Ever after, he would wonder what would have happened if three armed men hadn’t burst into the alley, guns drawn, demanding all their money.
Bryn let out a choked shriek as one of the men shoved her up against the wall of a building and held her there. She let out a cry of protest when he ran his hands over her.
Rage exploded in Conor. He grabbed the nearest man and hurled him against the building. The third man fired point blank at Conor’s chest. He swore as pain ripped through him, then grabbed the gun from the man’s hand, turned it on him, and pulled the trigger.
The thief holding Bryn turned tail and ran.
Bryn stared at Conor. In the faint light of a street lamp, she saw that his shirt was wet. Wet with blood that looked black in the dim light. She stared up at him, eyes wide, mouth agape.
Conor stared back at her, silently cursing the men who had attacked them, wondering how on earth he was going to explain why he wasn’t dead from a bullet to the heart. Already, he could feel the wound healing, and with it a sudden need for blood to replace what was trickling down his chest.
Bryn took a step backward. And then another. And then she fainted.
Conor scooped her up into his arms before she hit the ground and transported the two of them to his lair in Morgan Creek.
~ * ~
Caught in the throes of a horrible nightmare, Bryn bolted upright, the scream dying in her throat when she saw Conor standing in front of a fireplace, his back toward her. She stared at him. He was barefooted. His hair was damp. He had changed his shirt. Her gaze ran over his broad back and shoulders. There was no sign that he’d been shot.
Frowning, she glanced around the room, wondering where they were. She was lying on a leather sofa in a large room. How had she gotten here, wherever here was? Was it possible she had dreamed the whole thing?
But she wasn’t dreaming now. “Conor?”
He turned slowly to face her. He had spent the last half hour trying to decide whether to tell her the truth or erase the whole incident from her mind. She cared deeply for him. During the last few weeks they had spent together, he feared he had fallen in love with her, for the thought of never seeing her again was more than he could bear. Was she made of the same mettle as his mother, able to see past the monster to the man inside? He supposed the only way to find out was to tell her the truth. If she reacted as he feared she would, he would erase this night from her mind, and all her memories of himself, as well.
Bryn stared at Conor, her unease growing stronger. Why was he looking at her so strangely? Why didn’t he say something? He’d been shot in the chest at point blank range. Why wasn’t he dead, or at least in the hospital? “I saw you get shot,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “You were bleeding.”
“I can explain. Everything.”
“Can you?” Suddenly frightened, she sat up and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Bryn, please don’t be afraid of me.”
“Stay away from me.” Moving slowly, she stood. “I’m going home.”
“Bryn....”
“I never want to see you again.” Turning on her heel, she hurried toward the door and flung it open, only to come to a halt at the end of the porch. Gazing into the distance, she realized she was in Morgan Creek, with no way home. How had they gotten here so fast?
She tensed as Conor came up behind her.
“Bryn, please calm down. Come back inside and let me explain.”
She turned to face him, her eyes wide and frightened, her cheeks pale.
Muttering under his breath, he put some distance between them. Once she was back inside, he closed the door.
Bryn stood in front of the fireplace, arms tightly folded across her chest. “All right,” she said in a shaky voice. “Explain.” She glanced at the door, tempted to run outside and scream for help. But what would she say? No one would believe he’d been shot. She was beginning to wonder if she had imagined it.
Conor took a deep breath.Shit.Where to start? “My parents are both vampires.”
Bryn stared at him. “Vampires? Seriously? Dammit, Conor, I’m in no mood for bad jokes!”
“Believe me, I’m not joking.”
Taking a deep breath, she decided to humor him. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do with the mentally impaired? “You weren’t a vampire when we met. I saw you eat. I saw you during the day.”
“My parents adopted me when I was a baby. I grew up here, in Morgan Creek. I didn’t know what they were for the first few years. I knew they could do some remarkable things that I’d never seen anyone else do, but I thought they were magicians. When I turned twelve, they told me the truth, emphasizing that I was never, ever, to tell anyone else. As I got older, I wanted to be a vampire more than anything, but Saintcrow said I had to wait until I was old enough to make a decision like that. I made it a week after you left for Vermont.” He blew out a sigh. “I wish now I had waited.”