Her Devoted Vampire (7 page)

Her
initials spelled BEDS, and that gave him all sorts of ideas.

Down, dammit!
She wasn’t
likely to let him anywhere near her now.

He
should go back into her room and apologize for his actions, maybe even explain more
why he’d brought her here. But how could he tell her she’d filled his visions
for the last few days, always with an urgency he’d learned meant danger? Though
he’d only just met her, he knew she was important to his life. The underlying
emotional current in his visions had confirmed it. How could he explain he’d
seen their lifelines woven together through time like Route 66 and Interstate
40 on a
U. S.
road map?

Frustration
and fear bordering on despair flashed through him.

She’d
never believe him. He suspected she was the practical sort from what little he
knew of her. Love at first sight, first mugging, or first bite didn’t happen to
her. She didn’t believe in magic or myths. She didn’t believe in vampires. He
could always bite her to show the truth of it, but he’d already pissed her off
enough by holding her here.

Fredrick
ran a hand over his forehead and eyes, inhaling her scent from them. Goddess of
all, she smelled great. At least he hadn’t tied her to the bed. The thought of
her bound and willing to let him feed off her gave him a raging cockstand. He
shoved himself off the wall and stalked downstairs to inform his staff Bridget now
stayed under duress.

He
grimaced when he thought of what Szilvia would say to that. The Hungarian woman
wasn’t convinced of his psychic abilities, but tolerated them in hopes time
would make him come to love her as much as she loved him. Szilvia needed Fredrick
more than he needed her, but he’d known he’d spend many years with her for
their mutual benefit before they parted ways. As his feet squeaked softly on
the tile floor, his gut told him their association would soon come to an end.

Fredrick
found her with Matt and a new werewolf named Paul in the kitchen. Matt was
explaining the layout of the estate and the general procedures of Fredrick’s
household. While he wasn’t the Alpha male of the pack, Matt was Cynthia’s right
hand man when it came to Fredrick’s security.

Fredrick
had hired Cynthia when a vision told him she’d need his help to save her and
her loved ones at their first meeting. He’d saved her mate, Stephen Wolfwright,
from being burned alive in a house fire set by a psychotic arsonist, and she’d been
devoted to Fredrick ever since. He liked the Wolfwrights, and his connection to
them allowed him live comfortably and safely in a diurnal world.

“How is
she?” Matt asked as he paused in his explanation.

“Healthy
and angry.” Fredrick loaded the dishes into the dishwasher to distract himself
from his furious houseguest. Dishwashers were a godsend for those who hated
washing up, though the smell got to him if it wasn’t run often enough. “She
thinks I kidnapped her. I told her she needed to rest, and if she tried to get
out of the house, we would track her down and bring her back, whether she liked
it or not.”

“Why did
you tell her that, Mr. MacGregor?” Paul asked, then blushed and dropped his
head when Matt growled at him.

“It’s
all right, Matt.” Fredrick shook his head. “She doesn’t have any clothes, and
if she took off, she could freeze to death out there.”

“It
might be an appealing sight, though,” Matt said, and Fredrick clamped his teeth
together before he bit the werewolf.

“Secondly,”
Fredrick said to distract himself, “there’s still some sort of danger
surrounding her, and I won’t have her harmed while she’s under my care.”

Szilvia
scowled. “Tell us why she’s so important again?”

He filled
the dishwasher with soap, programmed it for light wash, and closed the door to
buy himself some time. He couldn’t tell her Bridget was his life partner based
on a gut feeling. Szilvia wouldn’t handle the information very well, and at the
moment, he wanted only one powerful female angry with him. He just wished it
wasn’t the one woman in the house to whom he was highly attracted.

It might’ve been different if you hadn’t threatened
her.

He
grimaced. “She was in my vision.”

“If she
doesn’t want to stay, Fredrick, you should get rid of her. She’s only a She-Meal
after all.” Szilvia crossed her arms over her chest in challenge.

Anger
rose at her disdain, but he shrugged nonchalantly. “Danger threatened her in my
vision, and she’s in no condition to get home on her own at this point; so she’s
staying.”

“Oh, for
the love of Istvan, just take her to a hotel, leave her a robe, and she’ll get
home just fine.” Szilvia threw her hands up in disgust. “She obviously can heal
well enough on her own. Unless you plan to feed on her later?” She raised
eloquent eyebrows at him.

He
shrugged again, hiding his excitement at the idea of feeding off the fiery-haired
woman upstairs. If he wasn’t careful, the hard-on he was controlling would break
his fly.

To take
his mind away from those incriminating thoughts, he met Szilvia’s gaze and
asked, “Are the house accounts up to date? I remember there was a small problem
with a recent shipment of the organic coffee beans to Night Caps. Did that get
resolved?”

Night
Caps was one of his many coffee shops along the East Coast, his favorite, in
fact. He was a stickler for making sure his supplies came from organic and
environmentally sound farmers and companies. He’d decided if he was going to
live forever on this earth, he’d better make an effort to take care of it
before the humans destroyed it with their carelessness.

“Yes, it
was discovered that one of our distributors was substituting the organics for
the cheaper pesticide grown beans, so we had to drop them as our supplier.”

Szilvia
might have other hang-ups, but when it came to business, she didn’t fool around
with emotional issues.

“It took
us a few days, but we managed to find someone who had better scruples and saw
to it that everyone knew what our old distributor had done. Last I heard, the
poor man went out of business because a fire burned all his warehouses in one
go.” She was also ruthless as hell.

“As long
as we get the organics,” Fredrick said. “That’s the most important thing. Have
all the other coffee shops been running well?”

“Well,
The Colander and The Last Stand in
Rochester
had that bacteria outbreak three weeks ago, but the cleaning crews we sent
cleared them up. There have been no other problems. The Boston Tea Party had a
rat infestation, but we picked up two cats from the pound; and the problem has
gone away. The Cheshire Cat and the Laughing Dog Pub had some illegal workers
for a short time, but we got that sorted out by helping them get citizenship. They
are family, after all. The Knight Watch had some flooding problems, but…”

Fredrick’s
attention wavered from her recitation as his thoughts turned back to the
unusual woman upstairs. How would he ever apologize for what he’d done to
her?
 
How could he tell her he kept her
out of concern for her safety? She’d scoff and point out he’d brought her to
his home to
make
her safe in the
first place. He still didn’t know why danger surrounded her, but he wouldn’t
let her go until the feeling faded.

I’ll just have to find some way to make it up to her. Perhaps
new clothes, or fine chocolates, or even a rare book. Maybe a first edition of
Lady Chatterley’s Lover
since
she likes to read romance.

Through
his musings, his ears picked up the sounds of footsteps tapping down the
staircase, and a door opening and closing quietly. His mind didn’t make a
connection to its meaning until he realized everyone who should be moving
around the house actually stood in the kitchen. His head snapped up and turned
toward the front of the house as his body swung into motion before he could
actually think of what he was doing.

“Fredrick!”
Szilvia’s voice cracked at him. “Where are you going?”

****

Bridget
bolted out the door into the frigid night and immediately turned right, heading
into the trees. She knew she didn’t have much time, but if she could hide in
the woods or even find a stream to run through so they couldn’t use dogs –
or werewolves
– to track her, she’d have
a better chance of getting away. She couldn’t see any lights from neighbors, so
the land around this jerkoff’s home had to be either densely wooded or huge. She’d
use that to her advantage. Her right arm hung useless, pain jabbing her with
each step, but she didn’t need it to run.

She
worked her way quickly through the trees toward the back of the house, the
winter understory snagging at her oversized clothes. She pushed her legs faster,
trying to get as far away from any structures as possible. She heard doors open
behind her and voices shouting orders.

Damn. That
hadn’t taken long.

Bridget
tightened her lips and focused on moving forward as fast and as quietly as she
could. She wouldn’t let anyone keep her as a pet. She’d scrounged a dark hooded
sweatshirt that fell to her thighs and some sweatpants she’d had to roll up,
but they worked well enough to get her out of the house. She thanked God someone
had left her shoes next to the bed.

The
scent of the air changed from damp woodlands to icy water, and she picked up
sounds of the river ahead of her. The voices behind her had gone silent, and
she hoped they’d lost her trail as she veered toward the shore. Maybe she could
work her way along the river edge and find another residence or some sort of
civilization where she could get help.

Didn’t
it just figure? The sexiest guy she’d ever met with a beautiful house who
wanted her, so of course Frederick MacGregor had to be a rat bastard. But he’d
frightened and infuriated her. Hell, he’d
hurt
her. Screaming pain blazed through her every time she even
thought
of moving her right arm. She couldn’t get away from his
delusions of vampirism soon enough. He seemed stronger than an average guy, but
he probably worked out at a gym. And she’d been afraid. Fear made everyone
weaker than normal.

Her thoughts
broke when she caught motion out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t stop running,
but she focused her eyes on the place she’d seen movement and listened as hard
as she could. Panic crept up her throat in a building shriek.

Bridget
couldn’t hear anything over the thunder of her own heart, but she smelled
spiced apples and burned rubber just before something hard tackled her. Her
shriek erupted as she toppled to the ground, morphing into a scream as her
injured arm snapped back into its socket with a meaty pop. The pain diminished,
but it didn’t matter with the large, dark, and heavy weight on top of her.

The
weight turned its head, and two red, glowing eyes glared back at her. Harsh
breathing warmed her face and neck while panic rebuilt her shriek. Her own
panting competed with his, and they sounded like they were practicing
Pranayama
in some high-end yoga studio. Anger
surged as she squirmed to get away.

“I told
you not to run,” a familiar voice growled as his grip tightened. “I told you we
would catch you. You were injured and needed to rest. This isn’t a joke. You
shouldn’t be out here in the dark.”

“No, it
isn’t
a joke, and I don’t want to stay
with you!” Bridget struggled in his grip. “Let me go. You can’t keep me here.”

“I beg
to differ.” He hauled her to her feet and held her fast. Bitter experience kept
her from pulling away.

Instead,
she relaxed all her muscles to become a dead weight. Her body slithered out of
his arms to the ground.

As soon
as she was free, she scrambled to her feet and bolted away from him. He cursed and
grabbed for her, but she ducked and twisted out of reach as she dodged trees
and underbrush. She darted to her left around a tree to give herself a little
cover, but the New England woods had far less underbrush than those in Michigan
where she’d grown up, and only a few seconds passed before he caught her again.

This
time, he lifted her off her feet and threw her kicking and snarling over his
shoulder. Bridget wanted to scream with frustration, but she didn’t want to
waste any energy. Instead, she rained blows on his backside with her good arm,
twisting her body off of his shoulder, and trying to slam her knees into his
guts. He merely tightened his arms around her knees and hips, ignoring her
hands entirely. Her fury mounted, and she opened her mouth to bite him through
his mock-turtleneck sweater.

“Do
that,” he said as he lugged her back toward the house, “and I will show you
what biting really is.”

She
froze at the cold menace in his voice, then slumped against his back. Her arm
was still sore, and her torso hurt from the impact with the hard ground. Each
step he took jabbed his shoulder into her belly, and her stomach roiled.

It’d serve him right if I threw up down his back!

Cold,
pain, frustration, and defeat flashed through her in a kaleidoscope of
sensations, but she couldn’t help but notice the heat of his body seeping into
her and the delicious scent of his clothes. She turned her head to rest her
cheek against his back and closed her eyes. Tears oozed out from under her lids,
and she tried to take normal breaths; but her sobs overwhelmed her intentions. God
only knew what he’d do with her now.