Seduced by Crimson (7 page)

Her ha gow stilled halfway to her mouth. When had she ever trusted anyone to watch out for her? She'd just met the man, and already she was acting as if he were her protector. The thought was as startling as it was terrifying. She would have to be extra cautious around him, or who knew what might happen while she was busy losing herself in his swirling green eyes.

"You know, you just don't seem like a botany professor," she said. "Shouldn't you have thick glasses and a pocket protector?"

"You're thinking of my brother, the accountant," he answered. Then he shrugged. "I hit a really bad patch in my teens. My girlfriend died violently, and I just couldn't find my way. Working with plants grounded me, gave me something concrete to do. My parents were academics, so the research and teaching part came naturally. Plus, it fit in with the rest of my extra-curricular activities."

"Surfing?"

He shook his head, but his gaze remained steady on her. Intensely steady, as if his next words were very, very important.

"i didn't surf then," he said. "I'm a druid."

She started, then chastised herself for reacting so strongly. This was southern California, after all, home of every freaky religion known to mankind. "So you worship trees and…" What exactly did druids do?

"We revere the Earth and try to work with Her energies." He leaned forward. "It's very much like working with a person's qi, isn't it? Only instead of sticking needles into someone, I use plants to harmonize the Earth's energy."

"That's why you want the Phoenix Persimmon, isn't it? You know what it does."

He nodded. "My research indicates that it can have interesting chemical effects on a person's blood. Is that true?"

"Depends on what you call interesting." And that's when she realized what made him so attractive to her. Power. He had power and the knowledge of how to use it. Not just physically; she knew a dozen or more body builders and couldn't care less about them. His power went deeper than bone and muscle. It was in the way he moved when he walked—balanced and contained. "You do martial arts."

He blinked, obviously surprised. "Yeah. On days when I can't get to the beach."

She nodded. Controlled qi was an awesome thing. Many a girl lusted after qi masters, herself included. But Patrick had something deeper, something more powerful than even well-channeled energy. He had the ancient Earth knowledge of the Druids. It suffused his being with an old potency that tingled along her senses. It enchanted her most primitive instincts, and it made her feel safe when she had no reason at all to feel that way.

When was the last time that happened? Never. Certainly never with a bronzed surfer-god. Lord, she was in trouble now. She hid her groan behind her napkin. He even ate sexy, the long ivory chopsticks expertly dropping choice morsels right between perfect lips. There wasn't anything overtly sexual about it, and yet she was thinking of what else he could taste and what else he could expertly slide inside.

"Tell me about Cambodia," he said.

She flinched, drawn out of her sexual fantasies and dumped into an ugly past.

"Whoa. Uh, sorry. I didn't mean to pry," he back-pedaled.

She frowned, still struggling to find her equilibrium. "What?"

"You looked… spooked. Really, really spooked. I'm sorry. They must not be pleasant memories."

"No… Well, yes… I mean…" She snapped her mouth shut. Babbling wasn't her style—at least not usually. "I was young, and it was a confusing time."

"I'll bet. Civil wars aren't pretty." He reached across the table and touched her hand. His fingers were long and calloused, and they infused her with a soothing peace that she couldn't fight.

She raised her gaze to his. He did understand. Not specifically about her or her past, but about… What? She couldn't quite name it.

"So let's change the topic." He looked around. He did that often, scanning the room, placing the people and the exits. She recognized the gesture since she did it as well. "Are you feeling worried with the new anti-vamp campaign?"

She shrugged and started making designs with her chopsticks in the pool of hot sauce on her plate. "I've got no love of vamps. Have another pot sticker—they're best hot."

He shook his head. "I'm stuffed. Have you been having problems with vamps?"

Glancing up, she decided to be honest. "Most of us are barely getting by in Chinatown. The fangs've got money, altitude, and attitude. Haven't seen one yet who wasn't willing to take us for blood, money, or just for kicks."

He drew back, clearly surprised. "Is this personal experience? Or just rumor?"

"We probably see a lot more fangs here than you've got in sanitized San Bernardino," she snapped.

He gave her an odd look. "We've got vamps up north. Nice people, all social levels. They make good laborers 'cause they're strong, good managers 'cause they're experienced, and good academics 'cause they're really old."

"And good eaters 'cause they're hungry."

"They don't do that," he argued.

"The hell they don't."

He sighed, then looked at the elaborate death character she'd drawn in her hot sauce. He probably thought she meant it for vamps—and maybe she did, a little. But her real thoughts were on another species. The one that had torched that house not four blocks from here last night.

"Does your hatred extend to other races? Or just vamps?" he asked. His tone was neutral.

She didn't look up, simply grabbed another tsu mai dumpling and carefully wiped it around her plate to erase her hot sauce art. "Why? You got a special love of demons?"

He glanced up sharply. "Demons? I meant werewolves."

She bit her lip. Oh, yeah. The wolves. Just because it was getting dark and she was feeling hyperaware of every shift and nuance in the night's energy didn't mean he was feeling the same. "The dogs don't bother me. Not unless they get within biting distance."

"Your teeth or theirs?" he asked.

"Either." She grinned and snapped her jaws. A moment later she sighed. "Okay, so my bitterness is showing through. Honest to God, Patrick, I just want to live my life in peace. I want to make enough money to go to grad school; I want to open my own little business. And I don't want to have to worry about vamps forcing out my neighbors to build casinos, or adolescent weres threatening to bite kids on the playground. And I don't want any kind of demon anywhere in the city. Ever."

He stared at her, his expression unreadable. "So, you know."

She blinked, completely lost.

"You know there are demons in the city," he clarified. "You know the gate's been used."

She froze, and in her sudden stillness, an answer blossomed. She abruptly knew why he understood her, why he attracted her like a moth to a flame: because he knew the truth. He knew that demons existed right here in Crimson City, right now. He might love plants and books and all things professorial, but he'd fought the beasts as well. She could feel it in her bones and in the power the surrounded him like a mantle. He'd fought and lost, just like she had. He was afraid, just like she was. And he was ready for the next moment, aching to strike back, whereas she…

She ran. It wasn't a conscious decision, it just happened. Patrick scrambled after her, of course, but she knew Chinatown like no visitor from San Bernardino ever could. She left the restaurant, ducked into a side alley, slid around and behind a garbage bin that reeked of grease and soy sauce, then slipped between a pair of cheap New Year's lanterns into the back of the incense and spice shop.

The shop owner—bone-thin Mrs. Lo—looked up in surprise, but relaxed the moment she saw Xiao Fei. With a smile and a quick wave, she turned back to her portable TV and the latest white-as-Wonderbread sitcom. Which gave Xiao Fei a moment to get her panic under control.

He knew. Patrick knew there were demons in LA. He knew about the demon gate and, worse, he knew that she knew. What else did he know about her? Did he know her power, her purpose?

The old paranoia came roaring back. It flooded her blood with lead, and she dropped to the floor. She tried to reach for a calming chant, a protective chant—hell, even a chant against indigestion—but nothing came to mind, no prayers, no soothing notes, nothing. She was a rock thrown into the ocean, and was sinking fast.

Okay, this imagery was not helping. She was a normal person, a usual human being who knew nothing at all about demons or unturning vamps or anything of that nature. She was just an average working girl, and she was going home now. She was calm, rational, sedate. And she would lock her doors, crawl under her bed, and suck her thumb. That was what a normal person would do. She forced strength into her legs, pulling her face into a bad semblance of a smile as she stood. Then she tried to saunter out the front door.

"It's okay, Xiao Fei," Mrs. Lo called without looking up. "Things settle down soon enough. They always do." Then she tossed Xiao Fei a dry noodle cake for long life.

Long life… Xiao Fei had the wrapper open before she hit the street. And when she ran straight into Patrick, who had just rounded the corner, looking for her, she uttered a big, embarrassing "Oomph!" and sprayed dried bits of noodles all over his shirt.

That didn't stop him from wrapping his arms around her to support her, though. And right there, she understood the lure of every American surfer movie—at least for girls. Surfers had good bodies. They had
great
bodies. Surfers were strong and broad in all the right places. They had all those rippling abs, which were right now pressed against her belly. And when Patrick wrapped her in his arms, Xiao Fei felt as if she'd been surrounded in sunlight and sand, crystal-cool water, and all the seductive beauty of the most peaceful, secluded lagoon.

Unable to stop herself, she relaxed into his embrace and buried her nose in his chest. Lord, he even smelled like sunshine and water.

"I didn't mean to spook you," he murmured into her ear.

"You didn't," she lied. "I just wasn't hungry anymore." She surreptitiously tossed the remains of the noodle cake aside.

"Let's go someplace quiet where we can talk."

She nodded. Anything, so long as he kept his arms wrapped around her.

"My hotel is quiet—," he began.

"My apartment is right around the corner—," she said at the same time.

They both pulled back enough to see each other's eyes. All that expanse of tan, toned body to look at—broad shoulders, muscular chest, strong chin. But what arrested her most were his dark green eyes. They were verdant forest eyes, primal-lust kind of eyes. Xiao Fei's breath caught. Her pulse sped up. Her knees even went so weak that wherever her body hadn't been pressed against him now came into intimate contact. Her legs were too weak to straighten, but not her chest and neck. She stretched taller, higher. Closer to his mouth.

It was a nice mouth, a pretty shape without being too full, and his cheeks were covered by the barest hint of five-o'clock shadow. He had such straight white teeth. "I've never had braces," she blurted, feeling outclassed. "They're not a Cambodian thing." What freaking stupid synapse had made her say that?

He smiled. "I like your teeth."

She blinked. "Why?"

"They're yours."

He kissed her. And that was when she learned what had made Annette Funicello do all those movies: Surfers kissed well, too. Deep, probing, powerful—all the things she most liked in a man, Patrick was. Was it awful to revel in his domination? He was bigger than her, stronger, and he took a masterful command of the kiss. She surrendered to him. Right there in the street, she opened her mouth. It felt like she opened her entire body and soul to him.

God, he had the nicest ass. She'd already managed to squeeze it during his earlier treatment, and hadn't that been great fun? But this was different. This was a full caress of his backside. Open. Admiring. And…

What the hell were those two lumps on either side of his hips? Not muscles. Those couldn't be so hard. Not his hips; those were further back. But closer to his belly were two hardened… sheaths? One on either side.

"Have a thing for knives, do we?" he asked.

She smiled up at him. "Apparently it's mutual. You're the one wearing them."

He grinned. "Mutual it is. Wanna see my knife collection?"

But then the vamps attacked.

Patrick heard the rush of air as the vamps descended, but more, he felt the shift in energy, that vague dissonance from the Earth that heralded a vamp's arrival. A whole shitload of them.

Geez, just how deeply in lust had he been not to notice four… no, five… gawd, six foes converging on his position? Two women, four men, all young-looking, the men running to fat. The girls—one blonde with big boobs, the other a brunette with a high ponytail—were skinny enough to be wraiths.

"Oh great," Xiao Fei groaned. "The girlfriends plus reinforcements."

He didn't have time to ask what that meant as he pushed Xiao Fei behind him for protection. Except, with six vamps dropping from the sky all around, there really wasn't a "behind" that was safe. It was time for diplomacy.

He smiled. "Hey there. What's up? Besides you, of course." He received cold stares in response.