Must Love Vampires (19 page)

“No, I’m not okay,” she answered quickly. “Why don’t you have any food in your house?”

For a minute, he simply stared at her, his expression blank. Then he croaked out, “What?”

She huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes. Making an eating motion near her mouth with her hand, she said, “Food.
Food.
Something to eat. I’m
starving
, and you have nothing but a couple bottles of wine in your refrigerator.”

He blinked, still looking dumbfounded.

Throwing up her hands in frustration, she moved to the hanging cupboards and threw open the doors. Then she did the same to the refrigerator, sweeping her arms in every direction like Vanna White turning letters on
Wheel of Fortune
. Only Chloe’s phrase was beginning to read
My h_sb_nd is d_mb_ss
, and she didn’t need to buy a vowel to figure it out.

“You’re hungry,” he murmured, finally catching a clue.

Her shoulders sank and she fell back against the edge of the counter. “
Yes
,” she breathed. “I’m very,
very
hungry. You failed to feed me last night before you dragged me off to the chapel and then dragged me back here for the wedding night. And why the heck don’t you have any food in the house?” she demanded. “That’s the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re hungry,” he said again.

He must have seen the murder in her eyes and how close she was to smacking him, because he put his hands up and said, “Okay, okay. I’ll get you something to eat. Do you want to go out or order in?”

“Out. And then we go grocery shopping and stock your cupboards.”

With a brusque nod, he started to turn away, presumably to go get dressed, only to stop and turn back.

“That’s all you’re upset about?” he asked. “The food situation?”

“What else would I be upset about?” she said, tipping her head to the side quizzically.

“I thought maybe . . .” He paused, his glance flicking to her throat before once again meeting her eyes. “Maybe you were mad at me about last night.”

Chloe went still, a sudden chill washing over her. Why would he be worried about how she’d feel after they had sex? They’d done that a few dozen times already. Last night had been hot enough to singe their eyelashes off, sure, but then, it usually was.

“What about last night?” she asked slowly.

“You know . . .” He looked uncomfortable, as well as confused when he gestured toward her neck. “The biting and everything.”

A low hum started in her ears and spread throughout her entire body. Slowly, she lifted a hand to the side of her throat, feeling for the mark she’d thought was nothing more than a dream.

At first, she felt nothing but smooth, normal skin. Then her fingertips found a rough spot. She couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but it felt bumpy and scabby . . . two small spots right beside each other.

As far apart as, say . . . a pair of fangs.

The scene from last night, the one she’d thought was some bizarre dream brought on by stress and low blood sugar, flashed through her memory. Aidan behind her, having just given her one of the top five greatest orgasms of her life . . . the sharp pain in her neck that she hadn’t quite been able to identify . . . touching the spot and bringing her fingers away to find them smeared with blood . . . accusing him of biting her . . . then turning around to find his eyes glowing red and drops of blood on his mouth.

Had it really happened? And if it had, what the hell did it mean?

She hadn’t yet found the bathroom in this place, and hadn’t seen any mirrors on the walls during her brief glance around last night or her stumble through the dark today. So instead of trying to get past him to look for one, she turned back to the glossy silver refrigerator. Twisting this way and that, she found the best view of her throat she could manage and studied it for a moment.

Yep, there it was. Two small dots that looked like puncture wounds. Even given the cloudy reflection, she could make out dark circles of scabbing with lighter pink irritation around them.

W-T-F?

“So you really did bite me,” she accused, spinning back to face him. She’d be surprised if
her
eyes weren’t glowing red this time.

He had the good sense to look sheepish, his mouth turning down and his cheeks coloring slightly. “I’m sorry. I should have explained sooner.”

Explained? Explained what? That he was a total perv?

“Please tell me I didn’t marry one of those Anne Rice/ Vampire Lestat cultlike freaks who believes they really are a bloodsucking creature of the night. If you had your teeth cosmetically altered or actually drink blood, not only will I divorce you, I’ll stake you in your sleep.”

He flinched, a couple of times, though she couldn’t be sure which part of her tirade disturbed him most.

“This is something we should probably talk about
after
you’ve had something to eat. And since there’s a good chance you’ll want to try that staking thing once you hear what I have to say, we should probably order in.”

Narrowing her eyes, she crossed her arms back over her chest, this time to stave off the goose bumps that were breaking out along her skin.

“You aren’t going to kill me down here and make this apartment my underground tomb, are you?” she asked, and she was only half-kidding.

He let out a bark of laughter, which surprisingly made her feel better instead of worse. It was real laughter, the laughter she was used to hearing from him. Not crazy, maniacal, serial killer laughter. She hoped.

“Definitely not. We don’t kill for food anymore. It’s not necessary.”

Okay, so maybe it was crazy, maniacal, serial killer laughter.

“Who’s ‘we’?” she asked, not entirely sure she wanted to know.

Holding her gaze, Aidan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then lifted a well-muscled shoulder before giving her an answer she really didn’t want to hear.

“Vampires.”

Five

Aidan wasn’t sure what to expect next from his lovely new bride. And she was lovely, standing there in his dress shirt, her long legs and feet bare.

But there was also an element of Frankenstein circling her normally pleasant personality. As in “Bride of . . .”

Not that he could blame her. She was running on an extremely empty stomach—something he knew more than a little about, in a manner of speaking—and it wasn’t every day you learned you’d married a vampire.

He really,
really
should have mentioned that small detail to her before they’d tied the knot.

Since Chloe was just standing there, looking more than a little shell-shocked, he carefully backed out of the kitchen and returned to the bedroom. In the pocket of his suit coat, he found his cell phone and flipped it open.

Reception down here wasn’t as great as he’d have liked, but it would do. He did a search for nearby restaurants that offered home delivery and picked one he thought Chloe would approve of. Making a quick call, he placed an order, then made a mental note to meet the delivery person upstairs in the parking garage in twenty minutes.

Dragging on his pants, he grabbed a loose T-shirt from one of his dresser drawers and pulled it over his head on the way back to the kitchen. He was relieved to find Chloe right where he’d left her, back to poking and prodding at the bite mark while she studied her reflection on the refrigerator door. It was better than having her race around the apartment, ranting and raving like a loon, even if he knew that reaction was probably coming.

“I ordered some food,” he told her quietly. “It should be here soon.”

Turning from her perusal of what he’d done to her . . . in a weak moment and without her permission, he was chagrined to admit . . . she glared at him.

“First I eat, then you tell me what the hell is going on,” she told him in a firm voice, leaving no room for argument. Not that he intended to try.

“Absolutely.” He should have done it much sooner, but was infinitely grateful she was willing to let him feed her first so her temper wasn’t balancing on quite such a hair trigger.

Up until this moment, he hadn’t even realized she had a temper. All the time they’d spent together had been filled with fun and laughter and hot, sweaty sex.

Not that that was anything to complain about, but it apparently chalked one up in the Sebastian Was Right column. Rushing into marriage without telling her about his little “condition” and without experiencing every aspect of her mood spectrum maybe hadn’t been the wisest decision he’d ever made.

“I’m going to get dressed,” she said, slipping past him.

He stepped out of the way, didn’t even try to stop her.

“And don’t forget what I said about the stake,” she called back from halfway down the hall. “I know how to take care of myself, and I am not afraid to drive a pointy object into your heart.”

Aidan flinched, raising a hand to rub his chest over the delicate organ she’d just threatened to puncture. Jeez, who would have thought she’d have such a nasty streak?

And people thought vampires were bloodthirsty.

Chloe took her time gathering up her sister’s clothes and putting them back on. She tossed Aidan’s previously comfortable shirt to the foot of the bed like it was on fire, kicking herself for being such a blind, stupid, bobble-headed fool. Chuck had been right to be concerned, to warn her not to do anything rash.

Well, it was too late for that. She’d gone so far past rash, she was ass-deep in a flesh-eating disease.

A vampire. Her husband—one of Las Vegas’s wealthiest, most renowned local celebrities—thought he was a vampire. A nightwalker. A blood drinker. A sun-phobic, neck-biting, Dracula-wannabe undead creature of the night.

Fabulous. She’d thought she was landing a big fish. Turns out she’d only managed to land a lunatic.

The question was: How did she escape from this windowless, underground bunker and rid herself of her gruesome groom without letting him catch wind of her plan? The last thing she needed was to pique his curiosity or anger and send him into a killing rage.

No, she needed to bide her time, hold her temper—well, maintain her temper, anyway, since she’d already threatened him with that whole stake-through-the-heart thing—and convince him to take her topside so she could make a break for it.

Using his master bath, she relieved herself, brushed her teeth, and ran a brush through her hair. By the time she finished, she looked at least moderately better than a homeless person.

In no hurry, she traipsed back into the main room only to find it—and the kitchen—empty. She spun around a couple of times, looking high and low, checking all the dark corners and nooks and crannies she could find. For all she knew, Aidan had secret passages built into this place, or a coffin where he took his “eternal rest.”

She was getting dizzy from all the up-and-down whirling around when the elevator doors slid open. Straightening with a jerk, her vision blurred and the room spun. She had to reach out and latch on to the counter to keep from tipping over again.

By the time the lightheadedness passed, Aidan was back inside, his arms laden with white paper takeout bags, and the elevator had closed.

Dammit. She may have actually had a chance to escape if she’d been paying better attention.

But then the scents of Italian wafted over, filling her nostrils and making her stomach twist and churn like it was trying to leap out of her body to get to the food. Oh, my God, she loved Italian! Although, as hungry as she was right now, she could probably eat dirt and convince herself it tasted like tiramisu.

She was across the room in a blink, falling on him like a ravenous . . . well, vampire, at least judging by the movies she’d seen. She grabbed the bags from him, taking them directly to the low coffee table in front of the white suede sofa. Tearing into them, she pulled out aluminum containers, plastic silverware, napkins, and a loaf of steaming-hot garlic bread.

She inhaled deeply. It smelled like heaven. And even better when she took the top off an order of manicotti. Without waiting for him to join her, she dug in, taking bite after delicious bite.

After she’d downed one whole ricotta-filled manicotti and three slices of garlic bread, she finally paused long enough to take a swallow of the Diet Coke that had been included in one of the bags.

Taking the manicotti and bottle of soda with her, she sat farther back on the sofa and crossed her legs to use as a makeshift table.

“This hits the spot. Thank you,” she told Aidan, who continued to stand where she’d left him after ripping the food away from him like a purse snatcher.

“You’re welcome.” Slipping his hands into his front pockets, he rocked back on his heels, still watching her with the utmost caution. “I hope you’re feeling better now.”

She nodded. Her stomach was definitely filling up, her blood sugar and electrolyte levels rising, her mood evening out, and her panic fading.

Around another mouthful of butter-soaked bread she was
so
going to see on her hips by the next day, she said, “Italian is kind of an odd choice for breakfast, though, isn’t it? I expected eggs and pancakes, or maybe some ham and French toast.”

He shifted uncomfortably, pulling one hand from his pocket to rub it up and down his thigh. Gaze locked on his, Chloe took another sip of her soda and simply studied him for a minute.

He really was a cutie. He had all the same main physical traits as his older brother, Sebastian—the black hair, tall and muscular frame, strong bone structure. But where his brother gave off an arrogant, almost dangerous air, Aidan was always smiling. He was lighthearted, fun-loving . . . the playboy type, right down to his showy, uber-expensive luxury sports car and willingness to invite hordes of complete strangers into his hotel room for an impromptu party or buy rounds of drinks in whatever club he’d happened to wander into.

Standing there now, though, he looked far from carefree and self-assured. He looked as though he were waiting for her to sprout horns and attack him like a demon spawned from Hell.

She didn’t feel like attacking him, not anymore. But he didn’t need to know that. Let him stay on the defensive until she understood who it was she’d really married.