by Martha Woods
Before a breath had passed, he’d grabbed her wrist so violently she cried out.
“The hell!” she cursed.
He yanked her towards him, toppling the stool between them. The fake crystal ball toppled to the floor with a crack. “Who are you?” he hissed.
“Jesus,” she said, breathless with pain. It felt like he might snap her wrist. “Let go of me, asshole.”
He didn’t. His eyes bored into her with such vicious, unveiled hatred she almost withered. But fuck this guy. She took a deep breath through the pain and brought the heel of her other hand up, intent on breaking his nose. She’d lived on the streets long enough to learn self-defense. He caught her other wrist easily, and suddenly her back was against the brick wall. His enormous hand closed around her throat, and her feet dangled an inch above the ground. Her vision blurred, ears ringing.
“Who are you?” he repeated, the grit in his voice no longer sexy. It sent a terrifying chill through her.
She couldn’t breathe, much less answer him. Fear gripped her, and she could not tell if it was her own or his. He glared at her. The golden flecks burned like a flame. It was the last thing she saw.
* * *
Tessa opened her eyes and groaned as a sharp throbbing reached her temples. She blinked a few times, her vision tilting. She sat up slowly. She found herself on a leather sectional in front of a blazing fire. Tessa peered around the penthouse studio, taking in the windows hidden behind heavy drapes and the wood door that looked as though it had been taken straight off a castle. She could see the end of a claw foot tub peeking out from behind a silk screen that could have been an ancient Chinese artifact. Artwork warmed otherwise white walls and cold, hard lines created by concrete and granite.
She could get out of here. She had escaped before. The door would be easiest, but she’d settle for crawling out a window if she could.
Her attacker sat on the other side of the couch, watching her with an intense gaze. His tall, lean physique looked at ease.
“You fucking kidnapped me?” she said, flinching as her head responded to her own raised voice with a piercing pain. “Dick move, man.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said casually, apparently unimpressed with her vulgarity.
“What’s it to you?” she asked, glaring at her assailant
“Why didn’t you fight back?” he asked, standing and approaching her with a graceful, controlled movement that surprised her. He was tall. Tall men often appeared gangly, but there was a grace to him despite his size.
“I tried,” she said. “And I will again if you get any closer.”
“You’re just human, aren’t you?” he said, eyes suddenly thoughtful.
She gaped at him. Shit.
“Jesus Christ,” she said. “I didn’t take you for one of the crazies. My mistake. Look, I’m not a real psychic.”
“If you aren’t a psychic,” he leaned forward, “then how can you explain what you told me?”
Tessa chewed her lip. He was one of them, one of the damned crazies that believed in the impossible. What would he do to her if she told him what she could do? He’d already gone through the trouble of kidnapping her for fuck all reason.
Finally, Tessa shrugged. “It was a shot in the dark, man.”
Kristian’s eyes narrowed, green eyes going dark. He wasn’t having it.
“You mean to tell me you plucked the name Veronica out nowhere? That it wasn’t already whispered in your ear?”
Tessa threw her hands up in the air. Frustration boiled inside of her. “Sure, man. Just...just let me go.”
He ignored her request to stay away from her. Suddenly, he was sitting next to her and reaching a gentle hand out to brush the bruise quickly forming on her neck.
“Don’t touch me,” she growled and moved away.
Her wrist was in his hand before she could register that he moved at all. He yanked her close to him, his green eyes boring into hers. She could catch words racing through his mind.
Witches.
Calder.
“Dude, I didn’t sign up to deal with witches.”
“Excuse me?” Kristian jerked back. Realization dawned on his face, eyes opening wide. “I’ve never met a human who could…” He trailed off, his thoughts revealing more than he probably intended. Like the fact, he didn’t believe he was human.
“You aren’t...human? If you’re not human, what are you?” she asked, skeptical. This guy could believe whatever he wanted. He just needed to leave her the hell alone. Tessa eyed the door on the other side of Kristian. If she ran to it, would it be locked?
He cocked his head as if considering whether or not to indulge her request. This annoyed her. She needed to distract him. If she could feed his fantasy, maybe it would give her enough time to run for it.
“The undead,” he said, that smug smirk she’d seen before replaying across his features.
“Zombie?” she scoffed. Tessa prayed this guy didn’t have a collection of brains in his fridge.
“Vampire,” he corrected.
“Right,” she said, and gingerly stood up. She didn’t feel dizzy anymore. It was time to get the hell out of here. Tessa stepped on the coffee table, launching herself toward the door. It was almost within reach. Elation filled her.
Later, crazy.
She reached for the door knob. She didn’t even blink and suddenly, he was in front of her.
“I cannot let you leave,” he said, almost apologetically, but not quite. He was curious. He was eager. He was attracted. He was still condescending. But of all things, he wasn’t sorry.
Fear rose in her chest again. “What do you want?” she asked, wary of tipping the crazy too far.
“You don’t believe in vampires?” he asked, chuckling. She expected his laugh to be deranged, but it was a pleasant sound. “You literally read minds, but you don’t believe in vampires?”
“I consider my…ability…an evolution of the human brain. It was bound to happen at some point. We can only access, what, four percent of our brains? But vampires are…vampires,” she said. She backed away from him slowly. She wondered if the best tactic was to feed into his delusion or call him on it.
“If you’re a vampire, prove it,” she said. If this went poorly, she had a knife tucked into her boot at least.
He met her fierce gaze with an unsuppressed amusement.
“Move in front of the fire. Back to the flames, please,” he instructed.
“Are you going to push me in?” she asked, not moving.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Indulge me.”
She huffed, annoyed, but did as he asked.
“Observe,” he said, pointing to her shadow as it danced and flickered over the area rug.
“So? What’s your point, Peter Pan?” she said, crossing her arms. He came to stand next to her. She edged away as he approached. He took her place in front of the fire. No shadow appeared. She sucked in a breath. “Jesus Christ.”
“Not exactly,” he said, smug and satisfied. “I would show you my fangs, but it would put me in a hunting mood, and you are a temptation I do not wish to indulge in.”
She eyed him suspiciously as she digested the information. He was right. She could read minds, and although she’d assigned this ability to a freak glitch in DNA, something inside of her easily accepted the supernatural alternative. It strangely made her feel better, less isolated.
“Right,” she said, sitting back down on the couch. “Well, are you going to kill me?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head and offering a seductive smile. “It has been years since I killed. With financial means…anything can be bought on the black market. It has a bitter taste, but it is preferable to living in the shadows to avoid persecution and death. Humans are quite upset when their own get killed. Besides, humans aren’t the only ones who have evolved. Killing is a pointless, animalistic pastime. We have long outgrown its necessity.”
His thoughts reflected his words as trut
h.
“Fine,” she said. “So, can I leave?”
“Afraid not,” he shook his head. “You are either a gift or a threat, one that I have yet to figure out. If the Calder sent you to read our minds, to report to them on our intended movements, then I cannot let you run back to them. If you aren’t...then you are too rare for me to release back into the world, yet.”
Tessa swallowed hard. She’d been running for a long time. It had finally caught up with her, even if this wasn’t what she expected.
“You have no more questions?” he asked. He still stood in front of the fire, regarding her as if he were truly seeing her for the first time. His eyes lingered on her short, muscular legs and her narrow torso. She was wearing skinny jeans, a tank top, and a gypsy-esque pashmina. His assessment continued, traveling over her breasts and finally landing on her olive face, dark coffee eyes, and thick black hair, braided intricately and hanging nearly to her waist. She let him look. She couldn’t help but like the hunger in his eyes. She often had men stare, but never quite like that.
He’s a… what? A vampire? She reminded herself. She glanced back to where his shadow could be, barely believing it. It could be a trick of the light, mirrors placed somewhere within the studio. Or, he could be telling the truth. She didn’t particularly want to stay to find out.
“While I demand that you stay here, I promise that I will treat you as a guest until you decide to cross me. Consider yourself warned, if you do in fact work for the Calder.”
She considered it. She normally camped just outside the city. She had an old hatchback that carried the teardrop trailer she’d purchased a few years ago. But she hadn’t had a proper shower in weeks, and she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d slept in a real bed.
“Why do you want me to stay?” she asked.
“You fascinate me,” he said and took a step closer to her. His eyes devoured her. His thoughts did too. She felt drawn to him in a strangely kinetic way. And he felt it too, even if he thought that she was the enemy. His thoughts tickled her skin each time he lost track of his accusations.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Dracula,” she said, jabbing her pointer finger into his chest to push him back. “I need a place to stay, and you kidnapped me. So, I’m going to stay the night. I’m going to start by taking a bath.” She pointed to the claw foot tub. “And you are either going to order or cook dinner. Then…we can get to know each other a little better.”
He grinned, and she thought her chest might crack from the pressure of her heart’s increasing rhythm. Damn him for being so beautiful.
* * *
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