Читать книгу Claimed by a Vampire - Rachel Lee - Страница 8

Yvonne was acutely aware of Creed following her in his big black SUV as she drove back home. But then she’d been acutely aware of him since first she’d seen him, that day she decided to buy the condo. Maybe she had even made the decision because of him.

God, wasn’t she too old for a crush? Evidently not, because one sight of Creed Preston had engraved him indelibly in her mind. He was handsome, with an elegant build. He moved like an athlete, and the gold color of his eyes was striking. Like a tiger’s eyes, she thought.

And something about him struck her as dangerous, but not in a bad way. How weird was that? Maybe it was his tiger’s eyes.

But not even for long could she distract herself with thoughts of a silly schoolgirl crush, and how ridiculous that was in a woman of thirty-two. She was heading home again, heading to that place she called home anyway, a place that not even for one instant seemed welcoming anymore. In one short week she had come to wish that she’d noticed that feeling of being watched before she had bought the place. Because now all she wanted was to get out of it. Fast.

She pulled into her slot in the building’s parking garage and waited while Creed pulled into his. The penthouse slots were nearer the elevator, hardly surprising. When he climbed out, she felt again his extraordinary impact and wondered why she responded that way.

His smile was nice, too, even if it looked a bit forced. He used his own key to open the elevator then waved her in ahead of him. He seemed to her to hesitate, but only for a split second, before entering the car with her. She must have imagined it.

“Which floor?” he asked, reaching for the buttons.

“Twenty-fourth.”

He punched the button, then leaned back against the far wall, not looking at her. Indeed, he almost seemed to hold his breath.

Was she that repulsive to him? She knew she looked rather mousy, in fact it was an appearance she mostly cultivated in order to be left alone, but she didn’t think she stank. Had nervousness outworn her deodorant or something?

Irritated, she glanced away from him and watched the floors tick by. The ride seemed unusually long, and when finally the doors opened, she stepped out quickly and turned to face him.

“Look,” she said, her tone a little sharp, “I don’t want to inconvenience you any more. I’ll just deal with it tonight and wait for Mr. Messenger tomorrow.”

He straightened, pulling away from the car wall, and held out an arm so the elevator doors wouldn’t close. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, I can tell you’d rather be elsewhere. Clearly something about me repels you.”

Both his brows lifted. Then he astonished her with a laugh. “You’ve got that exactly backward.”

“What?” Now she felt confused.

“Nothing about you repels me,” he said flatly. “Quite the contrary. And I insist on checking out your apartment. Jude wants me to, I’m concerned about what you’re feeling, and if possible, I’d like to experience it, too. Unless you really do want to go back there by yourself tonight?”

Her jaw dropped a little. Had she totally misread him? His body language had definitely made her feel that he wanted to be away from her. But he’d told her the exact opposite was true. What was she to believe?

Finally, she managed a shrug and let him follow her to her door. Pat had recommended Jude Messenger, and Jude had vouched for Creed, so there was absolutely no reason on earth to suspect this man of anything except a desire to help her.

She must be too stressed, must be reading things wrong. Certainly she was short on sleep.

She swiped the key card at her door and pushed it open.

And the minute she stepped inside she felt it. Only now it was stronger than the sense of being watched. It was as if something dark loomed over her, threatening her. “Oh, God,” she whispered.

“Stay here,” Creed said. “Keep the door open.” He slipped past her into her condo.

As if she could have moved anyway. The sense of a presence overwhelmed her. The air thickened with menace, and it was stronger than she’d ever felt it before. She would not, could not, walk farther inside.

She waited with a hammering heart, straining to hear, but hearing nothing. Then, almost too quickly to be believed, Creed reappeared.

“Nothing?” she asked, knowing damn well it was something.

“I wouldn’t say that.” He pulled his cell phone from a belt clip and pressed a button. “Jude? That thing? It’s been here. Recently. Yes, I can smell it.”

“What thing?” Yvonne asked, barely able to whisper the words because her heart was pounding so hard she couldn’t seem to get enough air.

Creed didn’t answer her. “Okay,” he said, then put away his phone. When he did, he looked at her.

“Can you handle a few more minutes?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to search your apartment.”

A shudder ripped through her. “For what? You’d have seen anyone who was there.”

“I need to look for some other stuff. And that brings me to your options.”

“What options? I don’t have any.” Some part of her hated the weakness and fear she heard in her own voice.

“You can stay at a hotel tonight, or you can stay at my place. I have a decent couch you can use. But I have to warn you, if you stay with me.”

“Warn me about what?” She was having trouble absorbing all this. What had he sensed? She needed answers. Her brain was still stumbling over the fact that he had smelled something, something he referred to as that thing. How could she decide what she should do tonight when she had no idea what she faced?

“I’m … ill,” he said. “My skin reacts badly to bright light. I won’t bore you with the medical stuff, but suffice it to say that at dawn I lock myself in my bedroom and I don’t come out again until dusk. I can’t. So if you stay with me, I can offer protection only for a few hours. After that, you can stay as long as you like but don’t come back here.”

She nodded slowly, feeling punched, her thoughts scrambling. She didn’t want to accept favors from Creed Preston—or anyone for that matter—but she couldn’t bear the thought of being alone given what she was feeling right now. What if this thing, whatever it was, could follow her?

Her mind stuttered to a halt, then focused on the one certainty in her life, the one thing she loved beyond all else. Her thoughts seized on it as an anchor, stilling. “Can I at least have my laptop? So I can work?”

“I’ll get it. Anything else?”

She thought of nightclothes, a change of clothing. Did she want him pawing through her things? But did she want to be stuck in what she was wearing forever? “I need to come in. I need a change of clothes.” She hated that she could hear fear and reluctance in her own voice. This was her own condo, for Pete’s sake. She couldn’t even begin to sort through the welter of emotions that reminder caused her. Afraid to go into her own home? Afraid to spend just a few minutes packing? But her feet felt glued to the floor.

He hesitated. “No,” he said finally. “No. I’ll get them. Trust me, I was married once, and had daughters, and I’ll treat your things with respect. And I won’t see anything I haven’t seen before.”

The thought of walking farther into that miasma, into that threatening heaviness, forced her answer. “There’s a suitcase on the shelf in the closet.”

He nodded. “Step outside. You’ll feel better.”

She followed his direction and discovered that indeed, just a few steps away from her door, she felt better. Now how was that possible? The question was almost enough to make her walk back into her apartment. Almost.

But the memory of the feeling that had slapped her the instant she crossed the threshold proved stronger than any desire to check it out. She knew she hadn’t imagined it. Her imagination ran almost entirely to the books she wrote, and rarely affected what she considered to be an otherwise pragmatic view of life.

At least she hoped it was. She hoped the fantasies she spun for her readers weren’t beginning to affect her brain.

No, of course they weren’t. For heaven’s sake, she knew the difference between her imagination and reality. The two only met on the pages on her computer screen.

Suddenly from within her condo, she heard a bang. Instantly she forgot everything else and started back in. One step. Two steps. Then she froze as a blackness seemed to wrap oily tendrils in her brain. No. No!

She tried to back up, but couldn’t. It was as if some force tried to drag her forward, deeper within her condo, away from the relative safety of the hall.

And that noise. Something not quite curiosity, something almost like compulsion, wanted to drag her toward it. Feeling almost like a stranger within her own head, she sought the only thing she could to break the spell or whatever it was. She called out, “Creed? What happened?”

Her voice sounded odd, as if it had emerged from the depths of the ocean. But that was impossible. Her ears hummed. Maybe the loud noise had dulled her hearing for a few seconds. That had to be it.

“Something fell.” He sounded far away, as if calling to her from the bottom of a well. “It’s fine.”

Then, released by whatever had tried to seize her, she backed quickly into the hallway. What the hell was going on? What had she just felt? The only comparison she could come up with was being hypnotized, and she wasn’t even sure about that.

Creed emerged from her condo a few minutes later carrying her laptop in its case with all her peripherals, and her suitcase, along with a manila envelope. Apparently he thought of everything.

“If I missed something, you can tell me after we get to my place and I can come back for it.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. Are you sure I won’t be a problem?” What was she doing? She ought to go to a hotel, take care of herself. Could she seriously be proposing to burden someone else? But right now she was more terrified of being alone. Especially after what she had just felt.

“Hardly,” he said with a shrug.

“What fell?” she asked as they waited for the elevator.

“A pewter plate. It’s fine.”

She knew exactly the plate he meant. “There’s no way that fell!”

“Okay, it flew at me.”

She opened her mouth to tell him to quit kidding when she read his expression. He wasn’t kidding. “Oh, my God,” she breathed.

He shrugged. “I guess it didn’t like me being there.”

“What didn’t like you being there? Creed, for heaven’s sake! Are you joshing me? Did it really fly at you?”

“Heaven has nothing to do with this. It flew at me. And that’s another reason you’re not going back to that place.”

“Are you okay?”

“Minor bruise. I’m fine. But I can’t promise you will be if you go back there.”

She felt almost dazed, trying to grasp that that heavy plate could have flown at him, but despite her distraction and confusion she noticed he didn’t hesitate to enter the elevator car with her this time. So maybe she had indeed misread him earlier.

But even that couldn’t keep her attention now. Considering what she had felt when she entered her condo this time, it was all too easy to believe in flying plates. For the first time she was truly grateful that she could stay with him that night. Whatever was going on in her place had just magnified to truly scary proportions, and even a hotel room didn’t sound like a safe place right now.

His condo took her breath away. Two long walls of glass gave an eagle’s eye view of the night city. The living area was entirely open, punctuated only by a bar that divided the kitchen from the rest. And it was full of color, rich colors and textures that made it seem almost jewel-like but not at all garish.

“This is beautiful!” she exclaimed.

“Glad you like it. When you live most of your life at night, color is essential.”

“That must be hard for you.”

She noted he didn’t answer directly. Most likely, she decided, he didn’t care to discuss his problem. Most certainly not with someone he’d just met.

His sidestep was almost seamless. “Do you want to work tonight? I can clear a space on my desk.” He gestured to a table that held a computer in front of one of the windows.

“Not tonight. I couldn’t possibly concentrate. What do you do?”

“I’m a consultant for a foreign relations think tank.”

She looked at him again. “That’s impressive.” And it was. But he seemed to shrug it away.

“Before I got sick, I taught at Harvard,” he answered. “I’m glad I was able to find an alternative that fits within my limitations.”

She nodded, sweeping her gaze over the room again. “You certainly have a good eye. I can only dream of making my place look half this good.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I’m not much of a visual person. I mean, I can see something and know I like it, but putting it together with other things to get an effect like this is beyond me.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m more the verbal type.”

“That’s what they make decorators for.” But he was smiling. “Let me show you where everything is.”

The penthouse contained every luxury. There was a bath off to one side, sumptuous in its trappings, with a whirlpool tub and a shower both. Fluffy towels that looked brand-new hung from the racks.

“I never use this,” he said. “I have my own off the master bedroom. I have a second bedroom, but I never got around to furnishing it, which is why I have to offer you the couch.”

“The couch is fine, really. It looks comfortable.”

“I’ll get the sheets and blankets for you.”

“Wait,” she said as he turned away. He paused to look at her, and she felt a frisson of excitement as his golden gaze settled on her. God, he had an intense stare. And his nostrils flared just a bit, as if he were testing the scents in the air.

“Yes?”

“What exactly did you sense in my apartment? What thing were you referring to?”

This time there was no way to mistake his hesitation. “You’d need to ask Jude that, honestly. But you know he deals in the unusual. The stuff that most people don’t begin to want to deal with.”

“The paranormal.”

“I guess that’s a fair word. Well, there’s something he’s looking for right now. And I smelled it in your condo.”

“Smelled it?”

He nodded. “Think back. I know you were overwhelmed by what you felt, but you probably smelled it, too. It wasn’t exactly faint.”

Now she hesitated, thinking back, feeling an icy prickle along her spine. Had she smelled something? She couldn’t be sure. “All I was aware of was this … this sense of something there, a thickening of the air, a feeling of menace. God, that sounds crazy.”

“Not to me, it doesn’t.” His mouth drew into a grim line. “There are forces we don’t believe in until we meet them face-to-face, Yvonne. I’ve met a few of them. I believe.”

Before she could answer, he turned again. “I’ll make up your bed for you, then I need to work a bit. Most people don’t have enough hours in a day. I never have enough in a night.”

She watched him disappear down the hall, and was abruptly struck by what he had told her about his illness. Imagine never being able to see the day again. Imagine living in a world where light was a threat.

And she thought she had problems? But she couldn’t help shuddering again.

She changed in the bathroom, touched that he had chosen her one pair of modest pajamas rather than one of the more sensual garments she wore to bed just because they made her feel feminine. He’d even packed her slippers and robe.

Stepping back out into the living room, she found the couch transformed into a bed, and Creed was over at his desk, a distance away given the huge size of this room, working only by the light from his computer screen. The only other light was a dim lamp on the side table at the end of the couch where he’d placed a couple of pillows. Once she switched off that light, the room would be in near-darkness, dappled by the city lights that seemed far away for the most part. Dark enough for sleep.

But instead of heading straight toward the bed, she stopped instead to look at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that framed the entry door, covering nearly the entire wall. They were jammed with nonfiction, some of the books looking as if they were a century or more old. Not a work of fiction among them that she could tell.

Then she came upon a section of classics, from Twain to Hawthorne, to Swift. Plays by Shakespeare, Ibsen and others. And all bore the signs of having been handled often.

She wondered if he was an intellectual snob, then decided that wouldn’t be a fair assessment to make, especially when he’d been so kind to her.

“Do you need something to read?”

His voice was unexpected and startled her. She turned from his bookshelves to find he had swiveled his desk chair and was looking at her.

“Sorry, I was just curious. Few people these days decorate their walls with books.”

He laughed quietly. “Some still do. Most of that is references I need for my work. I’m especially fond of books, and I have a passion for old books. But if you’d prefer something of more recent vintage, I do have some novels lying around. I just don’t tend to keep them. I find they’re welcome donations at nursing homes.”

So he didn’t stick to the classics. That relieved her a bit, given that she wrote popular fiction. She hated people who looked down on her for that, and sometimes reminded them that Dickens was a hack who wrote serials for newspapers, and that Tolstoy had been paid by the word, hence his lengthy volumes. Apparently she wouldn’t need that defense here.

“Thanks, but I was just curious. And I guess I’m edgy.”

“Understandable. Frankly, I’m not sure how you managed to stand a whole week in that apartment.”

She wandered closer, feeling inexplicably drawn to him. Only when she saw him tense a bit did she stop. Was there something wrong with her?

“It got worse,” she said, forcing herself to ignore an unreasoning sense of rejection. “It was awful tonight, the worst ever. When I first moved in I was able to brush the feeling off, but over the week it just kept getting stronger.”

“I’m glad you didn’t come home alone tonight. I’d hate to think of you forcing yourself to walk in there because it was all you could do.”

“I’m not sure I could have.” She found an upholstered chair at what she thought might be a safe distance from him, and sat. “It felt like a gut punch tonight. But you said it wasn’t still there. To Jude, when you called him.”

“But it had been there recently enough to leave its stench and fingerprints everywhere. And apparently it came back long enough to evince disapproval of my presence.”

“But what is it?”

“Jude will have to explain. I’m a relative newcomer to all of this. He has the experience and knowledge.”

“But you said you’ve seen things, and now you believe.”

His eyes seemed to darken, and she wondered if it was some trick of the dim lighting, because for a moment they looked almost black.

“I’ve seen things,” he agreed. “But not this thing. I don’t know anything about it except it has Jude concerned.”

“So he’ll tell me tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night.”

She felt an unreasoning chill again. “Why night?”

“He suffers from the same problem that I do. So he works only at night.”

“Are you related?”

He shook his head. “Friends. Drawn together by a common experience.”

That made sense, so she let it go. “I’m sorry, I’m interrupting your work. I should just try to sleep.”

“I have surprisingly little interest in work tonight.” He smiled. “Events can be distracting.”

“I’ve gotten very little writing done this week,” she admitted. “It’s hard to work when you feel someone is looking over your shoulder.”

Which, she realized with sudden embarrassment, was exactly what she was doing to him. Basically looking over his shoulder. But as she tried to find a believable reason to go lie on the couch and pretend to sleep when she felt wound as tightly as a spring, he rose.

“Would you like coffee or tea?” he asked. “Or something to eat? I must have something lying around.”

“I’d love coffee if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind in the least.” He walked into the kitchen and pulled a coffeepot out of the cupboard.

He kept his coffeepot in the cupboard? Then he must not drink it often. Everyone she knew kept it in easy reach on the counter. So maybe he was a tea kind of guy.

But he made no tea, and when he returned to the living room, he did so with a coffee service that held only one cup. He politely poured her coffee then let her add what she wanted. “I’m sorry, I have no cream or milk, but I do have sugar.”

“Black is fine, thanks.” Ignoring her desire for a little milk in the coffee, she held the cup in her hands and sipped. “You keep your apartment cold,” she remarked. The contrast between her cold hands and the hot cup caused her to notice.

“Oh. I forgot to turn the heat on.” He at once went to the wall and adjusted the thermostat. “Sorry, I don’t notice the chill much. You should have said something sooner.”

“I just noticed.”

Which was true. But at the same time she found herself wondering what other oddities he had. Most people by this time in the autumn left their heat on all the time.

He was a strange bird indeed, she thought staring down into her cup. Handsome and strange, and the combination intrigued her. Drew her.

She’d never felt particularly drawn to ordinary people. People with quirks, however, were a different matter, and the quirkier the better. That tendency occasionally caused her trouble but she never seemed to learn her lesson.

“You must hate the summer,” she blurted. Stealing a look at him, she saw he had raised one eyebrow.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because the days are longer.”

“Ah. Well, yes, it means my nights are shorter.”

“Does it ever make you crazy, not being able to tolerate the light?”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Once it did. One adapts, you know. There’s quite a bit of beauty in the night.”

“I’m a bit of a night owl, myself. But I do like a daily dose of sun.” She wondered if the wife and daughters he had mentioned had left him because of his illness, but caught herself before incaution released the question. None of her business. Sheesh, sometimes she forgot how to interact with people because she chose to spend so much time alone in her own little world.

Although he had not in any way indicated it, Yvonne felt she had intruded too much into his life. First by needing to sleep in his living room, and then by engaging him in a conversation when, regardless of what he said, he had clearly intended to work.

She put her cup on the tray. “Thanks for the coffee. I guess I’m getting sleepy after all.”

He rose when she did, a gentlemanly courtesy she had thought long dead. As soon as she slipped between the covers on the sofa, she heard him return to his desk. Moments later the quiet tapping of keys filled the room.

She forced herself to close her eyes and pretend to sleep. To avoid thinking about that awful feeling in her apartment.

And the easiest device for avoiding the awful was to think about an intriguing topic: Creed Preston. She had thought her initial attraction to Tommy was strong, but what she was feeling now was even stronger. Strong enough to be almost jolting. When she glanced his way, the very air seemed to thicken, and her body hummed with a yearning she hadn’t felt in a long time.

But of course, she told herself, that was simply because he was new to her. An unknown. Her fright was probably feeding into it. Adrenaline, she knew, could do odd things to a person.

There was really no point in avoiding it. No one would ever know about the heaviness that settled between her legs when she thought about Creed. It was a secret she could easily keep, and she might as well enjoy it because she had begun to think Tommy had killed that part of her forever.

A short time later, the throbbing heaviness seemed to fill her, and it turned to a drowsiness that captured her and carried her away into a weird dream of Creed Preston. In her dream, every time she stepped toward him he seemed to melt away into shadow.

Creed sat facing his computer, tapping impossibly slowly at the keys in close approximation of a human’s typing rate, until he heard both Yvonne’s heart and breathing slip into the rhythm of sleep. She, of course, would have no idea that she couldn’t pretend to sleep around him, that he could smell the sleep hormones, and even the scent of her earlier desire, quieted now in sleep. Her heartbeat reached him more clearly than his own. He could read her moods and sometimes thoughts from her heart rate and her scents. In an emotional sense, she was nearly an open book, even though he couldn’t read her mind.

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.