by Nina Bangs
“I wouldn’t scream if I were you.” He offered the suggestion casually, but his gaze was wary. “If you scream, Eric will run to the rescue. There’ll be one hell of a fight that every customer will see and hear. I’ll make sure of that. Even if I lose, I’ll win. Because Eric will have to leave the Castle of Dark Dreams. And he likes it here.” Taurin shrugged. “Of course, I don’t intend to lose, so he’ll be dead.”
“Why’re you here?” She wouldn’t scream for the moment, but if he made a move toward her . . .
“I want to talk to you. Besides, I have to prove to Eric that I can reach you whenever I choose. Make him sweat a little.” He didn’t come any closer, but his expression grew calculating. “Guess I can’t do that, though, because Eric doesn’t sweat. Ever.”
He strolled over to study the fake instruments of torture. “I remember seeing the real things a few centuries back.” Turning, he speared her with an intense stare. “Maybe I’m all wrong here, but I get the feeling you don’t know that Eric’s a vampire just like me.”
“No.” That’s all Donna could manage, because her breath had taken a hike again. Sure, she’d known that Eric had some unusual mental powers, but not this . . . this . . .
“Yes.” Satisfaction filled Taurin’s vampire eyes. “Okay, so maybe not exactly like me. He belongs to a clan of vampires with powers that are off the charts. But I’ve worked hard to up my skill level. Now I’m ready for him.”
“No.” The word was starting to sound weak even to her. But she couldn’t wrap her mind and emotions around what Taurin was telling her. She would’ve known, would’ve sensed . . . Good grief, she’d made love with Eric.
“When you finally decide to accept what I’m telling you, think about this.” Taurin’s eyes filled with hate. “Two hundred years ago Eric and a few others from his clan captured me. They didn’t really want me, they wanted Dacian, my brother. They kept me in an abandoned warehouse and used me as bait. When Dacian came for me, they set the warehouse on fire.” Despair joined the hate in his gaze. “Dacian got me out safely, but didn’t have the strength to save himself. I never saw him again.”
Donna just stared at him. What could she say to his story when she was still trying to deal with the concept of Eric as vampire, and if Taurin’s tale was true, Eric’s savagery? The silence stretched between them as the sound of someone coming down the steps reached her.
Eric appeared in the dungeon doorway, and Donna saw the exact moment he realized that Taurin was with her. As she watched in horror, Eric changed from the man she’d made love to into the vampire of her first fantasy. He hadn’t been wearing a mask or clever makeup. He was the real deal. His eyes grew larger and elongated, with black pupils that dilated until no blue remained. His lips became fuller with the promise of deadly fangs beneath them.
Eric began a slow deliberate stalking of his enemy. Donna was beyond terrified. She didn’t know him now, didn’t understand how she’d made love with him and not realized. Every tacky grade B vampire film played in her memory as a frightening background to her real-life horror happening.
Eric’s anger radiated in waves of power that pushed her against the wall. With his change to vampire, he seemed to have grown bigger and a lot scarier. His eyes almost glowed with his fury, and he’d drawn his lips back from his fangs in a vicious snarl. If she could crawl through a crack in the floor, she would. She did not want to be a witness to what would happen next.
Even Taurin looked a little intimidated. “This isn’t the time or place, Eric. I just stopped by to pass on a little info to Donna.” And then he was gone.
“He vanished.” She stared at the spot where Taurin had stood. Donna didn’t understand the how, but she was eternally grateful that he had. She was on shock overload and her emotions were teetering on the edge. No way did she want to end up babbling to some shrink about the time she stood in a dungeon and watched two vampires fight to the death. A definite shortcut to a cozy padded room and many many meds.
Okay, look at Eric. How bad can it be? Scraping her last bit of courage off the floor, she lifted her gaze. Donna almost collapsed with relief. He’d returned to human form. She should ask questions, demand explanations. But first she’d race to her room and hide her head under her pillow until her shivering stopped.
“Donna.” He took a step toward her, his gaze filled with regret and his eyes swimming with an emotion she was too shattered to interpret.
“No. Don’t come near me.” She held up a shaking hand to ward off whatever he was, because he was certainly not what she’d believed. And the sadness of that thought almost pushed aside her fear. Almost. Without meeting his gaze again, she ran for the stairs. He didn’t try to stop her.
By the time she’d locked her door behind her and flung herself onto her bed, Donna was in control enough to pass on hiding her head under her pillow. A vampire. She’d made love with a vampire, an immortal bloodsucking fiend. Fine, so maybe she was piling it on a little too thick. Calm down. Think clearly. Ack, she’d made love to a real live—or not—vampire.
Her listeners would be disappointed in her. How many times had she encouraged them to approach their paranormal experiences without fear and with an open mind? Arrogant. Smug. Stupid. It was easy to hand out advice when she wasn’t the one nose to nose with a vamp. She’d probably left scorch marks on the stairs as she’d trucked out of the dungeon.
And she could never tell this story to Trish. She’d lectured Trish her whole adult life about choosing the wrong men. At least Trish had never gotten it on with a creature of the night. Donna felt herself bonding with the pod women.
“Are you finished with your hysterics, dear? Because if you are, we can talk about all the wonderful sensual gifts a vampire brings to the love table.” Lola’s voice sounded matter of fact. The scent of oatmeal cookies hung in the air.
Donna was tempted to keep her eyes closed. She didn’t want to deal with Lola now. “Could you come back later, Lola?”
“No. We have to talk now before you do something foolish like telling Eric never to come near you again or running back to New York. So open your eyes and look at me.” Lola’s voice sounded eerily like Grandma Lily’s when she’d caught a five-year-old Donna drawing horse pictures on the dining room wall.
Donna rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. A steely-eyed Lola hovered next to her bed.
“I’ve left some of my home-baked oatmeal cookies along with your candy on your night table. Oatmeal cookies are always good for a warm fuzzy feel, and heaven knows you look like you need all the warm fuzzies you can get.” Lola wore a long flowered dress, and her white hair formed a halo around her chubby-cheeked face. She placed her hands on her hips. “I thought you were a woman in control. But look at you, cowering behind a locked door—which won’t keep Eric out, by the way—and letting life’s little taps on your shoulder scare the hell out of you.” Lola offered her a motherly smile. “I love the power a good curse word brings to a discussion.”
“Taps on my shoulder?” For the first time since seeing Eric change, outrage pushed fear aside. “How about a knockout punch? Hey, this is a big deal.”
“Only if you make it one. You’re talking to a ghost, dear. And you’ve talked to a cat—time wasted if you ask me—so why is it such a big stretch to accept that the man you had sex with is dentally challenged?” She flung her hands into the air to emphasize her frustration. “Vampires have feelings, too, you know. I bet Eric is crushed that you ran away from him. Why don’t you have a cookie and then have a nice long talk with him, hmm?”
Lola made everything seem so reasonable when it was anything but. She had one thing right, though. Donna had to pull herself together and get ready for her show. And Eric could relax, because no way would she share this experience with her listeners. In fact, she wouldn’t be revealing any of the phony brothers’ secrets. Why? She wasn’t sure. Curiosity made a brief appearance. What was Conall? She’d find out eventually.
Eventually? Did that mean sh
e was staying? Donna surprised even herself, because her answer was a resounding yes. Maybe she was developing immunity to weird and scary experiences. Maybe her willingness to take the chance of being kidnapped by a vengeance-obsessed vampire proved how far she’d go to up her ratings. Maybe your interest in Eric transcends abject terror. Maybe she’d have an oatmeal cookie.
“See what you’ve done? You’ve upset Sweetie Pie and Jessica.” Lola had floated over to get a look at the two plants.
“What?” Donna took a bite from her cookie and tried to shove everything from her mind except happy memories of Mom baking cookies on Christmas Eve. Didn’t work. All she could see was the moment Eric changed into someone she didn’t know.
“The girls have bonded with you. They sense you’re upset, and they’re sad. See how sad they are?” With an accusing glance, Lola pointed out the droopy leaves on both plants.
Jeez, plant guilt. “Look, my guest tonight is an expert on UFO cover-ups, and I have to do a little research on the Web before the show.” A lie. She’d done all her research before leaving New York. But she needed everyone to give her some space.
Lola turned away from the plants. “Get over your hissy fit because Eric is a little different, and get on with keeping the girls happy. Once you’ve had your little chat with Eric, why don’t you use up all your chocolate-covered cherries in his navel?” She pursed her lips as she thought. “Or perhaps he’d like to melt a few in your navel.” Lola cast Donna a piercing stare. “You do have an innie, not an outie belly button, don’t you?” Her expression said she might not survive if Donna had an unacceptable navel, one not able to hold a melted chocolate-covered cherry.
Lola had a bad case of belly-button bias, and Donna was tempted to lie just to watch her expression. But then Lola would hang around trying to convince her that there were many many places on a woman’s body where a man could melt chocolate. “My navel’s fine.”
Lola smiled her comfortable granny smile as she drifted toward the door.
Donna frowned. “Wait. How did you know about the navel thing?” Suspicion reared its head. “You weren’t hanging around when Sparkle suggested it, were you?”
Lola widened her eyes to demonstrate her shock that Donna would suggest she was spying. “Of course not. But doesn’t everyone melt their chocolate-covered cherries that way? As soon as I saw the bag, I simply assumed . . .” She blinked. “You weren’t just going to eat them?” She managed to imbue her voice with the horror she felt at someone so misusing the chocolates.
“I, umm . . .” Somehow Lola had put her on the defensive. How did she do that?
“Well, dear, I’ll leave you to work out your own destiny.” She paused before disappearing. “But please make sure it’s the correct one or else I’ll be forced to haunt you until your dying day. Toodle-oo.” And she was gone.
At last. Alone. Donna had a little while before going down for her show. She’d take a shower and try to absorb what she’d seen. Maybe then she could face—
A sharp rap on her door shattered her belief that she’d achieved some semblance of calm. Please don’t let it be Eric. She couldn’t deal with him yet. Her gaze skittered around the room. Did adults hide under beds? Okay, how about closets? Get a grip, Nolan.
“Hey, Donna. It’s Conall. Could I talk to you for a minute?” He sounded like a normal human.
What were the chances? Not good. If she opened the door, would he morph into a werewolf? But she wanted to know more about Eric without talking directly to the resident vampire lord. Conall gave her the chance to do just that. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.
Conall strode in, glanced around the room, and settled his large body in one of the room’s two chairs. “Feeling any better?” He looked worried. “When you passed me on the dungeon steps, you were nothing more than a blur and a stiff breeze.” He smiled.
She appreciated his attempt to put her at ease. “If you mean, have I been up here carving a chair leg into a wooden stake, then you can relax. No stake, but not much calm, either. And before we talk about anything, tell me what you are, because I know you have to be something.”
His smile widened. “Something, huh? I guess you could call it that.” Conall’s smile faded. “I don’t turn into anyone else. What you see is what you get.”
“And . . .” She waited for the other shoe to drop.
“My real name is Conall O’Rourke, and I’m an immortal warrior. A pissed-off goddess cursed me a long time ago.” He watched her warily.
He probably expected her to lose it if he told her everything. Conall didn’t understand. She’d just seen her lover turn into a vampire. Nothing he pulled off his shock shelf could make her blink.
“How old? And don’t worry. I couldn’t fling myself out the window even if I wanted to. It’s too narrow, and I’m too wide.”
His smile returned. “Eight hundred years. I’m the same age as Eric.”
Oh. My. God. She’d lied. She blinked. “And you’re here, why?”
“Here at the Castle of Dark Dreams or here in Galveston?” He held up his hand. “Never mind. You probably want to know both.”
She nodded.
“Hand me one of those bags of candy.”
Donna picked up Eric’s bag of chocolate-covered raisins and took it to him. She didn’t even consider giving him her cherries. Then she sat down across from him. “Let’s hear it.”
“I’m giving you the short version. I killed one of the favorite warriors of Morrigan, the Irish goddess of war and death.” He popped some chocolate into his mouth to fortify himself.
“Goddess? Gods and goddesses are real?” Like that should surprise her?
“More things than you could ever imagine are real.” His smile was probably meant to reassure her. It didn’t. “Anyway, Morrigan’s vengeance was a real bitch. She cursed me to act as protector for all my dead enemy’s descendants until no one was left. I’m down to one, and he’s living in Galveston. I’ve never seen him, but he’s bound to walk through the castle’s gates one of these days and I’ll know him. All of the damn Kavanaghs look alike. He doesn’t have any kids yet, so if I can stop the descendant thing right here, I’ll be free of the curse.”
Donna could feel her eyes crossing even as she stared. “Okay, I get it. The three of you made up the name McNair so you could pose as brothers. Then what’s Eric’s last name, and why is he here?” Her heart had stopped pounding in her ears, and she was almost sure she wouldn’t have to breathe into a bag to keep from hyperventilating.
“Eric is a Mackenzie, and I think you need to ask him the rest of what you want to know.” Conall stood. “I’ll walk you down to your table. Eric’s sub will take over for the rest of the night, so Eric’ll be free to watch you during your show.” His gaze turned serious. “You can’t be alone at any time until Eric takes care of Taurin.” His grim expression said exactly how permanent the taking care of would be.
Eric sat right behind Donna for the entire show. He alternated between anger and hurt. She’d run from him. Hurt? Human females didn’t have the power to hurt him. But whatever the emotion was, it bothered him. He tried to pull his sense of self-worth around him—the knowledge that he wielded immense power, that he’d lived for centuries before Donna was born and would live centuries more after she died. Right. Now he was depressed.
She didn’t turn around to look at him once, but he could feel her emotions—a mix of unease, curiosity, and . . . yes, desire. He smiled for the first time since he’d entered the dungeon to find Taurin there. If she still desired him, then he had something to work with.
He’d spoken to her once. Right before she went on the air, he’d leaned close and then frowned when she flinched away from him. Trying to ignore the twinge he was positive couldn’t be hurt, he’d asked if she was going to tell her listeners about what had happened. She hadn’t answered, just shook her head. He’d been slow to draw away from her. Her scent of lavender and warm vital woman was a giant sensual suction cup.
Donna turned to look at him. “I want something to eat. Keep me company. We have to talk.” Nothing she said sounded negotiable. Nothing in her expression said friendly.
“Great.” Eric wasn’t complaining. Things could’ve gotten ugly if she’d given her audience a blow by blow account of her evening. Worse yet, she could be on a plane back to New York. Now, that thought scared him on a whole other level.
Once seated in the restaurant, she stared across the table at him, her expression unreadable. She’d dressed starkly professional for the show in a black skirt and jacket. Probably going all civilized to give her the courage to face the unspeakable evil. He scowled.
Calmly she ordered a steak and baked potato, but he noticed her hand had a slight tremor as she picked up her knife. Score one for the unspeakable evil. If you were going to scare the crap out of humans, make sure you did it right. Did that thought make him feel better? No. He pulled a slightly flattened Snickers bar from his jeans pocket.
She paused in the process of cutting her steak to stare at the Snickers bar. Then she laughed. Sure, the laugh sounded a little hysterical, but he was pathetically happy to hear any kind of laugh.
“What?” He took a bite from the candy bar and tried to shove away thoughts of what he’d rather be doing with his mouth.
“You’re eating a Snickers bar?” The laughter had faded to a few chuckles.
“Yeah. I was going to ask the chef to send out the blood from your steak in a wineglass, but I didn’t want to gross you out.” He was lying, but a dark need he didn’t understand wanted to see if she’d turn from him in disgust, expected her to turn from him in disgust.
“You drink cow’s blood?” She really looked interested in his answer.
“Is this off the record?” He’d play her game as she tiptoed around what she really wanted to know.
She propped her elbow on the table and rubbed her forehead with her hand. “I’m not going to tell anyone about you, Brynn, or Conall. So yes, this is off the record.”