The Vampires' Last Lover (Dying of the Dark Vampires Book 1) (9 page)

“No babe, not at all,” he said, after looking toward the Alumni Center. His brow furrowed for a moment, and I wondered if he sensed something glowering at him, too, from the shadows across the way. But then he shrugged his shoulders, his concern giving way to a generous smile. “Let’s get you warmed up. I’ve got wood in the fireplace already, so you can relax with a glass of wine in front of a warm fire while I get dinner ready.”

He grabbed my duffle bag and wrapped his free arm around my waist, guiding me to his car. I felt so safe with him, more than I ever had before. I didn’t even bother casting a nervous gaze around us. Not even when we lingered as he opened the door for me, and I grabbed him in a tight embrace and kissed him. Peter would protect me. Nothing could go wrong as long as he was here with me, I just knew it. I hoped he understood that’s what I felt.

We headed north to his place, after coasting through the police roadblock. It went easier than either of us expected, and I took it as a good sign. Maybe, any other menace that seemed determined to get me would prove just as easy to avoid.

“Now, babe, just get comfortable. I should have everything finished up in just a few minutes,” said Peter, once he and I got the fire up to a full blaze.

A glass of zinfandel in hand, I looked around the living room. Even though I’d been here many times during the past two months, it felt different that night. Was it more of a haven? Perhaps. At least something that went beyond the amenities we shared with Tyreen and Johnny earlier. After all, a theater room and hot tub wouldn’t mean squat if what I glimpsed earlier on campus somehow found its way here.

Better to be here than back in the dorm, even though Garvan and Armando endorsed Massey Hall as their version of a protected refuge. I guess I could say the advanced security system in the townhouse swung the pendulum to Peter’s place as my preferred locale.

Looking back now, the prospect of unabashed sex with my man, who was right then putting the finishing touches on a delightful birthday dinner, further enhanced the sense of security.

While waiting for Peter’s return to the living room, I turned on the TV, hoping to find something funny to take my mind off everything. I should have known it would be on CNN, since Peter was something of a news junkie. Of course, they just happened to be running their report on the latest news regarding the Knoxville killings. I should’ve switched stations, but I couldn’t resist lingering for a moment.

Another missing girl had been added to the list of victims, although this one had disappeared two nights earlier and had only just been connected to the case. Another off-campus resident, this one lived less than three blocks away on Eleventh Street. Just like that, I didn’t feel quite as protected from harm.

No longer interested in this kind of distraction, I turned the television back off. I looked around at the windows offering views I had so admired before and suddenly felt very vulnerable.

Peter chose that moment to come into the living room.

“Dinner’s ready, Txema!” he proudly announced. He looked adorable in his apron, still wearing an oven mitt. Of course, I didn’t tell him this, fearing he might never dress like it again if I did. “Please follow the chef to your table, madam!”

I followed him into the dining room, where he had laid out a four-course meal. The filets looked delectable, along with potatoes, asparagus, and a bean casserole that was a recipe of his mom’s. He must have spent more time prepping this dinner than he did working on his physics paper.

“Have a seat, darlin’, and we can dig in!” he beamed, and after pulling my chair out for me, he scurried over to his seat. He threw the apron and mitt on a table near the kitchen before sitting down. I had just settled in my chair and laid the napkin across my lap when he dug in to his own food, leaving me to fend for myself.

I sighed. What a guy, huh? Well, at least the romantic thought was there for a moment. I guess his raging hunger and the close proximity of food turned him back into a typical male. Maybe that aspect would come in handy later.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, once he finished. I still had a little ways to go with my filet.

“It’s really good,” I told him, motioning the ‘okay’ for a refill in my wine glass. “I’m touched, hon. This was really nice!”

“Thanks, babe,” he replied. “There’s still dessert… and more to come after that.” He raised his wine glass in salute.

There was that smile again. My man’s dreamy eyes told me there was a
lot
more niceness to come.

“I can wait for dessert,” I told him, smiling coyly. “But what else have you got in mind?”

“Are you sure you can wait for some devil’s food?”

“I’d rather save the devil for later tonight. As for the cake, maybe in a little while.”

The seductive wink I added brought an immediate effect. His smile faded slightly, but the twinkle in his eyes told me his arousal would soon match mine. Everything was heading for the night of passion I hoped for. I cleared the dishes from the table and piled them up in the sink, then motioned for him to grab his wine glass and the half-empty wine bottle and follow me back to the living room. We had just stepped out of the dining room when the lights suddenly went out. My first thought was that the darkness was a romantic touch on his part, and my heart fluttered with anticipation.

“What in the hell?” he murmured, setting his glass and the bottle on the coffee table. My heart dropped into my stomach.

Shit!

This was an unfortunate coincidence. Most likely, it was just a fuse that went out. It seemed logical when I glanced out the window and saw that Peter’s neighbors still had electricity. Then I noticed, none of the appliances were working either—anywhere on the main floor. Luckily, the fire burned brightly in the fireplace, with plenty of wood to get us through the night.

Peter moved into the kitchen and grabbed a flashlight from the pantry. He had just rejoined me by the fire when I heard the first creaks upstairs.

Someone was moving around in Stephen’s bedroom.

“Nobody’s up there… right?” I hoped the softness in my voice didn’t give away my rising panic.

“Yeah, Stephen left this afternoon. Remember?” He looked worried—definitely not a good sign.

He moved quietly over to the stairs and pointed the flashlight up to the second floor landing. I moved up right behind him as another footstep resounded. Whoever was there was still in Stephen’s room. Peter started to climb the stairs, but suddenly a terrible feeling washed over me.

“Don’t do it!” I whispered, with enough harshness to sound like a hiss.

Before he could turn and respond to me, a similar hiss sounded from upstairs, followed by a low growl.

My mind went blank.

Stark fear will do that to you. Only continual bombardment can condition a person to function somewhat normally while in a state of unease and terror—which I’ve learned firsthand since. But at that moment, I felt paralyzed.

“Who in the hell’s up there?” Peter shouted, his protective instincts kicking in.

Another growl, more menacing than the first, resounded, and a pair of yellow eyes appeared for a split second as his flashlight’s beam traveled across the landing. Whoever—or
whatever
—was there scurried toward the top of the stairs.

In the seconds that followed, two things hit me. The first was obvious, that we had to get the hell away from the stairs. The second was the memory of a small basement that had been converted into a bomb/storm cellar.

Peter and Stephen had shown it to me and Stephen’s girlfriend, back in September during a party. I remembered how we all marveled at the money spent to outfit the cellar with modern comforts such as plush carpeting, a refrigerator, and even a small restroom. Not to mention the steel-reinforced door and reinforced cement walls, and extra two-by-fours in the ceiling. Apparently, the original owner feared either the rare tornados that could hit the area, or more likely, a possible nuclear meltdown at nearby Oak Ridge. Stephen thought it might be cool to turn the cellar into a recording studio someday. I just hoped it would keep a chupacabra vampire at bay. And, that we could reach it in time.

“Peter, follow me!”

“What?” His eyes were locked in disbelief on the malformed creature glaring at him from the top of the stairs. I yanked his arm and pulled him with me.

“Just trust me, damn it!”

Another shadow suddenly flitted across the landing. A second fiend was present.

“Run to the cellar!” I shouted.

The kitchen was dark, but could be reached by an additional doorway, off a small hallway next to the stairs. I remembered the cellar entrance sat next to the pantry and was thankful the door wasn’t locked when I grabbed the handle.

Our unwelcome guests rounded the corner into the kitchen behind us as I pulled the door open. We lunged into the room and Peter slammed it shut, just as one of them leapt toward us. It rammed into the door with enough force to rock Peter back on his heels. He locked the door, and set the additional heavy dead bolts to ensure the door remained secure.

For the next hour, we worried whether the door would hold up, as our pursuers repeatedly threw their bodies against it, hitting it hard enough that the hinges groaned from the strain. Their bloodcurdling shrieks chilled us far more than the cellar’s cold confines.

Peter took a small space heater off of a shelf and plugged it into an outlet on the wall. I raised an eyebrow.

“The wiring in here is separate. There’s a small solar generator and battery,” he explained in response to my unasked question. “I wish the owner had installed a phone down here too when he did the renovations.”

The small heater kept it from getting too cold, but until dawn we were forced to keep a tireless vigil. Our main focus was holding each other tight while we listened to the destruction of the main floor above us, praying somehow we’d survive.

e climbed out of the cellar just after 7:00 a.m. It had been silent outside the room since what I presumed to have been sunrise. I convinced Peter to wait an extra hour just to make sure they were gone. I told him that they might have been hiding to try and lure us out. I knew the real reason, but I also knew that Peter would never believe me. We knew we would miss the first class of the day, but once we saw the destruction to the kitchen and living room in Peter’s townhouse, it became immediately obvious that school would be an afterthought for the rest of the day.