Her Devoted Vampire (10 page)

Anger
returned in a rush. “Try asking Miss Verto Vawdge who brought the last tray of
goodies. First she insulted me, then locked me in.”

Cynthia
shook her head in confusion. “Fredrick didn’t mention anything about you being
locked in. You’re welcome to explore the house whenever you feel like it. I’ll
speak to Miss Vértolvaj and remind her of Fredrick’s instructions.”

“I gave
her a message to give to Mr. MacGregor,” Bridget said crisply. “If she hates it
so much that I’m here, perhaps she can convince him he should let me go back to
my quiet existence in Boston as soon as is convenient.”

“Yes,
she does have a rather low opinion of humans.” Cynthia’s eyes strayed to the
clothes. “Oh, these are for you. I had to estimate your size. I hope they fit.”
She handed the pile to Bridget.

“Thanks,”
she said taking them. “Did my coat survive?”

“I’m
sorry. It was ruined by the blood.”

A vague
memory of a bloody shawl flashed across her mind’s eye as disappointment out of
proportion to the loss overwhelmed her. She’d loved that coat, and the destruction
of it just added to the ridiculousness of her week. Tears sprang to her eyes,
and her breath caught in her throat.

Over a stupid coat? Get a hold of yourself!

Her
favorite coat, her favorite coffee shop, and a lousy, cheap book. Rather than
explain anything to Cynthia, she just leaned back against the pillows and
closed her eyes again.

Cynthia’s
hand settled on her arm and warmed her right through the sweatshirt. “I’m sorry
this is so difficult for you. I don’t really know why Fredrick wants you to
stay, but I know it’s really important to him, otherwise he would’ve let you go
when you ran.”

“But I
don’t know any of you, and he wouldn’t let me go when I asked. Why would that
make me want to stay?” Bridget asked in a very quiet voice as she opened her
eyes.

Cynthia
sighed. “It wouldn’t. It wouldn’t work with me that way, either. Fredrick went
the wrong way about this whole thing. It’s just that he had a vision of you in
danger, and he’s determined to protect you.”

“Why?
Who am I to him? Why does he even care what happens to me? I’ve never seen him
before last night in the coffee shop.”

“All I
know is he said he had a vision of you.”

“A
vision.” Bridget raised an eyebrow. “Like he’s a psychic.”

“Yes.”

When the
dark haired woman said nothing more, Bridget exclaimed, “Oh, come on! It’s hard
enough to believe in the whole werewolf-vampire thing, but a
psychic vampire
? Give me a break!” She
crossed her arms over her chest in defiance.

“What’s
so hard to believe about the existence of a psychic vampire?”

 
“I don’t know. This whole experience is just
too weird.”

“I
imagine it must be to you. But one thing I’d like to convince you of,
regardless of whether or not we can break you of your delusions that vampires
and werewolves are a myth.” Cynthia squeezed her arm in emphasis. “Fredrick
is
trying to protect you in the only way
he knows how because he cares about you. I know he had a poor way of showing
it, but I doubt he’s had much time to explain. He said he had a vision of you
surrounded by danger, and he drove all the way to
Boston
to try to protect you. When he failed
to do it there, he brought you here to care for you. You sort of dashed his
hopes for that by healing yourself. He still thinks you’re in danger and wants
to help you.”

“Yeah,
I’m still in danger because of him! I’d be safe at home. Why won’t he let me
go?”

Cynthia
sighed. “I don’t know. He has his reasons. Maybe, if you let him, he can explain.”
She patted Bridget’s arm again before rose from the bed. “He’s honorable and a
gentleman, but even his tolerance will run out if you push him too much.”

“I don’t
want to push him too much. I just want to go home.” Bridget dropped her hands
on the bed at her sides. “Don’t I get a choice in what happens to me?”

“At the
moment, you don’t,” Cynthia said without rancor. “Our strength and speed can
keep you here indefinitely, like it or not. Just trust that we’re not trying to
hurt you.”

“You
know, you never told me what a luna was.”

Cynthia
paused on her way to the door and gave Bridget an amused smile.

“The
Luna is the Alpha female of a werewolf pack.”

She
winked and left Bridget gaping after her.

Holy shit! Cynthia is the Alpha female of the werewolf
pack?
Then she shook her head.
No, no, no. There’s no such thing as werewolves.

Bridget liked
Cynthia despite her upholding Fredrick’s decree, but some things were just too
fantastic. Her gut told her she could believe the woman about the food, though
that might just be her stomach demanding sustenance. She decided they hadn’t
deliberately tried to hurt her. Hold her, yes, but not hurt her.

Fredrick did dislocate my shoulder when he wouldn’t
let me go.

Bridget
thought about the conversation she’d had with Cynthia as she munched on a
carrot from the plate beside the bed. It really didn’t matter if she believed
in vampires or werewolves. They did, and acted accordingly. Any attempt to
escape would be stopped quickly and efficiently. What she had to decide was
whether her freedom was worth any price, and that included her life.

Cynthia
said Fredrick thought danger still threatened her, but hadn’t said from what or
from whom. What if the danger Fredrick “sensed” was that of her own hand? Did
she value her freedom that much? Could she really kill herself to escape?

The
sobering thought settled in as she ate the food left for her. Could she slit
her wrists? Or even stab herself in the heart? She snorted. Fredrick had taken
her pocketknife and wisely hadn’t provided silverware, so slitting or stabbing
weren’t options. Hell, since she was really just dreaming, why not imagine a
gun or a syringe full of poison while she was thinking about it?

Bridget
laughed humorlessly.

She
finished the food and sat up, stretching gingerly. The aches and stiffness
remained, but her arm didn’t hurt as badly; and she could move a little better.
Sliding out of the bed, she reached for the clothes and slowly dressed. They’d
selected a deep purple cashmere v-necked sweater and a pair of black jeans with
the tags still on them.

Someone has good taste and a good sense of size.

She
loved the softness of the cashmere against her skin, and a smile peeked out of
her somber thoughts. The cashmere didn’t take away the stiffness, but she felt
better walking around in it. They’d brought her socks, too, but she didn’t
think she could get them on her feet unless she sat down.

Bridget
shuffled over to the window and sat on the chair positioned for the best view
of the darkening sky outside. As she pulled the thick warm socks over her toes,
her mind drifted back to her captivity. She shouldn’t waste energy trying to run.
They’d just hunt her down and haul her back, probably less gently than they did
before. They’d keep her, like it or not, and that was that.

She
supposed she could just stop eating and drinking according to the Rule of
Threes. Cannot do without air for more than three minutes, cannot do without
clothes in harsh weather for more than three hours, cannot do without water for
more than three days, cannot do without food for more than three weeks. She’d
be free in three days if she chose that route.

Bridget
looked back to the empty glass sitting on the table and grimaced.

I’d have to start tomorrow
.

Besides,
did she really have the willpower to kill herself for freedom? Or could she
think of a better way to escape that didn’t necessarily involve her death?

Maybe I could charm them into thinking I’m docile
.
All I have to do is play
along, swear I won’t run, and lull them into a false sense of security.
She’d
have to be careful to keep her acquiescence believable, but in the end she’d
catch them napping and slip out unnoticed. They could keep their mythical
creatures delusions, and she could move away. Out of the state. Out of the
country. Hell, even out of her old life and into a new one.

But do you really want to run from him?
The traitorous thought came out of left field.

Of course, I do! Nice clothes, food, and a sexy man
aren’t freedom.

They don’t have to be a prison, either.

Bridget
let those ideas flutter about her head for a while as the sunset and the light
faded from the world outside. She sat in the dark, watching lights along the
paths in his yard come on. She wondered what it’d be like to wander his grounds
without someone chasing her.

What would it be like to see the gardens bloom in spring?
Had he planted bulbs for daffodils, crocuses, and tulips? Maybe
bluebells and grape hyacinth? God, she wanted to be outside, even if she didn’t
have her coat. She pressed a hand to the cooling glass, letting the condensation
halo grow around her palm as she heard the door click open behind her.

Awareness
crept up Bridget’s back, lifting the small hairs on her nape, but she didn’t turn
to see who’d stepped in. The scents of spiced apples and vanilla reached her
increasingly sensitive nose and reminded her of the coat wrapped around her in
her dream. She sighed and continued to stare out the window into the sullen
gray evening.

“A penny
for your thoughts,” Fredrick’s voice asked.

“I was
thinking of ways to get outside,” she said to the window.

“So
Cynthia mentioned. Why do you want to leave so badly?”

“Why do
you want me to stay so badly?”

“You
wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

She
snorted. “That’s probably true. I don’t believe in vampires and werewolves,
either.”

“No, you
don’t. I cannot help what I am, but I also cannot prove it to you without
hurting you, and I don’t want to do that.”

“Why
not? Aren’t vampires creatures of the night? Evil, soulless folk, damned by
God? What the hell do you care if it hurts me or not?” She turned her head and
glared at him as she dropped her hand from the window.

Fredrick
wore a black t-shirt with the long sleeves hitched up to his elbows and a pair
of faded blue jeans that looked well-loved. Gray cowboy boots with sloped heels
and rounded toes covered his feet, and she recalled the photo of the racehorse in
her dream. Her hands wanted to see if the muscles under the jeans were as hard
as they looked, but she clenched them into fists in her lap.

“Despite
the stories out there, vampires aren’t actually damned by God. Although some of
us might think so, given our need to consume blood and our longevity compared
to the rest of the population at large.” He crossed his arms over his chest,
and the shirtsleeves tightened around his biceps. She’d felt those arms around
her, and the memory made her shiver. “As for why I don’t care to hurt you, you don’t
choose whom you love, you just love them.”

The
image in her head popped as Bridget barked out a laugh of disbelief. “Love? You
call
this
love? Oh, right, you’ve
lived forever, so back in your day, the time of Neanderthals, you just clubbed
your mate and then held her captive for a while until she gave up trying to
escape, right? This fits right in. Love someone, hold them captive until they
acquiesce to your dominance. Excuse me while I cry
bullshit
!”
 

“I told
you you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Oh no,
I really do,” she said in a falsely cheerful voice. “Because I always kidnap and
torture my loved ones, too. Nothing says true love like dislocating a limb and
locking someone in.” She dropped her head and sighed as she closed her eyes. “Just
go protect me from whatever, and leave me alone.”

Silence
descended around them, and she hoped he’d gone, but the scuff of his boot
against the carpet and a rustle of clothing told her he’d crouched in front of
her. She opened her eyes to look down at him in surprise. His gaze traveled
from her knees up her chest to her face, his expression full of resignation.
She hated the twinge of guilt pricking her thoughts and raised her chin in
defiance of whatever he chose to do next.

“If you
don’t believe in vampires, it stands to reason you don’t believe in psychics,
either.” His voice was quiet and full of sorrow, but no less firm for its
softness. “Be that as it may, I’ve had dreams of you in your white coat, with
your red hair and green eyes, always in some sort of danger. Many people have
insisted my visions are just dreams, and dreams are only something my subconscious
has constructed from things I’ve seen in my waking life. But before last night
in
Boston
, I’d
never seen your physical form in my waking moments, and you were certainly in
danger. Do you believe in psychics?”

“I’ve
never met anyone who’s psychic.”