Eternal Hunger (9 page)

She took a deep breath, grabbed the piece of paper with the number on it, then headed out of her office and straight for the adult-care nurse’s station. Without a word to the crew, Sara picked up one of the desk phones and tried again. Thankfully, this time the call connected, and she sighed as the ringing continued on perfectly normal. But as it did, she started to feel a slight panic take over her nervous system. When the cops actually answered, she’d have to report the crime, not to mention explain
his
involvement in it. Or did she? Maybe she could just leave him out of it—make it all about Tom and the attack.

But Sara never had to make that choice. No one picked up, not even a machine. It just rang and rang. Cursing, she hung up, dialed one last time, and when she found it busy, slammed down the receiver and told herself she’d give it fifteen minutes and try again.

But four hours and three emergencies later, it was close to the end of her shift and the first time she’d had a chance to get back to her office.

She grabbed an apple from the basket on the corner of her desk and dropped into her chair. Releasing a heavy breath, she picked up the phone and waited for it, the low hum of the dial tone. But
nada
. Nothing.

“You have a very solid mind for a human.”

Sara slammed back in her seat, the apple dropping to the floor with a dull thud. “Jesus Christ!”

“No. Alexander Roman.” He stood in the doorway, taking up nearly every inch of it with his massive frame. He inclined his head, his fierce merlot eyes trained on her. “I apologize for startling you.”

“How did you get in here?”

“Your door was open.”

“On the
ward
,” she pressed. “How did you get onto the ward?”

One corner of his mouth flickered up. “I find every door open to me these days.”

“How convenient,” she said, wishing her pulse would stop the whole racing routine.

His gaze shifted from her to the phone. “Making a call?”

“I’ve been trying to, but there’s something wrong with ...” She froze, looked up at him. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’ve been—”

His brows lifted. “As I said before, no police.”

Fear flickered inside her chest. “You screwed with my phone?”

Alexander moved into the room, the door closing behind him. Unable to process the obvious, Sara pretended she had seen his hand on the wood, pushing it closed.

“Actually it was my brother Lucian,” he said, coming toward her, the black wool of his coat snapping against his legs. “I couldn’t leave the house until it grew dark—”

She stood up. Had to. Even with the anxiety snapping through her, she had to show him she wasn’t about to cower. “Your brother’s been watching me?”

“I had to make sure you were safe.”

“If you really cared about my safety, you’d let me call the police.”

“The police can do nothing.”

“Spoken like a true renegade or a—”

He lifted one dark eyebrow. “Or a what?”

“Someone I should be treating with a good deal of meds.”

He said nothing, just stood there, across the desk, dark as night, towering over her with a lethal grin playing about his mouth. Sara tried like hell to control her response to him, to that anything-but-sweet smile, but the traitorous, seductive heat that moved through her veins and sped up her heart was irrepressible.

“Do you really think the police can catch your skinny human?” he asked, coming to stand at the chair in front of her desk, his large hands closing around the metal top. “You think they’re even going to look all that hard for him?”

Sara forced out a solid, “Yes.” But honestly, she wasn’t sure of anything at the moment.

“That little scumbag will not stop until you’re dead,” Alexander said. “And while he’s trying, your officers will be pushing papers around their desks.”

“You need to stop trying to scare me, Alexander,” she said tightly.

“No, I don’t think so. Sometimes fear is necessary to bring clarity to the mind.”

“Where’d you get that? Oprah?”

He nodded to the wall of books behind her.
“Psychology in Today’s Modern World.”

Turning around, Sara glanced at the bookshelf, then faced him again, confused. “What?”

“Third shelf, halfway in, gold binding, page sixteen, middle paragraph.”

She stared at him. “You’ve read that book?”

“Just now. The line jumped out at me. Seemed appropriate.”

It took her a moment to process what he was saying, but when she did, she shook her head and said slowly, “No way.”

His eyes held a bitter edge. “It’s new to me as well.” He reached out to her. “Come with me.”

Sara’s pulse kicked. “What? No!”

“I need to show you something.”

She shook her head. “I’m not going to walk out of here with you to God knows where.”

“All I wish to do is protect you.”

“Protect me, kill me . . . potato, patato.”

He was around the desk and in front of her in seconds, his voice low, menacing. “If I wanted you dead I could have done it back at my house, or at yours. And it would’ve taken an instant.” He lifted his hand, touched her face. His palm felt warm against her skin. “I want you alive, Sara. And safe. I cannot allow that human to get close enough to hurt you again.” His hand dropped to her chest, his palm resting just above her breast. “Just breathe now. Slow your heart. You have nothing to fear from me.”

Sara wanted to hate herself in that moment, hate the feminine lust that ran through her blood and made her want to arch her back and touch her mouth to his, but instead she felt her heart slowing with each beat and warm desire filling her veins. If she tilted her chin an inch she could do it—feel his lips, maybe even the tips of his fangs. As she stared into his eyes, her breath slid into synch with his and her mind played back the events of that morning—how he’d protected her, how easily he’d lifted and carried her, how his fearsome manner only erupted when he spoke of the ex-patient who wished her harm.

She brought her hand to his cheek, let her thumb brush over the key-shaped brand. The surface of his skin was hot, rough, complicated—like him.

Alexander closed his eyes, sucked in air through his teeth, a low growl escaping his throat on the exhale. Sara couldn’t stop staring at him, at his mouth, the one thing that was remotely soft about him. Would his kiss be harsh, demanding? Would his fangs cut her, scrape her bottom lip, draw blood? Would he grab the back of her skull, his fingers threading her hair, fisting her scalp as his passion grew?

“Come with me,” he said in a husky whisper. “Now. Before I answer the question on both our minds.”

Oh God.
Her cheeks flushed and the quiver in her belly inched perilously lower. “I don’t do this,” she whispered in a pained voice. “Whatever it is we’re doing here.”

“I know,” he returned just as softly, his breath a sweet, tantalizing breeze against her mouth. “Neither do I.” He took her hand in his, opened the flap of his coat, and curled her body next to his.

As they left the office, walked down the hall toward the exit, Sara waited for the staff to notice her and the huge man with the brands on his face beside her, but they didn’t. It was as if they were either invisible or shielded from view.

“Your doing?” she whispered to Alexander as they left the ward behind a visitor and passed by the nurse’s station, again completely unnoticed.

“Nothing to explain this way,” he said, guiding her into a waiting elevator.

Sara was silent as the elevator groaned and took off. Her entire adult life was built on rational answers to complicated questions, and right now she had nothing. Magic, invisibility, vampires—none of these things existed. And yet here it was . . . here
he
was . . .

The elevators opened abruptly, and through a blast of freezing night air, Sara saw that they were on the roof, the helipad and dark chopper waiting on the raised dais for an emergency call.

Alexander pulled her closer. “Come, Sara. It is very cold tonight.”

But Sara eased away from him, stepped out of the elevator on her own, and embraced the cold air, desperate to clear her head—if only for a moment. She didn’t like this—being out of control, allowing someone to lead her into the unknown and the potentially dangerous—even him. She turned. “Why are we up here?”

“I need to show you something,” he said, walking calmly toward her, toward the edge of the roofline, “at your house.”

“Cabs are down there,” she said, backing up, backing away from him.

His eyes flashed. “This will be faster.”

Sara barely had time to register the sudden, powerful strength of his arms around her or the comfort of his warmth. One moment they were at the edge of the roofline, the next they were airborne.

I
t took only seconds. From beginning to end, from what felt like stepping into the eye of a tornado, then being thrust out again.

Breathing heavy in the cold air, legs shaking, Sara stared at the front door of her apartment. “What was that?” she asked, unable to believe the reality of what she’d just experienced. “How did you do that?”

Beside her, Alexander released her and reached for the doorknob. “A simple mind request.”

“As in, ‘see my apartment door in your head and off we go’?”

He chuckled softly. “Something like that.” He used no key, but the door swung wide for them anyway. “Shall we?”

As the wind whipped her hair about her face, wariness and fear gripped hold of every muscle in her body. She didn’t want to go in there again. “Why are we here?”

“You need to see who and what you’re dealing with.” He gently nudged her forward. “Come, Sara.”

Reluctantly, she stepped across the threshold and into the apartment, knowing that she had left the comfort of a rational existence somewhere back at the hospital. No matter how much she wished she could, it had become impossible to pretend that the man beside her was human or that she wasn’t caught up in something impossible to understand and potentially life threatening. And the latter was proven the moment she caught sight of the interior of her apartment. She stared, open-mouthed. The place was completely trashed and the smell of death was fresh. The living area had been turned into some kind of antivampire shrine with red paint slashed across walls, chairs, and on the couch. Crucifixes and garlic hung from light fixtures and picture frames, but most disturbing of all were the dozen or so mutilated bats positioned in a perfect circle on the floor with Tom Trainer’s calling card—a small dead bird—in the center.

Unable to pull her gaze from the scene before her, Sara asked Alexander, “Do you know when this happened?”

“My guess is a few hours after we left.”

“You’ve been here, seen this already.”

“Right before I came to you.”

She glanced up at him then. “I have to call the police, Alexander.”

“They can do nothing for you. My brother Nicholas is a top-notch tracker. He will find Trainer. In the meantime, you need a place to stay. Somewhere safe.”

She knew what he meant—where he believed that safe place to be—and she wasn’t having it. “I’ll stay with friends,” she said quickly.

His brow lifted. “You want to bring this man to your friends?”

Sara’s eyes narrowed. “You’re playing dirty, vampire.”

Alexander smiled. “It is how I play, woman.”

The husky timbre of his voice, the predatory way he watched her made her insides quiver. “I don’t get it. Why do you care so much?”

“What?”

Her voice dropped. “What is it you want from me? I’m not looking to be rescued.”

In the silence that followed, an expression crossed Alexander’s features, dimmed the fierce strength in his eyes; it was something achingly close to emptiness, and it made the residual fear that still remained in Sara’s heart dissolve.

“You saved my life,” he said softly, simply.

Sara’s gaze locked with his then, a mutual understanding passing between them. He wished to do the same for her . . .

“But you will fight me,” he said. “Why is that? Why are you so stubborn, Sara Donohue? Have you never let anyone care for you?”

His words made her throat ache, but she pushed the quick emotion away. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

Alexander reached out then, brushed his fingertips over the quick pulse at the base of her throat. “Maybe not, but you will stay with me until this man is caught.”

Sara fought for control over herself, but the heat of his touch mocked her resolve.
Goddammit!
For years—forever it seemed—she’d given her life over to one purpose, one goal, one person—and it had been a worthy path, still was. But Tom Trainer had forced his way into her world and she had to deal with him. After he was off the streets and no longer a threat, she could return to that state of normal, but for now, she needed to think about her own self-preservation. This man—this vampire who stood so close and touched her so tenderly—would keep her safe. She knew it. She knew it like she knew her own name.

Her gaze held his. “There’ll have to be some rules.”

“What rules are those?”

“I have a life, work, patients who need and depend on me.”

Without another word, he left her and strode over to the door, which opened before he even reached the panel of wood. Once there, he turned to face her, his tone and expression grave. “Your work is your own,” he said. “I swear I will not keep you from any of it.”

She didn’t move. “But you’ll be watching me?”

The hard, possessive flash in his merlot eyes said it all.

As if forcing her to make a move, the stench of death inside her apartment grew suddenly worse. “All right, vampire,” she said, walking past him and out into the frigid New York City night. “Let’s fly.”

N
icholas walked into the library, his stoic exterior masking the raging hard-on he had to rip out the jugular of the first beating heart he saw. Unfortunately, the only thing in the room happened to be not only pulseless, but family.