As frightening as those men had been, the man sitting before her was the one who had bitten her on the neck. It had stung, searing, before her vision dimmed.
“Have I really been kidnapped by Dracula?” she whispered, watching his lips, afraid of what hid behind them.
He raised an eyebrow, then cleared his throat. “Dracula is dead, and was not one of our kind. My name is Soren. And I am vampire, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She stared at him now, unable, or maybe unwilling, to stop. This man certainly wasn’t the pasty, caped creature she automatically associated with vampires, nor did he look eternally youthful. And she supposed his aged look threw her the most. His skin had a natural light olive tone, and when coupled with the grooves across his forehead and the smile lines bracketing his lips, he looked like a worn thirty-five-year-old man. How could a regular man be a vampire?
The bedroom door swung open. A short man stood in the doorway, nearly hidden by her large blue suitcase. He tossed it on the floor.
Soren sighed. “This is Gustav.”
“I wish you would have let me kill her. This thing weighs a ton,” Gustav said, then his eyes fixed on her and narrowed. He turned to Soren. “You gave her my clothes? This isn’t getting any better. Get her dressed and out of here.”
“We’re going,” Soren assured him, his mouth twitching as if he fought a smile.
“I hate people,” Gustav grumbled, then caught sight of the splintered door. “Hey, what the hell happened to my bathroom door?”
She certainly wasn’t going to take the fall for that one. As Gustav looked between them angrily, she discretely pointed to Soren.
“Forget it, I don’t want to know.” Gustav left, throwing his hands in the air.
Soren lifted her suitcase and set it inside the bathroom. “I thought you might want your things. We’ll be leaving soon, so bathe and change your clothes.” Despite her pounding head, she was up and across the room in an instant. It didn’t seem like a smart thing to try a vampire’s patience.
* * * *
Soren watched as she tried several times to get the door to latch right. She barely got the thing to close even as she used her weight to pull it into place. After she’d passed out, he’d nearly torn the door off its hinges the instant he’d heard the solid thump of her body against the wall. Yet again, he was struck by her human weakness.
He’d caught her in time to keep her head from smacking the floor. Funny, how a bump on the head and overexertion caused a human to pass out.
He would have to be drunk or nearly dead to lose consciousness. Even the women of his species were amazingly resilient. Faith was vulnerable, and he needed to shelter her. Which he shouldn’t want to do. Shouldn’t even think it. He had other, more important things to attend to.
Demons ran free in Paris.
Their red-eyed faces filled his mind, but an image of Faith took over, soaking wet and terrified of them. He stood and paced the room, rubbing the back of his neck as he moved, anger growing.
He had to stop remembering her fear, and that the demons had touched her. It made him furious, volatile. Gustav’s casual request to kill her had nearly sent him over the edge.
And when he took her home? It had been so long since a human had been brought into their world. His whole life was being rearranged in an evening, because of one girl.
* * * *
Faith knelt on the floor, popped the metal latches and lifted the lid of her suitcase. She might be able to get out of this. Soren was a vampire. He had several obvious weaknesses. She was not the kind of woman to tote around garlic, holy water, and wooden stakes. Frankly, that kind of woman should be committed. That left sunlight and crosses. She had no idea what time it was, but she might be able to use the sun to her advantage.
Dear Lord, she hoped she’d brought her tiny diamond cross necklace. She thought somehow she hadn’t, but dug through the powder blue satin pockets anyway. Her fingers touched the small jewelry box, and she pulled it free and flipped the lid off. Earrings. Thick gold hoops, and thin silver hoops. No necklaces. Why did she have to be practical?
Letting out a heavy sigh, she sat on the floor rather ungracefully. Elbows on her bent knees, she stared down at her suitcase, defeated.
The fake blue leather was familiar, the plastic handle cracked and worn. She’d packed light, the trip kindling the hope of many things…to find some unique jewelry, a sexy pair of casual shoes, and maybe a place to stay. It would be nice to live in France. Or anywhere else. Home hadn’t felt like home in…well, she wasn’t sure if she could technically classify it as being home in the first place. Her two-bedroom house belonged to her father. He’d bought it for her birthday last year.
A week later, her mother had bought furniture for her living room. And so it had continued. Nearly fifteen years after their divorce, they continued their fight with each other through her. She’d begun to hate every item dropped on her welcome mat, yet another gift from her mother.
This beautiful blue suitcase in her closet had started to look appealing, almost like an oasis. She’d kept shutting the closet door, pretending it wasn’t there. After all, an oasis was an illusion, a mirage.
Then one day she’d come home to find that her mother’s gardeners had planted spiral topiaries and boxy hedges over her favorite white peonies. She hated spirals and hedges. If her mother had bothered to take the time to carry on a full conversation with her in the last five years, she might have known that. Faith was through with letting others plan her life. She’d wanted out, and had finally understood if she didn’t try to find that oasis, she’d never know if it were real.
So here she sat on the floor of a bathroom with nothing to lose. This wasn’t exactly the oasis she’d envisioned, but at least there was water in the form of one very good-looking vampire. It could be, and almost had been, much worse.
* * * *
Soren sat in the rickety chair, tipped his head back and took a deep breath. Everything here was in sad shape, especially that sorry bed he’d barely remembered from his last visit. He’d always wished he could change things for Gustav, though Gustav wouldn’t want anything to change at all.
His friend was a rarity. What his people called a Stalker. He was vampire, but dedicated to the death of demons and to the protection of vampires and humans. Stalkers walked the night above, struggling to find shelter from daylight, living as humans.
Soren had chosen a different way of life. He was a Guardian, his sole duty to protect his lord, and the people of his lord’s city. A peacekeeper. He guarded his people from within the city. They defended their race in their own way, though he would be the only one ever recognized for his efforts, rewarded with a plush home and the respect of his people.
Gustav would never have any of that. Vampires held no respect for Stalkers because of their love for killing demons. True, the only good demon was a dead one, but murder was still murder. And had always been punishable by immediate execution.
Stalkers were criminals running free in the world. At least, most vampires held that opinion. Gustav was a good man, a good friend, and Soren really didn’t care if he butchered every last demon single-handedly.
Releasing a breath of tiredness, Soren let his thoughts of politics and friendship fade away. The soft sound of water splashing and a sweet flowery scent wafting from the bathroom started to relax him.
The water drained, and the hum of her hairdryer created a pleasant background noise. It conjured memories of her damp hair in his hands. It had felt like satin slipping over his fingers.
It had been so very long since he had lived with anyone, let alone a woman. Although he kept a busy schedule, his social skills were somewhat lacking. Always had been. He likely was more apprehensive about this situation than she was, and going home with