In the Dark (2 page)

“My purse.” The words didn't come out right. Her jaw refused to open, and her lips had difficulty forming the simple words. She tried again. “Took my purse.”

“I have it. You need to be warm and dry right now,” the man said, keeping up his pace, never once looking at her. By the sheer confidence in his husky tones, without a doubt, this was the man who had saved her. That intense look on his face was nearly the same as when he'd pulled the muggers off her, driven them into the wall. It was oddly comforting, at the moment.

Tall buildings, probably homes, surrounded her, swaying in her field of vision as he strode along. Light peeked through several arched windows, yellow and warm.

He entered one of the larger buildings as if he owned it and carried her past several numbered doors to the end of the hallway, where he started down a creaking set of stairs. Suddenly she feared falling down those stairs, but her shuddering muscles wouldn't allow her to hold on tighter. She closed her eyes and trusted him not to drop her.

After the last step had been left behind, she took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and almost wished she hadn't. The basement hallway was musty, and each bare light bulb they passed only revealed cracks chasing each other across the ceiling.

He stopped, pressed her against a green door as he fished for the doorknob with the hand supporting her legs.

“Put me down,” she said, trying to help, and fully expecting him to drop her to her feet.

He fought with the knob until it finally gave and carried her inside, then kicked the door shut behind him. Dodging an old green couch with sunken cushions, he swiftly took her to the next room. She caught sight of a small bed and a green dresser with blue splotches where the paint peeled away before she was swept into a bathroom and set on the toilet as if it were a regular chair.

He left her alone in the bathroom while he rummaged through the dresser drawers in the other room, but returned quickly.

The light in the bathroom revealed him for the first time. Tall, but not towering, he stood in the doorway, rain dripping from his short hair. His straight, relaxed eyebrows followed the squared line of his forehead, giving him a very serious look.

He reached out, and she flinched. An automatic reaction, and unnecessary. His target hadn't been her. He set a pile of clothes on the sink between them.

“Get out of those wet clothes,” he said.

She shook her head, her protest silent, but firm.

In a gentler tone, he tried again. “Look at your hands.”

She did, but only because he didn't crowd her. Practically white, her hands shook badly.

“Dry yourself and change. You're safe here,” he said, then shut the door.

She lifted the T-shirt from the top of the pile and held it up. A man's shirt, the words across the front French, but she didn't understand them. She set the shirt on the other side of the sink, and dug through the clothes. A thick pair of cotton socks and navy sweatpants, and beneath the pants, a towel. He'd given her a towel.

Smiling, she picked up the blue, fluffy thing and pressed it against her cheek. Never in her life could she remember being this happy to have a towel. Her excitement was misplaced, but she didn't care. She leaped to the door and twisted the small lock securely.

She stripped off her sweater first, dried herself, and then threw on the T-shirt. It was comfortable, and almost fit. She struggled to pull the wet jeans from her legs. The heavy fabric clung to her skin. When she'd tugged them free, she lifted the sopping mass of clothes from the floor and tossed them into the tub.

Leaning back against the wall, she steadied her balance as she yanked on the sweatpants and socks. The sweatpants were too long. She rolled the waistband down a couple of times, which would keep the hem from getting caught underfoot.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror and paused, not completely recognizing the woman looking back. Her mascara had decided to retreat from her lashes to give her those very lovely raccoon eyes every woman dreaded, and rightly so. But it wasn't just that. Her face looked ashen. She must be much colder than she felt.

Holding her hair over the sink, she wrung out the water. What she wouldn't give for her hairdryer, a big Remington running full blast on high heat. She'd probably give up on her hair and point it at her feet. Leaning against the wall again, she tipped her head upside down and rubbed the already wet towel over her hair vigorously, drying it as best she could.

Her breathing came in short, labored bursts. As she stopped drying her hair and lifted her head, her vision darkened, and she let the towel fall. Blindly searching with her hands for something solid, she fell against the wall with a thud and slid to the floor.

Chapter 2

She lay on the bed before him, her small frame perfect. Soren had piled several blankets on her, helping her body keep its warmth. He gently repositioned her arms and pulled the blankets over her shoulders. This was the second time he'd carried her unconscious. She hadn't spoken yet. He was beginning to worry.

Not wanting to leave her alone, he picked up her black purse and sat in the only chair in the room, silently praying the rickety thing wouldn't collapse with him in it.

He looked again through the few contents of her purse. She was without a doubt the most unprepared woman he'd ever run across. Holding up her license, he compared it to her. He shifted carefully in his chair. What was it that drew him? Vampires could be any shape, size, and skin tone, but each one had jet-black hair. And so did she. Since he'd been a fledgling, he hadn't been crazy over the color, but now that hers had dried, he wanted to bury his hands in that dark mass of hair.

What he wanted more, was to bite her again. And he could have her, do anything he wanted with her. She was his by law. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment then stood and left the room, closing the door softly behind him, closing her off from his sight. Shifted his shoulders, rolled his head from side to side, but nothing eased his restlessness. Thirst sated, he did not need more blood. Regardless, he seemed to want it. And he wanted it from her.

It must be a simple biological reaction, possibly rebelling from deprivation. Being a full grown male, he would require sustenance every six months. He'd been pushing a year. The events of tonight had made it quite obvious why feeding should be done every six months, despite personal reasons for avoidance.

If he were going to stay in that room with her, watch over her, he would have to find something else to do with his teeth.

On the counter in the modest kitchen lay a bowl of small, round apples. Thankful to have something solid to sink his teeth into, he took two.

The door opened and Gustav entered, having had no trouble with the temperamental latch. Gustav spared him only a glance before beginning the ritual of replacing his weapons in their proper places. He stuffed his gun into the silverware drawer, along with several small throwing knives that Soren was certain he also used for meals.

“Eating me out of house and home again?” Gustav asked, as he mounted his short sword on the wall behind the couch. A deadly decoration.

“I wouldn't be hungry if you hadn't taken so long,” he said.

“Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've had to deal with these bastards? I'm lucky Geoff still has his van. I'd like to see you dispose of two bodies in under an hour.” Gustav snorted as he removed his jacket, then walked past him, headed for his room.

Three solid seconds later, Gustav marched from his bedroom.

“Oh, come on. You put her in my bed?” he whispered harshly.

“Back off.”

Gustav let out an irritated sigh. “What happened tonight?”

“I don't know.” Soren looked at the door she was hidden behind. “I just wasn't thinking.”

Gustav crossed his arms, unmoving. “You're always thinking. You've got it all planned out.”

“Not tonight,” he said, avoiding his friend's steady stare.

“So when you said
she's mine
up there, you were being literal.” Gustav still studied his face, his reactions.

“Yes. She knows what I am, what I took from her. I'm sure of it.” He could not let a human wander the world with knowledge of vampires. To do so meant the death of thousands of his kind. Their laws limited him to two simple choices. Keep her or kill her.

Gustav shrugged. “I could kill her if you want. Then it's not a problem anymore.”

Soren glared at him.

Gustav's jaw dropped. “You're really keeping that bit of human.”

“I can't explain it. It's been so long since I've fed, and I want more,” he said, ignoring his friend's shocked expression and going to the door. “I need to think. Watch her.”

He had enough to deal with right now, and explaining his thoughts and feelings to Gustav was not on his list.

“She better not wake up,” Gustav grumbled.

Holding the door open, he paused. “Warn your lord about the demons.”

“He knows,” Gustav said, and Soren shut the door behind him.

The sharpness of the door closing sounded somehow final. Halfway up the stairs he stopped, fighting the urge to return. He didn't want to leave the human.

Faith. He didn't want to leave Faith. The more he thought of her, the more anxious he became. What if she woke? She didn't know Gustav, and might be frightened. If she became hysterical, his friend would probably shut her in the bathroom. It sounded completely preposterous, except for the fact that Gustav became irritable when something new was thrown his way, and tended to act on impulse.

He headed back down the stairs. She'd already faced two demons and his less than admirable attentions. One of Gustav's tirades would scar her for life. He opened the bedroom door and Gustav looked up at him, a smile curving beneath his goatee.

“Back so soon?” Gustav said in mock innocence.

“Get out.”

“I see why you want to keep her, and why you crave her. She's stunning.” His rich, mirthful laughter rang through the room.

Soren pulled the card key to Faith's hotel room from her wallet and shoved it into his friend's hand. “Go find her things.”

“With pleasure,” Gustav said with a cocky smile, and smacked the small wooden arms of the chair as he practically leaped out of it. “I can't really blame you—”

“Out,” he snapped.

* * * *

The springs in the mattress creaked, bringing her slowly around. After prying her eyelids open one at a time, Faith looked around the room. She lay in bed, her head throbbed, and the dim light was bright enough to compound her headache with stinging darts of pain. She couldn't see much, but from what she gathered, the only thing to see was an odd wooden chair with some kind of canvas holding it together.

Again, the springs in the mattress creaked, but this time she'd been awake enough to realize she hadn't moved. Someone sat on the edge of the bed.

She tried to sit slowly, not liking the vulnerability of lying down in a strange place.

“You should lie back down,” a man said.

She sat anyway, and he covered her shoulder with a large hand, pressing her to the mattress.

“Listen, buddy, I want to sit up. So leave me alone and let me figure it out, or help me up,” she said, struggling against his hold.

The hand on her shoulder changed directions, and he gently pulled her to a sitting position. He might have moved slowly, but it felt like she'd been pitched forward. She had to squeeze her eyes shut to stop the room from spinning. Palms flat on the mattress, she braced herself, simply breathing.

“You passed out again. How are you feeling?” he asked.

When she looked up at the man, she recognized him instantly. He'd saved her life, and carried her down here after she'd passed out in the alley. She'd never passed out before. Yes, being robbed had been scary, but after he'd shown up, she didn't fear for her safety. Except when…he'd bitten her. “You…you're,” she said, her voice shaking even as she kicked the blankets at him and backed against the wall. “Get away from me.”

That sudden movement had been a very bad idea. She leaned back against the wall for balance and clutched her head with both hands.

“You hit your head pretty hard. Do you remember what happened to you?”

“I don't have amnesia.” She snapped her mouth shut, holding back a whimper, then whispered, “A mild concussion, maybe.”

The volume of her words rattling around inside her head hurt badly. She wanted very much to lie down again and sleep for a whole day, but messing with her equilibrium to get her head to the pillow was something she dreaded at the moment. Stillness seemed to work the best right now. She opened her eyes enough to see him through her eyelashes. Satisfied that he hadn't made a move toward her, she asked quietly, “Why am I here?”

“Because it's safe here.”

“Where is here?” She gave it another go.

“A friend's home.”

“Wow, are you cryptic.” She wasn't getting any water out of this rock, and gave up.

“Habit,” he said, shrugging one shoulder as if apologizing.

“Well, it's a bad one.” With her fingers, she searched out the sore spot on the back of her head. If there had been any doubt in her mind, the bump under her fingertips revealed that she had definitely hit her head. “Why didn't you leave me in the alley?”

“Do you remember what happened?” His voice had changed with this question, and she swore she heard a touch of hope in his words.

“Boy, do I. You bit me. Bit me!” She'd gradually gotten louder, and had to catch herself. “You should have left me.”

“If you didn't remember, I could have. But you know what I am,” he said, lowering his head. “Even if I had wanted to let you go, I couldn't. There is no other choice. Now you will stay with me.”

Her mouth hung open in surprise for a moment before she snapped it shut. “I'm not staying with you.”

He leaned closer, gaze narrowing on her. “Leaving you to those two monsters would have been the only way to avoid me. And if I had, death and dismemberment would've been the very least of your worries. I say again, I have no choice.”

A chill shimmied up her spine, made her shiver. The problem was, she believed him.

As frightening as those men had been, the man sitting before her was the one who had bitten her on the neck. It had stung, searing, before her vision dimmed.

“Have I really been kidnapped by Dracula?” she whispered, watching his lips, afraid of what hid behind them.

He raised an eyebrow, then cleared his throat. “Dracula is dead, and was not one of our kind. My name is Soren. And I am vampire, if that's what you're asking.”

She stared at him now, unable, or maybe unwilling, to stop. This man certainly wasn't the pasty, caped creature she automatically associated with vampires, nor did he look eternally youthful. And she supposed his aged look threw her the most. His skin had a natural light olive tone, and when coupled with the grooves across his forehead and the smile lines bracketing his lips, he looked like a worn thirty-five-year-old man. How could a regular man be a vampire?

The bedroom door swung open. A short man stood in the doorway, nearly hidden by her large blue suitcase. He tossed it on the floor.

Soren sighed. “This is Gustav.”

“I wish you would have let me kill her. This thing weighs a ton,” Gustav said, then his eyes fixed on her and narrowed. He turned to Soren. “You gave her my clothes? This isn't getting any better. Get her dressed and out of here.”

“We're going,” Soren assured him, his mouth twitching as if he fought a smile.

“I hate people,” Gustav grumbled, then caught sight of the splintered door. “Hey, what the hell happened to my bathroom door?”

She certainly wasn't going to take the fall for that one. As Gustav looked between them angrily, she discretely pointed to Soren.

“Forget it, I don't want to know.” Gustav left, throwing his hands in the air.

Soren lifted her suitcase and set it inside the bathroom. “I thought you might want your things. We'll be leaving soon, so bathe and change your clothes.” Despite her pounding head, she was up and across the room in an instant. It didn't seem like a smart thing to try a vampire's patience.

* * * *

Soren watched as she tried several times to get the door to latch right. She barely got the thing to close even as she used her weight to pull it into place. After she'd passed out, he'd nearly torn the door off its hinges the instant he'd heard the solid thump of her body against the wall. Yet again, he was struck by her human weakness.

He'd caught her in time to keep her head from smacking the floor. Funny, how a bump on the head and overexertion caused a human to pass out.

He would have to be drunk or nearly dead to lose consciousness. Even the women of his species were amazingly resilient. Faith was vulnerable, and he needed to shelter her. Which he shouldn't want to do. Shouldn't even think it. He had other, more important things to attend to.

Demons ran free in Paris.

Their red-eyed faces filled his mind, but an image of Faith took over, soaking wet and terrified of them. He stood and paced the room, rubbing the back of his neck as he moved, anger growing.

He had to stop remembering her fear, and that the demons had touched her. It made him furious, volatile. Gustav's casual request to kill her had nearly sent him over the edge.

And when he took her home? It had been so long since a human had been brought into their world. His whole life was being rearranged in an evening, because of one girl.

* * * *

Faith knelt on the floor, popped the metal latches and lifted the lid of her suitcase. She might be able to get out of this. Soren was a vampire. He had several obvious weaknesses. She was not the kind of woman to tote around garlic, holy water, and wooden stakes. Frankly, that kind of woman should be committed. That left sunlight and crosses. She had no idea what time it was, but she might be able to use the sun to her advantage.

Dear Lord, she hoped she'd brought her tiny diamond cross necklace. She thought somehow she hadn't, but dug through the powder blue satin pockets anyway. Her fingers touched the small jewelry box, and she pulled it free and flipped the lid off. Earrings. Thick gold hoops, and thin silver hoops. No necklaces. Why did she have to be practical?

Letting out a heavy sigh, she sat on the floor rather ungracefully. Elbows on her bent knees, she stared down at her suitcase, defeated.

The fake blue leather was familiar, the plastic handle cracked and worn. She'd packed light, the trip kindling the hope of many things…to find some unique jewelry, a sexy pair of casual shoes, and maybe a place to stay. It would be nice to live in France. Or anywhere else. Home hadn't felt like home in…well, she wasn't sure if she could technically classify it as being home in the first place. Her two-bedroom house belonged to her father. He'd bought it for her birthday last year.