It appeared not to, or perhaps the wind was in her favor. She drew closer, fascinated by the strength in the animal’s shoulders and the smooth grace of its pace. Running diagonally to put distance between them, she drew level, but it seemed the creature sped up. Not that she had any trouble keeping up. It leapt a hedge; she followed easily, barely breaking her stride.
It was then the creature turned and looked her way. She froze, watching, waiting to gauge its reaction. If it attacked, she could easily outrun it, or attack back, if need be. Seemed aggression was not on the animal’s mind. He just stared, watching. Mutual risk assessment, Antonia thought to herself and smiled.
What the heck was it? She’d seen wolves in her youth and foxes and wildcats more recently, but this was far too large for either, and Abel help her, it was watching her. Even met her eyes. No wild creature did that voluntarily. Why? How? She wasn’t exerting any power other than the ability to stay stock-still.
Turning its head both ways as if to catch the wind or her scent, the creature set off across the field at a racing pace.
Curiosity overtaking caution, Antonia followed.
Chapter 5
She had to be, in Sam’s words, barking. Here she was, Antonia Stonewright, vampire; daughter of King Vortax, one of Arthur’s chieftains; wife of King Aramaugh’s younger son, running around in a cow pasture, following a big cat. Barking didn’t even begin to describe it, but something compelled her, and in fifteen centuries, she’d learned to follow her instincts.
It was an easy pursuit.
The cat moved silently and swiftly, keeping to the shelter of the hedges unless crossing fields. Quite amazing, really, how much open countryside was so close to London. She followed him a good fifteen minutes, moving at pretty much mortal speed. The creature never looked back, just continued at the same steady pace as if stalking an invisible prey, until it disappeared.
One instant it was there, moving silently along a field of yellow mustard plants, then it was gone.
Sweet Abel! It had been a long, long time since she’d been shocked like that. Given that cats, no matter how large, were unlikely to levitate, where was it? How had it crossed the ten or so meters to the trees so swiftly? There was nowhere else it could be concealed; Antonia ran for the fringe of woodland. She could move faster than any cat and would soon catch up.
Minutes later, she was through the trees and in a narrow lane. A lane looking surprisingly like the one leading up to Michael Langton’s and no doubt similar to forty or fifty miles of twisting thoroughfares between here and Guildford. Looking around, she sensed life to her right and ran down the middle of the lane. In seconds, she saw Michael’s van parked by the stream, and with a leap, she was back in the woods. Watching. She moved forward cautiously, still in the shelter of the trees.
Then she saw him.
Michael Langton. Standing in the wash of light from his wide-open front door. Tall as ever. Naked apart from a pair of jeans that looked as if they’d been pulled on in haste. The zip was fastened, but not the metal button at the waist, and his waistband hung open.
Sometimes, vampire sight was a questionable advantage.
Seeing Michael like this—tall, beautiful, his bare chest gleaming in the night—underscored her earlier disappointment and her desire. Madam had not satisfied her needs one iota.
He lifted his head as if sniffing the air, looked slowly from side to side, then looking straight in her direction, asked, “What are you?”
She shivered. A reaction she hadn’t known in centuries. She half-suspected she was blushing, or would be if such an action was physiologically possible. He knew. Something.
She stepped out of the trees. Making herself move at mortal speed. For now. “I’m vampire.”
Before she had time to debate the wisdom of that bit of foolishness, he took a step in her direction. “What?”
She moved toward him. “What are you?” His question seemed purely academic.
He smiled, his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “I’m the local legend.”
Another Samism, “clear as mud,” came to mind. Why, oh why, had she revealed her nature? Why was she standing an arm’s length from him? Why was she wanting those arms around her?
“You were here earlier,” he said.
“You weren’t.” At this rate, it would be dawn, and they’d still be trading facile utterances.
He nodded while she tried to think of a good reason not to turn and run. Preferably back to Yorkshire. But the prospect of walking away from such a perfect specimen of maleness, warm skin, sweet muscles, and firm chest, to say nothing of the warm blood coursing through his veins, was an impossibility.
For better or worse, probably worse, Michael Langton had her mesmerized.
“Since you’re here, want to come in for a cup of tea?”
She couldn’t hold back the smile. “It’s not my beverage of choice.”
His laugh was full, rich, loaded with amusement and sheer and utter confidence. Obviously facing a vampire didn’t disconcert him in the slightest. She’d no doubt be very wise to run. Fast.
She stepped forward.
“Come in then.”
One look at his eyes told her he wasn’t inviting her in for a quick cuppa. His whole body appeared taut with need, wanting, and arousal.
That made two of them.
“Why?”
It was the grin that convinced her. That and the feral gleam in his dark eyes. “You tell me. Why were you here earlier?”
“I was hungry.” If she was being incautious, might as well do it thoroughly.
He motioned her to enter with a graceful movement. His bare, muscular arm was covered with a sprinkling of soft, golden hair that gleamed in the light.
Antonia paused midstep, met his almost feral eyes, and smiled, her chest tightening and every nerve ending in her body thrumming with anticipation. In three good strides, she was over his threshold, turning to face him as he pulled the door closed behind him. He grinned, resting one broad shoulder against the jamb, as he folded his arms across his magnificent chest.
He was damn lucky she wasn’t grabbing him by the neck and throwing him to the floor. What sort of man toyed with a vampire? Unless, of course, he thought her insane, or he was some sort of fanatic.
His weren’t the eyes of a fanatic.
No fanatic had wide lips that curled at the corners, setting a dimple in his left cheek. “Fancied me for dinner, did you?”
“Just fancied you, really.”
Again that glorious laugh. A rich peak of amusement, excitement, burgeoning life, and a tinge of the unknown.
What in Abel’s name was she waiting for? Her gums, tingling earlier, now burned. Hunger and need stirred deep. How in Abel’s name had she thought a horse would satisfy? Her mouth curled at the memory of docile Madam. This man she ached for was feral.
She stepped close, felt his living breath ruffle her hair, heard his heartbeat and the steady rhythm of lifeblood flowing. Caught the sweet scent of fresh male sweat and the restrained need that thrummed off him in waves. Need that primed her own arousal.
This was insane, but perhaps she’d been sane for far, far too long. Strong, poised, self-possessed, always in control. Laughter rose deep in her