"They're just envious," he whispered.
"Of what?"
"That you look so incredibly good in a catsuit. Not many women would."
She felt a blush warming her cheeks.
"That's better." He touched her face. "You were looking so deathly pale before."
For good reason. She'd come too close to dying a horrid death. "I–I want to thank you for saving my life. Again." Her blush deepened, and she clenched her hands in her lap. "It must have been awful for you. I feel so…stupid that I was just lying there helpless while you had to do battle with that disgusting—"
"It's all right. I'd fight any sort of creature to protect you." He rested his hand on top of hers. "You're worth it."
Tears sprang to her eyes without warning. She pulled her hands away from his. "Don't say that." She covered her eyes with a trembling hand. Worth it? Would he say that if he knew the truth about her?
"Vanda," he whispered, "I'm only telling you how I truly feel. And now that we're alone, I need to tell you something else."
Oh God, no. Her fears were true, and he'd killed Max. That's why no one had found the dancer. Phil could have turned him into a pile of dust and scattered the remains. Was her life always to be tainted with murder? And now she'd dragged Phil into her legacy of death. "There's no need to talk about it. I understand the kind of rage that leads a person to—to take a life."
Phil tilted his head, studying her. "What are you referring to?"
"Max," she whispered. "You…" She noted the confused look on Phil's face. The clear blue eyes of an innocent man. "You didn't kill him?"
"No. Believe me, I was sorely tempted, but—"
"Phil." She touched his face. Her heart swelled with relief. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." He took her hand in his. "What I wanted to say was, this morning, for a few minutes, I thought I was too late to save you. I–I was frantic. That's why I busted the door down. I could have picked the lock, but I didn't even think about it. I panicked."
"It's okay. I'll pay for the new lock."
"No, you won't. And I'm trying to make a point here." He squeezed her hand. "I was terrified I was going to lose you. I completely lost it. I was slinging snake parts all over the place."
She grimaced. "Please—"
"And I nicked you a few times because my hands were shaking. It was suddenly clear to me that I feel a lot more for you than mere physical attraction."
Her tears returned, blurring her vision. "Phil, I—" She didn't know what to say. Forget me? It's hopeless?
"I want to be here for you. Always."
She shook her head, and a tear escaped. "It wouldn't be always. You're…mortal."
"Let me worry about my own mortality." He brushed her tear away. "You're the one I want."
"I'm a vampire."
"I know." He kissed her brow.
"I could lose control and bite you."
"I'm not afraid of your teeth." He kissed the tip of her nose.
"I have a terrible temper."
"You're beautiful." He touched her lips lightly with his own. Then again. He molded his mouth against hers.
It was such a sweet and gentle kiss that it made her heart ache. If he'd pounced on her with lust and hunger, she could have met him head on and dismissed the whole encounter as a mere physical release from the emotional trauma she'd just endured.
But this was so sweet. She had no defense against this. A tiny fracture cracked in her armor. With a whimper, she wrapped her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers through his soft, thick hair.
Growling, he deepened the kiss. She could no longer think of reasons why she needed to reject him. She couldn't think at all. She could only melt.
Her mouth opened, and he invaded her with his tongue. Phil. Her handsome, strong, brave hero. Not afraid of her fangs. Not repelled by the taste of blood that lingered in her mouth. And boy, could he kiss. Could a man be any more perfect?
"Oops," Cora Lee whispered.
Pamela cleared her throat.
Vanda broke the kiss with a groan. She'd never hear the end of this. Everything was tinted red, which could only mean that her eyes were glowing, a sure sign of desire. She looked away, hoping Phil hadn't noticed. She spotted her friends parking their rolling suitcases by the front door.
"Pardon the intrusion." Cora Lee headed toward Vanda's bedroom. "We'll just pack your bag now."
"Yes, don't mind us. Carry on." Pamela nudged Cora Lee and muttered, "No need to pack her vibrator."
Cora Lee burst into giggles as they scurried into the bedroom and shut the door.
"I don't have a vibrator!" Vanda yelled after them, then glanced at Phil. "It's a back massager."
He grinned. "You won't need it."
She groaned. What was she getting into? How could she live under the same roof with this man? He was too great a temptation. And this was a no-win situation. If she rejected Phil and never saw him again, it would hurt. Like hell. If she got involved with him and he died, like all mortals do, it would hurt. Like hell.
She sighed. "Phil, it's over."
"Sweetheart, it's been a long time coming."
"I disagree."
"Not a problem." The corner of his mouth curled up. "I enjoy the chase."
CHAPTER 6
She was avoiding him. Or at least it seemed that way to Phil. By Thursday evening Vanda had hardly spoken more than two words to him. To be fair, he knew she wasn't entirely to blame. She couldn't help being noncommunicative during the day.
When they had first arrived at the townhouse Wednesday night, he'd given the ladies some time to settle into their bedrooms on the second floor. He called Phineas to ask him to teleport the snake out of Vanda's apartment. He also asked him to drop by the nightclub a few times during the night to make sure the ladies were safe. Phineas was happy to volunteer when he heard the Horny Devils was full of hot chicks.
When Phil went back upstairs to check on the ladies, they had already teleported to the club. Pamela had left a note to let him know they would return by five-thirty in the morning. No note from Vanda.
He set his alarm for 5:00 A.M. so he could shower, shave, and dress before she returned. The ladies arrived at the back door just before Phineas and Jack. Then all of them wanted a bedtime snack before retiring to their rooms for their daily death-sleep. He wasn't able to flirt with Vanda in front of the other guys. He was trapped once again in the role as her guard. He was also her anger management sponsor. That made her twice as forbidden.
But he was twice as determined. Thursday evening at sunset he waited in the kitchen for the Vamps to come down for breakfast. Cora Lee and Pamela arrived without Vanda. She'd asked them to bring a bottle to her room. They exchanged amused glances when Phil offered to do it.
He took a warm bottle to her bedroom and knocked on her door. She yelled that she wasn't dressed, to leave the bottle by the door and come back in ten minutes. He came back in five, and she'd already teleported to work.
She was definitely avoiding him. He vented his frustration by taking a long jog through Central Park. Then he picked up a pizza and headed back to the townhouse. He settled in the living room in front of the wide-screen TV to eat. The Digital Vampire Network was on, and Live with the Undead was just starting.
Corky Courrant was wearing a tight red sweater to highlight her fake boobs, and it matched perfectly with the red lipstick on her fake smile. She began her celebrity gossip show by attacking one of her favorite targets—the famous fashion model Simone. Apparently, Simone had been dating a rich playboy Vamp from Monaco who had dumped her for another model, Inga. Corky had managed to obtain footage of Simone and Inga having a catfight on the playboy's yacht.
With a sigh, Phil reached for the remote control. His thumb was on the OFF button when he froze. Corky had just flashed up a new picture. It was him, pinning Max to the floor at Vanda's nightclub. An onlooker in the crowd must have taken the picture and forwarded it to Corky.
"Once agai
n, violence erupts at the notorious Horny Devils nightclub in New York City," Corky announced with a malicious smile. "My sources tell me that a former dancer who was sorely mistreated by club owner Vanda Barkowski arrived at the club on Tuesday night, armed with a knife. It's a miracle that no one was killed. Again."
Phil's picture disappeared from the screen, and the camera zoomed in close to Corky's face. She assumed a tragic, pained look. "My dear viewers, this is the same club where I was brutally attacked last December by none other than Vanda Barkowski herself. I still have nightmares about that horrendous attack!"
Phil snorted. Vamps didn't have any dreams at all in their death-sleep. They were dead.
"In case you've forgotten that dreadful event, here it is once again." Corky motioned with her hand and half the screen was taken up with the recording of Vanda screeching and leaping across a table to strangle Corky. While the video played, Corky shuddered dramatically, then slumped on her desk in a swoon.
When the video ended, Corky sat up, perky as ever. "I must urge you, dear friends, to boycott that nefarious nightclub. I repeat, do not go to the Horny Devils. It's an evil, violent place, and we can only hope that soon, justice will be served and it will be wiped off the planet. Vanda Barkowski must pay for her crimes!"
"Shit." Phil turned off the television.
He trudged downstairs to the basement to lift some weights. Maybe he should drop by Vanda's club to see if she was all right. She might have heard about Corky's boycott, and as her anger management sponsor, he needed to make sure she didn't do something she would later regret.
With a snort, he began a second set of biceps curls. It was obvious he was desperate for any excuse to see Vanda. And it was just as obvious that she didn't want to see him.
Why was she avoiding him? She'd responded so well to their first kiss. She'd surrendered to her desire, her body trembling and snuggling close to him. She'd kissed him back with a passion that had made his heart soar. And her beautiful gray eyes had turned red. He knew that was a sign of heated desire.
He set down the weights. He'd lost count of how many reps he'd done. It was hard to concentrate with memories of Vanda's naked body flashing through his head. He had tried not to look when he'd changed her clothes and cleaned her up. For about two seconds. Then, he'd seen the bruises caused by that damned snake, and he'd wanted to rip Max apart with his bare hands.
And Vanda had merely wanted to banish him. No more deaths on her conscience, she'd said. And she'd thought he had killed Max. What had been her words?
I understand the kind of rage that leads a person to take a life.
What had happened to her in the past? He knew she was from Poland. Had World War II traumatized her so much that she'd sought the shelter of the harem to recover?
He took a shower while he continued to speculate. According to Connor, Vanda had been angry since he'd first met her, in 1950. She had over fifty years of unresolved, built-up anger, and he felt sure it dated back to some kind of trauma she'd endured in Poland. And chances were good that whatever had caused her anger was also linked to her fear of getting involved with him.
Was it a trust issue? Had someone she loved in the past betrayed her?
He needed answers, and obviously Vanda was not going to supply them. Like any warrior planning to lay siege, he needed to thoroughly study his target and find the weak spots that would crack open her armor. He smiled grimly. Vanda didn't know it yet, but the chase was still on.
When she was in the harem, her best friends had been Darcy and Maggie. Darcy and her husband were currently serving as day guards for Angus and his team at Apollo's compound. Since they were secretly laying an ambush there, it would not be a good time to call her.
But Maggie would be available. The sun would have set by now in Texas, where she lived with her husband, Pierce O'Callahan, formerly known as DVN soap opera star Don Orlando de Corazon. Phil looked up her contact information on the MacKay database.
Maggie answered the phone. "Phil! How are you? Are you still in Texas?"
"No, I'm back in New York now." Phil explained how Vanda was required by the coven court to undergo anger management. Then he told her about the incident with the snake.
"Sweet Mary and Joseph!" Maggie gasped. "I should be there for her. Do you mind if I teleport over to see you?"
"No, not at all." He strode to the security console by the front door to turn off the alarm.
Meanwhile Maggie informed her family of her emergency trip to New York. A few minutes later she appeared in the foyer.
"Phil!" She grinned at him. "Look at you. I believe you've gotten more handsome than ever."
He smiled as he reactivated the alarm. "And you've gotten more Texan."
Maggie's usual short skirt, clunky goth boots, and tight sweater had been traded in for a pair of jeans, cowboy boots, and an embroidered denim shirt. A fringed leather handbag was looped over her shoulder.
"That's what happens when you lead the glamorous life of a rancher." She hugged him, then stepped back with a gasp. "You're a shifter!"
Phil was so surprised that he could only stare at her for a moment. "You know about shape shifters?"
"Yes. Pierce's uncle is a were-coyote and his sister's a were-jackrabbit." Maggie made a face. "You can imagine how tense it gets around the house when the moon is full. No one wants Uncle Bob to gobble down his niece."
Phil winced. "That is awkward. I guess they were bitten?" Otherwise, members of the same family wouldn't shift into two such different creatures.
"Yes." Maggie gave him a sympathetic look. "Is that what happened to you? Did you get bitten in Texas, too?"
"No, I was born a shifter."
Her eyes widened. "Really?" She ran a hand through her black hair, which was still cut in a short bob. "I guess I never realized it 'cause I didn't know about shifters till I moved to Texas. I recognize the scent now."
"A lot of Vamps don't know. And we'd like to keep it that way, if you don't mind."
"Of course." Maggie pretended to zip her lips. "Now, tell me all the latest gossip about the ex-harem."
Phil ushered her into the kitchen, and she warmed up a bottle of Chocolood in the microwave while he explained his quest for information about Vanda's past. "You see, I believe she has unresolved issues that she's been avoiding for years. If we can force Vanda to confront them, we might be able to cure her anger problem."
"Very interesting," Maggie murmured as she poured hot Chocolood into a teacup.
"Well, I've studied a lot of psychology, so I think my theory is sound."
"I wasn't referring to your theory." Maggie set her cup and saucer on the kitchen table and took a seat. "I find it interesting that I asked for news about all the harem ladies, and you talked only about Vanda."
Phil shrugged. "I'm concerned, naturally, because I agreed to be her sponsor."
Maggie sipped her Chocolood. "And why did you agree?"
"Someone had to do it. No one else volunteered, and I do have some experience in psychology." When Maggie just stared at him with a knowing look, he raised his hands in a surrendering motion. "All right, I admit it. I'm hopelessly attracted to her. Always have been."
Maggie grinned. "I always knew there was something between you two. But why do you say it's hopeless?"
He took a can of beer from the fridge and popped the top. "At first I couldn't get involved with her because I was her guard, and frankly, I just thought she was playing with me because she was bored."
Maggie nodded. "She was bored, but I think she was genuinely attracted to you."
"I've just recently become aware of that." He thought back to their kiss, and the way she'd surrendered in passion. And then he recalled the years he'd wasted when he could have been pursuing her. With an inward groan, he guzzled down some beer.
"It shouldn't be hopeless now," Maggie said.
He sat across from her at the table. "I'm her anger management sponsor, so I'm not supposed to get romantically involved. And
I'm her guard again. Technically, she's forbidden."
"Technically?"
He shrugged and drank more beer. "I'm not a very technical person."
Maggie's mouth twitched. "A man of action, eh? That could be exactly what Vanda needs."
He plunked the beer can on the table. "She's avoiding me. I think she's…afraid."
"Ah." Maggie traced her finger along the rim of her teacup. "She was always very cautious about forming new relationships. She knew me for over ten years before she would even admit we were friends. But once she calls you friend, she'll fight like a tiger to defend you. Do you know she threatened my husband once if he didn't treat me right?"
Phil smiled. "That sounds like her. She tried to defend Ian, too, last December."
Maggie nodded. "She told me once that Ian looked a lot like her youngest brother. But when I asked about her family, she refused to talk about them."
"Do you know what happened?"
"No, not really. When she first came to the harem, she was like…a wounded animal. She wouldn't speak to anyone. Wouldn't look at our faces. It was so sad." Maggie grew silent, frowning as she remembered.
"Tell me more," Phil said softly.
"I was afraid she would starve to death. There were nights when she refused to go out for…food." Maggie gave him an apologetic look. "That was before synthetic blood."
"I understand. And Vanda would refuse to hunt? Wasn't that painful for her?"
"Oh yes. Something awful. I would beg her to go hunting with me. Even when she did, she would barely take enough blood to stay alive. I always had this terrible feeling that she was punishing herself."
"Why would she make herself suffer?"
"I asked her, but she would never say." Maggie finished her Chocolood, then took her dishes to the sink to rinse them out. "She reminded me of a sparrow with broken wings. All brown and downtrodden. She wore this old brown dress, and her hair was brown, too. A lovely brown, streaked with dark red highlights, but she pulled it back severely in a bun. It was like she wanted to crawl into a hole and never fly again."
Phil sat in silence. This was not the Vanda he knew. As far as he could tell, she had suffered from a case of post-traumatic stress syndrome and depression. She might still be suffering from the aftereffects. After all, she'd gone from one extreme to the other, from the broken brown sparrow to a purple-haired, whip-toting, wildcat prone to violent outbursts. The real Vanda—the one she was afraid to be, lay somewhere in between.
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