Love Bites (6 page)

“You
are
up.” He paused a foot away and stared at her.

Rachel stared back, a squeak slipping from her lips.

“Why didn't I sense her approach?” He looked behind him, obviously asking one of his companions.

The question managed to free Rachel's frozen limbs somewhat, enough so that she was able to ease along the wall until she bumped into a table. There, she stopped and smiled nervously as the man glanced back at her. Crossing her fingers, she prayed he wouldn't notice she had moved.

“Didn't you?” The woman's voice floated out from the other room. “How interesting.”

Her apparent fascination only increased Rachel's nervousness, and it seemed to annoy Etienne. He turned and scowled back at her. The moment he was no longer looking, Rachel eased around the hall table and sidled toward the front door. She paused again when he muttered something under his breath.

He'd turned and seen she was almost at the door, and he frowned. Gruffly he informed her, “It isn't a good idea to go outside.”

Rachel scowled. Anger overcame her panic. “Why? Because you've turned me into a bloodsucking demon, and the light of day will kill me?” she sneered. She didn't really believe any of this was happening…
but, at the same time she had an irrational fear that it just might.

“It's nighttime,” he pointed out gently. “But it's also uncommonly cold for late summer. Too cold to be gadding about in nothing but a sheet.”

Reminded of her lack of proper clothing, Rachel gasped. She made a run for the stairs, half fearing her host would give chase, but much to her relief she made the upper hall unpursued. Still, she didn't slow her steps but ran straight back to the bedroom where she'd woken and rushed inside, slamming the door behind her.

Inside, Rachel simply stood, breathing heavily, her eyes darting around in search of something with which to barricade the door. Unfortunately, there didn't appear to be any options. She briefly considered dragging the dresser over from against the opposite wall, but then she decided that if she had the strength to drag it over, he probably had more than enough to push the door open, barricade and all. What she really needed was a way to lock herself in. But, of course, there wasn't any.

Giving up on the idea, she forced herself to move away from the door in search of a weapon. Rachel didn't know where she was or who those people were, but they had taken her from the hospital, messed with police files, and at least one of them thought he was a vampire. Self-defense seemed an important consideration.

 

Etienne frowned up the stairs. Rachel didn't appear to be taking this very well. She'd rather resembled a scared rabbit fleeing to its hole, a reaction from her that he hadn't expected. Redheads were usually feisty. Of course, she wasn't sobbing hysterically or anything annoying like that.

“She isn't frightened so much as confused and embarrassed,” his mother said.

Etienne tossed an irritated glance her way, and she joined him in the hallway. He hated it when she read his thoughts. He also didn't much care for the fact that she could obviously read Rachel's. He himself couldn't.

“I'll have to find her something to wear and explain the situation to her,” he said absently. “I have some joggers that might do for now.”

“She'll hardly wish to wear your joggers,” Marguerite said dryly. “She needs her own clothes. Something familiar to make her feel more in control. Bastien?” She turned to peer back at Etienne's brother. “You brought her purse when we left the hospital, didn't you?”

“Yes.” He joined them in the hall. “I left it in the kitchen.”

Marguerite nodded. “Go fetch her keys then, and we shall go retrieve some proper clothing for the girl.”

Etienne felt himself relax. His mother's suggestion would give him a little more time alone with Rachel,
hopefully enough to at least explain things. It would be less difficult than with his mother and Bastien there.

When Bastien returned with the keys, Etienne ushered his mother and brother out of his home. Then he turned to survey the stairs.

Rachel. Rachel Garrett. He straightened his shoulders and headed up to explain the situation to her. He was sure once she realized it had been the only way to save her life—and once he had extolled the benefits of this new life he had given her—she would be grateful for what he had done.

“You what?”

Rachel gaped at her handsome host, her hands squeezing the loofah-on-a-stick she had hidden under the blankets. It was a pretty pathetic weapon, but the only one she'd managed to find. Thinking that even a pathetic weapon was better than none she'd crawled back into bed hoping that a loofah combined with a surprise attack would be enough to save her from anything untoward. She'd huddled under the blankets until a knock had sounded at the door.

Her “Yes?” had held a startled note. It had revealed her surprise at the courtesy of him not barging in.

The blond man Etienne had entered, and Rachel had watched him warily. Much to her relief, he'd come alone. Then he launched into a long drawn-out
story about how he was indeed her crispy critter, as well as the rifle-wound victim from work. She had sat in amazed silence as he explained that she had indeed been felled while trying to save him from the ax-wielding madman Pudge, and that he had saved her in return by turning her into a vampire like himself and the rest of his family.

“I turned you to save your life,” Etienne repeated, a hopeful expression on his face.

Did he expect a thank-you? Rachel stared at him blankly for a moment, then gave up her huddled position under the blankets. She swept irritably from the bed.

Etienne Argeneau, as he had reintroduced himself, took a wary step back, but Rachel had no intention of going near him. The man was obviously mad.

Beautiful but mad, she thought grimly as she crossed the room to the set of double doors she hoped was a closet. And she was not now a bloodsucking demon.

“Not a bloodsucking demon,” the man agreed with exaggerated patience, making Rachel realize she was muttering her thoughts aloud again. “A vampire.”

“Vampires are dead people. Soulless dead people who continue to exist,” Rachel snapped. She dragged the double doors open to reveal that beyond was indeed a closet. She surveyed its contents as she continued, “They are soulless bloodsucking demons. And they are fiction. They aren't real.”

“Well, the soulless bit is fiction. We are—What are you doing?” he interrupted himself to ask.

She was sorting through the clothes on hangers. “Something I should have done a long time ago. Looking for something to wear.” She dragged out one of his dress shirts, considered it, then tossed it onto the bed.

“I could—”

“Stay where you are!” Rachel warned. Glaring at him until he stopped, she turned back to the closet.

“Look,” he said soothingly, “I realize this is upsetting, confusing, and perhaps—”

Rachel spun. “Confusing? Upsetting? What could be confusing or upsetting? You're a vampire. And there's a madman out to get you. But he's not a madman, because you really are a vampire,” she pointed out grimly. Then she added, “Oh, and we musn't forget he accidentally axed me trying to get to you, so you turned me into a vampire too. Now I'm a soulless bloodsucker damned to walk the night and suck neck.” Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the closet. “I have to get out of here.”

“We don't ‘suck neck',” he said, as if the very suggestion were asinine. But when Rachel turned to arch an eyebrow at him, he added reluctantly, “Not much, anyway. Only in emergencies. I mean, we do everything to avoid—Well, there is the occasional rogue vampire who…” He came to a halt, looking distressed.

Rachel shook her head and muttered, “Completely bonkers. Looney-bin boy.”

“No, really,” he said. “What I mean is that we all invested in blood banks when they came into existence. In fact, it was one of our kind who came up with the idea of blood transfusions. He mentioned it to Jean Baptiste Denis, and the fellow tried it and…Well, it doesn't matter. The point is, we have our blood
delivered
. See?”

“Look, I…” Rachel paused as she turned toward him. Her gaze landed on the minirefrigerator he had opened. Her eyes widened incredulously. There had to be a dozen bags of blood inside.

“Bastien stopped and picked up a couple dozen pints on the way here last night,” Etienne explained. “For you and I both. We weren't sure how much you'd need for the change and healing and such. We figured you would need four or five bags to heal, but the full turning can be tricky. How much you need for that depends on how much damage your body has sustained over the years. You seemed relatively healthy, but there are always cancers, heart disease, et cetera.” He eyed her stunned expression warily, then took out a bag and explained, “It isn't as pleasant as fresh, warm blood from the source, but it can be consumed much the same way.”

As she stared in disbelief, he lifted the bag and opened his mouth. Rachel gasped in horror as his teeth extended, and he plunged them into the bag.
The blood immediately began to disappear as if drawn up through the teeth.

Still drinking, Etienne reached down and retrieved another bag, to hold out for her. “Unh?”

She supposed it was an invitation. Rachel wanted to laugh. She wanted to howl hysterically at this madness and return to ignoring him and ransacking his closet, but that unnamed yearning from earlier was again clenching and cramping her belly. Even worse, as the tinny scent of blood wafted around her, she could feel something odd happening inside her mouth. There was a strange sensation of shifting—not painful, more just a sort of pressure, but strange to say the least. Then she felt a sharp prick on the edge of her tongue. Startled, Rachel opened her mouth and felt around.

“Oh, God,” she breathed as she felt her canines protruding down from between her other teeth. Lurching away from the closet, she rushed for the bathroom and hurried to the mirror. Horror coursed through her at the sight.

“It must be a trick,” she said desperately.

“It's not a trick,” Etienne assured her. He'd followed her into the bathroom. “Bastien looked into it today and said that sometimes the turning is relatively fast. The teeth are the first major change. Soon you'll be able to see better in darkness, hear better, and…stuff,” he finished vaguely.

Rachel shifted her gaze to his reflection in the mir
ror, then paused, distracted by the realization that she could see it. Etienne stood directly behind her, and his shoulders, neck, and head were plainly visible.

“Vampires don't have reflections,” she argued. It was a rather desperate point to make, but Rachel was desperate.

“A myth,” he informed her, then smiled. “See? You
can
do your makeup.”

Somehow that didn't seem very reassuring. Rather than relax, Rachel felt herself slump unhappily. “I'm dead.”

“You aren't dead,” Etienne said patiently. “I turned you to
save
your life.”

“Oh—thanks a lot, buddy. Kill me to save me. Perfect male logic.” She cursed. “I guess that trip to Hawaii is off. Shoot! And I just found a swimsuit that didn't make me look like Godzilla.”

“I didn't kill you,” Etienne repeated. “Pudge—”

“Pudge? The guy in army fatigues?” she interrupted. The man's image rose in her mind, wielding his ax, and Rachel frowned. She glared at Etienne in the mirror. “Jeez, I should have let him hack your head off. At least then I wouldn't be dead and soulless.”

“You are not soulless,” Etienne argued. His patience was obviously beginning to fray. “Pudge wounded you mortally. To save your life, I had to turn you.”

“I don't feel soulless.” Rachel leaned close to the mirror and pulled her lips back in a snarl, then poked at her new teeth.

“You
aren't
soulless.”

Rachel ignored him and began to search the vanity. What she wanted was pliers, but of course, she had no expectations of finding any. The best she could do was a pair of nail clippers. She found a small one and a large one. Rachel chose the larger pair and leaned into the mirror.

“What are you doing?” her host shrieked. He snatched the clippers from her when she tried to catch the end of one of her new teeth and pull it out.

“I don't want to be a vampire,” she snapped. She would have grabbed the clippers back, but he was holding them out of reach.

Turning away, Rachel searched the drawer again, this time coming up with a nail file. She turned back to the mirror and began trying to file down one of the teeth.

“It will just repair itself,” Etienne said with irritation. “And it isn't so bad being a vampire.”

“Ha!” Rachel grunted and continued to file.

“You'll never age,” he pointed out hopefully. “You'll never get sick, never—”

“Never see the light of day,” she interrupted sharply. Turning to glare at him, she asked, “Do you know how long I've been trying to get off the night shift?
Three years.
Three years I've been working through the night and not able to sleep during the day, and just when I get promoted to a day position, you turn me into a night walker!” Her voice rose with each word until
Rachel was shrieking. “You have doomed me to an eternal night shift! I
hate
you!”

“You can go out in daylight,” Etienne said. But he didn't sound very sure about it, and Rachel concluded that he was just trying to calm her down. She didn't bother to call him on the lie. Her mind had already moved on to other vampire do's and don'ts.

“Garlic!” Her eyes widened incredulously. “I absolutely
love
garlic, and now I can't—”

“You can eat garlic,” he interrupted. “Really, that's just another myth.”

She couldn't tell if he was lying or not and so she eyed him consideringly. “What about church?”

“Church?” He looked blank.

“Can I go to church?” she asked slowly, as if he were an idiot. “My family has attended mass together every week for my whole life, but vampires—”

“You can attend church,” he assured her, seemingly relieved. “That's another myth. Religious articles and places have no ill effects on us.”

He had obviously expected this news would please her. It didn't. Rachel's shoulders slumped again. “Great,” she said. “I was hoping to have a good excuse to miss mass from now on. Father Antonelli is way long-winded, but even Mom wouldn't have insisted on my going if I was going to burst into flames or something equally embarrassing the minute I walked through the doors.” Rachel heaved out a dejected breath. “I guess there are just no positives to this deal.”

Etienne frowned. She suspected he had preferred her anger. “Of course there are positives,” he said. “You're alive. And you'll live for…well, a long time. And you won't age, and—”

“You already said that,” she pointed out dryly. Pushing past him, she walked back into the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” Etienne sounded anxious, and he followed her.

“Finding something to wear.” Rachel paused halfway across the room. “Unless my clothes happen to be around here somewhere?”

He shook his head. “They were blood-soaked. Ruined, I'm afraid.”

“Hmm.” Rachel turned back to the closet. “Then I'll just have to borrow clothes of yours. I'll replace them.”

 

Etienne frowned but remained silent as Rachel ransacked his wardrobe. Apparently forgetting she had already chosen one, she snatched another long-sleeved white dress shirt and a pair of pants, then marched back to the bathroom. Out of pure instinct, Etienne started to follow, only to nearly get his nose broken when the door slammed in his face.

“I'll wait out here,” he muttered.

“Good thinking,” she responded through the barrier.

Etienne scowled at his bathroom door and listened to the rustle of clothing. He supposed she was stripping. A quick image flashed in his mind of her untying
the sheet and letting the material drop down over her pale round breasts, her belly, her hips, her…He shook himself.

Etienne knew exactly what she looked like naked. He hadn't been strong enough to help when they returned home with her from the hospital, but neither had he been strong enough not to watch as Bastien and his mother undressed her, tended her wounds and cleaned her up, then put her in his bed. He had a very good idea of what she would look like now beyond that door. Her pale skin and red hair would be complemented by the blues of the bathroom. Her muscles would stiffen and tense as she tossed the sheet aside and began to don the overlarge shirt, his favorite….

Etienne was really getting into the vision when the door suddenly opened. Rachel stopped abruptly and scowled when she found him standing there.

He cleared his throat and offered a crooked smile. “That was fast.”

“Move.”

“Yes, of course.” He stepped quickly to the side and watched her pass. The pants were far too large and hung like a sack from her hips. She had tucked the shirt inside, then tied the waist of the pants into a knot, but as she walked back to the closet, the material un-knotted and dropped from around her waist.

Etienne's eyebrows flew up as the pants fell down. Rachel stopped walking, and he was sure she scowled
as she peered down at the garment now pooled around her ankles. He was scowling himself—not at the pants falling, but because the shirttail had dropped just as quickly, obstructing his view. It was rather disappointing. He still got a nice view of her legs, however. Lovely legs.

Muttering under her breath, Rachel stepped out of the pants and continued forward. “I'll need shoes.”

“No, you don't.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“I can hardly leave barefoot. Could you call me a cab?” She bent to survey the shoes in his closet.

“No.”

Rachel glared at him rebelliously. “Then I'll call one myself.”

“I mean, no, you can't leave,” he explained.

She turned to face him fully, her eyes narrowing to slits. There was no doubting her irritation. “Look, I was thinking while I changed.”