Tempted in the Night (39 page)

The swordsman obviously had skill. He countered every move of the vampire’s attack, using his free arm and sword together to keep the vampire’s razor-tipped claws from raking his arms or face. Erik hurried forward, reaching down his back to draw his own sword. His intention was not clear even to himself. The vampire was clearly a progeny and Erik had no intention of letting it live. The slayer, of course, couldn’t have known that. When Erik got there, the slayer had just finished piercing the progeny through the heart and turned to face Erik.

For a second, neither moved.
Erik took in the slayer’s smooth, almost boyish complexion, the dark knit cap pulled low over his head, the slender build concealed beneath dark clothes—and the gloved hand holding the sword with practiced ease. This was a swordsman who knew how to use his weapon; he had the obvious skill to take off a man’s head.

Erik’s anger, simmering beneath the surface, roared to life as he faced
Sedrick’s
killer.

Lunging at his opponent, Erik came up short when the slayer blocked him. The impact of the swords clashing vibrated up his arm. Erik quickly stepped back and lunged again. Once more, the slayer met his attack.
Again and again.
Like a well-choreographed movie, they lunged, parried, and blocked each other’s moves.

Erik sensed they were falling into a pattern, and on his next attack he changed his strategy mid-strike, catching the slayer by surprise. The tip of his sword sliced through the upper sleeve and Erik knew he’d drawn blood when he caught the smell of the sweet coppery scent. The wound appeared to throw the slayer off his game because his sword dipped and he seemed suddenly unsure of himself.

Erik took advantage of that momentary weakness to grab the slayer’s sword arm at the wrist. He shoved the slayer up against the nearest wall, using his own body to pin him there. Before Erik killed the slayer, he would hear his confession.

With one hand holding the slayer’s sword arm to the brick wall, he pressed his own sword arm against the man’s throat, applying enough pressure that the killer took the hint and stopped struggling.

Then Erik caught the faint powdery scent of perfume and took a closer look. What he’d taken to be a boyish face was, upon closer inspection, surprisingly delicate. Like a woman’s. At the same time, he noticed the rounded curves of the body he was pressed against.

As he grappled with his shock, the woman tried to free herself from his grip. Erik was impressed with her strength, but held her easily. When she raised her leg to knee him in the groin, he twisted his body and took the blow on his thigh instead. The pain was slight, but it did much to remind him of why he held her.

It
rankled
his admittedly old-fashioned chauvinism to think this woman might have bested
Sedrick
. He moved closer, allowing himself to draw her scent deep into his lungs, hoping to rattle her as much as she had rattled him. “You’re playing a dangerous game, pet. Someone is likely to get hurt.”

“I think that someone is going to be you.”

The voice, more than the words, shook him badly. All thought of this being
Sedrick’s
killer vanished.
“
Kacie
?
Bloody hell,” he swore, unable to stop himself. “When did you get home?”

Instead of answering, she strained against the arm pinning her to the wall, arching into him. A sizzle of pure male awareness shot through him, as did the thought that
Kacie
Winslow was surprisingly well-developed. Why was it he had never noticed that before?

“Get your hands off me,” she spit at him when he didn’t immediately release her.

His laugh held no
humor
. “Right, so you can run me through with that sword of yours? Not likely.” If he’d thought that three years away from home would have changed her, he was wrong.

“I won’t run you through,” she promised between gritted teeth.

“No, probably not, although not because you won’t try. Skills a bit rusty, are they? Well, that’s to be expected. Not much opportunity to use a sword in the field of
accounting,
is there?”

She muttered a curse under her breath and shoved against him again. He almost groaned aloud because it had been too damn long since he’d held a woman in his arms and while
Kacie’s
tongue was still as sharp as ever, parts of her were round and soft. “Best you stop that, love,” he growled, “or I might change my mind about letting you go.”

“You’re not scaring me, Erik. I know you don’t feed off humans.” Her tone was contentious.

“I’m not as neutered as you think I am.” He gazed into her hazel eyes, letting his own take on a reddish glow. “In your case, I might make an exception.”

Her mouth opened, but she bit back whatever she had planned to say and held still.

“That’s better,” he growled. He stepped back slowly and took his hands away, but not before relieving her of her sword. Though she glared at him, she didn’t try to take it back. “So . . . the prodigal daughter returns. Does your father know you’re here?”

“Gerard is
not
my father.”

Erik tamped down the irritation he felt on his nephew’s behalf. “He adopted you. He raised you as his own.”

“Yes, well, signing a piece of paper doesn’t alter one’s DNA. My
biological
father—as you recall—
was killed by a repugnant piece-of-shit
undead
.”

The “like you” was implied and he inwardly winced at her grouping him with those who’d killed her family.

Noticing again the sweet coppery scent in the air, he remembered her injury. “Let’s see that cut.” He sheathed his sword and gently took hold of her arm to get a better look.

“It’s nothing.” She tugged to free herself and he reluctantly let go.

“It’s not
nothing
,” he assured her. “It needs stitches. Let’s get back to the castle and I’ll sew it up.”

Distaste for the idea was written all over her face.
“Right.
I think I’ll go to Doc Turner and let him do it.”

“Doc Turner’s dead.”

“What?” She looked dazed. “When did that happen?”

“The winter after you stopped coming home.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she mumbled, more to herself.
“Dead
dead
?”

He felt like rolling his eyes, but didn’t. “No one turned him into a vampire, if that’s what you mean. He was eighty-six and died in his sleep.”

She gave him a defiant look. “Then I’ll go to whoever took over his practice.”

“That would be no one.”

She looked aghast. “Are you telling me that there’s no physician in this town?”

Erik enjoyed giving her a nasty smile. “Of course there is. There’s old Hank.”
Veterinarian and town drunk.

“Fine.
Where can I find him?”

“Let’s see, at this hour, we can probably find him at the pub, well into his cups.”

She turned on her heel and started off in the direction of the pub.

“Forgetting something?”

She turned and he held out her sword, forcing her to walk back for it. When she was close enough, he gripped her uninjured arm above the elbow. “I’m not letting that old boozer mutilate your arm. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“I don’t want you touching me,” she said, trying to pull away.

“Too damn bad.”
They’d been bickering like this since she’d turned sixteen and realized her new fencing instructor was a vampire, not the human she’d mistaken him for. It had set the tone for the next five years. He’d taught her everything she needed to know to be the best vampire slayer around and she’d been an apt student. When she’d gone off to college, he wondered if she would continue her training and was pleased when she had. For the first four years away, when she came home during holidays and summers, they fell back into their routine. Then, when she’d started her Master’s program three years ago, she simply stopped coming home. She looked at him now with undisguised contempt and he resigned himself to the fact that the situation between them was never going to change.

“Come on,” he said. “The stink of your blood is filling the night and soon every vampire in town is going to come sniffing for the source. So unless you want to fight them all, let’s go.” Still holding on to her, he pushed her to start walking.

She refused to move her feet. “You can’t make me go with you,” she challenged. He saw her preparing to strike out at him and with a jerk, dragged her close enough to keep her off balance.

As the familiar tension crackled in the air between them, Erik’s eyes shone a little brighter and he smiled, revealing his fangs. “Want to bet?”

The trek back to the castle was made in silence, but Erik didn’t mind. He was too preoccupied with searching the night for the presence of other vampires to make small talk.

Once they reached the castle,
Kacie
tried to go in the main door, but he steered her to his private entrance. She’d never been in his apartment and standing on the threshold he wondered if she might refuse to step inside, but she didn’t.

“Pull up a stool,” he told her after he closed the door behind them. Instead of moving to comply, she stood gazing around the room. With the couch, throw rug, and seating arrangement, it looked just like the rest of the castle.

“Where’s your coffin?”

He stared at her, aghast. “You’re joking, right?”

She shrugged. “You’re a vampire and vampires sleep in coffins.”

He gave her a dour look.
“Maybe in the movies.
Not in real life.” He walked into the kitchen to retrieve a box of first aid supplies from the cupboard, which he set on the counter a little harder than he’d intended. Feeling her gaze on him, he looked up to see her staring at him expectantly, eyebrows
raised
. “A bed,” he said with exasperation. “I sleep in a bed. Like you—except mine
isn’t
made of nails.” He gave her an unpleasant smile at which she merely rolled her eyes.

She went back to surveying the room, stopping when her gaze fell on the far wall. “Where does that lead?” She gestured to the heavy door.

“To a hallway that connects with the castle’s main stairwell.”

She nodded and said, “So
that’s
the door.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was a kid, I asked Gerard what was down here. He wouldn’t tell me.
Just said to stay away because it wasn’t safe.
I got curious and decided to find out for myself, so I went exploring. I found this door, but I could never get it open.”

“I keep it locked.” He gestured to the bar stool, wanting to take care of her arm and get her out of his apartment as soon as possible. “Come sit down.”

She gave him a sharp look. “I told you, I’m fine—”

“Don’t argue with me,
Kacie
. If the wound is left untreated, it’s going to get infected.”

“I’ll clean it myself when I get upstairs,” she said stubbornly.

“Is that right? And are you also going to stitch it closed?”

She shot him a defiant look. “I’ll use butterfly bandages.”

He found himself staring into the eyes of the angry teenager she once was. Back then, she’d viewed the world and everyone in it with contempt. No, he amended, not everyone.
Just him.
“Those might work for some of the smaller cuts,” he said, trying to hold on to his patience, “but not that deep one. It needs stitches.” He was starting to sound like a broken record, which just added to his irritation.

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes; now sit down.”

She stared at the stool and Erik stood patiently, waiting for her to make up her mind. Finally, she sat.

He turned to pull the first aid supplies closer and when he turned back, she had removed her dark cap. Rich, auburn waves fell about her shoulders, much longer than Erik remembered. The change in her appearance was astonishing. She looked softer.
More feminine.
When he met her gaze, he found himself drowning in her rich hazel eyes.
Stunning.

Get over it, Winslow. This is
Kacie
. She hates vampires—and she hates you.

He cleared his throat and walked behind her so he could stand on her injured side. Pulling out his knife, he cut through the fabric of her bloodied sleeve and carefully peeled it away from the edges of the wound. The sight of the gash defiling the otherwise smooth perfection of her skin was sickening. He muttered an oath because he had done this to her.

Kacie
jerked at the sound he made and leaned away. “Have you fed tonight?” she asked warily. “Because I’m not sure I want you hovering over my bloodied arm if you haven’t.”

He hadn’t—and her blood was a siren song, calling him, luring him closer. He ignored it, bringing four hundred years of well-honed self-discipline to bear. “I have no interest in your blood,” he lied, pleased his voice sounded so normal.

Reaching into the cabinet behind him, he took down a bottle of whiskey and poured a healthy amount of the amber liquid into a glass. For a moment, he considered drinking it himself, but instead handed it to her. “Here. It’ll help deaden the pain.”