Eternal Hunger

11

It 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.”