Love Bites (18 page)

Rachel bit her lip, but she remained still as Etienne's machinery exploded around her. Pudge was enthusiastic with his gun, and the knife at her throat was pressed too tight for her to do anything. She was relieved when he finally decided he'd done enough damage and backed them out of the room.

At the door, he stopped to examine the locking mechanism. She had rather hoped he would just close it, but he wasn't that stupid. He pulled it closed, then shot up the electrical panel. Any hope that Etienne would be able to fix the panel died when Pudge then ripped it and several wires out willy-nilly. Etienne truly was locked in there, Rachel thought with dismay, and just hoped that none of the destroyed equipment started a fire. Burning to death wouldn't be a pleasant
way to go, and it was the way Etienne's father had died.

Yet he had blood in there, she assured herself, grateful that Pudge hadn't examined the desk drawers. And no doubt Bastien and Lucern would visit later. They would set Etienne free and then probably come after her. She just had to stay alive in the meantime. Which would have been easier if Pudge didn't know she was a vampire.

Keeping her head attached to her body would be a good start. She'd like to do more, however—like keeping him from cutting her again. The thin slices he had inflicted so far hadn't even come close to endangering her life, but they hurt like crazy. Apparently being turned didn't mean lessening sensitivity to pain. It even increased her sensitivity, she realized. After all, she was more sensitive to pleasure. Why not equally more sensitive to pain?

“Damn.”

Rachel gave up considering at Pudge's curse. They had traversed the stairs and were now standing in the kitchen at the back door.

“I forgot I can't take you out in sunlight,” Pudge explained.

Rachel brightened. She could survive a few moments of sunlight but was hardly willing to tell him that. “Well, you could just leave me here and—”

Her words died as he dragged her backward to the kitchen table. She wasn't sure what he was up to until
he ripped the heavy maroon tablecloth off the table, sending the floral arrangement smashing to the floor.

“You don't think you're going to…You are.” She blew her breath out with a sigh as he drew the cloth over her head. Now she had a knife at her throat and was blind. Jeez, it just got better and better. This was even more dangerous. If she stumbled, she might behead herself. Rachel considered telling Pudge that she could survive a little sunlight but feared she might need the knowledge later.

“We're going to move quickly.” He urged her forward, presumably toward the door. “I don't want you bursting into flames now, so try to keep up.”

“Do you think you could ease up with the knife?” she asked, but the question was drowned out by the click and squeak of the door. Then Pudge was rushing her forward. Aware that any misstep could cost her her life, Rachel frog-marched, keeping her feet up but moving as quickly as she could. Despite her best efforts, she stumbled, grunting as the knife sliced her throat. It managed a deeper cut this time before it was eased away. She heard what might have been an apology muffled by both the cloth over her head and the ringing in her ears; then he jerked her to a halt.

“Get in.”

The knife was pulled away, and Rachel felt herself shoved forward and down. Something pressed against the front of her legs, and she tumbled forward. Grateful the knife was no longer threatening her, Rachel
immediately began to try to drag the cloth off her head. She received a smack for her efforts.

“Don't. The sunlight,” Pudge warned. Then Rachel felt something at her wrist and heard a snap. She pulled, frowning when she was restrained, then cursed as a manacle went on her other wrist.

“These are galvanized steel,” Pudge announced. “Four inches thick. You could probably break them, but not without a racket. If you try, I'll shoot you from my seat. And not with a gun—with a stake-shooter through the heart.”

“A stake-shooter?” Rachel muttered. She heard a door close, followed by silence. She was just wondering if it was safe to try to shrug the cloth off and chance a look around when she heard another door open. This one was to her right, toward the front of what must be a van, she decided. The floor beneath her rocked a little as Pudge entered the vehicle.

Rachel forced herself to relax and cursed herself for not listening more closely to what Etienne had tried to tell her. She had no idea what her capabilities as a vampire were, except that she was stronger and faster than a normal human and could suffer more damage without dying. From what she understood, short of being burned alive or having her head cut off, nothing could kill her. Though being staked would stop her heart and force the nanos into a stasis until the stake was removed.

It was great to know, of course, but Rachel had no
clue how strong she was exactly, or even how much faster she was. She had no idea if she could possibly break her bonds, and if she could, was she now fast enough that she could break out of the van before Pudge could grab his stake-gun—whatever that was—and shoot her down. The idea of trying was tempting, but the idea of being shot—despite the fact that he would probably miss her heart—was somewhat dampening. Rachel hated pain. She'd thought a shot was bad. How about a stake? She could be a terrible wuss when it came to pain; a big crybaby, really. She decided not to risk it.

The ride that followed was short. Rachel spent the time trying to devise a plan of escape. She had no idea why Pudge had taken her. He had needed a shield, or thought he did at first, but once Etienne was locked up, he hadn't anymore. She was rather surprised he hadn't taken the opportunity to stake her then.

Rachel supposed guilt might be the reason he hadn't yet, since his attack was the reason she'd been turned in the first place. But that left her to wonder what he intended to do with her if staking wasn't the plan. Nothing good was coming to mind. Escape seemed her best action. She just had to devise how.

Presumably he would take her somewhere, park, then come at her again with his knife. This time she feared she might have to risk the pain of being cut.
She wasn't looking forward to that, but she might suffer worse if she didn't.

The rumble of the van stopped. It was escape time. She felt her body tense as the van rocked. Pudge was getting out, she realized, then heard the door close. Rachel gave her manacles a testing tug, surprised when the creak of metal stretching reached her ears. She was about to give a serious tug when she heard the back doors open.

Cursing her own timidity, she stilled and waited, startled when the cloth was suddenly tugged from her head.

“There are no windows in this garage. You're safe from the sun,” Pudge announced. As if he had purchased this garage and the house that was no doubt attached specifically to keep her safe.

Rachel was less than impressed. Her gaze was fixed on the weapon in his hands. His stake-gun appeared to be a crossbow with a wooden stake rather than an arrow. Not that it really mattered. According to Etienne an arrow, stake, or whatever, if lodged in the heart and left there long enough, could finish her off. So much for escape. At least for now.

“Come on.” Pudge stepped back, careful to keep the weapon trained on her heart. He gestured with his free hand for her to get out of the van.

Rachel raised her eyebrows at the order and merely rattled the short chains that bound her to the wall of the van.

“Oh.” Pudge hesitated a moment, then apparently decided he didn't want to get close enough to risk being overcome, and simply tossed her the keys.

Rachel managed to catch them between her arm and one breast, then picked them up and set to work on the locks. It was her first good look at the manacles, and the sight was daunting. He hadn't been kidding about them being four inches thick, yet they didn't feel as heavy as they should. Rachel supposed that was due to her increased strength. She really should have gone for it and tugged herself free, she told herself, unlocking first one wrist, then the other.

“Okay, come on,” Pudge repeated. Recalling the way he had shot Etienne when he hadn't moved quickly enough, Rachel scrambled to the edge of the van and dropped off to stand on the concrete floor of the garage. She held out the keys to Pudge, but he shook his head.

“You'll need them to open the door.” He gestured her to the left.

Rachel turned to survey the direction he pointed toward, spotting the house door at once. It was a one-car garage, and the van, left little more than a foot and a half of walking space. Rachel moved along the passenger side of the van, pausing when she spotted the wreath of garlic with a cross in the center that hung on the middle of the door.

“Sorry. Back off a bit.” Pudge quickly stepped up to remove the paraphernalia.

She didn't inform him it was useless. Instead, she pondered how paranoid the man must be to put such things on his door.

“Okay.” Taking the cross and garlic with him, he backed out of the way and gestured forward, informing her, “It's the wide silver key.”

Rachel sorted until she found the only wide silver key, then stepped up to the door and inserted it in the lock. When the lock clicked open, she turned to arch an eyebrow at her captor.

“Go on,” Pudge ordered, gesturing with his crossbow. Rachel opened the door and stepped into his kitchen, then stopped dead. She had never seen such a pigsty. The counters and sink were stacked with filthy dishes, and there wasn't an inch of stove, fridge, counter, cupboard, or floor that wasn't covered with food slops or just plain filth. On top of that was a coating of grease that bespoke a good deal of fried food being cooked.

“Move.” A sharp poke in her back made Rachel take a quick step forward, then continue through the kitchen avoiding touching anything. It was bad enough that she had to step on the floor; her sneakers stuck to the linoleum with every step. It was disgusting. And the dining room was just as bad, she saw, as she stepped through its arch.

“Sit down.”

“I'd rather not.” Rachel gazed over the table with its stacks of dirty dishes. Unfortunately, food wasn't the
only thing on the plates. There were more than a couple of bugs crawling across them, feasting happily on month-old pizza and such. As for the chairs themselves, they were blessedly free of plates, but were instead covered with several months' old newspapers, flyers and junk mail. “You know, Pudge, a housekeeper wouldn't be a bad thing.”

“Sit!” He was apparently feeling rather confident now that they were inside. He got close enough to grab her by the shoulder and steer her into the nearest chair. Rachel winced as the edge of a crumpled flyer poked her in the butt, but she didn't say anything as he moved around the table and seated himself, positioning his crossbow on the table aimed at her chest.

They were both silent a moment, staring at each other, sizing each other up. But when the silence continued to draw out and Rachel began to feel uncomfortable, she raised her eyebrows. “So?”

“So?” Pudge frowned. “What?”

“Are you going to kill me now or what?” Rachel asked.

“No!” He looked startled at the very possibility. “No way. It's my fault you're a vampire chick. Or is it vampiress?” While he sat muttering and fretting, Rachel tried to figure out exactly where that left her. Judging by the awe in his tone, Pudge was much more impressed by a female vampire. He seemed to see her being a vampire as a cool thing, whereas Etienne be
ing one meant he was someone to be obliterated. She wasn't sure why.

“So…”

Rachel glanced at Pudge's face, made curious by his almost excited look. Nothing prepared her for his question, however. “Are you hungry?”

Taken by surprise she might be, but his question was relevant. She didn't think she'd lost too much blood from the cuts to her throat, but she was hungry. Her gaze drifted to the refrigerator in the kitchen. Did he have any blood in there? It didn't seem likely, but if not, why did he ask if she was hungry? Then again, if he did have blood, she wasn't at all sure it would be safe to drink in this bacteria factory he called a home. She half-suspected it wouldn't be. Could anything in this place be safe to put near her mouth?

“You could bite me,” Pudge offered, drawing her attention. He looked rather excited at the prospect. Rachel felt her appetite die a quick death.

“Thanks, but—” she began politely.

“Oh, come on. You have to be craving blood. You could even turn me if you wanted.” His gaze dropped to her chest.

Rachel tried not to look repulsed. The idea of his existing in the world forever was a horrible one, almost as bad as biting him. She doubted he was much cleaner than his house. However, she didn't want to cheese the guy off. She hadn't figured out what he intended to do with her, but until she had the chance
to escape, she figured it would be a good thing to humor him.

“No, thanks,” she said politely in response to his offer. Letting her gaze drift toward the bit of living room she could see, she noticed wood blocking the balcony doors and the metal bars over them. The house was rather gloomy. Glancing around at the other windows, she noted they too were covered with wood and metal bars. Perhaps he hadn't always intended to kill Etienne.

“You know, you aren't bad-looking.”

Rachel's attention slid back to her captor. She wasn't quite sure how to respond. From anyone else, the words might be a compliment. The way he said it spoke of disappointment. She understood that disappointment when he explained, “Well, you know. You're pretty enough, but not quite what I expected. In all the movies, the vamp chicks are…” He paused, apparently searching for the right word. “Hotter. You know. Black vinyl bustiers and high-heeled, thigh-high boots.” His gaze was fixed on her chest, as if he were trying to work out whether she might be wearing a black vinyl bustier under her sweatshirt.