by Kathy Love
She finished straightening her clothes and eased off the table, the white paper under her bottom crinkling loudly. As she stepped out into the room, she saw the nurse who’d brought her back to the doctor was at her station. She was on the phone, but she waved to Jolee to acknowledge that she saw her. She gestured for Jolee to go back to the waiting room.
Jolee stepped through the swinging door, and her neighbor stood up.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she said, “nothing that time and rest won’t cure.” She couldn’t help adding, “Just like I told you.”
He didn’t acknowledge her peevish tone, but before he could question her further, the nurse arrived.
“Here are your supplies.” She held out a small white paper bag. “And here is the list of symptoms to watch for if your concussion worsens.”
The nurse then looked to her neighbor. “Will you be the one watching her tonight?”
“Yes,” he said.
“No,” Jolee stated at the same time.
The nurse looked back and forth between the two. Finally her confused gaze landed on Jolee. “You do have someone to stay with you, at least for tonight, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Jolee said quickly, adamantly. “Yes, of course, I do.”
The nurse gave her a searching look. Again Jolee was sure her horrible lying skills had given her away.
“Okay,” the nurse finally said. “Good. And feel better.”
“I will. Thank you.” Jolee clutched the items the nurse had given her like a victory medal. She just wanted out of here.
Then the clerk appeared. “I have the bill waiting for you.”
Jolee really didn’t want to hear the total. She felt guilty that this man had to pay— even though he was the one who nearly ran her down, and despite the fact he could obviously afford it. Or at least could have afforded it at one time. Who knew what the state of his finances was now? He did live in a rusty old trailer across from the most broke woman in the known universe. Odds were, he wasn’t any too solvent. But he didn’t hesitate; he followed the woman back to her desk. Jolee, wimp that she was, remained in the waiting area.
In a few minutes, he returned, looking unfazed by whatever the bill had been. But his expressions were hard to read, so she couldn’t be sure how he felt about the cost.
“You’d be an ace at poker,” she said, falling into step beside him to retrace their path back to his car.
“Why do you say that?”
“Those eyes of yours,” she said. “Beautiful and unreadable.”
Christian didn’t pause or glance at her as she walked beside him, but he was shocked to the core. This woman, who he’d obviously done a terrific job of making dislike and mistrust him, had just given him a compliment. Well, a compliment of sorts.
“Actually, I haven’t gambled at cards for years.” Not since his wastrel days frequenting gambling hells all about London. “Are you sure you aren’t feeling lightheaded?”
She obviously must be feeling a little confused to say anything complimentary about him.
“No,” she said, stifling back a yawn. “But I am exhausted.”
“Well, I’ll get you home as quickly as possible.” He led her to his car, opening the door for her.
“Don’t go too quickly. I don’t want you to run down anyone else tonight.”
A smile tugged at his lips, but he didn’t comment.
The ride back to the trailer park was much like the ride to the hospital. Silent. Jolee had her eyes closed, although this time he was fairly certain she just dozed.
Instead of pulling in her driveway, he turned into his own. When the engine rumbled to a stop, Jolee opened her eyes, peering around.
“Thanks,” she murmured, obviously not thinking it odd that he didn’t drop her off at her door. She reached for the door handle. Christian also reached for his, jumping out of the car to come around and help her.
Jolee was already standing, using the door to steady herself.
“Thanks, I can handle it from here.”
She started across the street, but Christian followed, catching the hand of her good arm.
She stopped and glanced down at where he touched her, then lifted an arched brow. “I said I can handle it from here.”
He shook his head. “The nurse said you need to have someone with you tonight.”
“Well, you are right across the road, so if I need you—»
He shook his head. “You’re going to spend the night with me.”
She immediately shook her head, then narrowed her eyes as if the action had caused her pain. “No. I promise I’ll come right over to you if I have any of the symptoms.”
“No. You will stay at my place.” Lord, she was a stubborn little mortal.
Her eyes narrowed again, but this time out of annoyance rather than pain. “You are impossible. No.”
He smiled slightly. Well, at least she was thinking the same thing about his disposition.
“The other option is that I stay at your trailer, but as I recall, you have no sofa. I suppose I could share your bed.”
Her eyes widened now, flashing. “No! This is ridiculous. I’m perfectly fine to go home and go to bed. I don’t need you to stay with me.”
“Right then. Off to your bed.” He started to tug her toward her trailer, but she dug in her heels.
“You would seriously do this, wouldn’t you?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Yes. It’s doctor’s orders.”
She stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “I will sleep on your couch.”
“My bed.”
“Couch.”
“Bed.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered. “Fine. I’ll sleep in your bed.”
He started to tug her back toward his trailer.
“But” — she dug her heels in again; he stopped and looked at her— “you will sleep on the couch.”
“Absolutely.”
Jolee allowed herself to be led into his trailer. She was so tired, she just didn’t have any more fight left in her.
She collapsed, drained, on his couch, while he set down her tote bag.
“You should go straight to bed.”
She nodded, too tired to get up. Instead she flopped over on the cushions, the movement hurting her shoulder, but she didn’t care. It felt so good to lie down.
“Do you want to borrow something to sleep in?” he asked.
She nodded, barely even aware of what he’d asked. He just needed to go and let her rest.
He left the room and she let her eyes drift shut. But he returned just moments later.
“Here you go.”
She opened her eyes and he was holding out a white button-front shirt. Crisp white cotton, obviously tailored. Of course.
She reached out a hand to take it, the cotton softer than any she’d ever felt.
“Thanks.” She glanced up at him. He nodded. And for the first time, she realized what he looked like. Blood smeared the shoulder and collar of his shirt. The material was wrinkled, and his hemline untucked. His hair, which was cut to look chicly disheveled, was way beyond that, sticking out wildly.
“You’re a mess,” she stated.
He glanced down at himself, then smiled, just a faint tug at the corner of his mouth.
A rather adorable smile, she thought as she yawned, and let her eyes fall shut again. Too bad he probably knows it.
“My name doesn’t mean pretty in French either,” he suddenly said, and for a moment, she thought she might have dreamed the comment.
She opened her eyes and he was there. Still messy. Still adorable.
“My name is Christian. Christian Young.”
She smiled, sleepiness making her feel relaxed and a little disconnected. “Christian. That’s a nice name.”
She closed her eyes and slept.
*
Christian stood over her, watching her. Her breathing came in a low, even rhythm. In. Out. Her spicy scent surrounded him
again, the sharper scent of her fear and pain gone. Thankfully gone.
He stared at her face, still pale, but a hint of pink colored her high cheekbones. She would be all right.
He didn’t think God would be interested in his thanks, but he thanked him anyway. He hadn’t given any credence to God, even when he was alive. Funny, that he should now. Now, when he had no chance of being forgiven by God or man.
Hmmm. He’d never quite believed that he’d be able to do Step Seven of his twelve steps. But there it was, Humility—asking a higher power to remove his shortcomings.
He looked back at Jolee, again seeing another face, the face that had prompted this change in him. The face of a mortal whose only mistake had been to love his vampire brother. Did his brother Rhys still ache for Jane? Of course, he did. Christian could never expect forgiveness from him. Or Sebastian. His baby brother was right to stand by Rhys. Rhys had been right about Lilah all along, that she was evil and cruel and never loved him, but Christian’s obsession with her wouldn’t allow him to listen. Rhys would never forgive his shortcomings. Never.
Unable to think anymore about what he’d done, he spun away from Jolee and headed to his bedroom. There, he stripped off his soiled shirt, throwing it on the small dresser. The white material landed in a pile. He started to undo his pants when something on the shirt caught his attention.
Slowly he approached the garment, staring at stains, rusty brown against white. Picking up the shirt, he studied the smears. For the first time, he smelled the blood there. Even dried, the blood still contained that intoxicating scent, that lure. He lifted the shirt to his nose, breathing in deeply. His hunger responded, his muscles seizing with the urge to feed. But still his fangs didn’t extend.
He threw the garment away from himself. He was only torturing himself. He could never bite her. He couldn’t bite at all. But the need was still there, even though his fangs didn’t respond.
He left the room, fleeing the need. He was halfway down the hall when realization hit him. The scrape on Jolee’s arm had been bleeding when he found her. Her blood had been on his clothing, but until just now he hadn’t even smelled it. His hunger hadn’t cried out to him until he’d consciously smelled it. There was a time that he’d never have been able to block out the lure of her blood. Were his powers so far gone? Or had he been so worried about her that blood was secondary? He didn’t really know.
But he did know he could smell her in the trailer, her spicy, rich scent. A scent that didn’t have to do with blood, and only with Jolee herself. He entered the living room. She hadn’t moved. She remained curled on her side, her injured arm cradled against her chest. Her dark auburn hair, which had been knotted at the back of her head, had fallen loose. Strands clung to her cheeks. She had a smudge of dirt on the side of her chin, or maybe it was a bruise. Guilt constricted his chest. But no hunger. Even after smelling her blood and reacting to her essence, his hunger had calmed again.
He frowned. But his hunger had responded to her last night in her trailer. His erection, his desire to touch her. That had been the hunger, he was sure of it. Maybe the additional couple ounces of blood had gotten him back under control. Maybe he had found the perfect amount. Enough to satisfy, but little enough to make him as close to human as he could get.
She shifted, her knees practically coming up to touch her chin. She would be more comfortable in his bed. The lumpy mattress was far from luxurious, but it was better than the sunken cushions of the sofa.
He started to lift her, easing one arm under her knees and the other around her back, but she moaned.
“No,” she almost pleaded, as if she couldn’t stand to be woken again. So instead, he moved her so she was better situated on the length of the sofa, allowing her long legs to stretch out.
He returned to his room and grabbed a blanket. As he covered her, she murmured thanks, but he didn’t think she even woke up. He tucked the cover securely around her thin frame. He couldn’t recall a time when he’d tucked a person in. Maybe his sister, Elizabeth. But he couldn’t recall.
Pain and bitter remorse squeezed his chest. Another mortal he’d hurt. Another mortal he could have saved, if he hadn’t been blinded by his own obsession with Lilah. He hadn’t killed Elizabeth himself, but for all practical purposes, he might as well have.
Maybe that was why he was so drawn to this mortal. She seemed to need someone. To help her, to save her— he wasn’t sure from what exactly, but he was going to make sure he protected her in some way. In the way he should have protected his sister, his brothers, and Jane. And himself.
He sat in a chair and watched Jolee sleep. She shifted slightly so he could see her face. Those lips, her long lashes against her pale skin. Her nose, straight and tipped up just a bit at the end. His body reacted to her, but he ignored the confusing reaction. Instead he went to his computer and to his blog page.
I think I have found a way to make up for my past mistakes. I know I can never receive forgiveness from my brothers. Or Elizabeth. Or Jane. But I can receive forgiveness from another human. I don’t exactly know where this strategy fits under my step program. She is either Step Nine: Forgiveness, where I make amends to someone I’ve hurt.
He glanced at her. He’d definitely hurt her. Both physically and mentally.
Or maybe she’s actually Step Eight, which I have titled Willingness. I had been using this blog as my connection to others, but I think maybe I need to do more. I think I might need to actually interact, in person, with humans for this plan to be a real success. To show my desire to change. Or she could actually be Step Twelve: Service. This step requires me to go out and help others and share what I’ve learned.
That idea now wasn’t as appalling as it had once been. Again he looked over at Jolee. In fact, he rather liked the idea of being «friends» with a mortal. It would be quite a novelty, really.
Jolee breathed evenly, deeply. He didn’t understand the strange reactions of his body to her. The urge to touch her. The erection without the fangs. All he knew for sure was he needed to be near her. He didn’t understand the need, but she made him feel something other than emptiness and hunger. And he would protect her. That seemed like a fair and safe trade-off.
He turned back to the computer.
Maybe she is a combination of all three. In which case, I dare say I’m being quite successful at this program.
CHAPTER 6
Jolee stretched, then groaned. Good Lord, she felt like she’d been hit by a Mack truck. She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling. Then she turned her head, seeing tweed furniture. Furniture she didn’t have. Wait, the Mack truck analogy wasn’t far off, was it?
That’s right. She was in her neighbor’s trailer. Christian’s trailer. Had he finally told her his name, or had she just dreamed that?
Bracing her good arm against the edge of the couch, she pushed herself up. She looked around, but the room was empty. She couldn’t tell what time it was, because thick, insulated shades covered all the windows. The only light came from a bulb left on over the range in the kitchen.
Christian— she was pretty sure he had told her his name—was nowhere to be seen. She swung her legs off the couch and stood. Her whole body ached, so she moved in a stiff, awkward shuffle around the room, trying to find a clock. She checked the living room and then the kitchen. No clocks. She wandered over to the window and lifted a shade. The sky was bright, but from the placement of the sun in the sky it had to be afternoon. The trailer was stifling, the air overly warm and stagnant.
She was tempted to open a window, but it seemed like too much work. Not to mention he must like his place like this, given the heavy blinds. She dropped the shade back into place and moved to the kitchen. She needed a drink; her tongue felt like she’d been licking a bag of flour.
She opened a cabinet searching for a glass but instead she found an odd collection of items. The Eggstractor. A Pasta Plus pot, the items still in their boxes. Meatball Magic? She took down the box, scanning the back.
“No longer do you have to take valuable time making meatballs for dinner, now with the Meatball Magic, it’s easy.” She frowned at the box. Was making meatballs that difficult? She shrugged and put the box back.
She picked up a white object with a handle and a hole on the other side. “Salad Shooter,” she read from the side of the contraption. She put it back, noting the only other doohickey open was the Eurosealer. No dishes. No glasses. Just infomercial gadgets. How odd.
She found a plastic cup that was actually the base of the Master Chopper. That would have to do. The first cup she guzzled down in one breath. Then she returned the cup to the faucet for a refill. Sipping this time, she further inspected his home. She knew she shouldn’t be nosy, but after the compilation of items in the cupboards, she was intrigued. The rest of the cupboards were bare. The drawers were empty except for a large package of straws. She frowned. She could see Christian drinking from a martini glass or a champagne glass. Not with a straw. But then he didn’t seem like the type to watch informercials either. Or live in a trailer park. The list seemed to be growing.
She went to the fridge, frowning at the typed list held by a magnet.
Being Human:
Step 1: Honesty
Step 2: Belief
Step 3: Surrender
Step 4: Soul Searching
Step 5: Integrity
Step 6: Acceptance
Step 7: Humility
Step 8: Willingness
Step 9: Forgiveness
Step 10: Maintenance
Step 11: Making Contact
Step 12: Service
This guy needed a list on how to be human? That was never a good sign. She read the list again, then shook her head. She opened the fridge and peered in. The only things in there were packets of… juice or something. Hence the straws, she guessed.
“Makes my fridge look like a regular grocery market.” She glanced back at the cupboard with all the gadgets. “No wonder they all look new. He has no salad to shoot or eggs to eggstract. And forget about the easy meatballs.”