Claimed by a Vampire

by Lee, Rachel

  She followed his direction and discovered that indeed, just a few steps away from her door, she felt better. Now how was that possible? The question was almost enough to make her walk back into her apartment. Almost.

  But the memory of the feeling that had slapped her the instant she crossed the threshold proved stronger than any desire to check it out. She knew she hadn’t imagined it. Her imagination ran almost entirely to the books she wrote, and rarely affected what she considered to be an otherwise pragmatic view of life.

  At least she hoped it was. She hoped the fantasies she spun for her readers weren’t beginning to affect her brain.

  No, of course they weren’t. For heaven’s sake, she knew the difference between her imagination and reality. The two only met on the pages on her computer screen.

  Suddenly from within her condo, she heard a bang. Instantly she forgot everything else and started back in. One step. Two steps. Then she froze as a blackness seemed to wrap oily tendrils in her brain. No. No!

  She tried to back up, but couldn’t. It was as if some force tried to drag her forward, deeper within her condo, away from the relative safety of the hall.

  And that noise. Something not quite curiosity, something almost like compulsion, wanted to drag her toward it. Feeling almost like a stranger within her own head, she sought the only thing she could to break the spell or whatever it was. She called out, “Creed? What happened?”

  Her voice sounded odd, as if it had emerged from the depths of the ocean. But that was impossible. Her ears hummed. Maybe the loud noise had dulled her hearing for a few seconds. That had to be it.

  “Something fell.” He sounded far away, as if calling to her from the bottom of a well. “It’s fine.”

  Then, released by whatever had tried to seize her, she backed quickly into the hallway. What the hell was going on? What had she just felt? The only comparison she could come up with was being hypnotized, and she wasn’t even sure about that.

  Creed emerged from her condo a few minutes later carrying her laptop in its case with all her peripherals, and her suitcase, along with a manila envelope. Apparently he thought of everything.

  “If I missed something, you can tell me after we get to my place and I can come back for it.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. Are you sure I won’t be a problem?” What was she doing? She ought to go to a hotel, take care of herself. Could she seriously be proposing to burden someone else? But right now she was more terrified of being alone. Especially after what she had just felt.

  “Hardly,” he said with a shrug.

  “What fell?” she asked as they waited for the elevator.

  “A pewter plate. It’s fine.”

  She knew exactly the plate he meant. “There’s no way that fell!”

  “Okay, it flew at me.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him to quit kidding when she read his expression. He wasn’t kidding. “Oh, my God,” she breathed.

  He shrugged. “I guess it didn’t like me being there.”

  “What didn’t like you being there? Creed, for heaven’s sake! Are you joshing me? Did it really fly at you?”

  “Heaven has nothing to do with this. It flew at me. And that’s another reason you’re not going back to that place.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Minor bruise. I’m fine. But I can’t promise you will be if you go back there.”

  She felt almost dazed, trying to grasp that that heavy plate could have flown at him, but despite her distraction and confusion she noticed he didn’t hesitate to enter the elevator car with her this time. So maybe she had indeed misread him earlier.

  But even that couldn’t keep her attention now. Considering what she had felt when she entered her condo this time, it was all too easy to believe in flying plates. For the first time she was truly grateful that she could stay with him that night. Whatever was going on in her place had just magnified to truly scary proportions, and even a hotel room didn’t sound like a safe place right now.

  His condo took her breath away. Two long walls of glass gave an eagle’s eye view of the night city. The living area was entirely open, punctuated only by a bar that divided the kitchen from the rest. And it was full of color, rich colors and textures that made it seem almost jewel-like but not at all garish.

  “This is beautiful!” she exclaimed.

  “Glad you like it. When you live most of your life at night, color is essential.”

  “That must be hard for you.”

  She noted he didn’t answer directly. Most likely, she decided, he didn’t care to discuss his problem. Most certainly not with someone he’d just met.

  His sidestep was almost seamless. “Do you want to work tonight? I can clear a space on my desk.” He gestured to a table that held a computer in front of one of the windows.

  “Not tonight. I couldn’t possibly concentrate. What do you do?”

  “I’m a consultant for a foreign relations think tank.”

  She looked at him again. “That’s impressive.” And it was. But he seemed to shrug it away.

  “Before I got sick, I taught at Harvard,” he answered. “I’m glad I was able to find an alternative that fits within my limitations.”

  She nodded, sweeping her gaze over the room again. “You certainly have a good eye. I can only dream of making my place look half this good.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I’m not much of a visual person. I mean, I can see something and know I like it, but putting it together with other things to get an effect like this is beyond me.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m more the verbal type.”

  “That’s what they make decorators for.” But he was smiling. “Let me show you where everything is.”

  The penthouse contained every luxury. There was a bath off to one side, sumptuous in its trappings, with a whirlpool tub and a shower both. Fluffy towels that looked brand-new hung from the racks.

  “I never use this,” he said. “I have my own off the master bedroom. I have a second bedroom, but I never got around to furnishing it, which is why I have to offer you the couch.”

  “The couch is fine, really. It looks comfortable.”

  “I’ll get the sheets and blankets for you.”

  “Wait,” she said as he turned away. He paused to look at her, and she felt a frisson of excitement as his golden gaze settled on her. God, he had an intense stare. And his nostrils flared just a bit, as if he were testing the scents in the air.

  “Yes?”

  “What exactly did you sense in my apartment? What thing were you referring to?”

  This time there was no way to mistake his hesitation. “You’d need to ask Jude that, honestly. But you know he deals in the unusual. The stuff that most people don’t begin to want to deal with.”

  “The paranormal.”

  “I guess that’s a fair word. Well, there’s something he’s looking for right now. And I smelled it in your condo.”

  “Smelled it?”

  He nodded. “Think back. I know you were overwhelmed by what you felt, but you probably smelled it, too. It wasn’t exactly faint.”

  Now she hesitated, thinking back, feeling an icy prickle along her spine. Had she smelled something? She couldn’t be sure. “All I was aware of was this…this sense of something there, a thickening of the air, a feeling of menace. God, that sounds crazy.”

  “Not to me, it doesn’t.” His mouth drew into a grim line. “There are forces we don’t believe in until we meet them face-to-face, Yvonne. I’ve met a few of them. I believe.”

  Before she could answer, he turned again. “I’ll make up your bed for you, then I need to work a bit. Most people don’t have enough hours in a day. I never have enough in a night.”

  She watched him disappear down the hall, and was abruptly struck by what he had told her about his illness. Imagine never being able to see the day again. Imagine living in a world where light was a threat. />
  And she thought she had problems? But she couldn’t help shuddering again.

  She changed in the bathroom, touched that he had chosen her one pair of modest pajamas rather than one of the more sensual garments she wore to bed just because they made her feel feminine. He’d even packed her slippers and robe.

  Stepping back out into the living room, she found the couch transformed into a bed, and Creed was over at his desk, a distance away given the huge size of this room, working only by the light from his computer screen. The only other light was a dim lamp on the side table at the end of the couch where he’d placed a couple of pillows. Once she switched off that light, the room would be in near-darkness, dappled by the city lights that seemed far away for the most part. Dark enough for sleep.

  But instead of heading straight toward the bed, she stopped instead to look at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that framed the entry door, covering nearly the entire wall. They were jammed with nonfiction, some of the books looking as if they were a century or more old. Not a work of fiction among them that she could tell.

  Then she came upon a section of classics, from Twain to Hawthorne, to Swift. Plays by Shakespeare, Ibsen and others. And all bore the signs of having been handled often.

  She wondered if he was an intellectual snob, then decided that wouldn’t be a fair assessment to make, especially when he’d been so kind to her.

  “Do you need something to read?”

  His voice was unexpected and startled her. She turned from his bookshelves to find he had swiveled his desk chair and was looking at her.

  “Sorry, I was just curious. Few people these days decorate their walls with books.”

  He laughed quietly. “Some still do. Most of that is references I need for my work. I’m especially fond of books, and I have a passion for old books. But if you’d prefer something of more recent vintage, I do have some novels lying around. I just don’t tend to keep them. I find they’re welcome donations at nursing homes.”

  So he didn’t stick to the classics. That relieved her a bit, given that she wrote popular fiction. She hated people who looked down on her for that, and sometimes reminded them that Dickens was a hack who wrote serials for newspapers, and that Tolstoy had been paid by the word, hence his lengthy volumes. Apparently she wouldn’t need that defense here.

  “Thanks, but I was just curious. And I guess I’m edgy.”

  “Understandable. Frankly, I’m not sure how you managed to stand a whole week in that apartment.”

  She wandered closer, feeling inexplicably drawn to him. Only when she saw him tense a bit did she stop. Was there something wrong with her?

  “It got worse,” she said, forcing herself to ignore an unreasoning sense of rejection. “It was awful tonight, the worst ever. When I first moved in I was able to brush the feeling off, but over the week it just kept getting stronger.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t come home alone tonight. I’d hate to think of you forcing yourself to walk in there because it was all you could do.”

  “I’m not sure I could have.” She found an upholstered chair at what she thought might be a safe distance from him, and sat. “It felt like a gut punch tonight. But you said it wasn’t still there. To Jude, when you called him.”

  “But it had been there recently enough to leave its stench and fingerprints everywhere. And apparently it came back long enough to evince disapproval of my presence.”

  “But what is it?”

  “Jude will have to explain. I’m a relative newcomer to all of this. He has the experience and knowledge.”

  “But you said you’ve seen things, and now you believe.”

  His eyes seemed to darken, and she wondered if it was some trick of the dim lighting, because for a moment they looked almost black.

  “I’ve seen things,” he agreed. “But not this thing. I don’t know anything about it except it has Jude concerned.”

  “So he’ll tell me tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  She felt an unreasoning chill again. “Why night?”

  “He suffers from the same problem that I do. So he works only at night.”

  “Are you related?”

  He shook his head. “Friends. Drawn together by a common experience.”

  That made sense, so she let it go. “I’m sorry, I’m interrupting your work. I should just try to sleep.”

  “I have surprisingly little interest in work tonight.” He smiled. “Events can be distracting.”

  “I’ve gotten very little writing done this week,” she admitted. “It’s hard to work when you feel someone is looking over your shoulder.”

  Which, she realized with sudden embarrassment, was exactly what she was doing to him. Basically looking over his shoulder. But as she tried to find a believable reason to go lie on the couch and pretend to sleep when she felt wound as tightly as a spring, he rose.

  “Would you like coffee or tea?” he asked. “Or something to eat? I must have something lying around.”

  “I’d love coffee if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind in the least.” He walked into the kitchen and pulled a coffeepot out of the cupboard.

  He kept his coffeepot in the cupboard? Then he must not drink it often. Everyone she knew kept it in easy reach on the counter. So maybe he was a tea kind of guy.

  But he made no tea, and when he returned to the living room, he did so with a coffee service that held only one cup. He politely poured her coffee then let her add what she wanted. “I’m sorry, I have no cream or milk, but I do have sugar.”

  “Black is fine, thanks.” Ignoring her desire for a little milk in the coffee, she held the cup in her hands and sipped. “You keep your apartment cold,” she remarked. The contrast between her cold hands and the hot cup caused her to notice.

  “Oh. I forgot to turn the heat on.” He at once went to the wall and adjusted the thermostat. “Sorry, I don’t notice the chill much. You should have said something sooner.”

  “I just noticed.”

  Which was true. But at the same time she found herself wondering what other oddities he had. Most people by this time in the autumn left their heat on all the time.

  He was a strange bird indeed, she thought staring down into her cup. Handsome and strange, and the combination intrigued her. Drew her.

  She’d never felt particularly drawn to ordinary people. People with quirks, however, were a different matter, and the quirkier the better. That tendency occasionally caused her trouble but she never seemed to learn her lesson.

  “You must hate the summer,” she blurted. Stealing a look at him, she saw he had raised one eyebrow.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because the days are longer.”

  “Ah. Well, yes, it means my nights are shorter.”

  “Does it ever make you crazy, not being able to tolerate the light?”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “Once it did. One adapts, you know. There’s quite a bit of beauty in the night.”

  “I’m a bit of a night owl, myself. But I do like a daily dose of sun.” She wondered if the wife and daughters he had mentioned had left him because of his illness, but caught herself before incaution released the question. None of her business. Sheesh, sometimes she forgot how to interact with people because she chose to spend so much time alone in her own little world.

  Although he had not in any way indicated it, Yvonne felt she had intruded too much into his life. First by needing to sleep in his living room, and then by engaging him in a conversation when, regardless of what he said, he had clearly intended to work.

  She put her cup on the tray. “Thanks for the coffee. I guess I’m getting sleepy after all.”

  He rose when she did, a gentlemanly courtesy she had thought long dead. As soon as she slipped between the covers on the sofa, she heard him return to his desk. Moments later the quiet tapping of keys filled the room.

  She forced herself to close her eyes and pretend to sleep. To avoid think
ing about that awful feeling in her apartment.

  And the easiest device for avoiding the awful was to think about an intriguing topic: Creed Preston. She had thought her initial attraction to Tommy was strong, but what she was feeling now was even stronger. Strong enough to be almost jolting. When she glanced his way, the very air seemed to thicken, and her body hummed with a yearning she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  But of course, she told herself, that was simply because he was new to her. An unknown. Her fright was probably feeding into it. Adrenaline, she knew, could do odd things to a person.