by Lynsay Sands
She’d like to think it was knowledge from some long forgotten anatomy class she’d taken, but the truth was that, like heat seeping through a part of the wall where the insulation was thinnest, those spots were where she could sense the smell was strongest and where most of his body heat seemed concentrated. It was where the veins were closest to the surface and easily accessible.
Realizing she was licking her lips, Holly forced her gaze away from James and picked up her blouse to quickly tug it on. It was as she buttoned the blouse that she became aware of a soft thudding sound coming from somewhere in the room. Pausing, she glanced around, trying to find the source, her perplexed gaze finally shifting to the bed. Tilting her head, she stared at it, listening. Yes, it was definitely coming from there.
What the devil was it? She wondered and knelt to peer under the bed, but there was nothing there that would make that slow, steady sound. Still on her knees, she raised her head and peered the length of the mattress and her husband’s body on it. The sound seemed to be coming from somewhere by him. Without thinking, Holly found herself crawling onto the bed from the floor, and then moving up over her husband on her hands and knees, ears straining and nose working as the tinny smell cried out to her. The sound was loudest when her head was over his chest and she paused there, listening for a moment before she realized it was his heart. She could hear his heart beating . . . pumping all that lovely blood through his body, she thought. Vaguely aware of a shifting in her jaws, she lowered her head. That lovely slightly tinny smelling, rich red—
Holly squawked when she was suddenly grabbed around the waist and lifted off the bed. James murmured sleepily at the sound, but didn’t wake up, she saw, before she was carried from the room. The moment the door closed behind them, she was unceremoniously dumped on the hall floor and cloth fell over her head.
“Dress,” Justin Bricker ordered grimly.
Holly pulled the cloth off her head, recognizing the black pants she’d laid on the foot of the bed and never got around to donning. Raising her head, she scowled at Justin. “You could have just said something instead of acting like some barbarian and snatching me up. I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Your fangs were out. You were about to bite him,” Bricker said grimly. “Now dress, or I just might let you bite him. Then you can explain why you did it to his corpse.”
Holly scowled at him briefly, but then stuck her legs out on the hall floor and quickly tugged on her dress pants. She had to wiggle her butt on the floor to get them up over her hips. She stood then to do them up, tossing him the occasional scowl as she did and then stared at the pants themselves when she noted how they now hung on her. Like her panties, they were too big, of course. They would have to do, though. Everything she owned was the same size.
“Here.”
She glanced up to see Justin holding out her belt. “Where did you—?”
“Your closet,” he interrupted and when she opened her mouth to ask when, he said, “We’re fast. I nipped in and back while you were gawking at your pants.”
Holly just stared at him. She’d only looked down for a matter of seconds. Surely he hadn’t “nipped” in and out that quickly?
“Put it on and we can go get you blood. Bagged blood,” he added dryly.
“Bagged?” she asked with a grimace. The thought of bagged blood simply didn’t hold much appeal, not like the smell of James had just now.
“Yes, bagged,” he said dryly and then his lips quirked. “Save a man, bite a bag.”
Holly shook her head at what she supposed was intended as a joke and turned her attention to threading the belt through her pant loops as her mind wandered. She hated to admit it, but she might have been going to bite James . . . and she should be very ashamed of that, she knew. Instead, she was disappointed that Justin had stopped her. How bad was that? Apparently, she wasn’t handling this whole vampire/immortal thing well. She did need the training. At least she did if he could teach her to control herself. She also, apparently, needed the blood he said he would get for her. She didn’t want to bite her husband. Well, part of her did, but the still human part knew it was wrong and didn’t.
That thought made Holly sigh unhappily. She was thinking of herself as not quite human anymore. But Justin had said she was alive still and had a soul, so surely, she was still human . . . wasn’t she?
“Let’s go.” Justin turned and started downstairs.
Holly stared after him briefly, and then heaved a resigned breath and followed. In truth, she didn’t feel like she had much choice. It seemed obvious she couldn’t stay here without risking feeding off her husband, possibly to death. That thought made her wonder how much blood was too much to take. Would she be able to tell when she should stop? And if so, would she be able to stop when she should?
Holly fretted over all of this as she followed Justin downstairs and out the front door. She expected him to have a vehicle of his own, so was surprised when he led the way to her own car.
“We’re taking my car?” she asked, pausing in front of the old beater.
“It’s how I got here from the hotel. I followed you,” he announced and opened the passenger door for her.
Holly walked reluctantly to the open door, then paused and turned to peer at him with sudden understanding. “You made the taxi driver let me go into the house.”
“You’re welcome,” he said for an answer and turned to walk around and get into the driver’s side.
“Thank you,” Holly mumbled and slid into the car to watch him dig her keys out of a side pocket of . . . her purse? She hadn’t noticed him grabbing that on the way out. It must be when he’d done it, but she’d been so distracted with her own thoughts she’d apparently missed it.
Holly shrugged and simply waited for him to get in. She had no problem with his driving. If anything, she’d prefer it at that point. She was a bit shaken up by everything at the moment, a fine tremor running through her body, and was happy to leave the driving to him.
“Seat belt.”
Holly glanced over with disbelief when Justin muttered that as he got behind the steering wheel. “Are you serious?”
He peered to her with surprise. “Well, yeah. It’s safer.”
“Safer how? I’m a vampire,” she pointed out. “I can’t die.”
“You’re an immortal, not a vampire. And of course you can die. Everyone can die. Even us,” he assured her.
Holly goggled at him. “Do you even hear yourself? Immortal by definition means never dying.”
“Yes, well, it’s something of a misnomer then,” he muttered, starting the engine. “You can die. You’re just harder to kill . . . and you’ll never age. Or get sick, and you’ll heal from nearly every wound.”
“Then how can we die?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“Beheading. Or burning. We’re very flammable.”
“Hot stuff,” Holly murmured, unsure where the words came from. It was like a memory, but not . . . just the words echoing in her head. She glanced to Justin, surprised to find him staring at her with an odd expression on his face. “What?”
He hesitated, but then shook his head. “Nothing.”
Holly peered at him silently for a moment, and then leaned her head back. Her stomach was killing her. It had started with a mild gnawing sensation earlier, but now it was like someone had poured acid into her stomach. Or like a million little piranha were eating her alive from the inside out. And the shaky sensation she’d had earlier had turned into full-on tremors. In truth, she felt sick as a dog, but he’d said they didn’t get sick, so Holly supposed this was something else . . . hunger maybe. Despite being away from James, she could still smell the tinny sweetness of blood in her nostrils . . . and she wanted it.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and repeatedly, trying to calm down and rid herself of the sensations attacking her. It didn�
��t help though; the more she inhaled, the more that remembered tinny scent filled her head. It was like James had followed them into the car and was sitting right beside her.
Surely Justin couldn’t be giving off that scent? Could he? She wondered suddenly. He had said they were still human, so she supposed they still had blood.
Holly felt something shifting in her mouth as she had that thought, and instinctively ran her tongue around her teeth, stiffening when she pricked her tongue on a needle sharp canine. One of the fangs she’d spotted in the bathroom mirror, she thought at once and then tasted the blood in her own mouth. It was a little bit of heaven. Holly found herself sucking at her own tongue, drawing it farther back from her teeth in an effort to draw more blood from it, but apparently the wound had already closed. There was no blood to be had.
She sat still and silent for a moment, but then couldn’t resist deliberately running her tongue across one fang again, this time inflicting a good gash on the sensitive tip. It hurt like the devil, but tasted so good. If anyone had told Holly a month, a week, or even a day ago that she would enjoy and even begin to crave the taste of blood like a drug addict jonesing for heroin, she would have laughed in their face. But right at that moment, as the sweet juice slid over her taste buds and down her throat, it was nectar . . . and she wanted more . . . and if she was still human enough to have blood in her body, then so was Justin.
Justin glanced to Holly as he pulled into the hotel parking lot. He’d noticed her closing her eyes at the start of the drive and she now appeared to be sleeping. He turned his attention back to driving as he found a parking spot and steered into it. Then he turned off the engine, undid his seat belt and turned in his seat to peer at her. He’d stared at Holly a lot as she’d gone through the turn. Through most of that, though, her expression had been a rictus of agony, which was really unattractive. Not that he’d cared. He’d attended more than a couple of turnings over time and had known to expect that. Now however, while her mouth was stern and grim with what he suspected was pain, her expression was still more natural than he’d yet seen it.
Holly had lovely, long dark raven hair and . . . well, an average face, he supposed, but it was beautiful to him. Her face was almost an oval. At the beginning of the turn, it had been rounder. Her body had also been fuller with more curves to it. She’d been what people nowadays would have considered heavy. But he’d always liked larger women; they were soft and warm and . . .
Justin let those thoughts go. While Holly had carried the extra weight he liked on a woman, she no longer did . . . and he still liked her. Hell, she could be a bag of bones and he’d like her. The woman was his life mate . . . and completely untouchable, he reminded himself unhappily.
That thought firmly in mind, Justin leaned forward and gave her shoulder a shake to wake her. He barely touched her arm, though, before she moved. The woman struck like lightning, thrusting up out of her seat and launching at him, driving him back against the driver’s door as she crawled into his lap like some nightmare creature. She was going for his throat, fangs bared when the driver’s door suddenly opened behind him and they both spilled out onto the pavement. Justin was on the bottom, his head crashing into the black tar surface with enough impact to briefly stun him.
By the time the pain in his head receded enough to allow him to open his eyes, Lucian was standing over him with an unconscious Holly in his arms. There was a quickly fading red mark on her forehead. Scowling, he scrambled to his feet and reached for her at once. “What did you do?”
“Took control of the situation,” Lucian said calmly. “Grab her purse and close the car door.”
Justin hesitated, but then did as instructed, quickly snatching her purse off the car floor where it had fallen and then locking and closing the door. It was a waste of time though, since the front driver’s window was broken.
“You hit her, didn’t you?” Justin asked grimly as he turned back toward Lucian. But Lucian wasn’t there anymore. He was already halfway across the parking lot, heading swiftly for the hotel door. Cursing, Justin scrambled to catch up. He wanted to demand Lucian give her to him, but that didn’t seem a good idea. Holding her close when he couldn’t claim her was likely to be torture for him so instead he asked again, “You hit her, didn’t you?”
“She was about to tear out your throat,” Lucian said mildly. “I prevented that.”
“By knocking her out with a blow to the head,” Justin said grimly. “Why the hell didn’t you just take control of her mind and stop her that way?”
“She was mad with blood lust and beyond controlling in that moment,” Lucian answered and when Justin continued to glare, asked, “Would you rather I had let her tear out your throat and then executed her for doing it?”
Justin scowled, but then said, “I was raised that it isn’t right to hit women.”
“It isn’t,” Lucian agreed. “Unless they’re new turns who don’t know better than to rip out the throat of the first walking blood bag that comes along.”
“I am not a walking blood bag,” Justin said through clenched teeth as they entered the hotel.
“You were to her,” Lucian said with a shrug.
Knowing he couldn’t win the argument, Justin let it go and briefly fell silent as they crossed the lobby to the elevators. Other than a quick glance from one or two employees of the hotel, no one paid them any attention, and Justin knew Lucian was quickly taking control of minds and changing what was seen.
Justin let him concentrate on the task and didn’t speak again until they entered the elevator, and then it was to ask, “What were you doing in the parking lot anyway?”
“Decker and Anders had just dropped me off when you pulled in.”
“And where did they go after dropping you?” Justin asked.
Lucian shifted Holly over his shoulder to free up his hands. He then grabbed his phone out of his pocket, punched a button and lifted the phone to his ear, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that his arm rested under Holly’s sweet derriere . . . and that Justin was growling deep in his throat with displeasure at that fact.
“He’s here,” Lucian barked into the phone and then added, “So is she, so finish your business quickly. Call when you’re done and we’ll meet at the airport.”
“The airport?” Justin echoed.
Lucian stepped through the opening elevator doors and started up the hall.
“Why are we going to the airport?” Justin asked, scrambling after him.
“Because we’re done here. We’re going home,” Lucian said as if that should be obvious.”
“But—what about Holly?” Justin asked with concern.
“We’re taking her with us.”
“And her husband?” he asked with amazement.
“He can’t come.”
Justin stopped walking briefly and gaped after him. “Did you just make a joke?”
Lucian turned back to peer at him with one eyebrow raised. “When?”
“Never mind,” Justin muttered, starting forward again. Of course, Lucian Argeneau hadn’t made a joke. The man had absolutely no sense of humor.
“You have five minutes to pack your things,” Lucian announced, stopping at the door across from Justin’s and digging a keycard out of his pocket. “Then we have to leave.”
“But—” Justin broke off. Lucian had already unlocked and entered the opposite room and was kicking the door closed behind him.
Mouth tightening, Justin turned to unlock his own door, muttering, “She’s my damned life mate, or would be if she wasn’t married. And first it was, ‘She’s your responsibility, you have to train and watch her.’ Now it’s, ‘Go pack, Justin, I’ve got her in my caveman grip.’ ”
“Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity.”
Justin whirled around just in time to catch the bag of blood that Lucian tossed at him.
Heaving a sigh, Justin popped the bag to his fangs and went into his room. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but if Lucian said pack, it was probably best to do so.
Five
Holly turned sleepily onto her side and burrowed into the blankets with a little sigh. The bed was so warm and comfortable . . . too comfortable, she realized suddenly and pushed against the darkness trying to reclaim her, swimming for consciousness as her mind listed off what was wrong with this bed. The bed she shared with her husband was a cheap one she’d got on sale at eighteen. It had lumps and bumps and sagged in the middle. It was not this comfortable.
Managing to fight her way back to consciousness, she blinked her eyes open and simply stared at the pale blue wall before her, a sense of déjà vu creeping into her mind. Her bedroom was not pale blue. She was waking up in another strange place.
This definitely wasn’t a hotel room though, Holly decided, as her gaze slid around what she could see. There was a closet door, an overstuffed royal blue chair, an attractive and antique oak dresser and not a single generic print on the wall. Instead, there was a lovely painting of a woman in white, curled up sleepily on a wicker chair in the sunlight streaming through a window. Not a hotel then.
“No. Not a hotel,” someone agreed as if she’d spoken the thought aloud.