Then he leaned against her sleeping form and thought of the fear she’d lived with for five years. A creature of unbelievable power had put that fear in her mind. Something close to pain gripped his chest and the cold fingers of terror moved up his spine as he realized how the other two girls had been killed. Doc had been right. It was back. It might not be the same monster, but James thought it was. And it was capable of putting fear into the soul of a victim. Five years ago it had been weak, which is what had saved Emma, but now it was strong enough to kill.
He swallowed against the bitter taste of fear. For he’d never before hunted a vampire as mature and powerful as he was.
* * * *
He felt drained.
Amazing, he thought, how after his kills, he felt so vividly alive, so full of energy. Then the energy fell away so quickly, leaving him weak and totally empty. It was so different from drinking blood. Blood sustained him, gave him energy and kept him alive. It stayed with him much longer, but it didn’t give him the high feeling of utopia that deep emotions brought to him. Besides, the pursuit was so much more gratifying.
If he needed a victim to provide a few swallows of blood, all he had to do was allow his chosen victim to look into his eyes. He would then own her or him. That person would do whatever he commanded, easily following him into the darkness. He could get his fill, heal the wound, and his victim would wake up with a headache the next morning and feel better after drinking a glass of orange juice.
Easy, quick, simple.
Sucking the emotions was something quite different.
First, he knew his victim on a much more personal level. He chose to develop a friendship of sorts. That might take a day, but with it came the beginnings of feelings. He thoroughly enjoyed those first feelings. They were like tingles of anticipation up his spine, like soft feathers floating through him, giving him a sense of excitement and eagerness. They alerted every sense of his being. The simple touch of a woman’s hand had the ability to send warmth up his arm, and it was warmth that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. It was warmth he intended to build upon until it consumed him and made him the man he hoped to be.
He sat in the diner and idly drank a cup of coffee. He hadn’t planned to take another victim so soon. He thought the small island needed time to grieve the loss of two of its inhabitants. But he’d changed his mind since he couldn’t very well spend the next week or two feeling so tired.
And so, sitting over his cup of coffee, he chose his next victim.
She approached him with a pot of hot coffee and refilled his cup. She looked directly into his eyes after she finished pouring, and he instantly knew everything about her he needed to know.
She was young, a virgin. His hand nearly shook, and he would have spilled the hot contents. He quickly set the cup back onto the counter. Virgin blood was so pure, so innocent, so very refreshing. Perhaps he’d taste her blood as well as drink her emotions. What a lovely idea.
As before, she innocently patted his hand as she moved to the next patron seated at the long counter. Her touch was electrifying. There was no other word with which to describe it. It sent a quivering buzz all the way to the top of his head. He smiled. Before devouring the emotions of his previous victims, he would have never known this heady feeling from touch. He licked his lips in anticipation, although she probably thought he licked coffee off his lips.
“What’s your name?” he asked her, making conversation since he already knew everything about her, including her name.
“Lily,” she said softly, her voice touching him with nearly as much softness as her hand had.
She was twenty. Her parents had wanted her to attend college after high school, but she wasn’t ready for the confinement or the hard work of studying, nor had she had any idea what she wanted to study. So she’d gone off to find herself, and she’d landed here in the diner when she’d seen the help wanted sign.
He knew all of that in the single moment her gaze had met his.
He also knew what she wanted. Or what she had wanted—the attention of her high school math teacher, Mr. Warner. In his mind’s eye, he clearly saw Mr. Warner, with his dark hair and blue eyes lined with crow’s feet because he smiled so often. Lily Swan had fallen instantly in love with the teacher her sophomore year when she was in his geometry class. And when she was a senior, she grew bold enough to make her feelings known to him one afternoon after class. She’d even gone so far as to touch Mr. Warner’s hand, not too differently from the way she’d just touched him.
But Mr. Warner shot her down instantly, telling her about his wife and showing her a picture of their new baby, making it very clear he could never, would never, be anything more than her teacher.
Now, in the diner, with the night clouding over, he easily sent mental messages to Lily. It wasn’t as if he talked to her or she heard his voice. No, it was more as if he actually made her think specific things. And he made her think he resembled Mr. Warner.
She smiled at him warmly after she finished refilling the other customer’s cup.
Now, he sent her a mental message of words speaking in her thoughts. Say nothing, but think about what time your shift ends.
Her reply came to him instantly. She wouldn’t even remember thinking it. Eleven o’clock, when we close, in a half hour.
Do you have your own place? He took a sip of his coffee as he watched her, and he studied her thoughts. He couldn’t help noticing the way she watched him with longing for Mr. Warner. He nearly smiled, feeling those butterflies of anticipation in the pit of his belly. He would ease her yearning for her ex-teacher. In fact, he would show her things, allow her to experience things, Mr. Warner never could.
I rent the small efficiency apartment above the tanning salon.
I’ll be there at eleven-fifteen.
He didn’t arrive there until eleven-thirty. Why? Because it added a strong sense of anxiety to the need he felt flowing through her veins—another strong emotion he could drain from her.
When she opened her door and invited him in, he felt her wonder and her excitement mixed in with all the anxiety. The odd combination of emotions tasted almost as sweet as he remembered sugar tasting.
“Mr. Warner?”
Her voice was breathy, excited.
“Call me Quinn,” he said.
“I thought your name was Stan.”
“But you can call me Quinn,” he replied, working to keep the confusion from her thoughts. Confusion messed up his ability to control her and make her see things his way.
“All right, Quinn,” she said softly. “I can’t believe you came all the way here to find me.”
“It took a while, but I had to come,” he said, making it sound as if finding her was his sole purpose in life. “I brought this for you.” He handed her a small potted plant.
“What about your wife and your baby?”
“Don’t worry about them.” And mentally he commanded, And tell no one I’m here. “I want only you.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
He knew she was agreeing to both of his requests. And his declaration of wanting only her more or less sealed the pact. She was his—his to command, his to bring him pleasure, and his to give him all her emotions.
He moved to the small sink and ran the water, filling one of the cups that was clean and dried in the rack on the counter. He took one sip and set the cup on the counter. “Can you light those candles?” he asked, nodding to the two candles on her small table.
“Of course,” she replied, reaching for a pack of matches and striking one to light them.
“That makes it more romantic in here,” he said once she had the candles lit.
He reached for her then, and brought his lips to hers. Her kiss was hesitant. But since she’d spent five years pining for a man she could never have, she hadn’t allowed herself to kiss many others.
He filled her mouth with his tongue and found her taste exquisite. He felt her slight breasts press against his chest, felt h
er nipples through her clothes. And he wished his body could actually respond to her. Soon, he knew. Very soon. With each victim, he grew closer to feeling true emotion. And the need for blood had overwhelmed every other need once he became a vampire. He couldn’t wait for the day when he felt need for other things that humans craved, such as sex or chocolate or a cup of coffee. Even a desire for a damned cigarette would be a welcome change to the bland life that ruled him. Now he had to relish in the fact that he could taste her and enjoy it. For now, he had to pretend that when he cupped her breast and heard her soft moan that he felt something.
The rest would be a game of his mind . . .
Lily Swan hadn’t believed that she would ever so much as even see Mr. Warner again, not after the way she’d humiliated herself, declaring her feelings for him. Thankfully, she’d chosen to make the ultimate ass out of herself the day before graduation and hadn’t had to ever again face him in math class. She’d had no idea he was married. He didn’t wear a ring. And it hadn’t been her imagination; he had smiled at her more often than any other girl in her class. He had singled her out by writing more personal, positive notes on her homework papers than he did on other students’ papers. She’d been positive he liked her, and she’d wanted to crawl into a hole when he told her he had a wife. She’d wished the ground would simply open and swallow her. She’d even wanted to reach out and slap his face. Knowing he could get into a great deal of trouble if they dated while he was her teacher, she’d patiently waited until she finished school, only to discover that all the waiting and wishing was for nothing. She had even turned down Nick Sherman, captain of the football team, when he’d asked her to the homecoming dance, all because most of the teachers attended the dance and Lily hadn’t wanted Mr. Warner to see her with another guy.
She couldn’t believe how stupid she had been.
But now she realized she hadn’t been stupid, for here he stood in her tiny apartment, telling her he had wanted her enough to leave his family and hunt her down.
Then he kissed her. It was her dream come true.
And it wasn’t some sloppy kiss like the few she’d shared with high school boys. No, this was a kiss from a real man, a man who expertly knew how to mold his lips to hers and devour her, tenderly, passionately, perfectly and completely—a man who knew how to make her tongue dance with his.
Lily still wore her diner uniform, an unbecoming, ill-fitting dress that buttoned down the front. With the same expertise he showed in his kiss, he unbuttoned those big buttons, his fingers not fumbling on them even one time.
She heard his voice, but didn’t understand how he spoke when his mouth was glued to hers, sending bolt after bolt of lightning into her soul.
“I knew you’d be beautiful.”
Her bra was undone and fell to the floor on top of her uniform. With his hands, he cupped, kneaded, and gently pinched her breasts.
She broke his kiss and stepped away, breathless. “Wait . . .”
“Why? I want you now,” he said.
“I need a shower,” she said. “I smell like a greasy spoon.”
To her amazement, he leaned down and took one of her nipples into his mouth. Lily shivered at the contact.
“And you taste delicious,” he muttered.
When he reached between her legs and cupped her most sensitive place over the cotton panties she wore, she gasped and thought she might jump out of her skin.
And she could barely think coherently, much less tell him to wait as he guided her to her small bed.
The next morning, Lily’s heart skipped a beat when he woke beside her. He held her in his arms and showered with her, washing her gently. She wanted to make love with him again, and all but begged him.
“No, my darling, you need to allow time to heal after your first time. Instead, we’ll share a long, leisurely breakfast with me.” He scrambled eggs for them and insisted they eat on real plates, not paper. “I’ll do the dishes for you while you’re at work,” he promised. “And speaking of work, I want you to leave early, ahead of the rain. Otherwise, I’ll worry about you.”
After they finished eating, Lily had to rush to get ready for her shift. “You’ll be here when I get off, won’t you?”
“Of course.” He held her in his arms before she could leave. “I know this is soon, and we have a lot to work out but you’d make me the happiest man alive if you’d say you’ll marry me.”
Lily felt as if she floated all the way to work.
In reality, he had left her apartment shortly before dawn, after forcing a wonderful vision of sex on her. It wasn’t as breathtaking an experience for him as it was for her, but it was satisfying as he watched the pure emotion move through her expression. He knew he would soon possess that strong, wonderful emotion. And after their sex, he knew every desire she possessed, which had made the morning visions he sent to her incredibly easy. He also knew her greatest fear. Water. How perfect. Just as water was a great conductor of electricity, it was also a superb conductor of emotion. Lily would be the easiest yet.
And she had the perfect shower enclosure, complete with a door that went all the way to the ceiling and latched.
Chapter Nine
Pancakes and Cocoa
Emma woke to find herself in a bed. She held the quilt to her chest and looked around the room. The bedroom was rustic like the rest of the house. There was a tapestry in neutral colors covering nearly all of one wall. The bed was large, the headboard cut in a design known as a sleigh. The rest of the furniture—the dresser, the nightstand and a chair—were beautiful wood, yet simple, working well into the décor of the rest of James house. She had slept all night in her clothes except for her socks and shoes, yet she couldn’t remember coming to bed. The last thing she remembered was lying beside James on the floor before the fire.
And she’d dreamed of making love with him.
Her heart skipped a beat at the memory, and the place below her belly button tingled. Warmth moved through her as she wished she’d awaked beside him. She thought she even smelled the clean, masculine woodsy scent of him, and she had to lick her suddenly dry lips. She was amazed at how easily he’d slipped under her skin and made her want to be close to him.
She really did want to be close to him. Had she had her usual nightmare, too? She couldn’t remember that, either. She took a deep breath and felt lighter for not waking with the cloud of a nightmare over her head.
The digital clock on the nightstand read 7:01. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d slept past six. With her frequent nightmares, she woke several times throughout the night. But last night, she’d somehow slept at least seven hours straight through.
Thinking James had a very nice spare bedroom, as well as a very comfortable bed, she snuggled deeper within the sheets and pillows for a few moments.
Then she forced herself to get up. After making the bed, she spent a few minutes in the nearby bathroom. She couldn’t help noticing it smelled of aftershave. Actually, she thought it smelled of James. In a holder on the sink was a blue toothbrush. Sitting next to it was a brand new toothbrush, still in the package. On a small note beside it was written, Help yourself to anything, Emma.
It was a wonderful touch, but she felt heat come to her cheeks as she reached for the unused toothbrush. A few minutes later, she followed the heavenly aroma of breakfast to the kitchen.
“Good morning,” James said.
He stood at the stove, his back to her as he poured pancake batter into a hot skillet. He didn’t even turn to see her, yet somehow he knew she was there.
“Good morning,” she said softly, suddenly feeling out of place in his kitchen. She had the strange, wild urge to sneak out the back door while he wasn’t watching.
He finally turned long enough to glance at her before returning his attention to the pancakes cooking in the skillet. Maybe he could read her mind and thought she really might sneak out the back door if he didn’t look. He was freshly showered, his hair still damp. He wore a pair of je
ans and a white tank top that showed the broad muscular frame of his shoulders. His arms flexed as he cooked, and watching them brought back memories of her dream, memories of the way he held her and moved his hands over her body, and the way his muscles seemed to ripple with his movements. She couldn’t help remembering how she had felt a wonderful mixture of strength and gentleness in his hands and his arms.
She felt heat rise to her cheeks again and was glad his back was to her. Silently, she took two silent steps toward the back door . . .
“Did you sleep well?” he asked casually.
She stopped moving. “Yes, very much,” she replied honestly. “I can’t remember the last time I slept so long. I don’t remember climbing into bed, though.”
He turned and met her gaze evenly. “You didn’t. You fell asleep on my floor, and I carried you up there. I thought you’d be more comfortable. You were out like a light.”
“You carried me upstairs?” She was in his arms and didn’t even know it?
“It was no big deal,” he reassured.
“Wow, I really must have been out like a light. I don’t usually sleep that soundly. Usually any sound or movement wakes me up.” That was because she was constantly awakened by nightmares. Strangely, she still didn’t remember having one last night. And usually she was haunted by her nightmare long into the morning.
“You let out a lot of emotion last night. It was bound to make you more tired than usual,” he said.
“And do you always keep an extra toothbrush around for unexpected guests?” she had to ask.
James flipped the pancakes onto a plate before turning back to Emma. He knew what she asked. She wanted to know about overnight guests, not really about toothbrushes. “Not usually,” he replied casually. “You got lucky. There was a sale last time I was shopping—two for the price of one.”
No Fear Page 11
