by Martha Woods
He didn’t. His eyes bored into her with such vicious, unveiled hatred she almost withered. But fuck this guy. She took a deep breath through the pain and brought the heel of her other hand up, intent on breaking his nose. She’d lived on the streets long enough to learn self-defense. He caught her other wrist easily, and suddenly her back was against the brick wall. His enormous hand closed around her throat, and her feet dangled an inch above the ground. Her vision blurred, ears ringing.
“Who are you?” he repeated, the grit in his voice no longer sexy. It sent a terrifying chill through her.
She couldn’t breathe, much less answer him. Fear gripped her, and she could not tell if it was her own or his. He glared at her. The golden flecks burned like a flame. It was the last thing she saw.
* * *
Tessa opened her eyes and groaned as a sharp throbbing reached her temples. She blinked a few times, her vision tilting. She sat up slowly. She found herself on a leather sectional in front of a blazing fire. Tessa peered around the penthouse studio, taking in the windows hidden behind heavy drapes and the wood door that looked as though it had been taken straight off a castle. She could see the end of a claw foot tub peeking out from behind a silk screen that could have been an ancient Chinese artifact. Artwork warmed otherwise white walls and cold, hard lines created by concrete and granite.
She could get out of here. She had escaped before. The door would be easiest, but she’d settle for crawling out a window if she could.
Her attacker sat on the other side of the couch, watching her with an intense gaze. His tall, lean physique looked at ease.
“You fucking kidnapped me?” she said, flinching as her head responded to her own raised voice with a piercing pain. “Dick move, man.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said casually, apparently unimpressed with her vulgarity.
“What’s it to you?” she asked, glaring at her assailant
“Why didn’t you fight back?” he asked, standing and approaching her with a graceful, controlled movement that surprised her. He was tall. Tall men often appeared gangly, but there was a grace to him despite his size.
“I tried,” she said. “And I will again if you get any closer.”
“You’re just human, aren’t you?” he said, eyes suddenly thoughtful.
She gaped at him. Shit.
“Jesus Christ,” she said. “I didn’t take you for one of the crazies. My mistake. Look, I’m not a real psychic.”
“If you aren’t a psychic,” he leaned forward, “then how can you explain what you told me?”
Tessa chewed her lip. He was one of them, one of the damned crazies that believed in the impossible. What would he do to her if she told him what she could do? He’d already gone through the trouble of kidnapping her for fuck all reason.
Finally, Tessa shrugged. “It was a shot in the dark, man.”
Kristian’s eyes narrowed, green eyes going dark. He wasn’t having it.
“You mean to tell me you plucked the name Veronica out nowhere? That it wasn’t already whispered in your ear?”
Tessa threw her hands up in the air. Frustration boiled inside of her. “Sure, man. Just...just let me go.”
He ignored her request to stay away from her. Suddenly, he was sitting next to her and reaching a gentle hand out to brush the bruise quickly forming on her neck.
“Don’t touch me,” she growled, and moved away.
Her wrist was in his hand before she could register that he moved at all. He yanked her close to him, his green eyes boring into hers. She could catch words racing through his mind.
Witches.
Calder.
“Dude, I didn’t sign up to deal with witches.”
“Excuse me?” Kristian jerked back. Realization dawned on his face, eyes opening wide. “I’ve never met a human who could…” He trailed off, his thoughts revealing more than he probably intended. Like the fact, he didn’t believe he was human.
“You aren’t...human? If you’re not human, what are you?” she asked, skeptical. This guy could believe whatever he wanted. He just needed to leave her the hell alone. Tessa eyed the door on the other side of Kristian. If she ran to it, would it be locked?
He cocked his head, as if considering whether or not to indulge her request. This annoyed her. She needed to distract him. If she could feed his fantasy, maybe it would give her enough time to run for it.
“The undead,” he said, that smug smirk she’d seen before replaying across his features.
“Zombie?” she scoffed. Tessa prayed this guy didn’t have a collection of brains in his fridge.
“Vampire,” he corrected.
“Right,” she said, and gingerly stood up. She didn’t feel dizzy anymore. It was time to get the hell out of here. Tessa stepped on the coffee table, launching herself toward the door. It was almost within reach. Elation filled her.
Later, crazy.
She reached for the door knob. She didn’t even blink and suddenly, he was in front of her.
“I cannot let you leave,” he said, almost apologetically, but not quite. He was curious. He was eager. He was attracted. He was still condescending. But of all things, he wasn’t sorry.
Fear rose in her chest again. “What do you want?” she asked, wary of tipping the crazy too far.
“You don’t believe in vampires?” he asked, chuckling. She expected his laugh to be deranged, but it was a pleasant sound. “You literally read minds, but you don’t believe in vampires?”
“I consider my…ability…an evolution of the human brain. It was bound to happen at some point. We can only access, what, four percent of our brains? But vampires are…vampires,” she said. She backed away from him slowly. She wondered if the best tactic was to feed into his delusion or call him on it.
“If you’re a vampire, prove it,” she said. If this went poorly, she had a knife tucked into her boot at least.
He met her fierce gaze with an unsuppressed amusement.
“Move in front of the fire. Back to the flames, please,” he instructed.
“Are you going to push me in?” she asked, not moving.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Indulge me.”
She huffed, annoyed, but did as he asked.
“Observe,” he said, pointing to her shadow as it danced and flickered over the area rug.
“So? What’s your point, Peter Pan?” she said, crossing her arms. He came to stand next to her. She edged away as he approached. He took her place in front of the fire. No shadow appeared. She sucked in a breath. “Jesus Christ.”
“Not exactly,” he said, smug and satisfied. “I would show you my fangs, but it would put me in a hunting mood, and you are a temptation I do not wish to indulge in.”
She eyed him suspiciously as she digested the information. He was right. She could read minds, and although she’d assigned this ability to a freak glitch in DNA, something inside of her easily accepted the supernatural alternative. It strangely made her feel better, less isolated.
“Right,” she said, sitting back down on the couch. “Well, are you going to kill me?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head and offering a seductive smile. “It has been years since I killed. With financial means…anything can be bought on the black market. It has a bitter taste, but it is preferable to living in the shadows to avoid persecution and death. Humans are quite upset when their own get killed. Besides, humans aren’t the only ones who have evolved. Killing is a pointless, animalistic pastime. We have long outgrown its necessity.”
His thoughts reflected his words as truth.
“Fine,” she said. “So can I leave?”
“Afraid not,” he shook his head. “You are either a gift or a threat, one that I have yet to figure out. If the Calder sent you to read our minds, to report to them on our intended movements, then I cannot let you run back to them. If you aren’t...then you are too rare for me to release back into the world, yet.”
Tessa swallowed hard. She’d been
running for a long time. It had finally caught up to her, even if this wasn’t what she expected.
“You have no more questions?” he asked. He still stood in front of the fire, regarding her as if he were truly seeing her for the first time. His eyes lingered on her short, muscular legs and her narrow torso. She was wearing skinny jeans, a tank top, and a gypsyesque pashmina. His assessment continued, traveling over her breasts and finally landing on her olive face, dark coffee eyes, and thick black hair, braided intricately and hanging nearly to her waist. She let him look. She couldn’t help but like the hunger in his eyes. She often had men stare, but never quite like that.
He’s a… what? A vampire? She reminded herself. She glanced back to where his shadow could be, barely believing it. It could be a trick of light, mirrors placed somewhere within the studio. Or, he could be telling the truth. She didn’t particularly want to stay to find out.
“While I demand that you stay here, I promises that I will treat you as a guest until you decide to cross me. Consider yourself warned, if you do in fact work for the Calder.”
She considered it. She normally camped just outside the city. She had an old hatchback that carried the teardrop trailer she’d purchased a few years ago. But she hadn’t had a proper shower in weeks, and she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d slept in a real bed.
“Why do you want me to stay?” she asked.
“You fascinate me,” he said, and took a step closer to her. His eyes devoured her. His thoughts did too. She felt drawn to him in a strangely kinetic way. And he felt it too, even if he thought that she was the enemy. His thoughts tickled her skin each time he lost track of his accusations.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Dracula,” she said, jabbing her pointer finger into his chest to push him back. “I need a place to stay, and you kidnapped me. So, I’m going to stay the night. I’m going to start by taking a bath.” She pointed to the claw foot tub. “And you are either going to order or cook dinner. Then…we can get to know each other a little better.”
He grinned, and she thought her chest might crack from the pressure of her heart’s increasing rhythm. Damn him for being so beautiful.
* * *
She lingered in the bath longer than she intended, but the salts she’d found sitting on the edge of the tub created a tingling on her skin that felt glorious, and being so immersed in hot water tempted the soul to drown. But when her stomach growled loudly, she finally relented and stepped out of the tub. She dressed again, leaving the pashmina draped over the screen, and stepped out barefoot in her jeans and tank top.
She had a moment to peer at the door longingly again. What had happened to her booth? Had her trailer been towed yet? He appeared by her side immediately and offered her a glass of red wine.
“Thank you,” she said, and made her way to the table. He’d cooked for her while she bathed. He’d barely made a noise in the kitchen as he did so, but she smelled the bacon and her stomach rumbled in response. She sat down in front of a beautiful display of eggs benedict, asparagus, and fresh fruit.
“Do you eat human food?” she asked, picking up a fork.
“I do not,” he replied, watching her intently as she took her first bite. She refrained from moaning in pleasure. The thick cut bacon was sweet and peppery all at once. She did not want to offer him the satisfaction. “It has no taste for me.”
“And yet you cook?” she said, taking another large bite. She hadn’t eaten all day.
“I do. I like finding ways to occupy my time.” He moved to sit down next to her.
She nodded and took a sip of her wine.
“You still have not told me your name,” he reminded her.
She chewed on her lip. It might have been the wine. Or it could have been the long soak in the bath salts that addled her brain, but she found herself speaking. “Tessa Burch.”
She could have sworn she saw him mouth her name, his lips parting for a split second.
“Where, may I ask, are you from?” he asked. Even sitting next to her, his body was aimed toward her as if he could not pull away. His knee touched the outside of her thigh and sent a different tingling sensation over her skin.
“California originally,” she said. “But I left when I was sixteen. Been traveling ever since.”
“Sixteen? That is young these days. How old are you now?”
“Twenty-five,” she said, observing his reaction in her peripheral vision. But he did not react, he just continued to stare at her intently.
“When did your powers manifest?” he asked. She noticed how still his hands were, resting in his lap. He did not fidget. He was like a statue, a very chiseled, beautiful statue.
“As a girl. I didn’t know what was happening,” she explained, weighing how much she wanted to share. “I told my parents and they had me committed.”
He frowned sympathetically. She hated sympathy. It had been written across her parents faces every time they visited her. It had been in the eyes of the nurses that escorted her to therapy.
“How old are you?” she countered, shifting the focus away from her. She was done talking about herself.
“Almost two hundred,” he said. Tessa wasn’t prepared for the thoughts that came spilling from his mind. Images of a world she didn’t recognize assaulted her. Women wore long dresses, horse drawn carts fought for space on the road amongst the bulky cars.
She gave a low whistle. What the hell was that?
“And what happened after you were committed?” he asked, returning the focus to her.
She shifted uncomfortably. “My parents were in a car accident somewhere out of state. I became a ward of the state. I knew that I was fucked if I didn’t get my shit together so I pretended to get better. They released me into the foster system. I ran away at sixteen,” she said, her words matter of fact so that he couldn’t hear the bitter loneliness that filled her. “And that wraps up my tragic little story.”
He caught her hand. Without adrenaline coursing through her, she noticed that his hands felt as if they were formed from marble, very cold marble. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly, not on the top of her hand but on her palm. She felt the slightest prick of pain, but it vanished before she could think more of it.
“I’m very sorry,” he said.
Pity she could not handle, but seduction was familiar territory. He let go of her hand. She cleared her throat, attempting to regain control of her rapid heart. He smiled, smug as ever.
“Are you finished?” he asked.
She nodded and finished the last of her wine. “It was delicious, thank you,” she said, and attempted to take her plate to the kitchen. He put a hand out to stop her.
“It’s fine,” he said. “Leave it. Would you like more wine?”
She accepted a second glass and without asking permission, made her way to the couch. She could throw the glass and run to the door. But he’d been faster last time.
“How does one become a vampire?” she asked, tucking herself into the corner of the sectional. He sat on the opposite end of the couch, but his body still pointed toward her like he was a compass and she was due north.
He cocked his head in amusement. Beneath the surface, his thoughts bled pain and regret. His feelings were becoming more distinct to her, his mind unravelling for her more and more with each passing moment. Normally that would take months. And she did not plan on knowing this man, this vampire, for months, a fact she strangely regretted. This would be one hell of a night, and then she would be gone. That was what she did. That was who she was. It was too hard to know everything. Too painful.
“I met a woman. I was easily seduced. She kept me in her bed as a human for several months. She grew attached to me, like a pet. There were others. When she grew tired of them, she killed them. Knowing this would be my own fate, I fashioned a rudimentary stake with plans to kill her in her sleep. She grew tired of me more quickly than I anticipated and bit me after a hunt that proved unsatisfactory. I kille
d her before she could kill me, but it was too late,” he said. His face grew darker for a moment, but then he shook his head and added, “It is a rather painful transformation.”
She could feel in his thoughts, despite his detached presentation of the story, that he had loved this woman.
“Have you turned others?” she asked.
His green eyes flashed tumultuously. “My sister.”
“Veronica?” Tessa guessed.
He gave a curt nod.
“Who is after her?” she asked, sipping at her wine. She was almost finished with her second glass. She felt contentedly warm, and the desire for the creature before grew as her inhibitions lowered.
His perfect lips pressed together. She’d reached her twenty questions limit. She put her wine glass down and stood up. He watched her warily. She produced a sly smile and snaked her way towards him until she stood above him.
“I won’t tell anyone your secrets if you won’t tell anyone mine,” she said, sincerity sneaking into her words.
She caught glimpses of images, his lips upon hers, his hands ripping away her clothing. Her face warmed and not just from the wine. Her nipples hardened when she caught an image of his mouth upon them, sucking gently. She could no longer tell if what she felt was by her own choice. There was a sudden urge in her to run her fingers through his earth-toned hair.
She stood abruptly, wine sloshing from her glass.
The images stopped hailing her and Kristian had the decency to look ashamed. Well, as ashamed as a vampire could look. Tessa needed to put space between them. He had kidnapped her, for Christs sake. The wetness that she felt, the weakness in her knees, was absurd. Most of all, she hated how readily her body had reacted for him. She moved around the couch.
“I... apologize,” Kristian said, suddenly stiff. “I forget what kind of company I am in. Please, take the bed for tonight.”
* * *
Tessa woke in the night. No thoughts hummed in the air. Kristian was asleep or gone. She gently pushed back the blankets and lowered her feet to the ground. This was her moment if ever there were one. She could be free of him once and for all.
