Amanda Ashley (11 page)

“Take my car.”

“Are you kidding? It would probably get stolen before the engine cooled off.”

He grunted softly. He had never been particularly concerned about material possessions, probably because he’d never owned much more than a beat-up Chevy and the clothes on his back, but he was fond of the Porsche.

He called for a cab, walked her to the door when it arrived, then stood there, watching her drive away, wondering if she would come back.

Kelly packed the last of her meager belongings in a cardboard box, took one last look at the shabby one-room apartment she had lived in for the past seven months, and left the apartment. If she never saw the place again, it would be too soon!

Tucking the box under her arm, she went downstairs and climbed into the waiting taxi. It had been a long time since she could afford such a luxury. She dropped the box on the floor, gave the driver Edward’s address, and settled back on the seat, one foot tapping nervously.

Last night, just before she left, Ramsey had slipped her the key to his house, and a hundred dollars in cash. It was the most money she’d had at one time in years. She, who had once made ten times that for an afternoon’s work—although it was hard to remember those days now, clouded as they were by the trying years in between.

She glanced down at the meager belongings in the cardboard box and wondered for perhaps the thousandth time how everything could have gone so wrong so quickly and permanently back then. Of course, the major thing that had gone wrong had been her relationship with Doug. When that began to fall apart, she hadn’t been able to concentrate on her career, her personal well-being, or anything else. She had blamed herself at first, and tried harder and harder to make it work, even though her heart was breaking. Her uncertainty in their relationship had shown in her work, until the work began to dry up. She wouldn’t have cared then, if she could have won back his love.

Now she grimaced at his memory, and at her own naïveté. She had given her heart to a two-timing gigolo, and he had shattered it. Perhaps beyond repair. The booze, the pills, the self-degradation had followed in a descending spiral of self-destruction that had led her to that pier—and to Ramsey.

Strangely, she felt no need for a narcotic fix today, nor even a good, stiff jolt of cheap whiskey. All of that was behind her now, in a way she didn’t quite understand. She was starting a new life. Kelly Anderson, vampire baby-sitter. The thought made her laugh out loud.

She wasn’t laughing when the cab driver deposited her and her belongings on the sidewalk in front of Ramsey’s house. Even in the light of day, it seemed to gather darkness around it. It didn’t really look like a normal house. More like some Hollywood version of Dracula’s mansion. She wondered if Ramsey had picked it for that very look. Did vampires have a sense of humor?

Even after all she had seen and heard, such a question seemed preposterous, even unspoken. Actual vampires in twenty-first-century Los Angeles. Who would believe it?

Hugging the cardboard box to her chest, she climbed the stairs, put the key in the lock, and opened the door. She stood on the porch for a moment, wondering if she was making the biggest mistake of her life. But no, she had made that already, with Doug.

Taking a deep breath, she crossed the threshold and closed the door behind her.

She was struck by the stillness of the house. Had it been a living thing, she would have said it was holding its breath.

It was a just a little past noon. Hours until dark. Hours to change her mind.

She dropped the box on a chair in the living room and toured the house. There were two bedrooms downstairs, one of which she remembered all too well. The second bedroom was done in forest green and white. It was obvious the house had been remodeled, she mused, since she didn’t think indoor plumbing had been common when the house was originally built. Certainly they didn’t have bathrooms like these, with sunken tubs and separate shower stalls big enough for two. She had seen the kitchen before, and she passed it by. There was a formal dining room, empty of furniture. No surprise there, she thought with grim humor. She was reasonably certain Edward didn’t host any dinner parties, at least not at a table.

A family room had been added to the back of the house. It was large and oblong, with a marble fireplace, thick forest green carpet, and large windows covered by heavy drapes. The furniture was of dark wood, covered in a dark-green-and-burgundy print. There were no pictures on the walls, no knickknacks of any kind, nothing of a personal nature.

There were three bedrooms upstairs. The first two looked as they must have when the house was built. The paper on the walls was dark, with a patina of age that argued it hadn’t been changed since the house was built. The floors were hardwood. The furniture looked antique: four-poster beds and oak rocking chairs and highboys with oval mirrors.

The third bedroom was obviously the master bedroom and had been redecorated recently. The walls were painted a beautiful shade of French blue. The rug, a rich, deep pile, was the same color. The bedspread was a blue-and-white print; the curtains were white. There was a small sitting room between the bedroom and the bathroom.

The third floor was a large empty room with a single round window that overlooked the backyard. There were bars on the window.

With a shiver of unease, she left the room and hurried down the stairs to the first floor.

Grabbing her belongings, she went back upstairs to the blue bedroom, thinking she would feel more comfortable with the ground floor between herself and Edward. Dropping the box on a chair, she flung open the curtains, frowned when she saw that the windows were covered with some kind of film to shut out the sun. Tomorrow she would scrape the windows. He might have to live in the dark, but she wanted light, and lots of it.

She hung her few clothes in the closet, put her cosmetics and her toothbrush in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, dropped her comb and brush on the counter.

She didn’t have much, and it didn’t take long to put it all away.

Going back downstairs, she realized she was hungry. The stale bagel that had been breakfast had done little to sustain her. Now that the nervous excitement of moving in was wearing off, she was starving. She went into the kitchen in search of food. And found none. Well, of course not, she thought with a wry grin. Vampires always dined “out.”

Not only was there no food in the house, but there were no dishes, no silverware, no glasses, no pots and pans.

Hands on her hips, she stood in the middle of the floor, foot tapping, trying to decide if she wanted to go out for something to eat, or just order a pizza.

It was then she saw the envelope with her name on it. Inside was a sheet of paper.

Opening the drawer, she pulled out a key ring with a single key, and four crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.

“Geez, Louise,” she muttered, “how much does he think I eat?”

She found the car in the garage. A black Porsche with less than five hundred miles on it.

Feeling as if she had just won the lottery, she opened the door and slid behind the wheel. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling the new-car scent while she ran her hand over the soft leather upholstery. It had been years since she’d had a new car, since she’d had a car of any kind.

Smiling, she put the key in the ignition and switched on the engine. The exhaust made a low, throaty sound, and the car seemed to awaken, crouching like some predatory beast ready to spring. She thumbed the garage door remote clipped to the sun visor, studied the gear diagram on the shift lever, and gingerly eased it into reverse.

She stalled it when she tried to find first, and her next few gear changes were clumsy, but driving a stick, learned on an old Honda, soon came back to her. It felt good to be behind the wheel of such a sleek car.

Her first stop was a steak house. The waiter seemed somewhat dubious when she ordered the largest cut of prime rib they had; later, he seemed a little bemused that she had finished every bite and still had room for chocolate cheesecake. He grinned at her when he brought the check, as if wondering where she had put it all.

Feeling slightly stuffed, replete, she left the waiter a generous tip, pocketed the change from one of Ramsey’s hundreds, and headed for the mall. With her hunger taken care of, her next priority was shopping! If this was a dream, she wanted to buy some new clothes before she awoke.

She picked up a couple pairs of jeans, three tank tops, a sweater, a couple of T-shirts, some new underwear, six pairs of socks, a new pair of Nikes, and a watch to replace the Rolex she had hocked. She also bought a saucepan, a frying pan, a coffeepot, a set of silverware, a set of dishes and matching glasses.

She piled her packages in the passenger seat and drove to the grocery store. It was wonderful to be able to shop without worrying about the cost, to pick up a carton of chocolate ice cream and a jar of hot fudge and not have to worry about how she would look in front of the camera. She had no one to impress anymore, no one to answer to except herself. It had been a long, hard battle fighting her way out of the mire of drugs only to find that, when she was clean again, no one wanted her. It had been that realization that had sent her to the pier that fateful night.

She wheeled the cart down the produce aisle, filling the basket with fresh fruits and vegetables. She bought bread and milk and orange juice, coffee and sugar, salt and pepper, butter and eggs, a box of Rice Krispies, a couple of New York steaks, a package of pork chops, a couple cans of tuna. She picked up a bottle of garlic salt and grinned, wondering if having garlic on her breath would repel the vampire in the house. She bought dish soap and cleanser and dish towels, shampoo and conditioner, a new hairbrush and toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant. A bag of M&Ms, a six pack of 7-Up.

“Junk food junkie,” she muttered, and tossed a package of Oreos into the cart.

At the checkout stand, she bought a pack of gum and a
TV Guide,
then frowned, trying to remember if he had a TV.

A cute boy loaded her groceries into the trunk. With his blond crew cut and blue eyes, he reminded her of Edward. She grinned, wondering what the boy would say if she told him she was moving in with a vampire.

A glance at her new watch showed it was almost four when she pulled into the driveway.

It took several trips back and forth to carry everything into the house. Humming softly, she put the groceries away, then carried the other bags up to her room. Next time she went out, she was going to buy a CD player.

She put her new clothes away, then went into the bathroom, bent over the tub, and turned on the tap, mentally adding bubble bath to the list of things she had forgotten.

It would be easy to get accustomed to this, she thought, if it weren’t for the monster sleeping in the cellar.

She bathed and shampooed her hair, dressed in a new pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Surprisingly, she was hungry again. Or maybe not so surprising, she thought, unable to remember the last time she’d had more than one meal a day.

She went downstairs, reveling in the feel of the thick carpet beneath her bare feet. In the kitchen, she made a tuna sandwich and a big green salad and poured herself a glass of milk.

She sat at the table in the kitchen to eat, constantly glancing back and forth from the clock to the door that led to the cellar, wondering how soon after sunset he rose. Wondering again if she was making the biggest mistake of her life, although how anything or anyone could be a worse disaster than her affair with Doug was hard to imagine. Even a vampire seemed a better choice.

Needing something to occupy her mind, she bypassed the dishwasher and washed her few dishes by hand. A vampire. What would it be like to be one of the undead? In the movies, they were comic heroes in search of love, or rabid monsters in search of blood. Edward seemed decidedly lacking in humor....

And then there was no more time for thought. She turned to reach for a dish towel, and he was there, standing in the doorway, a curious expression on his face.

She smiled tentatively, her heartbeat accelerating. “Hi.”

“Good evening.”

He lifted his head, sniffing the air, reminding her of a wary coyote she had seen years ago when she’d gone camping in the mountains with her parents.

She lifted her hand in a vague gesture. “I sort of made myself at home. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. My home is yours for as long as you stay.” His gaze moved to her throat, to the pulse rapidly beating there. His nostrils flared; his hands curled into tight fists.

A moment ago, she had thought he was smelling the food she had eaten. Now she wondered if he was smelling
her
. She took a quick step backward, grunting softly as her back slammed into the countertop.

He swallowed hard, his breathing suddenly labored.

His gaze, hot and hungry, met hers, and then, before she had time to be truly afraid, he was gone.

 

 

Ramsey hunted the dark streets, the back alleys. He had been a fool to ask Kelly to share the house with him. Even now, the scent of her hair, her skin, her blood, filled his nostrils and teased his senses. She was beautiful, more beautiful than any woman he had ever known. More beautiful, more desirable, than Marisa.

Kelly. His heart ached for her; his soul cried out for her; his body yearned for one touch, one night in her arms, freely given.

Bitter laughter rose in his throat, mocking his desire. Except for Katherine, no woman had loved him when he was a mortal man. How could he expect one to love the monster he had become? He lacked Chiavari’s old world charm and handsome facade.

A short time later he found his prey, an old man huddled in a doorway, saw himself reflected in the watery gray eyes. A monster out of a nightmare.

With a wild cry, he took hold of the man, his fangs piercing the flesh of his throat. There was no gentleness in him, no mercy, only a cold bitter rage.