“Tell me about it. I made sure to feed before I went to see Sofia. It didn’t help.”
“Sure it did. You had the strength to leave before you did anything rash. So, you and Sofia. Holly’s quite the little matchmaker.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s only been a couple of months,” Saintcrow said. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“I miss my old life,” Ethan said, his voice tinged with anger. “I’m used to being busy, spending time with my family, hanging out with old friends. I’ve lost all that. But the worst of it is, there’s nothing to replace it with.”
“Hogwash.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If you want to work, work. There are a lot of night jobs out there. You can travel the whole world. If you miss your family, go visit them. You like Sofia. She seems to like you. She already knows what you are, so you don’t have to worry about hiding the truth from her. And because she has a vampire in the family, she already knows what to expect. So stop feeling sorry for yourself. How are you fixed for cash?”
“I’ve got some put away.”
“Well, then, get the hell out of Morgan Creek. Go find a place here in the city. It’s not good to spend so much time alone.”
“You speaking from experience again?”
Saintcrow nodded. “If you need anything, let me know.”
“Yeah,” Ethan said gruffly. “Thanks.”
Saintcrow clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve gotta go. Kadie wants me, if you know what I mean.”
“I can guess,” Ethan said with a wry grin. But he was talking to himself. Saintcrow was already gone.
A thought took Ethan back to Morgan Creek and the house he’d chosen as his lair. Sitting on the front porch, gazing up at the vast midnight vault of the sky, he thought about what Saintcrow had said. His sire was right. Vampire or mortal, life was what you made it. He had sulked long enough. He had always been able to accomplish whatever he set his mind to. It was time to accept that his old life was over. Like it or not, he was a vampire now. He could move with incredible speed, dissolve into mist. See and hear sights and sounds hidden from mortal eyes. He would never grow old or sick. All good things. Assuming an older vampire didn’t destroy him and he didn’t run afoul of a hunter, he might live for centuries, like his sire.
Tomorrow night, he would call Sofia and hope she could find it in her heart to forgive him for leaving her standing on the dance floor without so much as a good-bye or an explanation.
* * *
He called Sofia as soon as he woke Sunday night.
No answer.
He waited an hour and called again.
No answer.
A third call.
Still no answer.
The message couldn’t be any clearer.
Swearing softly, he shoved his phone into his back pocket.
Maybe it was time to forget about Sofia, leave Morgan Creek, head for home, and see how much of his old life he could salvage.
Nodding, he willed himself to his house in Oakland. The grass hadn’t been cut in weeks. Newspapers littered the front porch, but his mailbox was strangely empty. He was about to go into the house when he heard someone calling his name. Turning, he saw his next-door neighbor hurrying toward him, a grocery sack in her hand.
Ethan groaned softly. Grace Chapman was a recently divorced woman in her mid-forties. She had been flirting with him ever since her husband moved out eight months before.
“Ethan, honey, where have you been?” She thrust the sack into his hands. “I collected your mail,” she purred. “The box was overflowing.”
“Thanks, Gracie. I appreciate it.”
She walked her fingers up his arm. “I just made dinner. There’s enough for two.”
“Not tonight. I . . . I had a long flight and I’m beat.” Hoping to forestall any more questions, he said, “Maybe tomorrow, okay?”
She winked at him. “I’ll hold you to it.” She gave his arm a squeeze, then sashayed back home.
Thinking she was a complication he really didn’t need, Ethan climbed the porch steps, gathered up the papers, and unlocked the door.
Flicking on the lights, he glanced around. The place looked the same—white walls, tan carpet, leather furniture, a shelf filled with old football trophies and plaques, a picture of his parents. Every surface was covered with dust. Good thing the plants were plastic.
He dumped the mail on the table inside the door. He sorted through it—mostly junk and bills now past due. There was an invite to a friend’s wedding. Leaving the bills on the table, he tossed the rest back into the grocery bag.
He started toward the back door. What was that smell? He followed it into the kitchen, to the refrigerator, and swore softly when he opened the door. Spoiled milk. Rotten eggs, cheese, and lunch meat. He dumped the milk down the sink, emptied everything else into a large plastic garbage bag, then started on the cupboards. With a shake of his head, he tossed in a loaf of blue bread, along with a box of moldy doughnuts, peanut butter, potato chips, and everything else he would never need again, and carried it all out to the trash.
Returning to the house, he stood in the middle of the living-room floor and realized his house made a lousy lair. Too many windows. A lock a five-year-old could pick.
Tomorrow night, he’d go online to see if he could find something more suitable.
But now, he needed to feed.
* * *
Ethan had just mesmerized his prey when his cell phone rang. Muttering, “Not now,” he bent toward the woman’s neck, then paused. What if it was Sofia?
Yanking the phone from his pocket, he checked the number, and hit Answer. “Hey, Sofie.”
“Sorry I missed your calls,” she said, a smile in her voice. “I spent the day with my folks and I forgot to charge my battery and couldn’t find my charger. So, what are you doing?”
Ethan frowned. Should he tell her the truth? Why not? They had no future if she couldn’t handle the truth. “I was about to have dinner.”
There was silence on the other end. And then she laughed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Hang on a minute.” Gazing into the woman’s eyes, he spoke to her mind, freeing her from his hypnotic spell and sending her on her way. “All done. So, what’s up?”
“Nothing. I was just bored and . . .” She blew out a breath. “You left in a hurry the other night and I wondered why.”
“Don’t you know?”
“I think so. I guess I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t anything I said or did.”
“It wasn’t.” Should he try to explain how he’d felt, holding her, wanting her, desperate for her blood? Would she understand or be totally freaked out? He reminded himself that she had a brother who was a vampire. Surely nothing he said would come as a shock. Still . . .
“I talked to Holly. She said you were probably afraid you were losing control . . .”
“She was right,” he said, his voice flat.
“She also said if you were really out of control, you wouldn’t have been able to leave.”
“Is that what she said? How the hell would she know? I might have killed you.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “Not this time.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Ethan? I’d like to see you again.”
“I don’t know why.”
“Don’t you want to see me again?”
He groaned deep in his throat. What kind of question was that?
“Ethan?”
“Of course I do.” He plowed his fingers through his hair, torn by his yearning to see her and fear for her life. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll bring along my trusty wooden stake and a bottle of holy water.”
He laughed despite himself, and she laughed with him.
The sound touched something deep inside him. “How about next Frid
ay night?”
“It’s a date.”
Chapter Five
When Ethan woke Monday night, he called a Realtor to make arrangements to put his house up for sale. With that done, he went out in search of prey. Remembering Saintcrow’s advice about not hunting where you lived, he transported himself to a small town in Arizona. He told himself his choice had nothing to do with Sofia being in the same town.
Walking the streets in search of an easy mark, he paused in front of an abandoned building. From the looks of it, it had once been a warehouse.
Strolling around the perimeter, he saw there was only one small barred window on the second floor. The glass was missing. There were two doors in the back—one large one with a loading dock and a smaller entrance beside it. Both were made of solid iron.
Dissolving into mist, he floated upward to the window and between the bars. Resuming his own form, he looked around. This floor was divided into what had probably been individual offices, he thought. All the rooms were empty now.
He walked down the metal staircase to the main floor. It was a large empty space save for a long wooden table. A perfect lair, he mused, looking around. All it needed was a sofa, a chair, a bed. And a big-screen TV if he could find a way to get electricity to the place.
“Home sweet home,” he murmured.
Pleased with his find, he went in search of prey.
* * *
Sofia curled up on her bed, book in hand. She kept her phone within easy reach, hoping Ethan would call. But as the minutes ticked by and the hour grew late, she turned off her phone, put her book aside, and slid under the covers.
Staring into the dark, she whispered, “I won’t cry. I won’t cry. I. Will. Not. Cry.”
* * *
Standing on the sidewalk in front of Sofia’s apartment building, Ethan stared up at her window. Opening his preternatural senses, he heard her whispering, “I won’t cry, I won’t cry.” He frowned, wondering what had her so upset.
He hadn’t intended to come here tonight. He had been on his way home—intending to sneak in the back door to avoid Gracie—when he suddenly found himself in front of Sofia’s place. He shook his head. When had he started lying to himself? He had come hunting in Arizona because Sofia was here, and he had wanted to be close to her. And now he was in front of her complex.
Closing his eyes, he concentrated on rising to the building’s second floor and then onto the balcony outside her bedroom. Taking a deep breath, he rapped on the French door.
A light immediately came on inside. A moment later, the slats of the blinds on the door parted and he saw her staring out, wide-eyed with alarm.
She blinked and blinked again when she saw him.
He cocked his head to the side, a half smile on his lips.
He heard the click of the lock and the door opened, revealing Sofia in a pair of hot-pink PJ bottoms and a flowered t-shirt.
“What are you doing here?” she exclaimed. “Do you know what time it is? You practically gave me a heart attack!”
“I’m sorry. I was thinking about you, and the next thing I knew, I was standing outside your building.”
She grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed. “Well, since you’re here, you might as well come in.”
He crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him. Her room was decidedly feminine, from the frilly pink-and-white spread to the lacy curtains at the window. The furniture was white, the walls a pale pink, the floor hardwood.
Sofia sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, head cocked to one side. “I never expected to see you tonight.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I never expected to be here.” There was only one chair and he took it. “What was it you didn’t want to cry about?”
She stared at him, her eyes wide, a hint of color flooding her cheeks. “You heard that?”
He couldn’t help wondering why she was blushing, and then he frowned. Did her tears have something to do with him? “Sofie?”
“It’s none of your business.” She refused to meet his gaze. And her cheeks grew redder.
“It is if it has something to do with me.”
“It was a girl thing, and it’s over now.”
It was obvious she wasn’t going to tell him. “Would you rather I left?”
“No,” she said quickly, then bit down on her lower lip.
“I feel like you’re mad at me, but I don’t know why.”
“Oh, if you must know, I was just disappointed because you didn’t call tonight. I know it was stupid, but I guess I was feeling kind of down and . . .” Before she realized he had moved, he was beside her on the bed, his arm around her shoulders.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry you were feeling blue earlier.” His fingers lightly stroked her cheek. “I’ll call you every night if you want. Or every hour. Well,” he said, with a grin, “every hour I’m awake, that is. And if you want, I’ll take you out tomorrow night and buy you a dozen roses or a hot fudge sundae or anything that will put a smile on your face.”
It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her. “Really?”
“Really.”
Feeling her heart swell with love, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. The next thing she knew, they were lying side by side, their legs tangled, her body pressed intimately against his. She went weak all over as his tongue skated across her lower lip, then dipped inside.
Gasping, she pulled away, one hand pressed to her heart. “Whoa, cowboy. We need to slow down.”
Sitting up, Ethan took several deep breaths as he fought the urge to give in to the desire to make her his, to taste the sweetness of her life’s blood. He flinched when she laid a hand on his back.
“Are you all right?” she asked tremulously.
“I will be,” he said. “Just give me a minute.”
Her hand slid away from his back as she sat up. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, and immediately wished she could call back the words. She knew exactly what he wanted from her.
And maybe that was the answer.
“Ethan?”
“Yeah?”
“Would it help if you took a little . . . drink?”
He turned to face her. “Are you serious?”
“I just thought . . . I mean, maybe if you . . . um . . . tasted me, it would help. Somehow.”
His gaze moved to her throat. Her heart was beating double-time. “What if I can’t stop?”
She reached into the drawer of her bedside table and withdrew a sharp wooden stake.
“Well, that will certainly slow me down,” he muttered. “Are you sure about this?”
“No, but I’m willing to give it a try.” Pushing her hair out of the way, she turned her head to the side, giving him access to her throat, and closed her eyes.
Ethan took a deep breath as he folded his hands over her shoulders. She smelled so good . . . her hair, her skin. Her life’s blood. He pictured it, flowing like a river of crimson through her veins. Bending his head, he ran his tongue over the smooth skin on her neck, then bit her as gently as he could.
Her blood trickled over his tongue, warm and salty-sweet. He closed his eyes, relishing the taste, the way even that little bit flowed through him, easing his hellish thirst—even as it filled him with a kind of interior stillness he hadn’t known since Saintcrow turned him.
He ran his tongue over the tiny wounds in her throat, then kissed her cheek.
Frowning, she opened her eyes. “I thought you were going to drink from me?”
“I did.”
“I didn’t feel any pain.”
“Why would you?”
“Well, you bit me, didn’t you? I thought it would hurt, but all I felt was a kind of warmth.” She looked at him, her brow furrowed. “Why didn’t it hurt?”
“Because I didn’t want it to.”
Her eyes widened. “And if you wanted it to?”
“Hey, I can make it as painful as you like.”
“No, that’s okay. So, did it help?”
“Oh, yeah. Thank you.”
She yawned behind her hand. “You’re welcome.”
“I should let you get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow night. I promise.”
Her smile was like sunshine in his soul. “Good night, Ethan.”
Rising, he watched her crawl under the covers. Bending down, he kissed her lightly. “’Night, Sofie. Sweet dreams.”
She sighed and turned onto her side. Her eyelids fluttered down and she was asleep.
Whistling softly, he went out the balcony door, feeling better than he had in months.
* * *
In the morning, Sofia woke smiling and then, as her mind cleared, she sprang out of bed and ran into the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, she turned her head from side to side. Had it all been a dream? Had Ethan actually bitten her last night? There were no telltale marks.
Making her way back into the bedroom, she sat on the edge of the mattress. He had tasted her blood—only a little, he’d said. It hadn’t hurt at all. That had surprised her. What was even more surprising was that she didn’t feel any different. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to feel, but surely something as life-changing as letting a vampire drink from you should have left some kind of... of... she didn’t know what.
A quick glance at her phone told her she had slept through her alarm and was late for work.
She took the shortest shower in history, dived into her clothes, grabbed her purse and her keys, and ran out of the apartment.
* * *
She found her boss, Mr. Moore, waiting for her in her office, his arms folded over his chest, a dour expression on his face.
“I trust you have a good excuse for your tardiness,” he said, staring pointedly at the clock on the wall behind her desk.
Summoning her most winning smile, she said, “My alarm failed to go off.”
“I trust you’ll buy a new one.”
“Yessir! Right after work. Assuming I still have a job?”
He burst out laughing.
After a moment, she joined in. She had been employed as Mr. Moore’s personal assistant at the accounting firm of Donaldson and Moore for five months and she never knew what kind of mood Mr. Moore would be in from one day to the next. Sometimes he was as jolly as Santa Claus; at other times he was the Grinch.
Twilight Desires Page 3
