Night of the Vampires. Heather Graham

tension between them.

      “I’ll probably do that.”

      They sat in silence for some minutes, whatever had spiked up between them dissipating for the most part. Though questions still remained.

      “And you do trust some vampires,” Megan said.

      “Some,” Alex agreed, smiling. She hesitated for a moment. “Actually, I have good reason to believe in the goodness of some vampires—as do Cody, Cole and Brendan.” She stood. “You are looking a bit worse for wear. Why, actually, you look like you’ve been digging in a cemetery. I had the tub filled in the back kitchen. I’ll add some water and you can take a bath.”

      “I’m not going to take your bath,” Megan protested.

      “Oh, seriously, I insist. You look like you need it much more than I do!” Alex told her. “I’ll put more water on to boil.”

      It would be good to take a long, hot bath.

      Alex provided her with a nightdress and robe and a cake of her own soap; it smelled deliciously of lavender. It seemed such a luxury that night—she hadn’t seen decent soap in a long time. It was growing scarce in the South.

      Cody was putting the final touches on a bell-and-wire alarm system on the carriage house where Martha slept with her children. Megan made a mental note to find time with Martha alone in the morning; she didn’t know what Martha knew about Cody and Alex Fox and their friends, Brendan Vincent and Cole Granger. She thought she’d be much better prepared for whatever might come if she studied up on her new associates.

      She carried the water to the tub herself, determined not to let Alex tote it for her on top of the kindness she’d shown already. Once she was in the external kitchen, she bolted the door and noted the many windows she had never much paid attention to before. They were closed, the drapes drawn. It was nice. She was beginning to feel as if she was being watched far too easily.

      She had never been afraid, not since she had bitten Samuel. Then her mother had sat her down to explain that she was a being of free choice, and that she must choose for herself, but that using her strength for good would certainly prove to be the best thing to do, at least in the long run. Once the war had begun, she hadn’t thought much about what she was; she had thought about little but the men on the field who needed help so desperately. The Minié ball and the other amazing rifle technology in the North had made it certain that many soldiers would be shot, and that most of those hit would die. She’d left Richmond with the Army of Northern Virginia, always on the lookout for the brother she knew had to be out there somewhere. She’d heard he was in New Orleans, and she’d planned to go there. But then a courier told her that he had gone out West, and that he was some kind of a hero in a town called Victory.

      Impatient with herself, she dropped her lace-up boots and her muddied outfit to the floor and sank into the water. It wasn’t as warm as she would have liked it, but it was delicious anyway.

      And the soap! The sweet scent of lavender was a true wonder.

      She leaned back and simply enjoyed the scent and the feel of cleanliness, closing her eyes and letting the water ease around her.

      Then she heard a knock at the door.

      She stiffened, then relaxed. “Alex? Come on in.”

      She had bolted the door, she remembered. “I’m coming. Hang on just a minute, please.”

      She hesitated, though. There had been no response from whoever had knocked at the door. Someone tried to twist the door handle. She heard the sound. She saw it move. But it was bolted.

      There was another noise.

      Now at the side window.

      Then…

      At the rear window.

      Megan scrambled to her feet. She hopped out of the tub just as she heard the shattering of glass.

      And saw the figure of a man crawling heedlessly through the shards of the windowpane that clung to the frame.

      He was wearing butternut and gray. A Confederate Uniform worn by the Virginia Regulars. His uniform was worn and frayed on his gaunt, tall frame. Creeping menacingly from beneath his hat, a straggly beard, green eyes and dusty brown hair.

      She knew him.

      He laughed, staring at her, and she realized she was still dripping wet, and naked. She grabbed the bright white towel and covered herself haphazardly.

      When he spoke, his voice was strange.

      “You! Ah, you, Megan Fox. Imagine. I smelled the intoxicating scent of blood…and it’s you! How delicious. Now, I know. And now, I have the strength, and the power—and the hunger!”