I stared at the touch screen. Blinked.
Still stared.
Motherfucker.
Panic coated my insides, sudden gooseflesh rising fast and hard on my arms. My fingertips trembled so I shoved my hands down to my sides as I eased toward the edge of the booth. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“Wait!” The table nearly flipped as he tried to follow, scrambling around the corner booth after me as I rose. “I need to tell my boss—”
Everywhere, the restaurant perked up, patrons at tables pausing to watch and wait staff shifting in case they needed to intercede, and I was too irritated to pretend to be embarrassed about the disturbance. Phone held so tightly the edges bit into my fingers, clutch gripped in the other hand, I wove around the tables for the door.
“But what do I tell—”
I spun, dancing backward, and shook my head. “Tell him you caught me at a real bad time.” My back struck the door and I stepped out into the warm summer air.
Shit shit shit SHIT. I held up my phone again as the attendant outside went for my car. Something had happened in the apartment. Jarred the coffin. Unhooked the wires.
It could be anything. Anything at all.
My stomach tightened and I swiped hair from my face as the wind blew it. Fucking Nicolette had to get her own fucking place with her fucking girlfriend when... Shit, there was no sense getting pissy about her. If I was out of town, she’d vampire-sit. It was our agreement. I wasn’t out of town—I was five miles from home. Closer to the apartment than she was, so no sense in calling her.
I glanced at the screen of my phone once more, red jerky lines and WARNING flashing at the top.
Have a boyfriend newly turned into a vampire, in stasis, with no way of knowing when he’d wake? There’s an app for that.
My deep sea blue metallic BMW convertible pulled up. The attendant passed me my keys and I slipped into the driver’s side, slamming my foot down on the gas before I even had my door closed. The engine purred like a sleepy kitten as I sped, quite the contrast to the violent thump of my heart and adrenalin-soaked veins.
I hadn’t paid for my drink. Or tipped the valet attendant. Maybe Craig would. If not, I could call and give them my credit card. Or ask Nic to. Or...
Or for three blessed seconds I was thinking about something other than what waited me at home.
I rammed my foot down on the gas, speeding down the busy city streets, and I tried to will away the rising dread in my gut.
And failed miserably.
Chapter Two
Sunrise
The convertible jerked to a halt in front of my apartment building. Parking inside, going up the elevator—it all seemed slow. Too slow. I left my keys swinging in the ignition, car beeping at me for forgetting them. Left my purse. All I took was my phone, clutched in a death grip. I slammed the door and ran, sharp heels beating on the cement. My place didn’t have a fire escape—I didn’t need one with all the other escape routes I had built in—but I could get up there. And I would.
Phone stuffed in the pocket of my slacks, I took a running leap and grabbed the drainage pipe. Feet scraping on brick, pipe groaning, I held it but a second before scrambling up and left, reaching out and snatching the edge of the second floor windowsill. I’d stopped renting that floor out years ago when I dug him up and brought his coffin to stay here, so there was no one to disturb as I clambered upward.
Even in the summer, the air gets cooler at night the higher up you go outside, as the wind blows freely, salt and fish off the harbour nearby tingeing the atmosphere. My hair danced over my face and I leapt again, this time grasping the top floor sill. My floor.
He’s okay. He’s okay. Probably just—
Shit. He might be awake. He might be awake.
I shook my head vehemently, hot tears burning my cheeks as they fell.
Once again, when forced to choose between a hot guy and a hell of a lot of money, and you’ve got three centuries of perspective—not to mention bad relationship experience—the choice is surprisingly simple.
My fangs grew.
“I love you,” I whispered.
I nearly lost my grip. Gave myself a mental shake to shove back that last memory of him and grabbed the window ledge with my other hand, hauling myself up. Barked my elbow on the brick. Scuffed up my knee. My poor goddamn clothes, getting mucked up for a boy. But I kept going.
I stood precariously on the thick brick windowsill, wind pushing at my back and yanking at my hair. The windows were glass but beyond them were steel blinds I’d had installed, awkward to break through and, if damaged, would leave me exposed to the sun during the day.
Thankfully, there’s an app for that too.
Like my interior lights, the blinds were hooked to my phone, and with a swift button pressing after I swiped it from my pocket, the blinds rose. Well-oiled hinges were silent and the slats folded before me, revealing the dark apartment within.
He might be awake. Holy fuck.
He might not be. I shouldn’t get my hopes up. I shouldn’t—
The blinds had finished opening, so I unlatched a window and popped it open. The windows were tall, reaching near the ceiling, and only the bottom section opened. It was enough for me to duck and squeeze through and I jumped, landing with a thud on the living room hardwood floor. Moonlight spilled through behind me, casting large squares across the floor, foreign because I rarely had the blinds up anymore.
I stuffed the phone back in my pocket and I was already running, darting across the floor and up the stairs to my loft. Light burned under the closed door but then I usually left it on, like I left his coffin out in my room in case he awoke, and because—
I eased open the door.
Stared.
And stared.
And...and couldn’t fucking comprehend, couldn’t think or function and just kept staring.
He was awake.
Awake.
My heart was a loud, steady hammer in my chest, sounding up by my ears. The initial jolt of shock wore off, lifting lightheadedness from my brain. I blinked. Focused.
He stood across the room, back to me and facing the wall. Blood poured bright crimson from a cut on his arm, streaking down his elbow, his bicep. Both hands were up, locked around a white sheet from... The bed came into focus in my peripheral vision, blankets and pillows askew. He’d torn the sheet from my bed and held it in place over the wall. Blood soaked through, red bleeding over white.
Something was very, very wrong and the thought crashed into me hard, slamming with enough force that I felt it in my bones.
No, he’s fine. He’s...
He’s not fine.
My hands jutted out, gripping the doorframe, because I was slipping, ready to fall, trying to pull myself together and failing utterly because something was wrong. My lips parted, trembling. “Nate.”
He glanced back at me and smiled cheerily, the sight breaking my heart. “I have to cover the windows.”
Oh god. My fingers squeezed the frame hard enough to crack the wood.
What had I done?
He looked the same. A bit thinner through the body—he was only in a pair of dark yoga pants, so I saw where his ribs were starting to show, how sharp his shoulders were—and face a bit gaunt. It would take time to regain weight. Feeding. I’d kept his hair trimmed to the length it had been when he was turned, face clean shaven as it had been, because I wanted the minimal amount of changes for him when he awoke. But...
But.
He...was not himself. Not when I met his startling blue eyes and saw something not quite registering in their depths, not quite seeing me. It was that distinct look of crazy I’d seen a few times in other vampires.
Vampires I’d had to stake.
Fuck. FUCK. What the fuck have I done?
Nate offered me another smile and I didn’t have a goddamn clue if he even knew who I was. “It’ll be okay. You won’t burn. But I have to keep the windows covered.”
What the bloody blue
hell?
I started forward, steps quickening and hands shaking. He stared at the blood, frowning, possibly completely unaware of me still there.
“Nate...” I halted as he glanced back at me.
“They don’t survive the ensuing insanity. I interviewed one for my thesis.”
Huh?
My vision blurred, tears rising and itching in my eyes. Nate’s beautiful face fell into a frown, thick dark brown brows pulling deep as he considered something. I waited for him to snap out of it, to remember himself, remember me, remember...remember what I’d done to him. I could take him hating me.
I couldn’t take this.
He looked at the sheet again, expression confused and wrenching my heart once more. “I need to cover them. I...I...”
I took two more steps forward, reaching him. Fingertips trembling, I touched his arm, wrapped my hand around his bicep, and pulled him away, turned him toward me. The white sheet slipped and pooled on the floor.
“I don’t remember your name,” he whispered as he frowned at me.
Words struck, piercing deep. But I steeled myself and reached up to touch his face, hoping—praying—that if I stared into his eyes long enough, maybe he’d come back to me. “Nate.”
His eyes closed for a moment and he let out a deep sigh, leaning contentedly into my hand.
Tears were falling harder and I fought to keep my voice steady. I couldn’t be a weepy, emotional wreck or that would confuse him more. “Nate, you’re going to be okay.”
A bright smile lit his face as he looked at me again, cheery and completely oblivious as to who I was. “Of course I’m okay. But I have work to do. If I don’t cover the windows, you’ll burn.” He shifted away and I just stood, staring, trying to dredge up a plan and completely failing.
What. The fuck. Had I done?
It was a dream. Had to be. And I had dreamed of this, over and over—dreamed of seeing him, hearing him, of doing really fun things involving orgasms with him. But this was more surreal than any dream, more screwed up than any scenario I’d tried to prepare myself for.
Nate turned away and walked a few steps to the box on the floor—the coffin where he’d slept in stasis these past few years, monitored, watched, cared for by me and Nicolette because I knew this day would come. And I’d had six fucking years to be ready for this and yet I’d never...
Never what? Never thought it would go badly? The way your karma is racked up, baby, you could’ve bet money on this happening.
He jerked his hand over the sharp metal edge of the box; I yelped, startled for him, but he darted past and began dragging his bloody hand over my white wall again. He’d been...he’d been painting. A square with lines in the middle, and...
I have to cover the windows. He’d been painting a window? With blood? Oh holy hell.
“Please,” I whispered. Cleared my throat, tried to draw strength into it. If I could get him to be calm, I could figure this out. I figured everything out, always. “Please come and sit down...”
Irritation laced his voice. “I’m doing this for you, you know. When there’s a window, I can cover it, and then you won’t see the sunrise.” He started to hum then, an old song I thought might be “She” by Elvis Costello that was firmly on the creepy end of the scale, and as I watched him, it clicked in my head.
What would be the last thing he’d remember? Me biting him? The showdown with his brother? Or that morning, when he’d left me sleeping in bed and gone about covering the windows of the cabin?
Did he...did he even know then? What he was now? What had happened?
Fuck, I needed help. My phone was a lump in my pocket against my thigh, reminding me I at least had help. I had people who could help me figure this out—had gone out of my way cultivating relationships with contacts and those who would be of use to me in case any difficult situation arose. But I didn’t want to do anything until I could get him to sit down and maybe feed. That might fix him—that might be enough. I reached for him again, wrapped my fingers over his arm. His skin was icy to the touch and shivers danced, gooseflesh rose. He relaxed for a moment under my hand and my heart leapt up, just hoping—
I slammed into the wall behind me, wrists pinned up by my head, barking the back of my skull on the drywall. My heart gave another kick, lips trembled. He blocked the overhead light, drowned out my view of everything else in the room—there was just him, surrounding me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so fucking small with a man—and it wasn’t just him towering over me, vise-like fingers clamped on my wrists.
It was that I had no control because I didn’t want to hurt him. Couldn’t hurt him.
Not more than I already had.
My long hair brushed my shoulders and I was hyperaware of it settling back, slipping from my neck. His gaze was locked on my throat and I knew that look, that rising crazy. He didn’t see anything else now, just my throat. Heard just my heart. Smelled just my blood. I got like that when I was starving and nearly killed him in that cabin the first time—would have killed him if he’d not charged his body up to produce extra blood to replace what I would take. No sense, no reason. Just the need to feed.
Focused all on me.
“Nate.” I swallowed dryly. Lost track of how many times I’d just been repeating his name and getting no response. He was pressed right up against me and I sucked in a breath, chest rising to brush his, then I thrust every ounce of warning I could muster into my words. “Let go of me.” I clenched my hands into fists and though I wasn’t going to hit him yet, I was giving it serious consideration.
I stiffened as he leaned in close, his head dipping down toward my throat. Breath touched my ear, my jaw, my neck, and my face flushed, body throbbed, wanting, and heart ached again because it wasn’t him.
“You never told me,” he whispered against my throat, lips brushing my flesh, “your scent is jagged red edges. I could cut myself on you.”
Panic crept up, even higher than it had been so far. I hadn’t been a human woman in many years but I still had double X chromosomes, still had that sick, irrational fear of what he might do.
And what I might do to him if he tried.
“Okay, Edward,” I said in a ragged voice though I tried to thrust some calmness into my tone, “the rapey alpha male thing is getting a little old. Back the fuck off. Now.”
I felt the shift, the parting of his lips, the moment his body tensed in preparation to attack.
So I kneed him in the balls.
As he started to double over, I slammed my forehead into his and ran like hell for the door. There were no windows and probably no way he’d find the escape hatch in the wall—I could lock him in my room until the others came and helped. Good plan.
Only plan.
The door slammed shut before me, an echoing crack of wood meeting wood.
I froze.
Of course, I could take a regular vampire. I’d taken many of them. Warlocks, though? Yeah, the only ones who had nearly kicked my ass had both been family members of his.
Son of a bitch.
I glanced over my shoulder. Turned on one heel. Nate was on the floor where I’d left him, sitting casually, chin tipped down and hair hanging over his face. Winged dark brows rose over eyes that had gone a murky, navy blue, and I felt the magic simmering in the air, firmly tipping the scales in his favour.
Son of a fucking bitch WHORE.
Nate laughed, the sound spiking more fear through me. He grinned deliriously, happily, like it was all a big joke and I’d somehow missed the punch line.
It wasn’t him. Wasn’t. Not just because he’d loved me, not just because he’d risked his life to save mine when he should’ve killed me. No, it wasn’t him because he was many things, but not cruel.
He leapt at me; I darted to the side, missing him by inches. He thumped on the hardwood behind me. I rounded the bed, stopped a foot from the wall, and spun to face him. He was crouched like an animal about to pounce. On the other side of the room, sure, b
ut that didn’t matter for a vampire. He’d already gotten down the super-fast movement thing.
If I kept him going, he might burn out magically. Maybe. But generally that only happened when he teleported or froze time, and if he did that, well, I was fucking dead. That’s how he put a bullet in his brother’s head.
Shit.
My nerves were fraying worse and worse. “Get it the fuck together or I’m going to stake you!”
Nothing. Nothing passed in his eyes, his expression—no recognition. He understood my words, yes, but didn’t comprehend them.
He stood.
I tensed.
He moved to the right, as if to round the bed. I shifted left—I could hop the bed if he went around. I might make it to the door, unless he added a barrier spell—
Nate grabbed the edge of the bed and hauled it up, threw the whole thing forward. I yelped, backed up; my spine struck the wall behind me as the bed tumbled. Wood cracked, mattress slid, blankets glided across the polished floor.
I pressed my hands back against the wall, turned my toes to the right—if I got across the room, I’d have more space to manoeuver. My gaze moved over every inch of him, searching for some clue—anything—that might let me anticipate his next move, but that’s the thing with crazy people: you can’t predict them. Not unless you’re crazy too, and while I had been, once, as a newly turned vampire, I wasn’t quite ready to dip back there in my memory. I needed my wits about me.
I ran. Around the coffin, the bed, leapt over the bloody sheet. His steps beat the floor behind me, a steady pace, probably because he knew I had nowhere to go. The bedroom door was shut, closet doors shut, bathroom door shut—all along the same wall, too, and I couldn’t waste time and test if a barrier was in place. I nearly tripped on my own feet, skidded, scrambled forward. He moved faster behind me and I dove down, slammed on my knees. My dress pants were smooth and made it easy to slide across the floor, past my dresser.
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