Door.All she had to do was throw herself backward and buttonhook to the left around the edge of the under-sink cabinets; the crowbar was basically to dissuade humans bent on daytime theft, but if she could reach and use it as a weapon…
The other vampire juststoodthere, examining her. Those black jeans were so new they still had shelf-creases, the braided leather belt similarly just-off-the-shelf. His shirt was like hers, thermal cotton waffle-weave, but black as sin and stretched over shoulders a little too broad for the rest of him. He looked half-starved and stringy, but that was no indication; the instinctive sense of old, deep, controlled power was overwhelming.
This is going to end very badly. Simone stared, waiting. Time ticked by, caught in silent stasis, and the thought that maybe this creature was simply playing with her was utterly horrifying in its own way.
“Fine,” she heard herself say, dully. “Kill me. Get it over with.”
In a way, it was almost a relief.
Whatever Simone expected, it wasn’t the continuing slow appraisal, his gaze moving down to her toes and back up, fastening on her face.
He cleared his throat, an oddly human sound. His voice was hoarse, as if disused or broken from screaming—or as if he was dry-thirsty as her own desiccated self. “There ain’t no need t’ fear, pretty girl.”
Oh, there is. There absolutely is. Simone thought about the door again, and nearly gasped when the vampire leaned forward. A subtle movement, but marked to her sharp, inhuman senses.
Wait. He’s talking instead of just growling and snapping his fangs.
“Where is your protector, hm?” His long, capable-looking fingers tightened on the hat’s brim, pressing felt with exquisitely gauged pressure. “Your Maker, the one who gave you the Gift?”
Is that really what you want to know?And what did he mean,protector? There had been no protection involved, just the attack, the… the assaults, the biting, and the fear.
Remembering the agony, the terror, her own screams, the rattle of handcuffs… no. Sherefusedto think about that. “Dead.” The word shook, and the rest of her trembled as well. The spot at the back of her throat dilated, prickling terribly; if she got out of this, even all three bags in the fridge at once wouldn’t be enough to erase the dryness.
Who are you kidding? This guy’s gonna tear you apart, just like you ripped up that motherfucker last night.
“I am sorry,” he said, gravely. He certainly wasn’t acting like the other vampires, weird and violent-drunk. Was it just a phase the young ones grew out of? “It must have been very frightening.”
Could this be the one who had infected her attacker? Some of the folklore had funny ideas about lineage; it was the only thing that seemed to make sense. If he was, though, had he been tracking her down for five fucking years? Her brain attempted to process that question, plus the fact of another vampire actuallytalking, hit a sheer wall made of blank panic, and gave up. Simone threw herself toward the door.
Or tried to, at least. The vampire blinked across intervening space, iron-hard hands closed on her, and even though she was doomed, there was nothing to do but fight.
CHAPTER 6
It had beena day of questions. Some had useful answers.
For example, now he knew straying from her side provoked an almost immediate return of painful mental splintering plus the deadening of every sense, growing progressively worse with each passing moment; he knew that simply taking anything he wished from a mortal merchant or home was still so easy as to be an afterthought; and he knew that mortals still actively avoided and ignored anything they felt instinctively to be truly strange, even in broad sunlight.
However, he was still no closer to understanding where his leman had appeared from, or precisely what had happened to her Maker. And he certainly had not expected such an immediate, violent response, though now he could well guess how a scent-drunk fledgling eager to claim a treasure could conceivably be dispatched by such a beautiful, desperately feral creature.
Unless the recent trespasser had been her Maker? Unlikely, and he could not ask at the moment. She twisted in his grasp, striking out with lovely quicksilver grace; perhaps her former protector had encouraged violence? It was possible; thewanderer could even allow it likely. Sanguinant were powerful predators, many well used to indulging sadistic fantasies upon helpless prey.
They all began as humans, and the Dark Gift allowed no few of the species’ worst impulses to run wild.
Easy to lay hold of her, his own force thoroughly controlled to avoid any pain or damage. To cage her in his arms, enjoying the wild struggle pouring through her slim frame, rubbing against him with soft, frantic abandon. She was silent, perhaps in desperation—though a leman had to know what would happen next.
Wonderful to hold something so tender, so fragrant, his grasp a bulwark against the outer world. A strand of her hair ran across his lips, dyed and flavored with that glorious, mouthwatering scent; clasped hard against him and lifted free of the floor, she sought to kick, clipping the booth holding the table. Veneer splintered, dust puffing up. He lifted her a little more—this variety of mortal construction was too flimsy to harm her, but he would not,couldnot take even the smallest chance.
“Shhh,” he murmured, seeking to soothe, to find the sweet flawless shell of her ear and hopefully calm all this furious motion. He searched for words, his grasp of this time and place’s language better since he had spent the afternoon half-listening to the mortals in the nearby town, but not nearly so complete as he would like. “Easy there, little lady. We’ll be knowin’ each other better soon, but?—”
She gave a short, inarticulate scream, struggling with fresh strength, and her claws were out. Fabric tore, a prickle dragging along the outside of his hip since she could reach nothing else with her arms pinned. Did she wish to pierce his skin? It would not happen unless consciously allowed; an Archon’s hide was exceeding tough.
Had her former protector trained her to accompany feeding with violence? Such games were not to his taste, but if she required he would certainly provide. The caramel edge to her scent intensified, the note of burning growing unacceptable. She would damage herself soon, and that could not be allowed.
Enough. His strength and speed far outstripped hers; nevertheless, he sought to be gentle. He bore her down, the narrow strip of worn scratchy carpet between cabinets and the booth-and-table rushing up to meet them, then he had her pinned to the floor. Capturing both her wrists was another simple maneuver, as was his knee between hers, pressing with just a fraction more strength than she could summon.
She froze, dark eyes staring at him through a deliciously mussed tangle of silken hair. This close he could see the green and paler chestnut threads in her irises, taste the flood of her breath as her ribs—beautifully curved as cathedral arches—heaved. A high flush in her cheeks, though not nearly so much as there should be.
Simply not enough blood to fuel a blush, he realized. The urge to feed her was nearly overpowering yet paled beside the thrall rising in his bones, snarling and clawing unmercifully.