when I get back. I'm going to cut across the woods. It's shorter that way."
Shorter, yes. She wasn't sure about faster. In spite of the moon, it was damn dark. Branches and twigs scratched her arms and legs, and a couple swiped her face. She hoped to hell it wasn't poison ivy. She'd worry about that later. As the woods thinned, she ran faster, crossing the road and racing towards her house.
It took forever, rummaging through Gramp's toolbox until she found a crowbar, and stopping to grab bottled water and a first-aid kit. She doubted Band-Aids and Neosporin were adequate, but it was all she had, until she got Pete to the hospital. She grabbed her backpack, shoved it all in and added a blanket and a towel—he was no doubt suffering from shock—and hoisted the lot on her back, gasping at the weight, and set off.
Running.
She went back via the woods. A mistake. The moon had disappeared behind the clouds. Every twig, branch and root seemed intent on tripping or hitting her, and the backpack got heavier by the minute. But by the time she decided the road would have been far quicker, she'd gone too far to turn back. In the distance, she glimpsed the faint beam from her flashlight—she'd been right to insist he keep it. Without that to guide her she'd be stumbling round the woods and breaking something herself. Maybe tripping off another damn trap. That thought slowed her a bit, but a faint "Vickie!" from the direction of the light spurred her on.
"Coming!"
He sounded weak. Heart pounding and blood rushing in her ears, she raced the last few yards, ignoring branches slashing against her face and legs. He was hurt badly—and what if a bear or something came prowling while he was helpless?
The flashlight was lying on the ground, just inches from his limp hand. He'd either fainted or…"Pete?" He opened his eyes as she grabbed the flashlight. "I'm back, and I have something to get you out of there."
"You're a saint, an angel, and an answer to prayer," he said, his voice tight and strained. "The metal is biting so hard, I'm helpless."
He must have hit his head. He sounded concussed, as if slipping in and out of consciousness.
"Don't worry, Pete. I'll get you out of this and fetch my car." Not bringing it had been a mistake. No time to dwell on that now. She draped the blanket around his shoulders as he dragged himself to sitting. By the look of the ground, he'd tried to drag himself and the trap, but a chain anchored it to a nearby tree.
Pulling out the crowbar, she set to work.
Releasing the trap was easier said than done. Pete held the flashlight, but the beam wavered as his wrist shook, and the damn trap was rusted together. Gritting her teeth until her arms and shoulders hurt from the effort, Vickie finally pried the teeth apart, being rewarded with a loud metallic scrape as the trap snapped open.
Pete pulled back his injured leg as if the metal were burning, shutting his eyes as he let out a long gasp of relief.
"You are a saint," he repeated. "Vickie, I love you. You saved my life!"
Nice thought, but didn't men always make wild declarations at moments of high stress and relief?
"Not sure I'd go that far, and if I don't get you to a hospital, you might still die of tetanus. When did you last have a shot?"
"Don't worry about that. Let's just make sure this contraption never snares anyone else." He pulled the chain and brought the trap closer. "No wonder they're illegal."
Whoever set it was not likely to let that concern them. And right now her concern was Pete. Even by flashlight, the damage to hi
s leg was clear enough. He'd bled freely. His wounds had to be dirty. The trap was encrusted with rust.
Neosporin was not going to be anywhere near enough.
She pulled out the bottle of water. "Thirsty?" she asked. "You can have some of it, but I need to clean your wounds. I'll bandage them as best I can, and get you to the hospital."
"Don't bother, Vickie. Go home and I'll take care of myself."
Her snort echoed in the night. She hadn't meant to, but macho wasn't in it. "Pete, it's broken. You can't walk on it."
Ignoring him, she twisted the bottle top loose and pulled up his damp and sticky pants leg. "This will be cold, I'm afraid, but it will clean off the worst, and might stem the bleeding." She poured it as gently as she could over the worst of his injuries. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. In the dim light, the gashes didn't seem as bad as she'd first thought. Maybe his blue jeans had protected him. Maybe the light was so bad she couldn't tell.
His leg might not look as bad as she feared, but he did. Haggard wasn't the word. "I don't care what you say, you're going to the hospital. You've lost buckets of blood, and…"
"I'm not going to any hospital, Vickie, and that's that!"
Might be more convincing if his voice hadn't wavered at the end. "We'll talk about that later." Once she had him in her car and headed down the mountain. "Want a drink?"
"Thanks." He croaked it out. His eyes were half-shut and sunken in the sockets, and his breathing so shallow as to be unnoticeable. And he didn't want to go to the hospital. Men.
"Here." She moved closer, intending to tilt the bottle as he drank.
He stared at the bottle a few seconds, as if uncertain what to do, before he reached out and grabbed her wrist. He wasn't that weak after all. He jerked her close, a frantic look on his face. The water bottle fell to the ground. Before she could retrieve it, he yanked her arm closer, staring at a long, bleeding scratch.
"Blood!" he said, his voice tight but oddly gentle.
"It's nothing, just a scratch from a…" She broke off, horrified, as he licked up the line of the scratch. His tongue was cool and smooth, and in very, very different circumstances, it might have even seemed sexy. Especially as fired up as she'd been earlier, but right now…
She stared as he licked up a smaller scratch, pausing to look at her. His eyes gleamed in the night. Hell, they glittered with an odd light. His face took on a strange cast of excitement, anticipation and…
She yelped as he bit her wrist.
Cripes! Weird beyond imagining. She tried to move but he held her arm with both hands, his grip not the least like that of a man who'd been semiconscious five minutes earlier.
"Stop it!" she yelled, pulling away. She might as well be trying to move a parked car with her toe. Pete had her in a viselike grip and was sucking her blood.
Dear saints in heaven! What was he doing? Some weird moonlight rite? Kinky, twisted…
Warm, soothing, gentle…
Vickie sighed as her resistance faded, and she relaxed beside him. Whatever Pete was doing—and way out there it most definitely was—it was… incredible.
She shut her eyes and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, and letting her free arm curve around his waist.
Each movement of his lips rushed a thrill of sheer, unadulterated pleasure deep down to her core. Slumped against his chest, she let out little whimpers of delight, as every nerve ending in her body sang to the pressure of his lips. The first pain of his bite was long-forgotten. Wafts of sensation clouded her brain, as her body sank into a great pool of pleasure. She was floating, her mind lost in a great mass of sexual delight.
Unbidden, her hips rocked against his thigh as her sighs became groans of arousal, as the thrill that started between her legs spiraled tighter and higher, her mind lost in a wild haze. She was dimly aware that she was building to a climax, but too fogged in her mind to do anything but rock against him and whimper.
Until he lifted his mouth off her wrist.
From drunken ecstasy, she jerked into stunned awareness.
She was in the middle of the woods, and rolling in the dirt with a strange man.
A very strange man.
Still holding her wrist, he looked up. She felt herself impaled by his intent eyes. "Thanks," he said. "I'm sorry it had to be like this."
Like what? This was nuts. Impossible! As she fumbled for words, he ran his tongue over her arm, cleaning off the last drops of blood.
"What the hell were you doing?" she managed at last.
"I was in dire need. I had to feed. The metal of that trap sapped my strength." He paused, licking his lips clean. "Sorry to presume without asking, but the scent of your blood…"
"What are you?"
He was silent a good thirty seconds, the quiet of the woods hovering around them. "Vickie, I'm a vampire."
Chapter Five
« ^ »
Now she did pull her arm away, jumping up and moving to put distance between them. She'd read about types like him. Freaks who fed off blood and called themselves vampires. She just never thought she'd meet one up here. Mind you, given that the Adamses were an example of the locals, she shouldn't be too surprised at a resident bloodsucker.
"I know what you're thinking," Pete said.
"I doubt it."
"You think I'm either weird, crazy or perverted."
Pretty close but if he were any of those, she'd better humor him. She could run faster than him, if push came to shove, but felt no menace from him. Only a lingering joy from his embrace—if that wasn't kinky, what was? She'd worry about her reaction to that later. Right now… "I'll get my car and take you to the hospital. You have to need treatment—a tetanus shot if nothing else."
He shook his head. The moon emerged from behind a cloud, and cast dapples of light and shadow, so his skin looked almost transparent in the dark. He did look healthier, less wan, and his eyes had their usual, almost feral, gleam.
That alone was hardly destined to allay her worries. Sexy on her own front porch—where she could lock the door on him—was one thing, but out here in the middle of the woods, when she was feeling hot, aroused and light-headed?
He smiled.
It didn't help one little bit.
"Vickie, I'm not going anywhere near a hospital or a doctor. I know you don't believe me and that's understandable. But I don't need medical attention."
"That's utter nonsense. Are you doctor-phobic or something? Your ankle was mangled by that trap."
"It was broken," he agreed. "Was," he repeated. "Look at it now." He stood up.
Her throat clenched. She swallowed, or at least tried to, as a weight seemed to drop in her stomach. It had to be some incredible trick of the moonlight, but when he pulled up his jeans leg, all that was visible was a jagged, raised line of proud flesh, like a newly healed scar.
If it weren't for his blue jeans dark with blood, she'd think she'd imagined it. Maybe she had. Was she hallucinating? She shook her head to clear the buzzing in her ears. It was going dark… As if from a distance, Pete said, "Vickie. I didn't mean to scare you."
She was falling, but never hit the ground. "Are you okay?" he asked as she felt her body rise in the air. Before she could answer, everything went black and silent.
When she came to, she was bouncing in his arms, lying slap-hard against his chest as he ran down the road. "Pete?" she said, trying to ease out of his grasp. Might as well try to shift her house off the foundations. He had her in a tight hold. She tried pushing away, feeling constrained by his strength, and close to overwhelmed by his male scent.
"Stop it, Vickie," he muttered. "You came close to causing the first vamp heart failure in history. Keep still, will you? I'm taking you home."
Vickie turned her head to the wind. What speed was he running at? Fast enough to need to hold tight, despite her misgivings. Feeling his strong chest under her fingers rekindled the wild arousal she'd thought satisfied. And as for leaning her head against his shoulder as he ran th
rough the night… She was not dwelling on the possibilities.
As they neared the house, Pete slowed to something approaching Olympic runner speed, taking the porch steps two at a time and coming to a halt inches from her front door. She readied herself to be set on her feet. Instead, he shifted her to one arm as he opened the door.
The door she had most certainly locked.
As Pete released his hold, she hoped she could stand on her own two feet. She could. That was something. "I think I'm entitled to a few answers," she said. None too sure where to start her questions.
He nodded. "Later. Right now you need to rest. You also need to replenish your body with fluids. I took a good deal of blood back there."
She was not having this conversation! She was not discussing body fluids with a vampire. She had to be dreaming. She was hallucinating. The Chinese food she'd eaten for dinner had some tainted Oriental spice.
"Get back in bed, Vickie, I'll bring you something to drink."
"No way. I'm making myself a cup of tea."
Pete watched her march into the kitchen, confusion and uncertainty in every step. She was angry and upset, and most likely wished he'd just disappear.
He wasn't going to.
He owed her something. What would have happened to him come sunrise if Vickie hadn't chanced by? She had rescued him. Saved his vampire hide. The trap had had him tight. The iron was fast draining his strength. A few more hours and he'd have been unable to lift his head. He owed his continued existence to Vickie. Who was he kidding? He wanted her. Bad. The taste of her blood in the woods had only rekindled his earlier desire. Hell! It was because he was fixating on the taste and scent of Vickie Anderson, rather than his surroundings, that he'd not noticed the damn bear trap in the first place.
He shouldn't blame her. He was the vampire. The strong, the powerful. She was mere mortal, incredible, sexy, desirable. Ha! Vickie wasn't "mere" anything. She'd saved his frigging life. How many mortals had ever done that? And how many vamps would put themselves in that situation? Heck, he'd even admitted what he was. Not that he could have concealed it. Having a ripped-up leg heal itself was not exactly easy to hide.
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