Chapter 13
thirteen
The last flight of stairs to her apartment always seemed longer at midnight. Today, she was seriously dragging.
On the other hand, she could sleep in tomorrow, since Margo had freaked out after the detective’s visit. She had insisted that Sophie take a Paid Day Off, for Health Reasons.
Sophie couldn’t even scrape up any thankfulness for that unearned mercy. Just dealing with the condolences and awkward, cheery non-questions had taken much of her remaining energy.
She reached the top and stood for a moment, catching her breath.
The hall smelled odd, like it had this morning.
But then, after the past two days, she was smelling weird things all over, like the dish of mummified M invisible anger-fumes filled up the room until she couldn’t breathe and started gasping, clutching at the chair-arms and staring until her eyes threatened to bug out of her head completely.
“Christ.” He made a swift movement and crouched, looking up at her. The sense of anger swirled away, like static draining from empty space.
It was odd, but as soon as he did that he seemed exponentially less scary. When he stretched out a hand to touch her knee and she flinched back he actually stopped cold, his hand hanging in midair. “That answers that question, I guess. Breathe, honey. It goes easier if you take in some oxygen.”
His tone—soft, conciliatory, like Marc’s after a particularly bad beating, when he was entering the repentant phase—surprised her. Most shocking was his hand falling back to his side. Zach just cocked his head and regarded her, going completely, inhumanly still.
The gasps faded, little by little, as she stared at him. Air began to fill her lungs again. Panic attack, and a bad one. No wonder. She concentrated on the mechanics of breathing, pushing the air out, taking it in with small sipping sounds.
“Nothing’s going to hurt you.” Quietly, his gaze holding hers. “I am not going to lay a hand on you unless it’s to keep you from doing something silly, and I won’t harm you. Ever. Are we absolutely clear on that?”
Her wrists ached, and her back, and the side of her head. The scab on her palm burned. He’d already hurt her, hadn’t he? Still…
Agree. Let him think you’re all right with this. She nodded, tentatively. The landline phone was in the kitchen. If she could get to it somehow—
“As a matter of fact,” her erstwhile kidnapper continued, “if your ex-husband—because I can tell from this apartment that he’s ex, you know—or anyone else tries to lay a hand on you, I’ll feed that hand back to them. In little bleeding pieces. Understand?”
Jesus. How long has he been in here? Sophie managed another faint nod.
The armchair creaked as she shifted, so she froze again.
Her back gave a wrenching flare of pain, and her throat was so dry she doubted she could scream.
Far more likely she’d simply produce a dry croak before strangling on more wine-dark terror.
“Now.” He settled farther into the crouch, became motionless again. “Let’s take it from the top. Why are there upir watching you?”
What? He means the vampires, right? She decided he had, indeed, said what she thought she’d heard. “I don’t—” Her voice was surprisingly steady, even if she did have to stop and clear her rusty, desiccated throat. “I don’t know. I don’t know what you want with me, either.”
“Okay.” He nodded, once, sharply. “Let’s cover that. We need you. I’m sorry, but there wasn’t… I couldn’t explain well enough before. You’re special, Sophie. You don’t know how special. Were things smelling strange to you today?”
How did he—? Her face must have betrayed her, because he nodded again.
“And you’re tired. Triggering does that, eats up a lot of the body’s reserves.
The biochemical changes are pretty intense.
” He rocked slightly, shifting as if his own muscles were sore.
“You’re going to need at least a month or two to adjust.”
What? “What are you going to do to me?” she whispered.
Amazingly, that made him smile. All the anger fled his expression, and his eyes actually lit up.
It made him even more dangerously handsome, the stubble darkening his cheeks and his mouth softening just a bit conspiring to make him raffish instead of scary.
“Well, first of all, I thought I’d feed you. You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
He sounded actually cajoling, and her heart gave another wrenching thump.
She was indeed starving; she hadn’t managed more than toast despite Margo’s magnanimously granted sandwich; the former had gone down the tubes this morning and the latter into a trash bin near her first class of the evening despite the waste of food.
She hated pastrami, even if she was starving. Sophie struggled to catch up with the last few minutes, failed miserably. “I… I don’t know.”
His head came up, twitching into a tilt. A quick inquiring movement, like a cat’s, and she flinched again.
She couldn’t help herself.
“Shit.” The anger returned, settled over his face like an old friend, and chased the handsomeness away. “It never rains but it pours. Look, Sophie, can you trust me?”
Trust you? Are you fucking insane? You kidnapped me, broke into my house, and you’re… you’re… Words failed her. She simply stared at him.
“Guess not.” He slowly rose, and she noticed his boots were dusty, crushing the carpet.
He made another of those quick, inquiring moves.
“I hate to tell you this, honey, but there’s upir actually in your building.
There’s no reason for them to be here unless they’re after you specifically.
I’m going to ask again, why the hell are they following you? ”
“I don’t know, goddammit.” How amazing, I actually sound irritated. Her brain began to work again—maybe too slowly, but at least the thoughts were moving. “How can you tell?”
“Can smell ’em.” He turned in a tight circle, his gaze roving over every surface before coming to rest on her again. “I wonder why they’re so interested in you. Huh.”
“Please don’t hurt me.” How many times am I going to have to say that in my life? she wondered, and not for the first time.
Or the last.
“I’m not going to, ever.” He took two quick steps and held out his hand, palm cupped. “But we’re going to have to get out of here.”
She shook her head. Loose curls fell in her face; her hair was probably a frizzed mess, though it didn’t matter. “I’m not going anywhere.” She clutched at the chair arms like a drowning woman. “You can’t kidnap me again.”
“I’m not going to kidnap you, for Christ’s sake. Can’t you smell them?”
“All I can smell is whatever cologne you’re wearing. Why don’t you go find someone else to harass?” Sophie couldn’t believe the words had come out of her mouth.
It sounded more like something Lucy would say.