No Fear

by Allie Harrison

  “Oh.”

  “Your pancakes are ready.” He held out a warm plate. “And I know you like to swim in the morning, but all I can offer you is the bathtub.” When she took the plate from him, he made sure his hand on the plate wasn’t anywhere near where she could touch him. Her cheeks were rosy from sleep and, perhaps, from her dream about him. Her eyes were bright, her skin glowing. She was beautiful in the morning. But then he pretty much thought she was beautiful all the time. His lips were suddenly dry, and he licked them to bring some moisture to them. But all he tasted was Emma. His dream had been more real than he’d imagined.

  She looked at him speculatively. “How did you know I like to swim in the morning?”

  “What?” He’d been concentrating on her and how he thought he could taste her on his lips, and he hadn’t realized she was speaking.

  She repeated her question.

  He moved to the microwave and pressed buttons to heat the cocoa inside. When he turned to her again, he grinned. “Everyone on the island knows how you swim every day. Why else would Doc enclose the pool so you can use it all year long?” It was impossible not to notice the way the color in her cheeks deepened more.

  She took the plate from him.

  He poured more batter into the skillet to make a few cakes for himself and the quiet kitchen was filled with sounds of sizzling.

  “I’m not sure how I feel about the idea that everyone on the island knows about my swimming.”

  He turned toward her and raised a brow. “I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it,” he said with a small grin. “It’s a lot like knowing Mrs. Valentine walks her dog every night after she watches the news, or that Mr. Elmwood steps out every evening to sneak a cigarette when his wife thinks he quit over a year ago.”

  The smile she gave him was just as small and tentative. “I see.” She did her best not to stare at his back. At least the urge to sneak out was gone. Now, she felt drawn to him. Watching his back as he made breakfast was enough to make her want to step closer, to brush the front of her body against his and feel the length of him pressed against her as she hugged him from behind.

  She poured syrup on her plate, thankful that it came out slowly. She was so busy looking at James, she almost forgot to stop pouring it. Licking her lips in anticipation, she thought she’d had more than just a dream, that she could really taste James on her lips. That dream had been so real, more real than her nightmares ever were, and more haunting and lasting longer, she thought. Emma wasn’t how she felt about dream. Not having a nightmare left her feeling a freedom unlike any other of the past five years. At the same time, the nightmares were predictable, almost comforting in their predictability. A dream of making love with James made her wish the dream could be reality. It made her want to touch him and be close to him. It filled her with a new kind of fear—fear of the unknown. Even now, in the rain’s gray morning light, warmth spread through her with the memory of the dream. “How’d you sleep?” she asked, making conversation.

  The microwave beeped, James pulled out a steaming mug. “Wonderfully,” he said. It wasn’t really a lie, he told himself. So what if he didn’t sleep. Having Emma under his roof still made for a wonderful night.

  “James?”

  “Yes,” he said quickly as he set the mug on the counter and flipped the pancakes. Then he brought the mug and placed it before her. At her stunned stare, he said, “Cocoa. But I have to confess, Doc told me pancakes and cocoa were your favorites.”

  She smiled.

  He stared at her. “Your smile is beautiful,” he said. “I’m glad to see it.” It was almost the same smile she’d given him in the dream they’d shared. Hell, he’d better stop thinking about that dream, or he’d be grabbing her and pulling her onto the kitchen table.

  “Thank you for giving me a reason to smile.”

  She noticed the way his smile didn’t last as he turned back to the stove to dish out his pancakes before bringing them to the table. He sat down across from her. “Now, what were you going to ask?”

  She had planned to ask if he’d had any dreams, for the way he’d said he’d slept wonderfully sounded as if there was some hidden meaning. She’d almost decided to tell him that she’d dreamed of him. But now, with him directly across from her and looking into her eyes, she couldn’t tell him. It was simply too intimate. Besides, she wasn’t certain she could put into words how the dream had made her feel. “Nothing,” she said.

  She couldn’t help noticing the way he watched her carefully.

  “What?” she asked. “You know something; I can see it on your face.”

  James didn’t think he’d ever get used to her observant nature. No one had ever been able to read him as she did. He tried to smile at her again, but she saw it was forced. “Eat and then we’ll talk.”

  “All of a sudden, I don’t feel like eating. Something else happened, didn’t it?”

  “Eat a little, anyway,” he encouraged as he spread butter on his own pancakes before taking a bite.

  She took one bite. It tasted like sawdust, and she could hardly swallow. “Now tell me.” She looked straight at him, and she knew. A shudder passed through her, and spots swam before her eyes. She was suddenly hot all over, but she shivered. She simply knew. “It’s happened again, hasn’t it?” Her words were little more than a forced whisper.

  His lack of a quick reply was all the answer she needed.

  “Oh, my God,” she let out. For a moment, she thought a huge fist clenched around her heart, made her chest tight until she couldn’t breathe. The pain of the news was too great to bear.

  She started to get up, but James reached across the table and took her hand before she could stand. He squeezed, not too painfully, but enough to force her to look at him.

  “Take a deep breath,” he commanded.

  “I don’t want to take a deep breath. Don’t you see what’s happening here? Don’t you understand? I tried to explain it last night. I had hoped that Jilly just had a heart attack or something we couldn’t see, but if it happened again, that means he’s really back. He’s really here. I don’t know how I know, but I do. And maybe there aren’t any tiny bite marks on anyone’s neck, but it’s still that monster. I can feel it. James, I can’t do this again, I just can’t . . .”

  She was suddenly in James’s arms, and she didn’t remember either of them standing or moving to get there.

  “Listen to me,” he said. His chest rumbled beneath her cheek.

  “I don’t want to listen,” she argued. “I want to pack my bags and leave, just leave.” She swallowed hard, sorry she’d even taken one bite of food, now fearful she might lose it on his shirt.

  Needing a breath, she inhaled deeply and found her senses filled with the clean, earthy scent of him that was now so familiar. His chest was warm, his embrace warmer. His chin touched the top of her head. He felt so safe, so wonderful. Emma wanted to stay in his arms forever, but she couldn’t voice that desire. Instead, she said, “I want to get off this island and away from the terror.”

  “I don’t think you can,” James said simply, tightening his embrace. He knew she would try and tear herself away from him at his words. He listened to her breathing, mingling with the soft sounds of the rain hitting the roof, and waited.

  He didn’t have to wait long. She tried to move away.

  He didn’t let her go.

  She twisted her arms and tried harder to maneuver away from him, becoming like some slithering eel attempting to work its way out from under a fallen rock. He held her tighter in his embrace.

  “Emma, stop fighting and listen to me,” he said.

  “Damnit, James let me go!”

  The last thing he wanted to do was hold her confined, knowing full well it was the one thing that was bound to bring on more nightmares, but he had no choice. The last thing either of them needed was for her to lose control. He needed her now more than ever. “I believe you. I think it’s back, too. And I’ll let you go if you promise to sit down and lis
ten to me.”

  She stopped trying to break free of his hold. She didn’t relax, but she did stop moving. Her breathing was harsh and heavy. James looked at her face and didn’t dare look below her neck where her breasts were rising and falling with each breath. She had no idea how appealing she smelled. She had no idea how her anger brought heat and blood closer to the surface of her skin. She all but glowed.

  James had to work to control his own breathing. And for a long moment, he didn’t move, either. As much as he wanted her, as much as he wanted to merely take her in his arms and shelter her from all of this, he couldn’t. He had to face it, and so did she.

  “Sit down,” he said, leading her back to her chair.

  She sat down heavily. “Just tell me who’s dead.”

  He waited until he was seated once again across from her.

  “Tell me,” she insisted, her voice rising.

  James knew that for so long she’d harbored nothing but fear. He wished to hell any emotion he’d brought to her would be something good, something wonderful, anything but more of the same. “A young woman by the name of Glenda Farmington,” he said evenly.

  She let out a moan, put her elbow on the table and rested her head in her hand.

  “I was amazed that I didn’t know her or her mother,” he put in. “I thought I knew everyone on the island.”

  “Glenda moved here about eight months ago. She lived here when she was a little girl, and she always loved the island. She was excited about having her own place, getting out from under her mother’s wing. Then about three or four months ago, her mother followed her and moved here, not understanding why this tiny island with its bare necessities could be so enticing to Glenda,” Emma explained. “When did you learn—”

  “I got the call just before midnight,” he said softly.

  “And she’s like Jilly?”

  He nodded, then realized she still wasn’t looking at him. “It appears so,” he replied. “Doc plans to do the autopsy later this afternoon. Did you know her very well? Did she have any heart problems, any other health problems?” He hated this, hated all of this. And yet, there was nothing he could do to stop it without more answers. For the first time in his career as a hunter, he was uncertain as to where to look for answers. It was like playing a bad hand of cards with no choices. And there was never the choice of folding.

  Emma shook her head. “She had a lot of stress from her mother. She came into the clinic and brought her medical records for Doc. I know she worked at the supermarket, and I think she had a second job at the Quick Mart a couple evenings a week. I also know her mom wanted her stay on the mainland, finish college and be a doctor or a lawyer, something she thought was better than a grocery store clerk or an artist, which is what Glenda wanted to be.”

  “Do you know if she had a boyfriend?”

  Emma shook her head again. “No, but her friends at the store would probably know.” She still never really looked up at him, just continued to hold her head in her hand.

  “Do you know anyone named Quinn?”

  Emma finally looked up at him. “First or last name?”

  “First. Her mother mentioned him, said he was Glenda’s boyfriend,” he explained. “The department’s searching for him, but we’ve found nothing so far.”

  She was quiet for a long moment, then said, “The name doesn’t ring any bells, but when I get to the clinic, I can put it into the computer and see what comes up.”

  She still held her head in her hand. Her other hand she placed on the table. James noticed it trembled, and he reached out and took it. It was cold, too. He tried to warm it, but it wasn’t easy. At least she didn’t pull away from him this time. In fact, she held on to him tightly.

  “You said you didn’t think I could leave. Why not?” she asked.

  When he met her gaze, he found her looking straight at him. James was glad to see burning anger in her eyes despite the flat tone of her voice. “Take a drink of your cocoa,” he said. “Then I’ll try to explain.” Try was the important word, he thought, as he carefully considered what to say to her. He wished more than ever that he didn’t have to tell her anything, but he didn’t have a choice. Just as he could never leave her out in the dark on the deck alone, he couldn’t leave her in the dark now. Ignorance was simply too dangerous for her.

  She grabbed the mug without taking her gaze from his and took a heavy drink. James couldn’t help noticing the way she forced herself to swallow. He also couldn’t help staring at the chocolate mustache it left on her lips. He would have liked to kiss it off her. Absently, he licked his lips, still unable to ignore tasting her.

  “Last night, you had trouble saying the word vampire,” he began. He looked at her without blinking. “I have no trouble saying that word.”

  “So you really believe that they exist?” she asked softly, hesitantly. “You weren’t just saying that last night to appease me?”

  “Oh, they definitely exist,” he replied, “don’t ever doubt that. In fact, I’ve killed several of them.” He waited for a reaction, which was actually a lack of one as she sat perfectly still.

  Emma stared at James for a long moment, and the room was absolutely silent. At least last night, she’d had the crackle and popping of the fire to study. Now, she had nothing to look at but James, and nothing to hear but the sound of her own heart racing.

  “I don’t think I want to hear any more. I think, perhaps, I’d better leave,” she said slowly. She stood and moved toward the back door.

  His next words stopped her before she reached the door, which was good since he doubted she had any type of plan. She was just running scared, and he couldn’t blame her. “Not all of them are as easy to kill as Mary Jenkins, or the other four Doc killed, or the three I killed five years ago before I brought you out of the old mill and burned it.”

  Emma turned and looked back at him. He sat unmoving at the table, his muscles tense, his back to her. Emma wasn’t even certain he breathed. “There were others?” she whispered.

  “Yes, all newly bitten, newly transformed, whatever you want to call it. If any of them had had one taste, one drop, of the blood they’d craved, they would have understood their powers, their strength, and they would have known how to use them.” He turned to face her slowly. “And they wouldn’t have been easy to kill.”

  “You were at the mill?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the one that hurt me?”

  “He got away.” James knew he was being blunt, but there was no other way to be right now. “But I’m very surprised he left.”

  “Why?”

  “I killed several of his followers, so did Doc, and you killed one. That alone would make us prime targets,” he explained. “Doc feels that perhaps he never left, and I agree. I think he stayed here, biding his time, developing his powers, lying low, learning how to hide himself so no one could see the monster he is.”

  “And you brought me out of that room five years ago?”

  James had never wanted to tell her, at least not this way. “Yes, I took you to Doc,” he admitted.

  “I don’t remember that. And all this time, you never said a word to me.”

  James couldn’t tell if she was amazed or angry. “I wasn’t sure how you would react to that news.”

  Emma drew closer and moved to where she faced him. Then after a heavy breath, she moved to her chair and sat once again. It was more like she sank onto the chair because her legs didn’t have the strength to hold her up. “Is that what you do, hunt those—creatures?” She still had trouble saying that word—vampire.

  “I haven’t had to hunt any in a long time,” he replied. “But yes, besides being the Chief of Police here, and before this job, a homicide detective in Chicago, it’s what I do. And I’m very sorry I didn’t get here sooner five years ago. By the time I got here, it was too late.”

  Emma stared at him. “A hunter?” she asked again, her words clipped.

  He detected anger in her voice. “That�
��s right.”

  “And you took me from that horrible room?”

  “Yes,”

  “All this time—all those times you came to the clinic and I stitched you up or bandaged you up, and you never said a word.” Her words came quicker as her anger grew. “How could you keep this from me? How could you look at me and never say anything?” The anger was evident in her words, but her eyes were filled with pain and unshed tears. She stood again.

  “What should I have done?”

  “I don’t know!” she nearly screamed at him. “You should have told me!”

  “Would it have helped, or would it have hurt you more.”

  “I don’t know that, either.”

  She suddenly sounded so defeated, and James hated the sound of it. She blinked and a single tear slid down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away. “And you think it’s here again, even though it’s not the same as before?” she asked.

  “Like you, yes, I think so, even though I haven’t seen anything that kills like this. I just know they both died in extreme terror, fear of something they’re afraid of. Glenda was afraid of snakes and she managed to call her mother and say snakes were biting her. The one thing that would be terrifying to her.”

  “Yes, well this is pretty terrifying to me, too. Maybe I should pack up and go to the mainland.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not? What else do you know?” she asked, her voice hard. Yet, James heard it tremble slightly.

  “The vampire who kept you tied up in that room at the mill did something different to you,” he explained. “He didn’t drink your blood, nor did he turn you, didn’t make you into what he is.”

  “Oh, and is that better than not having any little bite marks on my neck or waking up craving blood? Or do you simply think the one who bit Mary Jenkins is a different one than the one who kept me tied up?”

  James couldn’t mistake the bitter sarcasm in her tone, in every word. He wished she would come closer, that she would let him hold her, help her through this, give her support as he told her everything he knew. But she didn’t come closer, and keeping distance between them was as hard on him as having to explain this. “Oh, I’m certain the monster who kept you in that room is the same one who bit Mary Jenkins and the others. But for him, you’re different.”