"I always knew the brown color was false." He touched a lock of hair on her shoulder. "Is this your real color?"
"No." She retreated a step and shoved her hair behind her shoulders. Oh great. She'd just exposed her neck.
"What is your real hair color?"
"Why are we discussing hair color?" Her voice shook and rose in volume. "Do freaking blonds taste better?"
"I thought a safe, mundane subject would calm your nerves."
"Well, it didn't work. I still can't get over the fact that you're a blood-sucking demon from hell!"
He stiffened with a jolt. Oh great. She'd hurt his feelings. But shoot, she had every right to be upset. So why did she feel bad about lashing out at him?
She cleared her throat. "I may have been too harsh."
"Your description is essentially correct. However, since I have never been to hell, it's not appropriate to say I have come from there." His shadow moved slowly across the room. "Though it could be argued that I'm there now."
Ouch. She'd really hurt him. "I–I'm sorry."
There was a long pause. Finally he responded. "I don't need an apology. You're not to blame for this. And I certainly don't need your pity."
Ouch again. She wasn't handling this very well. But then she didn't have much experience talking to demons. "Uh… can we turn on a light?"
"No, it would be visible through the window, and Petrovsky would know that we're here."
"Where are we, exactly?"
"My lab. It overlooks the garden."
A curious smell pervaded the room—antiseptic cleanser and something rich and metallic. Blood.
Shanna's stomach twinged. Of course, he worked with blood. He was the inventor of synthetic blood. And a drinker of it, too. She shuddered.
But if Roman's artificial blood was feeding vampires, then those same vampires were no longer feeding off live people. Roman was saving lives in two different ways. He was still a hero.
And still a blood-drinking demon. How could she deal with this? Part of her was repelled, but another part wanted to reach out to him and tell him he wasn't at all bad for a… vampire. With an inward groan, she realized he didn't need her comfort. He had ten vampire women at home to keep him company on his lonely nights. Eleven women, including Simone.
He opened the door onto a dimly lit hallway. For the first time since leaving the ballroom, she could see his expression. He looked pale. Tense. Angry.
"If you will follow me, please." He stepped into the hall.
Shanna advanced toward him slowly. "Where are you taking me?" She peered out the door. The hallway was empty.
He didn't answer. Didn't look at her. Instead he scanned the hallway as if expecting the bad guys to appear any second. With the power of teleportation, they probably could pop up without warning.
Roman was right. Her only hope of surviving the murderous intent of one vampire was to rely on another one. Him.
"Okay. Let's go." She followed him down the hall.
He stalked toward an elevator, his cape fluttering behind him. "There's an underground chamber here at Romatech, completely lined with silver. No vampire can teleport through its walls. You'll be safe there."
"Oh." Shanna stood in front of the elevator, staring at the down button. "I guess silver is like your kryptonite?"
"Yes." The elevator doors opened. Roman held them open and motioned sharply for her to enter.
She hesitated.
His jaw clenched. "You have to trust me."
"I know. I'm trying. Is that why you gave me that silver crucifix? To protect me from the Russian vampires?"
"Yes." A pained expression flickered across his pale face. "And from myself."
Her mouth fell open. He had been tempted to bite her?
His eyes narrowed. "Are you coming?"
She swallowed hard. What choice did she have? She stepped inside the elevator.
He let go of the doors, and they swooshed shut. She stood apart from him, staring at the buttons. He's still the same man you knew before. He's still the same man.
"You no longer trust me, do you?"
She took a shaky breath. "I'm trying."
He glowered at her. "I could never hurt you."
A spurt of anger burst to the surface. "You have hurt me, Roman. You had the gall to… to flirt with me and kiss me when you have ten live-in mistresses. And then, if that's not enough, I find out you're a… a…"
"Vampire."
"A demonic creature who has actually considered biting me."
He turned toward her. His eyes darkened to a burnished gold. "I knew this would happen. You want to kill me now, don't you?"
Shanna blinked. Kill?
"A stake or a silver blade through the heart is the best way to be rid of me." He stepped toward her and pointed to a spot on his chest. "This is my heart, or rather what's left of it."
She stared at his broad chest. Good God, she'd rested her head there. She'd even kissed him, and he'd tasted sweet and so alive. How could he be dead?
He took her hand and pressed it against his chest. "This is the spot right here. Can you remember it?
You should wait till I'm asleep. I'll be totally defenseless then."
"Stop it." She jerked her hand away.
"Why?" He leaned close. "Don't you want to kill the blood-sucking demon from hell?"
"Stop it! I could never hurt you."
"Oh, but you have, Shanna."
Her breath hitched. She turned away as hot tears gathered in her eyes. The elevator doors opened.
He stalked down a shadowy hallway.
She hesitated. How was she supposed to handle this? Wasn't it enough that her life was in danger?
But her heart was aching for a totally different reason. She was trying to understand, trying to accept the truth about Roman. She actually cared about him, but she was just making things worse. She was hurting him when he was trying to help her. But dammit, it was hurting her, too. She had thought he was the perfect man. How could she have any sort of relationship with him now?
And he didn't need her. He had ten females of his own kind at home. They'd probably known him for a hundred years. She'd known him only a few days. How could she compete with that? She trudged into the hallway.
He was standing in front of a massive door, punching in a number on a keypad.
"This is the room lined with silver?"
"Yes." He pressed his forehead against a device. A red beam scanned his eyes. He opened the heavy metal door and motioned for her to enter. "You'll be safe in here."
She stepped inside. It was a miniature apartment complete with a bed and kitchen. Through an open doorway, she spotted a bathroom. She dropped her bags on the kitchen table. Then she noticed that Roman had entered the room and was removing his cape. He draped it over his hands.
"What are you doing?"
"This side of the door is lined with silver. It would burn my skin." Using the cape as insulation, he pushed the door shut. Then he turned the locks and slid a heavy bar into place.
"You're going to stay here with me?"
He looked at her. "Are you afraid I'm going to bite you?"
"Well, maybe. You're bound to get hungry sooner or later."
"I do not feed off mortals," he said through gritted teeth. He marched to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle from the fridge, and stuck it in the microwave.
So he was hungry, Shanna realized with a grimace. Or maybe he ate when he was upset. Like her.
Somehow, a lecture on emotional eating didn't seem wise at the moment. She would really rather he be full.
Memories of the kitchen at Roman's house came flooding back. Connor trying to keep her out of the refrigerator. Connor and Ian warming up their "protein drinks" in the microwave. The harem girls drinking red stuff from their wineglasses. Good God, it had been in front of her the whole time. The wolf's fang. The coffins in the basement. Roman sleeping like the dead in her bedroom. He really had been dead. Was still dead, even though he walk
ed and talked. And kissed like a… a devil.
"I can't believe this is happening to me." She perched on the edge of the bed. But it was happening. It was all true.
The microwave dinged. Roman removed the bottle and filled a glass with warm blood. Shanna shuddered.
He took a sip, then turned to face her. "I'm a coven master. That means I'm personally responsible for the safety of the members of my coven. By protecting you, I have antagonized an old enemy— Ivan Petrovsky, the Russian vampire who wants to kill you. He could declare war on my coven."
He wandered toward an easy chair and set his drink down on the small table beside it. He ran a fingertip along the edge of the glass. "I regret not telling you everything, but at the time, I thought it best to keep you as ignorant as possible."
Shanna didn't know what to say, so she sat there, watching him as he sank into the chair. He yanked at his bow tie till he unraveled the strip of black silk. He seemed so normal and lifelike, talking about people he felt responsible for. Tilting to the side, he rested his forehead on his hand and rubbed his brow. He looked tired. After all, he was responsible for a huge business and apparently a large group of followers.
And now they were in danger because of her. "Protecting me has caused you a lot of trouble."
"No." He shifted in his chair and looked at her. "The animosity between Petrovksy and myself goes back hundreds of years. And protecting you has brought me the most joy I have felt in a very long time."
She swallowed hard as more tears welled in her eyes. God help her, she'd enjoyed their time together, too. She loved making him laugh. She loved being in his arms. She'd loved everything about him until she'd discovered his live-in girlfriends.
With a small gasp, she realized that her chief source of anger and frustration always centered on his harem. She could understand why he hadn't told her he was a vampire. Who would want to admit to being a demon? And besides, he had to protect more than himself. He had a whole coven of followers to protect. His reluctance to confide in her was understandable. And forgivable.
And the fact that he was a demon—well, that seemed open to interpretation. After all, he was saving millions of human lives every day with his synthetic blood. And he was protecting lives by providing other vampires with a different food source. In her heart, she knew there was no evil in Roman. She would have never been so attracted to him, otherwise.
No, the problem was the harem. Good God, she was willing to forgive him for everything but that. Why should the harem stick in her craw? She closed her eyes as the tears threatened to overflow. It was simple jealousy. She wanted him to herself.
But he was a vampire. She could never have him.
She glanced his way. He was still watching her, but now he was doing it while he sipped blood. Oh jeez. What could she possibly say? She blinked away the tears and steeled her nerves. "This is a nice room. Why did you have it built?"
"There have been a few attempts on my life. Angus MacKay designed this room as a sanctuary from the Malcontents."
"Malcontents?"
"That's what we call them. They call themselves the True Ones, but in truth, they're nothing more than terrorists. They're a secret society who believes in their Satan-given right to feed off mortals."
Roman lifted his glass. "To them, drinking this synthetic blood is an abomination."
"Oh. And since you invented it, they really don't like you."
He smiled slightly. "No. They don't care for Romatech, either. They've launched several grenades at us in the past few years. That's why I have so much security here and at home."
Vampire security guards who slept in coffin dormitories. Shanna hugged herself while she let this new reality sink in. Roman finished his drink and walked over to the kitchen area. He rinsed the glass out and set it in the sink.
"So you're telling me there are two kinds of vampires— the bad Malcontent guys who feed off mortals, and then the good guys like you."
Roman pressed his palms down on the marble countertop, his back to her. He seemed perfectly still, though she could tell he was breathing rapidly, struggling with some kind of inner demon. Himself.
He slammed a fist against the marble so suddenly, she jumped. He whirled around to face her, his face harsh, his eyes gleaming. He stalked toward her. "Don't ever make the mistake of thinking I'm good. I have committed more crimes than you can imagine. I have murdered in cold blood. I have transformed hundreds of mortals into vampires. I have doomed their immortal souls to an eternity in hell!"
Shanna sat motionless, shaken to the core, frozen by the intensity of his eyes. Murderer. Maker of vampires. Good God, if he wanted to scare her, he was doing one hell of a fine job. She leaped to her feet and dashed to the door. She had flipped open two locks before he grabbed her from behind.
"Dammit, no." He shoved her aside and turned the first lock. With a hissing intake of breath, he pulled his hand away.
Shanna saw the welts forming on his fingertips, smelled the terrible odor of burning flesh. "What—?"
Gritting his teeth, he reached for the second lock.
"Stop!" She pushed his hand away and set the lock herself. Sheesh, what was she doing?
He cradled his injured hand against his chest, his face pale with pain.
"You burned yourself," she whispered. Was he that desperate to keep her safe? She reached for his hand. "Let me see."
He stepped back. "It will heal while I sleep." He glared at her. "Don't do that again. Even if you get out the door, you won't get two feet before I catch you."
"You don't have to make me sound like a prisoner."
He walked to the fridge and grabbed a handful of ice. "You're under my protection."
"Why? Why are you so determined to protect me?"
He stood at the sink, rubbing an ice cube over his seared fingers. Shanna finally decided he wasn't going to answer. She trudged back to the bed.
"You're special," he said softly.
She halted by the bed. Special? She closed her eyes. God, this man made her heart ache. Despite everything, she wanted to hold him in her arms and comfort him. "You could kill me yourself, and the Russian mob would probably pay you."
He tossed the ice into the sink. "I could never harm you."
Then, why did he want her to believe the worst of him? He'd described himself as evil. She sat down heavily on the bed. Oh God, was that how he saw himself? As a loathsome, evil creature? No wonder he suffered from so much pain and remorse. "How long have you been a…?"
"A vampire?" He turned to face her. "Say it, Shanna. I'm a vampire."
Her eyes misted. "I don't want to. It doesn't fit you."
He regarded her sadly. "I went through a period of denial, too. Eventually I got over it."
"How?"
His mouth thinned. "I got hungry."
Shanna shivered. "You fed off people."
"Yes. Until I invented synthetic blood. The purpose of Romatech is to make the world safe for vampires and mortals alike."
She knew it. She knew he was a good man, even if he couldn't see it himself. "What else can you do? I mean, other than teleport or sizzle on a silver platter."
His eyes softened. "I have heightened senses. I can hear at a distance and see in the dark. With a good sniff, I can tell you're Type A Positive." The corner of his mouth quirked. "My favorite flavor."
Shanna winced. "In that case, feel free to use the fridge."
He smiled.
Damn, he was too good-looking for a demon. "What else? Oh, right. You can move faster than a speeding bullet."
"Only when I want to. Some things are better done slowly."
She gulped. Was he flirting with her? "Do you turn into a bat and fly around?"
"No. That's an old superstition. We can't change form or fly, but we can levitate."
"Don't you need to go back to your party? And your friends?"
With a shrug, he leaned against the counter. "I'd rather be here with you."
Now for the k
iller question. "Did you want to become a vampire?"
He stiffened. "No, of course not."
"Then how did it happen? Were you attacked?"
"The details are not important." He wandered toward the easy chair. "You don't want to hear it."
She took a deep breath. "I do. I want to know everything."
He looked uncertain as he unbuttoned his jacket. "It's a long story."
"Go for it." She attempted a wry smile. "I'm a captive audience."
CHAPTER 17
Roman leaned back in the easy chair and stared at the ceiling. He had serious doubts about this. The last time he'd told this story to a woman, she'd wanted to kill him.
He took a deep breath and began. "I was born in a small village in Romania in 1461. I had two brothers and a little sister." He tried to conjure up their faces, but his memory was too vague. He'd had such a short time with them.
"Wow," Shanna breathed. "You're over five hundred years old."
"Thanks for reminding me."
"Go on," she urged. "What happened to your family?"
"We were poor. Times were difficult." The red blinking light in the corner over the bed caught his attention. The digital surveillance camera was working. He sliced the air with a cutting motion, and within seconds, the red light was off.
He continued with his story. "My mother died in childbirth when I was four. Then my sister died.
She was only two."
"I'm so sorry."
"When I was five, my father took me to a local monastery and left me there. I kept thinking he would come back. I knew he loved me. He'd hugged me so tightly before he left. I refused to sleep on the pallet the monks gave me. I insisted my father would come back." He rubbed his forehead.
"Eventually the monks grew tired of my complaining and told me the truth. My father had sold me to them."
"Oh no. That's terrible."
"I tried to console myself, thinking my father and brothers were doing well, eating like kings off all the money I earned for them. But the truth was I was sold for a sack of flour."
"That's awful! They must have been desperate."
"They were starving." Roman sighed. "I used to wonder why I was the one my father chose to give away."
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