Lord of the Night Page 3

  “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.”

  She took it from him and downed the entire contents in two swallows, leaving Erik somewhat surprised.

  He waited for the alcohol to take effect, busying himself by getting a damp cloth and dabbing at her arm with a gentle touch until most of the dried blood was gone. She was lucky. It was a neat, clean—albeit deep—cut, but it could have been so much worse.

  Shaking himself, he took out a sterilized surgical needle and threaded it. He hesitated. He’d sewn up a lot of wounds in his time—on warriors, knights, and slayers. All men. Despite her caustic tongue and slayer garb, the woman before him was both feminine and delicate. The last thing he wanted to do was inflict more pain on her—or worse, do a poor job of suturing and leave her with a ragged, ugly scar as a constant reminder of this evening.

  “Try to keep your arm relaxed, at least as much as you can,” he advised. Taking a breath, he applied pressure to the needle and pierced the edge of the wound. Her flinch was accompanied by a quick curse, but after that she impressed the hell out of him by sitting quietly while he worked. She might not have been so trusting if she’d known the war that raged inside him.

  Standing so close to her, her powdery fragrance washed over him, intoxicating his senses. Her skin felt as soft as satin and he couldn’t help but notice the way her full breasts rose and fell with each breath she took.

  Erik tried to look away and when he failed, told himself that his interest was merely the result of not having been with a woman in . . . he tried to think back to the last time and realized the fact that he had to think about it meant it had been too long.

  He focused on the stitching.

  “All done,” he said several minutes later, after tying off the last knot.

  She studied his work with a critical eye. “Nice job. Thanks.”

  That surprised him. “You’re welcome.” The silence between them grew awkward, so he occupied himself with putting away the supplies. When he heard her move, he looked over to see her walking across the room, her attention on the pictures hanging on the wall. They were the pride of his collection; works by Da Vinci, Renoir, Van Gogh, and Rembrandt, to name a few. He’d purchased them from the artists personally and they remained undiscovered to the rest
of the world.

  He went to join her. “They’re fantastic, aren’t they?”

  She jumped a little at his question, as if he’d caught her deep in thought. “They’re nice.”

  “Nice?” He couldn’t believe he’d heard her correctly. He pointed to one colorful work on the wall. “That’s a Monet.”

  She looked at it. “Very nice.”

  “Kacie, the weather is nice. A cool breeze on a hot day is nice. These are artistic marvels,” he exclaimed in frustration. “These have been painted by some of the most talented artists the world has ever known.”

  Her scowl said that she was as exasperated with him as he was with her. “Fine.” She turned her attention back to the paintings, stopping in front of each one in turn to study it more closely. “Ooohhhh. Aaaahhhh. Stupendous,” she mocked. “I’ve never seen anything like . . .” Her words trailed off as she stopped before a landscape painting. “Is that a McLaughlin?” Her tone took on a breathless quality that immediately piqued his curiosity.

  “Yes. Are you familiar with his work?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “Dad—Gerard—gave me one of his pictures years ago. A sunset. It was . . . really terrific. I’ve acquired several more in the last couple of years—whenever I could afford to. Prints, of course, not originals.”

  He was floored by her admission and she seemed suddenly self-conscious in the silence that fell between them. “If we’re done here, I should go.” She went back into the kitchen to retrieve her sword from the table.

  He nodded and headed toward the door that led into the castle so he could unlock it. “You can go out this way,” he told her. Now that the more immediate concern of her injury had been seen to, it was as if his mind had been freed to start thinking again—and he didn’t like the direction of his thoughts. “Why didn’t you tell Gerard you were coming home?”

  “Who says I didn’t?” She asked, her voice cool and impersonal.

  “He would have told me.”

  She seemed to consider that and then shrugged. “It was a last-minute decision. I’m moving to the States with Ben—my boyfriend—my fiancé. I left some things here—clothes, shoes, you know, personal things—that I wanted to take with me.”

  The announcement floored him and he wasn’t sure how to respond to it. Gerard would be crushed when he learned, but it wasn’t Erik’s job or business to try to talk her out of it. Hell, he hadn’t even known she had a fiancé. “Gerard’s out of town—at an armory convention, showcasing his work. He’ll be upset to have missed you. He should be home next week—if you can wait.”

  “I don’t know.” She looked conflicted and busied herself adjusting the drape of her jacket over her arm. As she did, a flash of silver caught his eye and he took another look. It was her belt buckle. Made of hammered silver, it was larger and more ornate than he would have expected her to wear. There was an odd shape or pattern to it across the middle. It shone with the darker, dull gray of unfinished metal and looked out of place in the larger design; almost like a piece was missing.

  Erik started. His mind was putting together a picture he didn’t like. “Did you get home today?”

  “No. I got in yesterday.”

  The bad feeling got worse. “Did you happen to go into town last night?”

  A peculiar expression came to her face. “Yes. Gerard doesn’t have any food in the house and I got hungry.”

  “Did you run into any problems?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  She started to leave, but he held out his hand. “Wait here a second. I’ll be right back.” He hurried to his study and grabbed the knife from the top of his desk. When he got back to the living room, he studied the handle. It was made of the same hammered silver as her belt. With a sinking feeling, he held it out to her. “Did you lose this last night?”

  She gave him a surprised look as she reached for it. “How’d you get it?”

  “I found it in the street. Next to the body of a dead vampire.” He waited a heartbeat. “Did you kill him?”

  She was too busy examining the knife to look at him. “Of course I did.”

  She said it with such nonchalance, Erik could only stare at her as she slid the closed knife into her belt buckle, where it completed the design, perfectly camouflaged. She turned then and started to leave, but he couldn’t let her go.

  Grabbing her arm, he pulled her to a stop, receiving a pained look. “What?” she demanded.

  “I just want to make sure we’re clear on this. You killed a vampire last night—with that knife.”

  “Of course not,” she bit out. “That would be impossible.” He felt a rush of relief—that didn’t last. “I lost the knife in the fight, so I killed him with my sword.”

  She glared at him and tried to pull her arm from his grip, but he refused to let her go. All he could hear was the ringing in his ears. “You killed him.” Sedrick. Erik felt sick.

  “Yeah, I killed a vampire,” she bit out, raising her sword until the tip pricked his throat. “Now—let go of my arm before I have to kill another.”

  Chapter 2

  Kacie stared into Erik’s eyes, watching as they took on the crimson light that meant danger. She had no idea why he should be upset that she’d killed a vampire when he was the one who’d taught her how to do it. But he was—and it pissed her off. She let her body grow still—the calm before the storm—and waited for his next move.

  “You have no idea what you’ve done,” Erik growled as he released her.

  “I think I do,” she bit out in return. “I rid the world of a bloodsucking monster.” With Erik standing so close, every fiber of her being hummed with awareness. “If you have a problem with that, you can go to hell.”

  She reached back for the doorknob, grateful he’d already unlocked it, and pulled open the door. Hurrying down the hallway, she didn’t slow her pace as she stormed up the stairs, fuming. She was as mad at herself as she was at him.

  Killing that crazed vampire last night had been—exhilarating. She’d felt alive for the first time in years. That’s what made her mad, because she’d thought she’d said good-bye to that life. The vampires. The killing. She had a chance to leave it all behind and start over in America—with Ben and a normal life involving a day job, running numbers in a spreadsheet, a small house, a husband, and two point five kids. Not that Ben had said one thing about getting married once they were in the States—but Erik didn’t need to know that. Neither did Gerard. As far as she was concerned, they’d lost the right to hear the truth the day she discovered they had both lied to her.

  She continued up the stairs to the second level, thinking that Erik hadn’t changed. He was still the most ruggedly handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on. Memories rushed to the surface and she was sixteen again. Gerard had taught her and Jessica everything he could about vampires and using a sword and had turned their training over to a new instructor.

  Kacie still remembered seeing him that first time. Her pulse had quickened and she’d developed her first teenage crush. She cringed, thinking of how she’d flirted with him. At sixteen, she was ready to experience romance; love.

  Her skills had blossomed under his teachings, surpassing both Jessica’s and Gerard’s. Fueled by her hatred of vampires, she was a natural slayer—though never as good as Erik, who was always stronger, faster—deadlier. At the time, it had added to his sex appeal.

  The memories darkened as she remembered the day she’d learned the truth. After six months of training—and six months of Erik refusing to take the hint that she was interested and willing—she’d finally decided to press the issue. After returning from an evening of hunting, she’d only pretended to go inside. When Erik left, she slipped out to follow him and was stunned to see him disappear through the back door of the castle.

  She’d waited several minutes for him to reappear and when he didn’t, she’d collected her courage and knocked on his door. He’d answered it wearing only his jeans. Her young eyes
had feasted on his muscled chest covered with dark hair. It had taken almost a full minute for her to realize she was staring.

  Her gaze had flickered to the large, capable hand holding a cup from which he’d obviously been drinking. She’d followed the line of his arm, savoring the sinewy strength, up to his broad shoulder. When she’d finally looked at his face, he was staring at her with eyes alight with a heated crimson glow and lips so red it took a moment for her to realize they were covered with blood.

  In that moment, she’d been overwhelmed with emotions of disgust and self-loathing. Vampires were vile, abhorrent creatures. They’d killed her entire family. They’d killed Jessica’s mother. She’d spent her life learning to hunt and kill them. How could she not have known what he was? Worse, how could she have had a crush on him?

  The crush had quickly turned to hate and loathing. He had betrayed her trust—and so had Gerard. She’d thought that was the only offense Gerard was guilty of, but she’d been wrong about that as well.

  She reached her room and, once inside, leaned back against the door, bone weary. The pale yellows and greens of the wallpaper and comforter were the same as the day she’d left and belied the dark nature of her thoughts.

  Pushing away from the door, she dropped her jacket on a chair and picked up the soft cloth she’d left on the edge of the bed. She used it to wipe down her sword blade as Gerard had taught her. Take care of your weapon and it will take care of you.

  When she was done, she carefully slid the sword into its scabbard and then went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. She thought about showering but felt beat up, both physically and emotionally, and just didn’t have the energy. Even the thought of pulling her suitcase out of the closet and digging through it for nightclothes was beyond her.

  Stripping out of her clothes, she climbed into bed, reveling in the feel of the cool sheets sliding across her bare skin.

  Taking a deep breath, she made herself relax. Immediately, her thoughts turned to Ben Thompson. Using her uninjured arm, she reached for her cell phone where she’d forgotten it earlier on the bedside table. A quick check showed there were no missed calls and no voice messages. She supposed Ben was too busy spending time with his family to call her. It didn’t matter.