Her Devoted Vampire (6 page)
Read Her Devoted Vampire Online
Authors: Siobhan Muir
Admittedly,
Bridget preferred men who stood taller than her own five-foot-eight inches
because her personality tended to run roughshod over most of the men she’d met,
and sent them fleeing for the hills. The exceptions to the rule had been the
manipulative, abusive bastards her mother tended to favor, and this man. Of
course, they
weren’t
dating, but he
didn’t seem to be submissive at all. He might be manipulative, but the only
thing he’d done wrong was take her to his house, rather than home or to the
hospital.
Bridget
frowned, and Fredrick raised an eyebrow.
Come to
think about that, why
hadn’t
he taken
her to the hospital? Oh, right, he thought he was a vampire, and it wouldn’t
look good if he flashed his fangs while bringing in a bleeding and unconscious
woman.
But there’s no such thing as vampires.
She
recalled how his hand had zipped itself closed, and doubt encroached on her
certainty. Who healed like that in the real world? No one she knew of. Although
apparently she’d joined the group if what he said proved to be true. Before she
could think about what she was doing, she dropped the sheet from her chest and
twisted to look at her side, completely forgetting her nakedness and the
stranger sitting on the bed beside her.
Nothing,
not even a scar.
Only a
purple bruise marred her skin, but it didn’t hurt as much as it had a few
minutes ago.
This is so weird.
She
rolled onto her back and shook her head, staring into space. Granted, she’d
never had a bad wound before, but all the scratches and scrapes she’d gotten as
a kid had healed in the normal way, taking days. They never left any scars, but
her mother had taught her to take care of her skin.
A stab
wound was more than just a scratch or scrape, and she’d healed like it was
nothing. Was she a mythical creature? She snorted with derision. She walked
around in the sunshine all the time; she didn’t drink blood, and didn’t shift
shape into a bat or wolf, full moon or no. About the only thing she did around
the full moon was bleed. Every month, on the day of the full moon. Every time.
“You’ve
stopped eating,” Fredrick said, his eyes glued to her chest again.
She
hastily grabbed the green sheet and pulled it over her body with a disgusted
grunt.
“It’s a
pity you should cover those up now that I’ve had such a marvelous view for the
last few minutes. Surely you’re no longer embarrassed. You have been sitting
here naked from the waist up for all that time.”
Bridget’s
eyes narrowed. “Just because you got a free look doesn’t mean it lasts forever,
pal! Besides, I thought you were an anatomist. I’m sure you’ve seen your fair
share of breasts over the years.”
“Over
the
centuries
.” His face creased with
an irritating smile. “Yes, I have seen many breasts, but rarely have I seen
breasts as well formed as yours.”
“Uh,
thanks, I think.”
She frowned. “So you
think you’re a vampire—”
“No, I
know
I’m a vampire.
You
think I’m delusional.”
“No, I
know
you’re delusional. There’s no such
thing as vampires.”
He
started to take a breath to correct her, but she said, “Okay, for the sake of
argument, let’s say there is. So tell me then, when were you born and where?”
“I was
born in the autumn in
My mother used to say the trees were the most beautiful at that time of year. I
can remember the slaves we had singing in the fields around our house as they
gathered the harvest at the end of summer.”
Bridget
choked. “Slaves? Your family had slaves?”
“Of
course, all landed families did at the time. After the war, it became more
prevalent for the Southerners, but it wasn’t unheard of in the North.”
“War? Which
war?”
“For
I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It started around 1776 and ended in 1783 when
gave up trying to fight the Colonists on their home turf.”
“Are you referring to the Revolutionary War?”
“That’s
the one.” He grinned, but still kept his teeth hidden. “I was twenty-four when
the war finally ended, and I remember my parents being relieved that I’d
survived.”
“You fought
in the Revolutionary War.”
“Yes,
with
I even met Paul Revere. Ghastly fellow. Always smelled like burnt silver.”
“Who the
hell are you? Did you escape from a mental institution? Forget to take your
meds today? I have got to get out of here!” Bridget shoved the tray toward him
and tried to slide out of the bed, naked or no. She’d raid one of the closets
for a coat and walk to the nearest place to get a taxi.
Maybe I’ll just take his trench coat.
“Bridget,
I can’t let you leave quite yet,” he said as he caught her right arm in a
gentle but firm grip. “Not until you tell me what
you
are.”
“You
can’t
let me leave? Or won’t?” She
pulled against his grip, but it was like she was handcuffed to a concrete post.
“The
result is the same regardless of semantics.”
“Why are
you keeping me here? What am I to you? I was just minding my own business and
told you I didn’t want or need your help getting home, and
you kidnapped me! Why didn’t you take me to the hospital?
”
The last was shouted at him as she
jerked her arm to get away. She kept pulling despite the pain in her shoulder
as his grip tightened. “
Let me go
!”
She
yanked the full weight of her body against his hold on her arm and felt the
shoulder separate. His fingers bruised her arm, and his expression shifted into
feral intensity that made her pull all the harder as she tried to breathe
through the pain.
He’s a freak! I won’t be held like some animal for him
to admire!
Fredrick
squeezed her arm until it was numb from the elbow down, and she moaned in
anguish. At the last second, she reversed her momentum and swung her free hand,
balled into a fist, at his head. To her amazement, he caught it and held it
fast, not crushing her fingers, but holding them tightly closed. She froze,
absorbing the meaning of his strength, and realized she’d never get away from
him. He was just too strong for her to fight. It infuriated her she was so
easily defeated, and she directed all that impotent rage at him through her
livid glare.
“Let.
“You are
tired and overwrought. You should rest.” He met her gaze unflinchingly. “We
will speak more after you’ve slept.”
Fredrick
didn’t release her until she relaxed her body back into the pillows on the bed.
But her eyes burned with her wrath, and two tears slowly spilled over her lower
lids to drip down her cheeks. She didn’t sob, nor did her lips tremble, but her
anger seethed beneath her skin. She said nothing, and after a while he let go
of her and stood.
“Don’t
try to escape.” His voice crackled with cold fury. What did
he
have to be mad about? “I will tell
Cynthia and the others to keep an eye and an ear out for you. One thing about
werewolves and vampires you should be aware of: we are a hundred times faster
and stronger than the average human male, so you won’t be a problem to catch. I
don’t recommend trying to run.”
He
picked up the tray and stepped back from the bed.
Bridget said
nothing, just stared at him with recrimination. She wouldn’t give him the
satisfaction of rubbing her numb arm where it began to tingle. It was badly
bruised, she knew, maybe even dislocated, but she didn’t look at it. She glared
as he nonchalantly turned his back on her and went to the door of the room.
Before
Fredrick left, he reached out and grabbed the pocketknife, then switched off
the light and shut the door behind him. She
lay in the dark with nothing but the light from
the crack beneath door to illuminate her tears. She waited until his shadow stepped
away before she rolled over and allowed herself to cry.
Chapter Four
Fredrick
stepped away and leaned against the wall, careful to keep his shadow from crossing
the crack under the door. He closed his eyes and sighed, trying not to hear her
sobs or think of the damage he must have done to her arm. He’d never intended
to hurt her or even hold her hostage; but when she threatened to leave, he
found he couldn’t let her go, and his hand just kept squeezing. He didn’t know
why he held her here. Originally his intention was to keep her from harm in
to keep her from dying from her wounds.
But she
didn’t die, and she healed herself without his help.
He’d
briefly wondered if she was a vampire; but her skin was healthy, and she had no
need for blood. He could analyze her plasma to find out if she was a carrier of
the vampire gene, but he didn’t believe she was. Something else about her
made her extraordinary, allowing her to heal
as quickly as he did, and he wanted to know what it was. His attraction for her
burned like a flame, and he’d started to believe she could be more than just
someone he needed to protect.
The idea
of her escaping him now that she rested safe in his home made his belly clench
with fear for the first time since the War of Independence. He couldn’t let her
go. She belonged to him, his treasure, and she was far too valuable to return
to the ignorant humans. Her pulling away only excited him like a predator on
the hunt with the prey struggling within his grasp, and he’d tightened his grip.
Her fury
and frustration had smelled like exotic spices, and he’d had to keep his mind
on what he was doing rather than what he wanted to do.
Fuck!
Having
her naked in the bed had strained his usually iron-like control, and he clenched
his hands into fists to keep from storming back into her room and taking her.
He gritted his teeth and shook his head hard, trying to ignore the extension of
his canines. Damn, he wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted a woman in decades.
Her feminine
beauty flashed through his memory, and his cock hardened joyfully. Her softly
rounded belly and those heavy, full breasts called to him like a siren’s song. Bridget
had a voluptuous and full body, a body meant to be savored and loved. Most women
in the country aspired to be skinny, but he wanted women with muscle and mass,
rather than the skin-covered skeletons often photographed on fashion and porn magazines.
Women should look like women with hips, tits, butts, and thighs, not to mention
real calves. The gaunt models looked like they stood on swizzle sticks.
His cock
started to deflate, and he sighed in relief.
He found
Bridget incredibly attractive, but it wasn’t just her body that caught his
attention. Like the colored lanterns he’d seen in Chinatown in
brown fire, and she smelled like a fresh stream running through pine covered
mountains. Her scent shifted to the smell of a forest fire and rain on dry
earth in her anger, an odd mixture certainly, but no less intoxicating.
His
lower anatomy agreed and swelled once more.
Dammit!
He almost slammed
his fist into the wall, but restrained himself. She’d hear him and know he
stood outside her room, listening to her cry.
Shit.
He hated it when women cried. He felt so damn helpless, and
that was just wrong for a vampire.
An
unearthly snarl escaped from Fredrick’s throat, and he clamped his lips
together. He was supposed to save her, not hurt her.
When he’d
first gone into Snickerdoodles, he didn’t know who he was looking for, and no
one had screamed “hunted” like his vision had warned. But when Bridget had
risen to her feet and he had caught the forest fire scent, he recognized her
from his premonition and damn near stumbled from the energy rolling off her in
waves. Even other vampires, some older than him by centuries, didn’t have her
power. It was a heady mixture of strength and untapped potential, and some
masochistic part of him wanted to push her into revealing her power. Given her
reaction to her healing, he suspected she was unaware of her abilities. He
wanted to know more about her, everything he could, but he’d handled her
request to leave badly.
She didn’t request,
a
petulant voice whined.
Fredrick
sighed. It didn’t matter. He’d hurt and infuriated Bridget in his fear of
losing her, probably accelerating her departure.
The mere
thought gave him heartburn. He wanted her close to him, always. She was
special. He just had to figure out how, and the best way to do that was to keep
her close. Oh, he knew where she lived, and he knew her scent. He even knew her
full name and date of birth. Shanahan, Bridget Erin Diana, born May 18
th
,
1980, the day Mount St. Helens had erupted in
