Claimed by a Vampire
When he was sure she had found deep and restful sleep, he deleted the nonsense he’d been typing and shut down his computer. He couldn’t work with her maddening scent in the room. No way. And it was even harder now that he had smelled her sexual response to him.
Locked in an eternal internal struggle between his killer instincts and his determination not to give in to them, he scarcely had room left for complex thought at the moment.
No, he would have liked to launch himself across the room, bite Yvonne before she even awoke, and take her to that heaven known only to vampires and their victims, the place where near-death and sex combined to make a mortal and an immortal one in a way that could never be explained, only experienced.
And once he did, she would always want more.
That was a burden he wouldn’t wish on anyone. Sometimes he saw them, mortals who belonged to vampire cults, who might think that every “vampire” who drank from them was merely playing a game, but who had been drunk from by a real vampire, drunk from sufficiently that the craving to repeat the experience gripped them as surely as cocaine addiction. And as devastatingly.
It was possible to drink only a small amount, to briefly sate the insatiable craving for warm living blood, and leave a mortal pleased but intact, without a perpetual craving for more. But some vampires didn’t bother, and Creed had seen the results in haunted faces in the nightclubs that catered to their fetish, giving themselves too freely and too quickly to strangers in hopes they would again find that rush.
He wouldn’t do that to anyone.
And he certainly wouldn’t do it to a woman who had turned to him for protection. Nor would he appreciate being wanted in that way. After all, he remembered the real love of a real woman, the joys of having a family. Pure lust and addiction would never measure up.
But the craving was so deeply rooted in his nature he could be free of it only in death.
So he sat staring out over the sleeping city and the incredible colors the night held for him, listening to a woman’s heartbeat, and wondering how he had been chosen for this fate.
Because he didn’t believe in accidents. He hadn’t been chosen at random by some hungry vampire. No, he’d been chosen by a woman who knew him, knew he had a family, and had taken him away from them anyway to fulfill her own desires.
No accident that. She could have chosen anyone, but she had wanted him. The irony, of course, was that she had never really gotten him. What she had gotten was a furious newborn vampire who had wanted to kill her when he found out what he had become. A vampire who had never forgiven her for depriving him of every single thing he cared about.
That memory, that fury, had eventually schooled him to contain his needs, desires and drives. And he’d be damned if he would do that to Yvonne, no matter how much he craved her.
But God, he craved her more than he’d ever craved anything since his change.
If this was a test, he teetered on the edge of failing it miserably.
Finally, in desperation, he went into his bedroom and locked himself safely within. In here her smell would dissipate. In here he could no longer hear her heartbeat.
Rarely did he retire before dawn, but this night he could do nothing else. He picked up a novel he had started reading a few weeks ago, and settled in a chair to wait for the prickling on the back of his neck that would warn him of the approach of the sleep of death.
Until then, he could not afford to think about the delicious morsel lying on his couch.
Trusting him.
He had to remember that: she trusted him.
He could not, would not, betray her.
Chapter 3
Yvonne leaned back from her laptop as dusk began to settle over the city, and she realized she was growing increasingly edgy. Edgy at being alone all day in a virtual stranger’s apartment. Edgy that the night might bring some answers to her when Jude arrived. Edgy that she couldn’t just go home and be safe.
Indeed, whatever it was, it had deprived her of that most basic human need: a home.
And Creed, much as he attracted her, was an odd bird indeed. Not just his illness—a quick online search had even given her the name for it—but odd in that while he had food in his fridge, a fridge too clean to be believed, and food in his cupboards, none of it was opened or used. Despite his invitation, she had hesitated to open those packages until hunger drove her to it.
Of course, she might be making too much of it. He might have just had it all delivered, but it did seem odd that not one thing was open except the coffee, and he’d opened that bag last night.
She didn’t know anybody who finished everything in the cupboard before restocking. There was always an open box of cereal, or crackers or something in the cupboard or fridge. Always.
He must be the ultimate clean freak. Or maybe he ate out, and just kept food on hand in case.
She sighed and stretched widely, loosening muscles that had tensed from hours bent over her computer. At least her writing had gone well. Very well.
But with only the sounds of the city to keep her company all day, even though she was not alone, another kind of tension seemed to have crept in. Nothing like the feeling in her condo of course, but tension nonetheless.
A bad feeling loomed over her, and she hated it, especially when all she had to point to was that unnerving sense of not being alone in her condo. Was she losing her mind?
No, she reminded herself. Creed had sensed it, too. And then insisted that pewter plate had been thrown at him. Much as she wanted to dismiss it, she couldn’t. That plate was too heavy to move on its own, nor had it been set in such a way that it could just fall. But every time she told herself he must have been kidding, she remembered the look on his face. He believed it had been thrown. So either he was totally crazy or it was true. Believing him crazy would have been easy except for what she had already experienced herself, especially last night.
Of course, he was beginning to seem a little less like a paragon of sanity, given the state of his fridge. The darn things never looked that clean and his looked as if it had never really been used.
A quiet little laugh escaped her at her own ridiculous thoughts, just as she heard the door behind her open. She swiveled immediately and saw Creed emerge from his bedroom. It was just now dusk, she hadn’t yet turned on any lights, and he appeared like a mysterious figure, almost otherworldly.
“Good evening,” he said.
“Hi.”
“Did your day go well?” He asked the question as he bent to turn on a lamp. Now that he no longer appeared quite so mysterious, she noted that he apparently awoke looking every bit as awake and put together as he had the night before. No sleep-puffed eyes, no helter-skelter hair.
“Fine,” she answered, summoning a smile. “I was just calling it a day on my work.”
“I hope you found enough to eat.”
Which led her to the question that had bothered her all day. “Don’t you ever eat at home? I couldn’t find anything open.”
He paused. “Well, actually, I mostly keep food on hand for guests. I’m no cook and when I want something I just order it. I hope you didn’t hesitate to open things so you could eat.”
“Well, not for long. I got too hungry.”
“Good.”
Suddenly realizing she was being rude, she hopped up from her chair. “You must want your desk back.”
“Not yet. Relax. Jude will probably be here shortly, and I hate to get involved in something and then have to stop.”
She nodded, understanding that feeling well.
He came farther into the living area—almost cautiously, she thought—and settled on an armchair. Was he afraid of frightening her? If anything about him frightened her, it was her attraction to him. It seemed to be growing, and she wished she knew of some way to bridge the distance between them. Of course, that assumed he found her attractive, too. Maybe he didn’t, despite what he had said last night as they were leaving the elevator. He wouldn’t be the first guy to feel that way.
She sighed.
“Something wrong?”
“Other than that I can’t go home? Not a thing.” And not entirely true.
“If anyone can take care of your problem, it’s Jude,” he said firmly.
She wandered closer and sat on the couch, still made up as a bed because she hadn’t been sure whether to fold things up. Folding them up would make more work for Creed if she needed to stay here another night. “You have a lot of confidence in Jude.”
“I’ve seen what he can do. And what it costs him. I have every confidence in him.”
“What does it cost him?”
“What does it cost a homicide detective? Or in Terri’s case, a medical examiner? Some jobs just leave scars.”
She nodded, not knowing how to respond. “I hope I meet Terri eventually.”
“I’m sure you will. She’s a very likable lady. You mentioned writing. What kind do you do?”
“I’m a novelist. I write fantasy, usually.”
“So you create worlds?”
“One mostly. I write a series.”
“Six-legged blue cows?”
She had to laugh. “I try not to jar my readers that way. The trick is making the world seem close enough to the one we live in so that it seems familiar, yet different enough to establish that it is another world.”
“That would be an interesting challenge. Tolkien did it incredibly well.”
“Something to aspire to, certainly. But most of us don’t have the luxury of spending the better part of a lifetime creating one world.”
“His command of the language was impressive, especially. A true storyteller’s voice. I can pick up any of those books, start reading at any point, and become totally absorbed again. Some day you’ll have to tell me one of your titles.”
“Not if you’re going to compare me to Tolkien.”
He smiled, certainly one of the most attractive smiles she’d ever seen. Had her heart skipped a beat? Thank goodness he couldn’t possibly know.
“What makes you so certain I’d be critical?”
“Nobody measures up to Tolkien.”
“Well, if you take that as a given, you don’t need to be concerned, do you?”
“Are you always impeccably logical?”
This time he laughed, a warm, rolling sound. “It’s the job. It creeps into the rest of my life.”
“I never met anyone who worked for a think tank before.”
“Think of it as being a highly paid professor. The job isn’t really very different, except I don’t teach. I spend my nights reading, researching, pondering ideas, putting bits and pieces together into some kind of coherence and insight. Apparently I succeed well enough that they keep on paying me.”
“That’s always a good sign.”
“I generally take it that way.”
Just then his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his slacks pocket and flipped it open. “Yes, Gray? Send them up, please. Oh, and add them to my always welcome list if you don’t mind. Thanks.”
He closed the phone. “You’ll get your wish to meet Terri. She’s coming with Jude.”
That relieved Yvonne. Jude had struck her as every bit as intense and somehow unnerving as Creed. She understood why Creed unnerved her; she was attracted to him. She didn’t feel at all attracted to Jude, yet he left her subtly uneasy. If Pat Matthews hadn’t recommended him, she probably would have looked for someone else to investigate what was going on in her apartment.
Although she frankly couldn’t imagine who. Calling some paranormal group to come in and tell her she wasn’t imagining it, wave their meters around and claim her condo was haunted, wasn’t her idea of a solution. No, she had to believe that whatever was behind this could be dealt with, no matter the means.
Creed answered the door, admitting Jude and a beautiful young woman with inky black hair and bright blue eyes. A tiny woman, not at all what Yvonne had expected in a medical examiner. Somehow she had thought they must all be big, strong and powerful. So much for stereotyping.
Terri greeted her warmly with a beautiful smile and handshake. Jude was more restrained, and it didn’t escape her notice that he and Creed sat at the far end of the living room, while Terri joined her on the couch, still made up as a bed.
Or that Terri immediately took her hand. “Yvonne, I want you to know something.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve had experiences like the ones you’re having. One of them went on for years when I was a kid.”
“How did you stand it?”
“For a long time I convinced myself I was imagining it. Eventually too much happened to believe that anymore. Things started being moved. It called my name. And one night it ripped the blankets off me.”
Yvonne gasped in horror. “My God! I don’t think I could handle that.”
“It wasn’t a matter of handling it. I was scared to death. I freaked.”
“I would, too. I’m freaked already just by the feeling that something is watching me.”
Terri squeezed her hand as Jude spoke. “We need to deal with it. And we will. But I need your permission to go into your apartment, Yvonne, and bring Garner with me.”
“To set up equipment?”
Jude shook his head. “We have other means. If there’s such a thing as a bloodhound for evil, Garner’s it. He has a gift for sensing these things, and if there’s any way to follow it, he’ll be able to do it.”
Yvonne’s heart started hammering uncomfortably. Why did Creed’s nostrils seem to flare suddenly? There was something weird about these guys. But even as she had the thought, she decided that weird or not, they couldn’t approach the craziness she’d been experiencing for the last week. “What do you think this thing is?”
“A demon,” Jude said.
Yvonne sat stunned. Admittedly over the past week she’d reached the point of considering a not-very-pleasant ghost, but a demon? Her heart skipped several beats, then slammed hard enough to feel. “Demon? I don’t believe in demons! That’s … that’s …”
“I told you,” Creed said quietly. “There are some things you can’t believe in until you meet them.”
Yvonne desperately sought Terri with her eyes and saw both understanding and acceptance there. “Have you met one?”
Terri nodded. “It … almost killed Jude.”
At that point, Yvonne became utterly convinced that someone was lying to her about something. Terri’s hesitation, as if choosing her words carefully. Creed and Jude sitting across the room like a pair of inscrutable twins who didn’t want to get close to her. Not even within arm’s reach. As if they were afraid of her? How could anyone fear her?
She jumped up from the couch and stood where she could face them all, her arms folded as much for self-protection as anything. The edginess she’d been feeling all day seemed to be coalescing, especially around these three. As if they were unwilling to share information. As if … Oh, hell, something about those two men didn’t feel right. Something was off and she couldn’t ignore it any longer.
“How am I supposed to trust you if you keep secrets from me?” she asked. “There’s something you’re not telling me. And you’re acting as if … as if I stink! As if you’re afraid of me.”
Terri answered her. “What makes you think we’re hiding something?”
“I keep getting this feeling that there’s subtext going on and you’re excluding me. Especially,” she added, pointing at Creed, “from you. Your refrigerator looks as if no one lives here. No open food boxes in your cupboard. First you shy from me and then tell me I’m wrong about your reaction. But every time I get near you, you stiffen or back away.”
She gasped, because all of a sudden, so fast she couldn’t believe it had happened, Creed was standing in front of her. “How did you do that?” she whispered.
“It’s easy,” he said tautly. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of myself.”
Her jaw dropped open. “How … What …?”
Terri came close. “The key to your apartment? Jude and I will leave you to discuss this.”
Creed answered without ever taking his eyes from Yvonne. “She left it on the étagère by the bedroom door.”
How had he remembered that? She hadn’t even remembered that. And why were his eyes no longer golden? Why did they look as dark as the depths of hell?
And why couldn’t she look away from him? It was as if the entire universe had narrowed to his eyes. She barely heard the other two leave.
“Yvonne. I’m going to tell you something. I’m going to tell you because I loathe lying, so once, just once, I’m going to tell you the truth. You’re not going to believe me. And then when you don’t, I’m going to try to make you forget I told you.”
“Why?” Her heart had begun to pound wildly, and she saw his nose flare, his eyes grow even darker. Confusion and inexplicable fright flooded her, yet also mesmerized her. Some force called to her even as instincts tried to tell her to flee.
“Because it’s dangerous to me for you to know. But if I tell you, even if you forget, at some level you’ll know I’ve withheld nothing.”
She wished she could tear her gaze from his, but it seemed impossible. “This doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense. It just is. So listen to me very carefully. You won’t believe me, but I’m telling you the truth. I am a vampire.”
“Oh, sure …” But her voice trailed away. The way he looked at her, the change in his eyes. She had the sense that even as they were trying to help her, they were withholding an important piece of the puzzle. The clean fridge. The way he tried to stay away from her. And, just now, the way he had managed to cross the room, one instant in his chair, the very next standing in front of her. Like a magician’s trick.
But mostly it was those dark-as-night eyes. Panic replaced fright. Because she believed him. No proof, nothing except those eyes.
And she believed him. “Oh, my God.” It was a thin whisper.
“So now you know,” he said. Then his voice took on a different timbre. “Forget what I just told you. You don’t need to remember it. I’m no threat to you. So forget.”
She stood there staring at him, her heart racing like a trip hammer. “I won’t forget,” she said finally, little more than a cracked whisper.
And then as if someone had cut her strings, she collapsed on the couch and sat staring at the floor.
He was a vampire. And she believed it.
Now how the hell was she supposed to deal with that?
Chapter 4
Creed stared at her in utter perplexity. Not all humans, of course, were amenable to being vamped. Not every human could be controlled by the Voice. But this one … She believed him. He had been so certain that she would get mad, believe he was telling another lie, or just forget he’d even said it.
Now what the hell was he going to do? And how was it possible she believed so readily what almost no one else in the modern world believed anymore?
He racked his brains, wondering what he had done that had convinced her. Her comments about the food really amounted to nothing. His avoidance of her had been countered by his truthful insistence that he didn’t find her repulsive at all.
He happened to glance toward a glassfronted bookcase and then he knew: his eyes had gone as black as night.
Sighing, he retreated to the far end of the living room and wondered how best to handle this so that whenever Jude cleared her apartment she could go on with her life.
He watched her sitting there all curled in on herself and wondered why people always wanted the truth when the truth so often appalled them. Why couldn’t they just be happy with polite social fictions?
Well, he admitted, most people probably were. But not this one. She’d clearly sensed something, and hadn’t been willing to let it go.
Which left them here and now. He cleared his throat. Slowly she lifted her head and looked at him. She still hadn’t recovered from the shock, and he missed the usual spark in her green eyes.
“I hope,” he said, “that you won’t share my secret.”
“Who would believe me?”
Good question. He chose not to answer directly. “You believed me.”
“After what’s been going on in my condo for a week, I’m ready to believe in almost anything. Why the hell wouldn’t I believe in a vampire?”
“Because almost nobody believes in us anymore.”
She gave a short laugh, absolutely humorless. “Your secret is safe with me. I wouldn’t want to get myself committed. Or wind up on your menu.”
“I told you I won’t hurt you.”
“No? Don’t vampires survive by killing?”
“Not me. Not Jude.”
Her head jerked sharply at that. “Why should you be any different?”
“I guess I still have some human hang-ups.”
Her eyes widened, and he saw with relief that a hint of the spark had returned.
He let her have some silence, some space to think whatever she needed to think about this. Finally she looked at him again. “Jude, too?”
He nodded.
“Terri?”
He shook his head.
“But she’s his wife. How can she not be?”
“He won’t change her. Says he wants to be absolutely certain she knows what she’s getting into.”
Her brow knit. “Are you telling me it’s awful?”
“That depends on what you focus on, and what you’re willing to give up. I didn’t choose this. It was forced on me and cost me every damn thing I cared about. So whether you want to believe it or not, I would never do this to anyone else.”
“Never is a long time.”
“I have a lot of never ahead of me.”
She looked down again, and he let her be. The questions would come when the questions came, and at some point she was going to decide he must have lied. And that thought pained him. Odd that after a century he still needed acceptance for who and what he was, just as he was. He ought to be used to the mess he called his life by now.
“So,” she said finally, looking at him. “Why did you tell me, especially when it could be dangerous to you?”
“Because I get sick of the lies. I hate lying.”
“And you were sure you could make me forget.” Her tone was accusatory.
“Not sure. It doesn’t always work.” He waited, the night minutes ticking by, minutes he hated to waste because he couldn’t extend them by much. But she needed the time to adjust, and he was smart enough to know it.
Little by little she seemed to be relaxing. Adapting. Accepting. He had no idea where that would lead, but it was a vast improvement over the edginess he’d felt in her since he’d awakened this evening.
For the first time since shock had caused her to sag onto the couch, she did more than glance at him. Her gaze met his directly, steadily. Her tone took on an edge of tartness. “This is so very cool. In one day I learn there are demons and vampires both. I am just thrilled.”
Her tone prevented him from taking offense. Indeed, he wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d turned hysterical or accused him of being lying scum. By comparison, this was a mild reaction. “I know it’s hard.”
“Hard?” A short laugh escaped her. “Somehow I think it ought to be harder. But after the past week, I’d probably believe in werewolves, too.”
“Um …” He drew the sound out and hesitated. Her eyes grew big again.
“No,” she said.
“Afraid so.”
“Oh, my God.” She closed her eyes, but only a second or two passed before they snapped open again, intent now. “How much of the myth is true? Are you immortal?”
“Near enough. I die every morning and resurrect every night.”
“Why do you keep backing away from me?”
“Because you smell so good to me. Regardless of how I choose to live, Yvonne, I’m still a predator. Nothing will ever change that.”
“You want to kill me?” She looked appalled.
“I want to drink from you. There’s a difference. I wouldn’t kill you. That’s not necessary, and certainly not desirable. But yes, I want you in ways you can’t imagine.”