by Heidi Betts
The scene from last night, the one she’d thought was some bizarre dream brought on by stress and low blood sugar, flashed through her memory. Aidan behind her, having just given her one of the top five greatest orgasms of her life . . . the sharp pain in her neck that she hadn’t quite been able to identify . . . touching the spot and bringing her fingers away to find them smeared with blood . . . accusing him of biting her . . . then turning around to find his eyes glowing red and drops of blood on his mouth.
Had it really happened? And if it had, what the hell did it mean?
She hadn’t yet found the bathroom in this place, and hadn’t seen any mirrors on the walls during her brief glance around last night or her stumble through the dark today. So instead of trying to get past him to look for one, she turned back to the glossy silver refrigerator. Twisting this way and that, she found the best view of her throat she could manage and studied it for a moment.
Yep, there it was. Two small dots that looked like puncture wounds. Even given the cloudy reflection, she could make out dark circles of scabbing with lighter pink irritation around them.
W-T-F?
“So you really did bite me,” she accused, spinning back to face him. She’d be surprised if her eyes weren’t glowing red this time.
He had the good sense to look sheepish, his mouth turning down and his cheeks coloring slightly. “I’m sorry. I should have explained sooner.”
Explained? Explained what? That he was a total perv?
“Please tell me I didn’t marry one of those Anne Rice/ Vampire Lestat cultlike freaks who believes they really are a bloodsucking creature of the night. If you had your teeth cosmetically altered or actually drink blood, not only will I divorce you, I’ll stake you in your sleep.”
He flinched, a couple of times, though she couldn’t be sure which part of her tirade disturbed him most.
“This is something we should probably talk about after you’ve had something to eat. And since there’s a good chance you’ll want to try that staking thing once you hear what I have to say, we should probably order in.”
Narrowing her eyes, she crossed her arms back over her chest, this time to stave off the goose bumps that were breaking out along her skin.
“You aren’t going to kill me down here and make this apartment my underground tomb, are you?” she asked, and she was only half-kidding.
He let out a bark of laughter, which surprisingly made her feel better instead of worse. It was real laughter, the laughter she was used to hearing from him. Not crazy, maniacal, serial killer laughter. She hoped.
“Definitely not. We don’t kill for food anymore. It’s not necessary.”
Okay, so maybe it was crazy, maniacal, serial killer laughter.
“Who’s ‘we’?” she asked, not entirely sure she wanted to know.
Holding her gaze, Aidan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then lifted a well-muscled shoulder before giving her an answer she really didn’t want to hear.
“Vampires.”
Five
Aidan wasn’t sure what to expect next from his lovely new bride. And she was lovely, standing there in his dress shirt, her long legs and feet bare.
But there was also an element of Frankenstein circling her normally pleasant personality. As in “Bride of . . .”
Not that he could blame her. She was running on an extremely empty stomach—something he knew more than a little about, in a manner of speaking—and it wasn’t every day you learned you’d married a vampire.
He really, really should have mentioned that small detail to her before they’d tied the knot.
Since Chloe was just standing there, looking more than a little shell-shocked, he carefully backed out of the kitchen and returned to the bedroom. In the pocket of his suit coat, he found his cell phone and flipped it open.
Reception down here wasn’t as great as he’d have liked, but it would do. He did a search for nearby restaurants that offered home delivery and picked one he thought Chloe would approve of. Making a quick call, he placed an order, then made a mental note to meet the delivery person upstairs in the parking garage in twenty minutes.
Dragging on his pants, he grabbed a loose T-shirt from one of his dresser drawers and pulled it over his head on the way back to the kitchen. He was relieved to find Chloe right where he’d left her, back to poking and prodding at the bite mark while she studied her reflection on the refrigerator door. It was better than having her race around the apartment, ranting and raving like a loon, even if he knew that reaction was probably coming.
“I ordered some food,” he told her quietly. “It should be here soon.”
Turning from her perusal of what he’d done to her . . . in a weak moment and without her permission, he was chagrined to admit . . . she glared at him.
“First I eat, then you tell me what the hell is going on,” she told him in a firm voice, leaving no room for argument. Not that he intended to try.
“Absolutely.” He should have done it much sooner, but was infinitely grateful she was willing to let him feed her first so her temper wasn’t balancing on quite such a hair trigger.
Up until this moment, he hadn’t even realized she had a temper. All the time they’d spent together had been filled with fun and laughter and hot, sweaty sex.
Not that that was anything to complain about, but it apparently chalked one up in the Sebastian Was Right column. Rushing into marriage without telling her about his little “condition” and without experiencing every aspect of her mood spectrum maybe hadn’t been the wisest decision he’d ever made.
“I’m going to get dressed,” she said, slipping past him.
He stepped out of the way, didn’t even try to stop her.
“And don’t forget what I said about the stake,” she called back from halfway down the hall. “I know how to take care of myself, and I am not afraid to drive a pointy object into your heart.”
Aidan flinched, raising a hand to rub his chest over the delicate organ she’d just threatened to puncture. Jeez, who would have thought she’d have such a nasty streak?
And people thought vampires were bloodthirsty.
Chloe took her time gathering up her sister’s clothes and putting them back on. She tossed Aidan’s previously comfortable shirt to the foot of the bed like it was on fire, kicking herself for being such a blind, stupid, bobble-headed fool. Chuck had been right to be concerned, to warn her not to do anything rash.
Well, it was too late for that. She’d gone so far past rash, she was ass-deep in a flesh-eating disease.
A vampire. Her husband—one of Las Vegas’s wealthiest, most renowned local celebrities—thought he was a vampire. A nightwalker. A blood drinker. A sun-phobic, neck-biting, Dracula-wannabe undead creature of the night.
Fabulous. She’d thought she was landing a big fish. Turns out she’d only managed to land a lunatic.
The question was: How did she escape from this windowless, underground bunker and rid herself of her gruesome groom without letting him catch wind of her plan? The last thing she needed was to pique his curiosity or anger and send him into a killing rage.
No, she needed to bide her time, hold her temper—well, maintain her temper, anyway, since she’d already threatened him with that whole stake-through-the-heart thing—and convince him to take her topside so she could make a break for it.
Using his master bath, she relieved herself, brushed her teeth, and ran a brush through her hair. By the time she finished, she looked at least moderately better than a homeless person.
In no hurry, she traipsed back into the main room only to find it—and the kitchen—empty. She spun around a couple of times, looking high and low, checking all the dark corners and nooks and crannies she could find. For all she knew, Aidan had secret passages built into this place, or a coffin where he took his “eternal rest.”
She was getting dizzy from all the up-and-down whirling around when the elevator doors slid open. Straightening with a jerk, her vision
blurred and the room spun. She had to reach out and latch on to the counter to keep from tipping over again.
By the time the lightheadedness passed, Aidan was back inside, his arms laden with white paper takeout bags, and the elevator had closed.
Dammit. She may have actually had a chance to escape if she’d been paying better attention.
But then the scents of Italian wafted over, filling her nostrils and making her stomach twist and churn like it was trying to leap out of her body to get to the food. Oh, my God, she loved Italian! Although, as hungry as she was right now, she could probably eat dirt and convince herself it tasted like tiramisu.
She was across the room in a blink, falling on him like a ravenous . . . well, vampire, at least judging by the movies she’d seen. She grabbed the bags from him, taking them directly to the low coffee table in front of the white suede sofa. Tearing into them, she pulled out aluminum containers, plastic silverware, napkins, and a loaf of steaming-hot garlic bread.
She inhaled deeply. It smelled like heaven. And even better when she took the top off an order of manicotti. Without waiting for him to join her, she dug in, taking bite after delicious bite.
After she’d downed one whole ricotta-filled manicotti and three slices of garlic bread, she finally paused long enough to take a swallow of the Diet Coke that had been included in one of the bags.
Taking the manicotti and bottle of soda with her, she sat farther back on the sofa and crossed her legs to use as a makeshift table.
“This hits the spot. Thank you,” she told Aidan, who continued to stand where she’d left him after ripping the food away from him like a purse snatcher.
“You’re welcome.” Slipping his hands into his front pockets, he rocked back on his heels, still watching her with the utmost caution. “I hope you’re feeling better now.”
She nodded. Her stomach was definitely filling up, her blood sugar and electrolyte levels rising, her mood evening out, and her panic fading.
Around another mouthful of butter-soaked bread she was so going to see on her hips by the next day, she said, “Italian is kind of an odd choice for breakfast, though, isn’t it? I expected eggs and pancakes, or maybe some ham and French toast.”
He shifted uncomfortably, pulling one hand from his pocket to rub it up and down his thigh. Gaze locked on his, Chloe took another sip of her soda and simply studied him for a minute.
He really was a cutie. He had all the same main physical traits as his older brother, Sebastian—the black hair, tall and muscular frame, strong bone structure. But where his brother gave off an arrogant, almost dangerous air, Aidan was always smiling. He was lighthearted, fun-loving . . . the playboy type, right down to his showy, uber-expensive luxury sports car and willingness to invite hordes of complete strangers into his hotel room for an impromptu party or buy rounds of drinks in whatever club he’d happened to wander into.
Standing there now, though, he looked far from carefree and self-assured. He looked as though he were waiting for her to sprout horns and attack him like a demon spawned from Hell.
She didn’t feel like attacking him, not anymore. But he didn’t need to know that. Let him stay on the defensive until she understood who it was she’d really married.
“I thought dinner might be more appropriate, given the time,” he began slowly. “I know you can’t tell without windows, but it’s about six o’clock at night.”
With a forkful of manicotti halfway to her mouth, she froze. A dollop of sauce dripped off and went splat right on her left breast.
She looked down, then scooped it up with the tip of her index finger, plopping it in her mouth while her mind played over what he’d just said.
“Excuse me?” she asked somewhat dumbfounded, letting her fork fall back into the aluminum takeout container.
“Here’s the thing,” he murmured, sounding less than willing to tell her whatever he was about to tell her. Walking forward, he lowered himself to the coffee table, staying perched on the very edge in case he needed to beat a hasty retreat.
“I sleep during daylight hours. I can stay awake, if I have to, but tend to be groggy and slow. Whether I can see dawn coming or not, sleep pulls at me, and I don’t wake up again until nightfall.”
Resting his elbows on his knees, he rubbed his hands together, looking at the floor between his feet rather than at her. “I suspect you slept alongside me nearly as long because of the shock you had when I bit you . . . and the blood loss. I was too eager. I took too much. Especially for your first time.”
Okay, so maybe stuffing herself with pasta and cheese covered in a thick, red sauce that looked entirely too much like the blood he was talking about hadn’t been such a great idea. Swallowing hard, she leaned forward and set the food back on the table. She kept the soda, though; she might need it to settle her stomach if the pitching and rolling didn’t stop.
“I think you’re going to have to explain this to me—whatever it is you believe you are—from the beginning,” she said softly.
So softly that she caught him off-guard. He’d apparently been expecting her to flip out and try to stab him with her little plastic fork. Which was still an option. And she had a little plastic knife, too.... She might be able to do some serious scratching with that, if she needed to.
His head jerked up and he met her eyes. When she only held his gaze, waiting quietly, he seemed to relax. Shifting on the corner of the table, he turned to face her more fully.
“I should have told you before,” he said. “Before we got married, before we even got involved. I’m sorry for that.”
A stab of guilt went through her, her fingers tightening on the bottle of soda in her hands. She was keeping something from him, too, wasn’t she? Something she should have told him before they got married. Before they’d gotten so seriously involved.
So she owed him the benefit of the doubt, at least, right? He might have bitten her last night—so hard he broke the skin. Maybe he really did believe he was a vampire. There were psychologists who treated those kinds of delusions, right?
As his wife—as shiny and new, fresh out of the wrapping as she was—it was her job to listen to him, support him, get him help if he needed it.
At least within reason. If he tried to bite her again, all bets were off. It was slice and dice with her cheap plastic takeout silverware all the way.
Taking a deep breath, she inclined her head a fraction. “Tell me what?”
She sounded so normal! So not freaking out inside her own head. Two points for Chloe Lamoreaux, showgirl and actress extraordinaire.
It was Aidan’s turn to lick his lips. He did that, then swallowed, his hands flexing and releasing where they rested on top of his thighs.
“That I’m a vampire. Sebastian and I both are.”
Her eyes shot wide a second before she blinked. Hard.
His brother was crazy, too? Or was that simply part of Aidan’s delusion? Did Sebastian even know Aidan was running around saying these things? Believing them?
“I don’t . . .” She paused, rethought what she wanted to say, then shook her head and tried again. “There’s no such thing as vampires.”
Possibly not the best thing to say when one was sitting across from a man nearly twice her size who thought he was a vampire and already had a track record of flashing spiky fangs and chomping her on the neck. Especially when she was trapped alone with him in this windowless, single entrance exit (that she knew of), dungeonlike apartment.span>
When, oh, when would she learn to keep her mouth shut?
Instead of being angry or defensive, Aidan nodded. “That’s what most of the world thinks, and we’re happy to let them believe it. But as hard as it is to process, I am a vampire, Chloe.”
Her expression must have told him she was still having trouble accepting his declaration as truth.
“I’m not evil, or a demon, or any of the other misconceptions horror movies make us out to be. I need blood to survive, but I don’t have to kill to get it.
I can’t go out in sunlight, but I do have a reflection and show up in photographs, and I don’t turn into a bat.” His mouth twisted. “Although, technically, I suppose I could. My brother can shift when he really, really wants to.”
Oh, goody! Now he wasn’t just talking about the I vant to suck your blood stuff, he was throwing shape-shifting into the mix.
She shook her head again—to clear it or rattle some sense into herself, she wasn’t sure which. “I’m sorry, but this is all just a little much to absorb.”
“You don’t believe me.” It was a statement, not a question.
She didn’t think anyone would believe such an outrageous claim.
Taking a deep breath, he stood. “I guess I need to prove it to you.”
Six
Chloe jerked back into the overstuffed cushions of the sofa, her hands shooting up to cover the pulse of her throat on both sides. Aidan rolled his eyes at her knee-jerk reaction, as justified as it might be.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to bite you again,” he assured her. And then he raised a brow, sending her a hotly sensual look. “Not unless you ask me to.”
Without waiting for her to respond to that, he put his hands on his hips and began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, he wore a path in the small space between the sofa and matching armchair.
“The problem is, I’m not sure how to do that. Especially since you’ve already seen the fangs and the eyes and the . . . you know,” he said, flipping his hand in the direction of the jugular veins she was protecting so diligently, just in case he was overcome by sudden bloodlust.
If she only knew. He was much more likely to be overcome by plain old lust-lust.
She was fully clothed again, in the same jeans and top she’d filched from her sister and been wearing when he’d first picked her up in front of the Bellagio so they wouldn’t be seen outside the Inferno. She was even wearing a bra, more’s the pity.
But even though she was no longer traipsing around in his shirt, with her legs and those sexy dancer’s feet bare, she still turned him on. Yeah, she could be wearing twenty pounds of concrete or the Big Top tent from Circus Circus, and he could be blind as the proverbial bat, and he would still be turned on just standing in the same room with her.