Текст книги "About a Vampire"

Автор книги: Lynsay Sands

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Two

Holly smacked her lips together and ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth. She then grimaced at the serious case of morning breath she had. A truly serious case, she thought with disgust, and opened her eyes, expecting to see the canopy of her bed. Instead, she found herself staring at a somewhat clean white ceiling in a beige room. Her bedroom wasn’t beige.

Pushing herself up on her elbows, Holly glanced around with confusion. There was a desk and chair, a wardrobe with a television in the upper inset, black-out curtains, two chairs set on either side of a small coffee table to the left of the bed she lay in, and a perfectly dreadful print on the wall. It all spoke of one thing . . .

“A hotel?” Holly breathed with surprise. “What the devil am I doing in a hotel?”

Sitting up, she started to swing her feet out of bed, but then froze and snatched up the sheet and blanket as they fell away to reveal that she was naked. Holly never slept naked. She held the bedclothes briefly to her chest, her gaze shifting around the room in search of her clothes, but didn’t see them. That was distressing. Even more distressing though was the fact that she had no recollection of how she’d come to be in this state.

Her gaze slid to the clock on the bedside table, and Holly sucked in a startled gasp of dismay. Seven o’clock. Dear God, she’d been out all night. James would get home soon and wonder where the hell she was. He’d worry and want to know what had happened. Only she didn’t have a clue what to tell him, because she didn’t know herself.

Getting home before him seemed like a good idea, but getting dressed and getting out of this bed was an even better one, she decided, and got up, dragging the sheet with her. The blanket tried to come too, but eventually gave up the game and slid free to lie in a heap on the floor. Leaving it there, Holly moved to the closet and opened it to peer inside. Black filled the small space; black jeans, black leather pants, a black leather jacket and even black T-shirts hung neatly in the closet.

Someone was definitely fashion challenged, one part of her mind thought. The other part, however, was having a bit of a panic attack. These were not her clothes. They weren’t even women’s clothes. They were a man’s clothes, and not a man she knew. Holly couldn’t think of a single person she was acquainted with who would wear these items . . . and whose bed she should be naked in. At least, not that she could recall . . . although, for some reason, the sight of the clothes raised fear in her.

Suddenly desperate to get out of there, Holly quickly turned to tug open the drawers in the dresser along the wall, hoping for other clothing options, but there was nothing but a bit of dust. Not even boxers or briefs. Apparently the mysterious man who liked black also liked to go commando. She tried not to think about that as she moved back to the closet and pulled out a pair of black jeans and a matching T-shirt.

The pants were big on her, but she fixed that by rolling up the bottoms and making use of a belt she found on another hanger. The T-shirt was large as well, blousing out over the puckered waistband and hanging down almost to her knees. Holly caught the hem and tied a knot in it at her side to make it more of a shirt and less a dress. She then pulled on the leather jacket to hide the mess she was wearing.

Holly headed for the door, only to pause when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she passed the open bathroom door along the way. Dear God, Holly thought with disgust, if she were to wring the grease out of her hair there would be enough to fry something. On top of that, it was a horrible mess, sticking out in the back in a forest of knots. It was the hair of a woman who had been thrashing her head around during crazy, hot, monkey sex.

Not that she’d ever experienced crazy, hot monkey sex . . . that she recalled, Holly tacked on grimly as she glanced toward the bed. But her roommate at college had always looked like this in the mornings after her boyfriend visited. She claimed it could be blamed on her boyfriend for being so good at “doing the nasty.”

Holly tried to tame her usually sleek black mane with her fingers. When that didn’t work, she quickly searched the bathroom for a brush. There wasn’t one, of course. Why would anyone have a hairbrush when she needed it? Rolling her eyes, she gave up on that and instead began to search for something to wrap around her head to at least hide her bad hair. Holly was afraid if she went anywhere like this, she’d be locked up as a madwoman. Certainly, she’d draw attention to herself, and at that moment, she was thinking the less attention the better until she knew exactly what had happened and how she’d got here.

A hat or bandana would have done the trick, but apparently the mysterious man in black didn’t have either of those. Blowing her breath out on a sigh, Holly shifted briefly from foot to foot, and then snatched another T-shirt off its hanger and began tearing at it until she had a nice, sleeveless square. After quickly wrapping that around her head and tying it, Holly once again headed for the door.

She needed to figure out where she was, how to get home from here, and then . . . well, once she was safely home she could sort out what had happened and what, if anything, she should do about it.

“Her name is Holly Bosley,” Lucian announced.

“Yeah. Anders told me that the first night, when he got back with her purse,” Justin said impatiently. He was only in Lucian’s room because the man had insisted he had to speak to him. Lucian wasn’t someone you refused. But Justin didn’t want to be here; he wanted to be back in his own room across the hall with the woman presently in his bed. She’d been sleeping restlessly for two days and nights, something that had worried him. Every other turn he’d witnessed had gone more quickly, with the turnee thrashing and screaming their way through.

Justin had been very concerned at first by how silent and still Holly was . . . until Lucian had told him that Stephano Notte’s turn had gone just as quietly and had taken several days. Oddly enough, Stephano’s turn had been preceded by his being stabbed in the chest too. Lucian had speculated that it was possible the wound decided the tempo of the turn.

Justin didn’t care. All he cared about was Holly surviving and waking up. He had no idea when that might happen, but he wanted to be there when it did.

Hoping to speed this conversation along, Justin now added, “There was a car in the cemetery parking lot with a purse in it. Anders broke the car window to get to her purse, searched it and found her driver’s license. Holly Lynne Bosley. There were no car keys though, and she didn’t have any keys on her, so Anders had to hotwire the car to get it back here to the hotel.”

“He went back to the cemetery last night and found the keys near where she fell,” Lucian announced. “I put them in her purse.”

Justin glanced to the purse sitting on the table when Lucian gestured to it and found himself shaking his head. He still couldn’t believe she hadn’t been sleepwalking. He’d been sure that must have been the case when he’d spotted those pajamas of hers. The lack of anything like keys or a purse had just seemed to back that up. But it seemed she’d had both, just not on her. What the hell had she been doing at the cemetery at that hour of the night in pajamas?

“Holly is a temp, presently working in the office at the cemetery,” Lucian said as if that might explain it.

To Justin it didn’t and he pointed out dryly, “Yeah, well she wouldn’t work in her pj’s.”

Lucian shrugged. “She must have recalled something she left behind and returned to collect it after already preparing for bed.”

“That makes sense,” Decker commented, drawing their attention his way. The dark-haired man dressed in Enforcer black was reclining on one of the two beds in the room.

“After midnight? In her pajamas?” Justin asked dubiously.

Lucian shrugged. “She probably didn’t expect to encounter anyone at that hour.”

“She was in the crematorium, the only place there would be anyone at that hour,” he pointed out.

“So she was,” Lucian agreed and then pointed out, “Only she can answer these questions.”

“She might have been bringing down paperwork,” Anders said, entering the room through the open connecting door.

When Lucian raised one questioning eyebrow it was Justin who explained, “The shuffle of papers and a moan are what drew our attention to her presence. Once I saw she was in pajamas though, I just assumed the papers had been lying on the floor and she’d kicked them or something as she walked.”

“Or she could have been bringing them down for the guy working the ovens and dropped them when she saw us,” Anders said now.

Lucian considered that and then nodded slowly. “That’s possible.”

“But she was in her pajamas,” Bricker repeated, unable to get past that fact. The pajamas had been flannel, for God’s sake, and she’d had on fluffy furry slippers too. He’d tossed the offensive items out once he’d got her back to the hotel and stripped her for the turn. No woman of his was wearing pink flannel pajamas and fluffy slippers.

Shaking his head over her apparel, he glanced to Lucian to note that he stood unnaturally still, his head cocked. “What is it?”

“She’s awake,” he announced with a frown.

Bricker was on his feet at once and headed for the door.

“Wait. Bricker! There’s more you need to know,” Lucian growled, but this time Justin didn’t listen. His life mate was awake. He needed to get to her, and not even Lucian Argeneau was stopping him.

Holly opened the door and rushed out only to come to a startled halt when the door opposite opened and a man was suddenly before her in the hall. He appeared so quickly she almost wondered if she’d blanked out for a moment. No one could move that fast.

“Oh, hello. You’re not just awake, you’re up.” The man’s words brought her wide eyes to his face. He sounded surprised, but no more surprised than she was at his words. He acted like they knew each other, but she hadn’t a clue who he was . . . Had she encountered him when she’d come to the hotel? If so, maybe he could tell her what condition she’d been in and who had brought her. That thought uppermost in her mind, she murmured, “I—Yes.”

Holly then simply stared at him. He was definitely attractive, with dark hair and laughing eyes. He was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt. Copies of the clothes she was wearing, she realized as his eyes dropped down over her borrowed ensemble.

“My clothes don’t quite fit you, do they?” he asked with amusement.

“Your clothes?” she asked with alarm. This was the owner of the room she was presently occupying? And apparently the one across from it too, since he’d just come from there, she reasoned.

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll go out and pick up something more appropriate for you later, after we talk.”

“Oh, no, no that’s not necessary,” Holly squeaked, hustling quickly backward when he began to move toward her. She realized her mistake at once. She had backed farther into the room she’d been trying to exit, allowing him to enter. Now he was between her and the exit. It only got worse when he closed the door. Somehow his presence in the room seemed to make it shrink.

Biting her lip, Holly continued to back up until she bumped into the desk chair. She promptly dropped to sit in it, her gaze skating nervously around the room before returning to him. He’d said he’d get her more appropriate clothes after they talked, but she was less interested in clothes than she was in talking, or at least in getting some answers. Holly had about a million questions floating around in her head right now. Little things like, who was he? How had she got here? Who had removed her clothes? Why had she been naked in the bed? Had she been alone in the bed the entire time she’d been in it? How long had she been in it? Where were her clothes?

They went on from there, but that pretty much covered the main ones she’d like answers to. She peered at him warily, and asked, “Who are you?”

“Oh.” He offered her a crooked smile. “I suppose I should have introduced myself. My name is Justin Bricker.”

“Justin Bricker,” she echoed in a murmur and didn’t recognize the name at all. She was quite sure she’d never heard it before and he didn’t look familiar either.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, stopping next to the desk and eyeing her with concern.

“Fine,” she said automatically, only then pausing to pay attention to her body and see if that was true. It was mostly true. She felt like a dried-out sponge, but other than that, and a slight headache, she was fine. Was there a reason she shouldn’t be? Like maybe some drugs that had been slipped to her and would explain her memory problem? That thought in mind, she asked warily, “How should I feel?”

For some reason the question made his lips quirk with wry amusement. “Well it’s different for different people. Some wake up with a raging headache, probably from dehydration. Others just have a terrible case of dry mouth and otherwise feel better than they did before.”

“Before what?” Holly asked sharply, suspicion rife within her. She did have a slight headache and definite dry mouth.

“Before the turn,” he explained patiently.

“Before the turn?” she echoed with confusion. “Before my turn at what?”

Justin Bricker’s eyes narrowed and he was silent for a minute and then asked, “What exactly do you remember?”

“Of what?” Holly countered, a wary sensation creeping up the back of her neck. There was something about his sudden solemnity that was worrisome.

“What is the last thing you remember?” he asked instead of answering her question.

Holly briefly searched her mind for memories and came up with the same she’d had on first waking. She recalled brushing her teeth before bed, realizing she hadn’t tested her blood yet, going out to the car to look for her purse and the tester in it, and then heading back to the office when she didn’t find either in her car. She was obviously missing the memories between that and landing in a strange man’s hotel room . . . naked in his bed.

“I was headed back to the office to get my purse,” she said quietly.

His eyebrows rose and Holly suspected that meant she was missing a lot of memories, and probably important ones. She always missed the important stuff.

“Do you remember getting to the office?” he asked.

She performed a brief sweep of her memory and then shook her head before asking, “Did I get there?”

“Yes, you got to the office,” Justin assured her and then pursed his lips and shifted before adding, “We think you had papers with you when you came down to the crematorium. Is it possible you found papers you felt needed to be delivered at that hour?”

Holly considered the question and then asked, “Was there a round metal disk attached to the corner?”

He hesitated and then turned and walked to the door, opened it, crossed the hall and leaned into the opposite room. She heard him ask, “Was there a metal disk on the papers on the floor in the crematorium?”

Holly didn’t hear the answer, but he closed the door and came back, nodding. “Yes, there was.”

“Then they were papers needed to cremate someone. If I found them and they should have gone down during the day but somehow didn’t, then yes, I might have taken them down despite the hour,” she said on a sigh.

“You were in your pajamas,” he said and she raised an eyebrow at his tone of voice. He sounded bewildered. Or maybe disapproving. Or both. Before she could respond, Justin asked, “Has any of this sparked a memory? Do you remember heading for the crematorium to deliver the papers?”

Holly bit her lip and searched her memory again, but it was pretty spotty and nothing was coming.

“It was after midnight on a foggy night,” he prompted. “You probably couldn’t see two feet in front of you, but you traipsed down past the graves to the crematorium anyway . . . in pink flannel pajamas with white bunnies on them and fluffy slippers under a trench coat.”

He described what she’d worn as if her fashion choice that night had alarmed him, and Holly supposed it had been somewhat unorthodox, but she hadn’t expected to run into anyone. Apparently, she had. She didn’t recall it though, so she shook her head again, but then cleared her throat and asked, “Where exactly are they? My pajamas?”

Justin hesitated, and then rather than answer, asked, “Do you remember the crematorium? Or leaving? Or falling?”

Holly’s head came up slightly at that. She’d fallen? Thinking it might explain a lot, she asked, “Did I hit my head or something?”

“Yes.” Justin seemed relieved and she only understood why when he said, “So you do remember that?”

“No,” she admitted almost apologetically. “I just figure that must be why my head hurts and why my memory is missing pieces.”

“Ah. Yes, I see,” he said on a sigh, and then grimaced and asked, “So none of this is ringing bells for you?”

Holly shook her head again, and admitted, “I don’t even remember who you are. Your name doesn’t sound familiar, or anything.” She shrugged helplessly.

His lips twisted wryly, and he said gently, “There’s no reason it should. We’ve never actually met.”

“Oh,” she murmured, and supposed that explained that. So . . . he must have been the one to find her after her fall, Holly reasoned. She’d made it back to the office, found some papers she’d felt she should deliver to the crematorium, and had fallen and hit her head on the return journey. She must have taken quite a knock to lose not only consciousness, but some memory. Holly hadn’t noticed a head wound earlier. She hadn’t been looking for one, though.

“So you found me after I fell?” she asked, and when he hesitated, guessed, “Or saw me fall?”

“Yes,” Justin said on a relieved hiss of air. “I saw you fall.”

“And I didn’t have my purse or any ID on me,” she recalled ruefully and then narrowed her eyes and added, “But my purse was in my car and I did have my car keys.”

“You didn’t have your car keys when I got to you,” Justin explained. “You must have dropped them when you fell.” He paused briefly, and then added, “When I carried you inside and we realized you were wearing pajamas and had no purse, keys or anything else, we thought you must have been sleepwalking.”

“Sleepwalking?” she asked with surprise, and then gave a slight laugh. “With a coat on? Do sleepwalkers usually put on coats?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve never known anyone who sleepwalks.”

“Oh.” Holly nodded slowly and then tried to work it out, speaking her thoughts aloud. “So you brought me here because I didn’t have my purse or ID.” Before he could respond, she asked, “But why didn’t you just take me to the hospital?” When he was silent again, she said thoughtfully, “Without a purse I wouldn’t have my HMO card and I suppose a hospital would be reluctant to treat me without proof that I could pay.”

Justin seemed to hesitate, and then he sighed and dropped to sit on the end of the bed. Peering at her solemnly, he said, “This situation is a little more complicated than you realize.”

Holly tilted her head curiously, but simply asked, “Oh?”

“Yes, you see . . .” Justin paused, several expressions flickering across his face before he finally said cautiously, “I have to tell you some things that might sound . . . well, a bit crazy.”

Holly merely raised her eyebrows.

“You see, it wasn’t just your head you hit. I mean the head injury wasn’t the only one. You were carrying scissors and—”

“Scissors?” she interrupted with surprise. “Why would I be carrying scissors down to the crematorium?”

“As I said, it was dark and foggy . . . a graveyard. Spooky.” He shrugged. “Perhaps you were nervous.”

Holly nodded slowly, supposing that would be enough to make her want a weapon of some sort. She wasn’t usually a nervous Nelly, but then she’d never before even considered walking through a graveyard alone on a dark and foggy night.

“Anyway,” Justin said when she remained silent. “You were running and fell and not only hit your head, but—”

“Why was I running?” Holly interrupted.

The question made him grimace. He also took a good deal of time to think before answering. “You saw something that you misunderstood.”

“What did I see?”

“I’ll get to that,” he assured her. “But first I want you to understand that I would never harm you. In fact, when you fell on your scissors and stabbed yourself in the chest, I—”

“What?” Holly interrupted sharply. She hadn’t noticed anything when she dressed. Holly tugged the T-shirt collar away from her skin to peer at herself, but there was nothing there. Scowling at him for scaring her like that, she said, “I’m not wounded.”

“No. Well, I healed you,” he explained.

Holly blinked several times at this claim and then asked slowly, “You healed me?”

Justin nodded.

“How?” she asked at once, unable to hide her doubt.

“Well, this is where it gets tricky,” Justin said, looking uncomfortable.

“Oh?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Yes. You see . . .” He paused, rubbed one hand over his face, and then said determinedly under his breath, “I am not going to make a pickle of this like Bastien and the other guys did.”

“That’s good,” Holly murmured, not sure what he was talking about.

“I mean seriously, how stupid is starting with, “Have you ever seen An American Werewolf in London?” he asked with disgust.

“Er . . .” Holly paused, growing confused.

“It was just stupid. I mean, we aren’t werewolves, are we?”

“No?” Holly guessed. That seemed a pretty safe bet.

“Exactly,” he said with satisfaction. “So why lead with that? It just confuses the matter further. Right?”

“Right?” she guessed.

He nodded. “Okay, so . . .” Justin paused and frowned and then repeated, “Remember, no matter how crazy this sounds, I’m not crazy. You are safe with me. I would never harm you. Ever. I promise you that.”

“Okay,” Holly murmured. But really, the more he said that, the more worried she got. It was the old, “The lady doth protest too much.” But in this case it was a man doing the protesting. The more he assured her that he wouldn’t harm her, the more anxious she got that he might.

“Right . . . so, you see . . .” He paused again and then warned, “I’m just going to tell you flat out.”

“Okay,” Holly said.

“Right.” He nodded, and then added, “It’s going to sound crazy.”

“Okay,” Holly repeated, not at all surprised. She was already beginning to think there was something wrong with the man.

“So here goes,” he said, and then blurted, “I’m a vampire.”

Holly stared. She’d thought she’d been ready for anything from his weird prefacing, but “ . . . Vampire?”

“Yes. But we’re not really vampires,” he assured her. “I mean, sure we have fangs and used to feed on mortals, and yes we’re strong and all that stuff, but we aren’t dead or soulless.”

“Well that’s . . . good?” She ended the comment on a question because, frankly, Holly wasn’t sure what the right response was here. The poor man was obviously delusional. Vampire? Yeesh. She’d thought the craze for vampires had died out, but apparently Justin Bricker had been affected by its brief outbreak. The poor deluded soul thought he was one. It was sad, really. He was a good-looking man, personable and seemed smart enough, but he obviously had mental-health issues.

However, she kind of owed him one. He’d picked her up after she’d taken a tumble and knocked herself out. Holly suspected that part of his story was true. It made sense and explained her headache and memory loss.

The rest of his story, however, that she’d fallen on scissors and stabbed herself and that he’d healed her with his . . . well, she wasn’t sure what he supposedly healed her with. Vampires bit and sucked blood, they didn’t usually go around healing people. That was Jesus. Perhaps he was getting religion mixed up with his delusional fantasy, she speculated. She understood religion often played a role with crazy people.

“Yes, it is good,” Justin assured her. “Life is much less complicated now that we don’t feed off mortals.”

“I can imagine,” she said, keeping her voice soothing. At least he didn’t take his fantasy to that level and go around trying to bite people. If he did, she’d be concerned. This seemed a mostly harmless fantasy though. He didn’t bite, so didn’t do anyone physical harm, which left sleeping in a coffin and avoiding sunlight and garlic as his M.O. and that was fine with her. Live and let live and all that stuff. Although Holly did wonder if she might not be doing him a disservice by not calling in some help, like maybe the police, and suggesting a seventy-two-hour evaluation in a psych ward.

“In fact, we’re nothing like the television and movie versions of vampires,” Justin assured her.

“Well, no, I guess not. None of them can heal,” Holly murmured, her gaze sliding to the door as she wondered if she dared try to leave. Would he get physical in his effort to stop her leaving? She suspected he would unless she handled him right. She would have to remain calm and talk her way out of this room. She had to get home and . . . well, Holly wasn’t sure what she should do after that. She had no idea what time it was. The bedside clock read 7:34 but was that morning or night? How long had she been here? She’d thought it was morning when she’d first woken, but now that she knew she’d been unconscious, she wasn’t so sure. And the curtains were closed and thick enough to block out sunlight if there was any.

“We can’t heal either as a rule,” he explained, drawing her attention again. “I was only able to heal you by turning you.”

Holly blinked at this and then tilted her head. “Into a vampire?”

“Yes. Well, we prefer the name immortal.”

“Uh hmm.” She hesitated and then stood. “Well, then I’d best get home and take care of things.”

“You can’t go. I have to explain everything,” he said, straightening and positioning himself in her way.

“Can’t you explain later?” Holly suggested, trying not to sound desperate, but wanting to leave. Hoping to use reason he might agree with, she pointed out, “If I’m a vampire now, there are loads of things to take care of. I mean I’ll need to buy a coffin and maybe find some nice Igor type I can get to bring me . . .” She let her words trail away and simply waved a hand vaguely. She’d been going to say people to feed on, but recalled at the last moment that his delusion didn’t include biting people.

“I think you mean Renfield,” he said with a faint smile.

“Do I?” she asked, turning sideways as casually as she could in the hopes of maneuvering past him toward the door.

“Yes. I wasn’t around when it first came out, but I read Stoker’s work as a teenager. It’s been a while but I have a good memory for names. I’m pretty sure it was Renfield who did Dracula’s bidding.”

Well at least he wasn’t imagining he was hundreds of years old. So his delusions weren’t completely out there, she assured herself and said with determined cheer, “Right. Sorry. Renfield then.”

“You don’t need a Renfield,” he assured her. “Like I said, we don’t bite mortals anymore. It’s not allowed.”

“Oh? Why is that?” Holly asked, with feigned interest, her gaze sliding sideways to the door and back.

“It was too risky,” he explained. “There was too much chance of drawing attention to ourselves that way.”

“Hmmm.” Holly nodded as if she believed him and sidled toward the door an inch or two under the pretext of shifting her feet. “So how do we feed? Do we buy pig’s blood from the slaughterhouse? If so, I guess I need to arrange for that instead. Lots to do. Must get to it.”

“No, we get our blood delivered now.”

That startled her enough to draw her full attention. “Delivered? Like pizza?”

“Pretty much,” Justin admitted on a laugh. “We have our own blood banks and whatnot.”

“ ’We’?” she queried.

“There are a lot of us. Not like millions or anything,” he added quickly. “We try to keep our numbers low. We wouldn’t want to outgrow our food source.”

“ ’Food source’?” she queried carefully. “You mean people?”

“Mortals, yes. We even have laws and rules to ensure we don’t turn too many.”

“Laws?” she asked with feigned interest, managing another sliding sideways step. “What kind of laws?”

“Well, we’re only allowed to have one child every hundred years, and we can turn only one mortal in a lifetime.” His expression turned serious and he said, “Most save it to turn their life mate.”

Holly frowned over the having-one-child-every-hundred-years bit, which seemed to suggest he believed he would live hundreds of years after all, but then the last bit stuck in her mind and she asked, “Life mate?”

“It’s the one mortal or immortal we cannot read or control, and who cannot read or control us.”

“You can read and control mortals?” she asked dubiously.

Justin nodded. “We all can. Immortals can control every mortal, except for the crazy or their life mates. It’s how we recognize our life mate. That inability to read or control them is why they can be a proper life mate, the one we can live happily with for our very long life.”

Holly shifted another step to the side, alarm beginning to creep up her spine as she absorbed what he was saying. Swallowing, she said, “And you used your turn on me.”

He nodded solemnly. “You’re the one, Holly. You are my life mate.”

“Oh wow,” she said weakly and thought, You poor, crazy, deluded sap. She’d started out thinking he was harmless enough and had helped her when she lay unconscious and helpless. She’d sort of convinced herself, if only subconsciously, that he wasn’t a danger to anyone and not to bring the authorities down on him. But he’d built a whole vampire world in his mind, with blood deliveries and supposed other vampires wandering around. More important, he’d developed an unhealthy fixation on her as his “life mate” . . . and all without exchanging a word or even a smile with her. The guy was cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs and this was getting pretty creepy. She was starting to have visions of being locked in a cellar and forced to sleep in a coffin, maybe even raped in that coffin by this man who had decided she was “the one.” He needed help. And she needed to get away from him as quickly as she could.