Chapter 7 #2
He’d gone motionless again, watching her with those bright, interested blue eyes. Her bag was still on the table; the few spare outfits she had were in the closet behind her. How far could she get? He was so goddamn fast.
Be smart, Simone. Be very smart, for however long you’ve got left.
The fear was wine-red, familiar, a hateful constant companion.
“How the hell did you get in here?” The words shook; it was so goddamn quiet.
The longer this went on, the more wrong that one tiny detail seemed; her RV could have been flown into orbit and plonked on the moon, for all she knew.
“Through the door—leastways, the first time.” A smile bloomed, spread slowly across his lean, almost-handsome face. “You don’t set no seals. Dontchew worry, I’ll take care o’ that.”
Christ, he sounds like he’s auditioning for Bonanza. Or a Clint Eastwood movie; she briefly wondered what ol’ Clint would think of all this, and maybe that was the first sign of losing her goddamn mind. “What the fuck do you want?”
He shrugged, his erection leering at her from under the shirt’s hem. “Well, now, your name would be a good start. And y’all can maybe find—”
Simone’s nerves snapped. She felt them give way, a twang like overstressed guitar strings finally parting. Or maybe it was the impact, because she used every last inch, ounce, and gram of speed and strength she owned, throwing herself sideways at the wall next to the crowbarred door…
…and was flung back with corresponding force, slamming into the cabinets across the RV that held just-in-case camping gear and a few unnecessary weapons.
She slid down, and didn’t have time to land because the old vampire had flickered across intervening space to catch her, iron-hard hands closing about her arms.
“Never, ever do that again,” that rough, gravelly voice said.
The hit rang her chimes pretty good, but other than that it accomplished precisely nothing.
The old vampire seemed pretty concerned, which was a laugh and a half, and after a thorough examination, turning her this way and that while she tried to shake the dazement out of her skull, he guided her to sit at the table.
Simone, perched in one half of the booth, stared bleakly at the barred door. Now she could almost-see a sort of shimmer like rippling hot air over distant summer pavement, still reverberating with the force of impact. Invisible seals, he called them, and she’d seen that kind of thing once before.
In the concrete-walled church basement, as a matter of fact, while the floppy-haired vampire who had infected her snoozed away the day, Simone handcuffed to an exposed piece of rebar in the corner.
This old vampire clearly had no trouble getting through the shimmer—vanishing briefly and popping back into sight bearing a brown paper bag full of spare clothes, all brand-new as what he’d ripped off before nearly fucking the life out of her.
She couldn’t quite figure out what that level of preparation said about his sanity level, or her own.
She wanted very badly to open up the closet and get herself another pair of jeans, but if she so much as glanced in that direction he stopped, giving her a long, considering look.
So she hunched, miserable and bare-legged, wondering if postcoital cooch-juice was going to stain the seat cushion’s worn red-and-cream velour.
At least she wasn’t leaking vampire sperm?
That was something to be grateful for, Simone decided, and watched him pick up the crushed hat, working at the felt to push everything back into shape.
Even his hands looked strong, broad palms and long fingers, muscled forearms visible since he’d pushed his sleeves up.
Sinewy, deceptively lean. She preferred stockier types, bonus if they ran a little shorter than usual—not that she’d ever had a chance to pick and choose after college, really, because she’d married Curt almost immediately. And any interest coming her way after going full vamp didn’t count.
Hitting fifty had been a type of relief, once the worst of the divorce pain died down and she could think again.
It was even freeing, after a fashion, to relegate any male attention to kid waiter wants a bigger tip or thanks but I’ll fantasize instead, fantasy is safe.
Plus, an older woman who had won the alimony battle could invest in a toy or two, delivered in discreet packaging, and simply take care of her own needs without any fuss or bother.
Her one attempt at painting the town red after the final hearing had ended ingloriously, with a crazy, nonverbal psycho of a vampire snatching her right as she began to unlock her old white Toyota, sitting sedately in a corner of the Barrel Roll parking lot.
For all she knew the car was still there, and dear God but she never wanted to think about that particular evening ever again.
Tonight was shaping up to be a serious contender in that department, too. And she’d only just woken up.
“Oh, now.” A big black smear appeared in front of her, folding down on itself—the blue-eyed vampire, fully dressed, sinking to crouch in the tiny space between her knees and the sink cabinets on the other side of the aisle. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”
What the fuck do you think, you fucking bloodsucker? Simone shook her head. Her hair was a mess, even if vampires were blessed with sleek, tangle-free locks, and it slid over her shaking shoulders.
He said something else, low and melodious—either a foreign language, or he was babbling in tongues. The contrast with the aw-shucks cowboy drawl was shocking, and wrung a strained giggle from her throat; she hastily swallowed the small noise, her hand flying up to clap over her mouth.
He caught her wrist halfway through the motion, caging it securely. Once again, his strength wasn’t nearly as frightening as the control. It didn’t hurt, but she couldn’t break free short of chewing her own arm off.
“Y’all been awful scared, I reckon.” The cornpoke-and-cowboy accent intensified—he sounded local, right down to the syrup-slow delivery.
His warm, hard fingers were gentle enough, sure, but she also remembered the leashed, casual power as he held her down.
“But nothin’s gonna hurt yew now. That’s a promise, darlin’, an’—”
If she were younger, she’d play along like you were always supposed to with a man who could hit you.
Her entire life plus five years of living as an undead bloodsucker rose up inside Simone, ignited somewhere behind her breastbone, and filled her head with an unsteady ringing noise.
Or maybe she had a bloodsucker concussion from hitting an invisible wall.
“Will you stop with the bullshit accent?” she hissed. “It’s not funny.”
“This is how they talk,” he said, quietly. “The mortals I been listenin’ to, at least; I ain’t had time f’r others. Don’t know yer language real well yet.”
Each word sounded like it hurt, scraping his throat raw on the way out, and now she felt like an asshole. But she wasn’t the one who had burst into his halfass approximation of a house, no sir, and now she had to wonder if he’d been watching her beforehand.
For how long? Had he seen her kill the other bloodsucker in the gully?
“But I’ll learn,” he added, grimly. All expression had left his face, and those blue eyes burned. “Soon’s I can, to please you.”
It was utterly fucking ridiculous. Her go-bag was right on the table, practically at her elbow, and if she could just get past him and through the shimmer-wall, she could… what? Run bareass through the night, hoping he wasn’t fast enough to catch her?
That did not sound very intelligent at all. Neither did provoking him, especially when she wasn’t sure what his plans were. If he was going to snap and poof her…
But he was talking again, each word carefully spaced. “I’m set on learnin’ e’erything about this-here modern world. You’ll help me with that, sweet leman. Right now, though, I need t’hunt. Y’all can stay here, locked under seals, or take me to where the mortals are. Whiche’er you like.”
Oh, hell. Simone couldn’t even wonder why the hell he was calling her a terribly accented ‘lemon’; it was no weirder than anything else tonight.
The ‘need to hunt’ bit was concerning—had this guy been responsible for the victims they’d attributed to her earlier bounty?
But no, there was security footage about the younger one, who had seemed almost to delight in carnage; her visitor seemed a little too self-possessed to make that kind of mistake.
A chilling thought. So was playing chauffeur to a vamp while her nethers tingled and her mouth was full of a strange, spice-candy aftertaste, like dessert after a buffet of every delicious meal she’d ever eaten.
However, if he let her get behind the wheel, she had a chance or two of escape. It was selfish to prioritize her own hide over the humans this vamp could probably drain in moments, but at the moment Simone didn’t care.
“I’ll drive,” she informed him, pulling against his hand. He let go—but only after a moment of keeping her wrist trapped, no doubt just to prove he could. “Can I at least get dressed?” You ripped up my favorite jeans.
She didn’t add that bit, but he nodded as if he heard anyway.
Was he telepathic? Christ, she hoped not.
“Yes ma’am,” he said, and rose slowly, balanced and controlled as a cat all the way through the movement. “Anythin’ you please.”