Dead Perfect (20 page)

“Shannah, why are you resisting this?” Ronan blew out a breath of exasperation. “I’m offering you what you came looking for.”

“I know, but I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. Ronan, I don’t want to be a vampire. I can’t drink blood, or sleep in a…a…where you sleep. I just can’t!”

“Shannah, love, you’re already a blood drinker. Trust me, being a vampire isn’t as bad as you think. Come out with me now, tonight. Let me show you what it’s really like.”

“You mean, go with you when you…?”

“Hunt,” he supplied.

She shuddered at the images that single word brought to mind. Images of wolves stalking buffalo calves, lions attacking young gazelles, tigers dragging their prey into the treetops.

She shook her head. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“Of course you can.” He held out his hand. “Trust me, Shannah, just one more time.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she laced her fingers with his and let him lead her out into the shadows of the night.

She clung to Ronan’s hand as he walked down the street. Why had she agreed to do this? She knew what he did to survive, what he had to do, but she didn’t like to think about it. Even knowing it was necessary didn’t make it any easier to accept.

Why had she agreed to accompany him? Out of curiosity? Or was she actually, on some deep level, contemplating a future as a vampire? No, that was out of the question. It was against everything she believed in. Yet here she was, taking one more step into a world that few knew existed.

They walked through the town until they reached a dimly lit street not far from the café where she had first seen him so many months ago.

Ronan stopped at the corner and she stopped beside him.

“What are we doing?” she asked after a couple of minutes.

“Waiting.”

She glanced around. There were three small specialty stores and a Chinese restaurant near where they stood. All were closed at this time of night. Music floated through the open door of a night club down the street.

“What are we waiting for?” she asked.

“Her.” Ronan pointed at a dark-haired woman emerging from the bar down the street. “Wait here.”

Shannah wrapped her arms around her waist as she watched Ronan approach the brunette. He spoke to her for a moment and then he took the woman’s hand in his and led her to where Shannah waited.

Shannah stared at the woman. She was tall and slim, perhaps thirty years old. If she was married, she didn’t wear a ring. Under Ronan’s spell, the woman’s expression was blank, as if all her emotions had been erased.

Shannah trailed behind as Ronan led the woman into a nearby alley. He spoke to the woman once again, and then he drew her into his arms.

The woman didn’t resist.

Shannah looked at the two of them, speechless, her heart racing. She didn’t want to see this.

Ronan looked at Shannah over the brunette’s head. His eyes were glowing strangely. He smiled, revealing sharp white fangs.

And then he bent his head over the woman’s neck.

Shannah stared at the scene before her. It was like something out of a horror movie, or a nightmare. Though she couldn’t actually see what he was doing, she knew what was happening, knew that his fangs had pierced the woman’s flesh, that he was feeding off her life’s blood.

The woman stood motionless in Ronan’s embrace, her eyes closed, her head canted to one side.

Shannah looked at Ronan again and her mind filled with his thoughts, his feelings. Chief among them was a sensation of intense pleasure and relief as the woman’s life force flowed into him, quieting his hunger, filling him with warmth. She was surprised to discover that he felt compassion for the woman, compassion and gratitude.

Lifting his head, Ronan looked at Shannah, his expression shuttered.

She stared back at him, wondering what he read in her eyes.

Bending down, he ran his tongue over the woman’s neck; then, taking her by the hand, Ronan led her out of the alley. He spoke briefly to the brunette, who nodded and walked away.

Ronan remained where he was, waiting for Shannah to emerge from the alley. “And so,” he said, “you have seen me for what I am. Does it disgust you? Frighten you?”

She shook her head. She wasn’t afraid. Searching her feelings, she realized she wasn’t even repulsed by what he had done. There had been nothing cruel about it. He had treated the woman kindly, even with respect. And though she couldn’t deny that he had taken something precious from the woman, the woman didn’t seem to be any the worse off because of it.

“Shannah?” He closed the short distance between them, his steps tentative, his expression guarded. Did he expect her to run away, screaming? “Does this change anything between us?”

“No.”

His relief was palpable.

“But I still don’t think I can do it. To drink a stranger’s blood, to have to do it every night…” She shook her head. “No.”

“In the beginning I had misgivings, as well, but all the things that you think are so important now soon become irrelevant, just as those things you view as repugnant now soon become second nature.”

“I don’t know…what of my family? My friends? Will they all become irrelevant, too?”

“No, Shannah. I was speaking of more mundane things.”

“I just don’t know.” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with doubts and a shadow of fear that he had seen there far too often of late. Fear of death.

“You needn’t decide now.”

But she couldn’t wait too long. Her time was running out. He knew it, and so did she.

Shannah turned away from the answering machine. There were four messages from her doctor. She should have called him, she thought. She had intended to when they were in New York but she had been feeling so good and having such a wonderful time she had put it off, and then there had been the plane crash, and she had forgotten all about it. She knew she should go see him, but she didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She knew she was getting worse; he would know it, too, and she didn’t want to spend whatever time she had left in the hospital with doctors and nurses poking and prodding and smiling their bright, false smiles as they assured her everything would be all right.

She called her parents and spent an hour on the phone, assuring them time and again that she was fine.

When she hung up, she sat at Ronan’s desk and wrote letters of good-bye to her mom and dad, telling them that she loved them and that Ronan had taken good care of her. She wrote a letter to Judy, telling her how much she had appreciated her friendship through the years, assuring her that Ronan had made her last days easy to bear.

When she was done, she sealed the letters and put them in her dresser drawer, underneath her nightgowns.

Going downstairs, she went into the kitchen. She was standing in front of the refrigerator, trying to decide what to fix for dinner, when she heard a knock at the front door.

She peeked out the window, groaned softly when she saw Carl Overstreet and Jim Hewitt standing on the porch. What did they want now?

She darted back before they could see her, then stood there wondering if she should open the door or let them think she wasn’t home.

One of them knocked on the door, loudly, and then rang the doorbell again.

Shannah held her breath, waiting for them to go away.

She heard shuffling footsteps and muffled voices, the scraping sound of metal against metal, and suddenly the door swung open.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Shannah exclaimed, more angry than afraid. “Get the hell out of here!”

“I told you she was home,” Hewitt said dryly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Overstreet muttered. “Get on with it.”

“How did you get in here?” Shannah demanded.

“There are ways,” Hewitt said, slipping something into his pocket.

Shannah grimaced. How they had gotten in didn’t matter. They were here now. And they had to leave before Ronan arrived.

“So,” Overstreet said, “did you find out where he sleeps?”

“No.” As if she would ever tell them.

The reporter’s eyes narrowed ominously. “This would be a lot easier on everybody if you’d just cooperate with us.”

“Knock it off, Overstreet,” Hewitt said sharply.

“We’re wasting our time,” the reporter said, his eyes darting around the room. “She lives with the guy. She must know where he sleeps.”

Shannah fisted her hands on her hips and lifted her chin defiantly. “Well, I don’t.”

“Did you ask him if he was a vampire?” Hewitt asked.

“Of course.”

“What did he say?” Both men leaned forward expectantly.

“Do you mean before or after he stopped laughing?”

“She’s lying,” Overstreet said. “He’s here. All we have to do is find him.”

Hewitt nodded. “I’m sorry about this, Miss Black,” he said.

Shannah thought he meant breaking into the house until he pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his coat pocket. Before she could protest, he pulled her toward the staircase and handcuffed her left wrist to the banister.

“What are you doing?” she cried, tugging on the cuff. “Let me go this instant!”

“Just sit tight, sister,” Overstreet said.

Shannah stared at Hewitt. “I’ll have you arrested for this!”

“I doubt it.”

Furious tears filled her eyes as she watched the two men split up to search the house. She tugged on the handcuff again. What if one of the men found Ronan while he slept, she thought frantically. But surely they wouldn’t find his hiding place. She never would have found it save for the blood bond they shared. Hewitt and Overstreet had no such bond. But Hewitt was a vampire hunter. He would know where to look and what to look for.

Leaning against the banister, she tracked their movements through the house by listening to their footsteps and the sounds of doors being opened and closed. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to relax. As long as they were upstairs, there was nothing to worry about.

The two men searched for what must have been an hour before they returned to where they had left her.

“I told you he wasn’t here,” she said icily. “Now will you let me go?”

Overstreet glanced at the window. “It’ll be dark soon. Let’s get out of here while we can.”

Hewitt nodded. “I think you’re right.”

He removed the cuff from Shannah’s wrist. She rubbed it, then let out a shriek when Hewitt grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the front door.

“Let me go!”

“I think you’d better come with us,” Hewitt said, hauling her along behind him. “You’re not safe here.”

“You’re the ones who won’t be safe if you don’t let me go!”

“Uh, just where are we going?” Overstreet asked, hurrying outside after the two of them.

“I’m not sure,” Hewitt said. “We need a place with a powerful threshold.” He frowned as he opened his car door and pushed Shannah into the passenger seat. He grabbed hold of her ankle when she lunged toward the driver’s side door.

“My aunt’s got a place not far from here,” Overstreet said, glancing anxiously over his shoulder. “It’s been in the family for years. We can stay there.”

“Good,” Hewitt said. “Get in and let’s get the hell out of here.”

Trapped between Overstreet and Hewitt, Shannah stared out the front window, her heart pounding. She told herself there was nothing to be afraid of. Ronan had always found her before. He would find her this time, too.

She repeated that over and over again as the city fell behind and darkness spread her cloak over the land.

The house that belonged to Carl Overstreet’s aunt was located at the end of a long dirt road. It appeared old and weather-beaten, the paint faded in some places and peeling in others. Shutters that had once been green covered the windows. There was a large barn, painted a rusty red, on one side of the house and a ramshackle garage on the other.

Hewitt stopped the car in front of the garage. Overstreet got out of the car and opened the garage door and Hewitt pulled inside and killed the engine.

The car had barely stopped when Shannah flung open the door and started running across the yard. With any luck, she could find a place to hide and then make her way back to town.

“Stop her!” Hewitt’s voice cut through the stillness.

Not daring to glance over her shoulder, Shannah kept running. She was certain she could outrun Overstreet. Hewitt was another matter. She hadn’t gotten far before he tackled her. She screamed as his hands closed around her waist, saw stars as her head hit the ground. He landed on top of her, driving the air from her lungs.

She glared up at him. “Get off of me.”

Grabbing the handcuff that still dangled from her wrist, he pulled her to her feet and practically dragged her back to the house.

Overstreet grinned at Hewitt. “Nice tackle.”

Hewitt grinned. “Thanks. Where’s your aunt?” He tugged on the handcuff and Shannah followed him into the house.

“In Boston visiting her sister,” Overstreet replied. “She doesn’t spend much time here anymore.”

“You can tell that just by looking at the place.”

Shrugging, Overstreet said, “Yeah, well, it’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Hewitt nodded. “Lock the door.”

“Right.”

Shannah glared at Hewitt. “What do you hope to gain by this?”

“You’ll thank us later.”

“Thank you for what? Kidnapping me?” She crossed her arms under her breasts and glared at both men. “I want to go home, and I want to go now.”

“Listen, Miss Black, Eva…”

“My name is Shannah Davis.”

Hewitt blinked at her. “So, Black is just a pseudonym? I figured as much.”

“Really? Well, figure this. That man you think is a vampire is the romance writer, not me.”

Overstreet stared at her, his eyes narrowed. “You’re not the author?”

“No.”

“Then why were you…?”

“It’s a long story,” Shannah said imperiously, “and none of your business.”

Overstreet slumped into a chair. “Okay, Hewitt, we’ve got her here. Now what? You’ve got some kind of plan, right?”

“Plan to do what?” Shannah asked, though she had a terrible feeling she already knew the answer.

“Destroy the monster, of course,” Overstreet said. “After I get my interview, although I don’t know how the devil we’ll get it now.” He glared at Hewitt. “Are you sure this guy’s a vampire? Who ever heard of a bloodsucker writing romance novels?”