Stealing Time (4 page)

I returned to the dressing area and, grateful for his forethought—he’d been very busy while I was unconscious—put myself to rights. Feeling awkward, I glanced once more in the mirror. The vampire makeover made the reflection seem at once familiar and strange, so I looked away.

As I crossed the bedroom and opened the door, I wondered where James was. Acting on instinct, I turned left—the great room was in the other direction—and walked down the hall to the kitchen. Sure enough, he was sitting at the counter. I don’t know what I thought vampires did with their spare time, but it was strange to see him reading a newspaper.

For something to do with my hands, I picked up the rubber band he’d removed from the paper, pulled my long hair over my shoulder and began braiding it.

He folded the section he was reading and laid it on the counter, his gaze on me.

Startled by his intensity, I asked, “What?”

“That is very appealing.”

“Braiding my hair?”

“Oh yes,” he murmured.

“You’re easily entertained.” I laughed.

“No, I’m not.” His voice deepened. “It is most appealing, watching you attend to your hair.” Abruptly, he leaned back in the barstool and crossed his arms over his chest as his cheeks flushed—the very picture of awkwardness. “Forgive me, that was rude.”

I tied off the end with the rubber band and slung the braid over my shoulder to hang down my back. “No, it wasn’t.”

Still, I wasn’t accustomed to such admiring attention or to being treated with a kindness that spoke of gentility and courtly manners, products of a long-gone century. And there was my own increasing reaction to him. It was beyond disconcerting the way my eyes were drawn to the generous curve of his lips—the way they moved as he spoke, their sensuous appeal when he smiled. Or how well the lightweight sweater he wore revealed the strength of his shoulders and hinted at the planes of his chest. Or how the light glimmered in his beautiful pale green eyes and set off the chestnut strands in his thick hair, and I wondered if it was as soft as it looked…

Get a grip, girl.

I’d faced down top-level government officials and even drug lords—sometimes, it was hard to tell which was more treacherous—and never given ground, never once lost my focus.

To cover my nervousness, I picked up the newspaper James had been reading.

“The Boston paper?” I asked as I scanned the page. “But you live in New York.”

He shrugged, a movement I caught in my peripheral vision. “Sometimes I read papers from other cities.”

The article leading the second page caught my eye and I glanced up at him. His expression went opaque and he didn’t quite meet my gaze.

“This says there have been several particularly violent murders in Boston over the last few weeks.”

“Yes, I saw that.”

The neutral tone in his voice made me look him fully in the face. “It says four bodies have been found so far, all of them drained of blood and mutilated.”

“It is possible that rival human gangs are trying to make a violent point.”

“Is that what you think?”

He sighed. “No.”

I put the paper down. “I’m guessing that not all vampires are as elegant and genteel as you are.”

James smiled fleetingly and shook his head. Changing the subject, he asked, “How do you feel?”

I perched on the countertop. “Like I could lift your refrigerator and throw it across the room.”

He laughed out loud. “You could. But please don’t.”

“Seriously?” I stared at him. The thing had to weigh more than five hundred pounds.

“You’re very strong now.” He came to lean against the counter by my side. “How else do you feel?”

“Tired too. Mentally?” The last bit, I’d said like a question. It was a very odd sensation to feel strong enough to toss a commercial refrigerator, even as my mind was winding down.

He gave me a lopsided smile. “Let’s go back to the sofa so you can be comfortable.”

I slid off the counter and, at his polite gesture, preceded him to the great room. Sinking onto the sofa, I curled a leg under me and leaned back. My thoughts slowed further and when I looked over, he was sitting beside me, our shoulders just touching.

As the lethargy grew, I slumped into the thick sofa cushions and lay my head back. “James?” I asked softly.

“Yes?”

“Do vampires sleep?” My eyes began to close.

“For the first few months after the change, you may feel the need to rest.” His voice was soft and reassuring. “Your body goes through so much and the stress of your new senses takes a huge toll.”

Trying to push back the fog, I mumbled, “There’s so much to learn, to do…”

He chuckled. “And eternity to do it in. Your body needs to rest now. Not like humans sleep, though. A changeling’s stasis is just a short rest.”

Grumpy, I asked, “How short?”

“An hour, maybe a little more, however long your body needs.”

“You’ll stay with me?” I whispered as sleep pulled relentlessly.

“Always,” James answered, his voice rough.

I drifted off, smiling.

There were no dreams and, when I awakened, James was still beside me.

“You stayed,” I said, tilting my head so I could look up at him.

“Of course.” He smiled.

“Thank you.”

He just laughed, standing and pulling me to my feet. Towing me along, he headed for the kitchen. “You need to drink again.”

“Again? But I don’t hurt.”

“The first thirst is always brutal, but as long as you drink often and do not allow yourself to get too hungry, you will never suffer like that again.”

“Well that’s a relief,” I said with feeling. Although without the agony to overcome my aversion to blood, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to drink. Every time I thought about what that glass had contained, I was appalled.

As we entered the kitchen, he pushed a button on a wall console and Sting’s
When We Dance
floated from invisible speakers.

“I love this song,” I said in wonder. James disappeared into the pantry and reappeared a moment later with a tray in his hands.

“It is a particular favorite of mine. It was popular quite a few years ago, but it’s not like the passage of time matters to us,” he joked, placing the tray and its contents on the counter, and pulling out two tall barstools. “Come, sit please.” He held a stool out for me. I smiled at his courtesy as I sat.

He took the other stool and looked up to see that I was staring at him. “What?”

“You like Sting?”

“You were expecting Gilbert and Sullivan?”

“Well, yeah, they were pretty popular one hundred-something years ago,” I said, having to laugh at myself.

“I was never a very good Victorian,” he said ruefully. “My mother was French and, because of my father’s business, we traveled overseas often, mostly in France. So my tastes were always more
avant-garde
.”

“Still, you grew up then. You had to be influenced by the times.”

He smiled. “Yes, I was. Just not defined by them.”

I couldn’t delay any longer and tilted my chin toward the tray. “So. Um. Breakfast?”

His sharp eyes didn’t miss my wince. “If calling it ‘breakfast’ entices you to partake, yes. I know this is awkward for you, but you need energy. Already you are more pale and your hands are trembling.”

I looked at him. “You look fine, though.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Why not?”

“Mature vampires feed only once a month or so.”

“Well there’s something to look forward to,” I grumbled. “Any way to speed the process along?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “And before you think about trying human food, let me save you the experience. Your body will reject anything but blood and, well, it’s just as unpleasant throwing up now as it was when you were human.”

I looked at him. He looked at me. I had no doubt his was the more pleasant expression.

“So…blood,” I muttered.
What a lousy vampire I was turning out to be.

“Yes,” he said patiently. “This will all become easier with time. Try to listen to your body right now and not your mind. What is your body telling you?”

My stomach twisted with hunger. “So empty,” I whispered.

He nodded, his eyes sympathetic. “The change takes enormous energy and you were already in bad shape. It would be best if you could drink again, even just a little. This is what your body is made for now, what it needs.”

Trying to listen to my body and not my mind—which would have left me gagging—I sat quite still.

“Your senses can help you, if you let them.” Uncorking the decanter, he said, “Close your eyes, shut off your mind and just breathe.”

I did as he suggested. The emptiness inside me leaped at the scent and I yearned toward it. My eyes opened in shock, and the heavy glass was now in front of me, full. I recoiled.

James was at my side, reassuring. “No human was harmed for this. It’s from a meat packer and no different than eating steak. You need this to live…” He continued his gentle encouragement as my hand, of its own volition, unclenched and reached shakily for the glass. The scent was
delicious.
Part of me was appalled, but that part was being viciously shouldered aside by the hunger.

It would be impossible to describe the taste. By all rights, it should have been utterly repugnant without the first thirst’s agony as a motivator. But to my shock and enormous relief, it was not.

“Well done, Evie.” He handed me a napkin.

I tried not to think about it as I wiped my mouth.

We were in the great room a few days later, standing in front of one of James’s beautiful paintings as he told me about his human life, how he’d studied in Paris under the masters—including Renoir, an artist even I had heard of.

“You’re very talented,” I said. “Could I see more of your paintings?

He shrugged, but his expression was pleased. “If you like.”

“Could we have some music too? The last CD ended a while ago.”

“Certainly. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared down the hall.

Idly, I went to look at another of the gorgeous, museum-quality paintings hanging in the great room while I waited. A faint mechanical hum drew my attention to the front door and, seconds later, the sound of a key in the lock. The door’s opening fanned the most intoxicating aroma imaginable across the room—nothing I’d ever known was comparable to the scent that made me shudder with longing. Every aspect of my being went on alert, poised and intent, as a human male entered the apartment. He smiled when he saw me and walked over with a large box.

“Oh hello. I didn’t know anyone was home.” The man set the package down beside me. His pleasant expression faltered under the weight of my stare. “Miss?”

The human was in his seventies, plump, and he wore a doorman’s uniform. Even as I noted the superficial details, something in me registered his likely path of flight, noted his slight limp, and began calculating how to take him.

His pulse throbbed in his neck and the luscious sound brought me closer. I fixated on his skin, so pale and fragile with age. So easy to pierce. My hands clenched into fists as I imagined drawing his body hard against mine, letting my lips touch the curve of his throat, sinking my teeth deep—the exquisite flood that would fill my mouth, my throat. The world faded to one truth:
this human was mine
.

There was an odd stretching feeling in my mouth and my lips no longer met easily.

The man came close. “Miss? Are you all right? Is Mr. Wesley here?”

His nearness hit me like a freight train. I closed the small space between us and my upper lip curled. The man’s eyes drifted to my mouth and his expression froze.

Mine.

Vise-like hands caught me from behind as I struck. The human lost his balance and fell, his passage stirring the air and bathing me in his alluring scent. I moaned with desire and fought to get at him, to throw myself on him.

“Evie, no!” James said, his voice by my ear as he pulled me into his embrace and turned my face toward his chest. I struggled, but he was unbelievably strong and I could not get free.

“Shhh,” he murmured, “be still, Evie.”

The way he held me kept my face pressed close against him, filling my senses with his scent and overriding the human’s. My mind cleared and I realized with horror what I had almost done.

There was a sound by the front door and I caught a glimpse of the human scrabbling with the door knob, terrified. James called to him in a commanding voice, “Tom, stop.”

Immediately, the man quit wrestling with the door and stood motionless, his hands limp at his sides.

James looked down at me. “If I let go, can you hold yourself here?”

I nodded, locking my muscles and breathing shallowly. The longing was still there, though, making me tremble with need.

He studied me for a moment and must have seen my determination because he released me and crossed to stand next to the human. “Tom, I want you to look at me.”

The man turned to face James and his expression was slack.

“Why did you come into my home without announcing yourself?”

Tom’s voice lacked inflection. “The canvases you were waiting for came. I brought them up. I didn’t think you were home. I was in a hurry.”

Delicious body heat radiated off the human and filled the room, just as his breath did when he spoke. I turned my face away and focused on keeping my feet still, but my eyes kept returning to the human, frozen in place by the front door.

“Why were you in a hurry?”

“I’m watching the game at the front desk. It’s halftime. I wanted to get back for the third quarter.”

Some of the tension in James’s shoulders eased. “You must always announce yourself first, Tom. That’s what the intercom is for.”

“Yes, Mr. Wesley.”

My feet longed to move, just an inch closer, no big deal really. And it would be nearer to James, anyway. Not just the human whose heart pounded in such a delightful way, thudding within his ribcage, mouth-watering, steady and sweet…

Do not listen to his heartbeat. Do not listen to…his…heart…pumping gorgeous hot blood through his veins, so close to the surface of his delicate skin, so easy to pierce, to drain in long, greedy, succulent pulls…

I swallowed hard, wrapped my arms around myself and turned so that my back was to James and the human. It actually hurt to do this, to squeeze my eyelids shut and force myself to turn away from prey.

My eyes flew open in horror as I realized what I had just done—dear God, I thought of a human being, a person with hopes and aspirations, and a life of his own, maybe a family…I thought of him as
food!

James’s voice became sensuous. “Tom, you will remember bringing the box upstairs. No one was home, so you left it outside the front door and went straight back to your desk.”

“All right.”

“Now go back downstairs and enjoy your game.”

Tom pivoted and left, and James closed and locked the front door behind him.

What just happened made it through the fog of my hunger and my horror. “Did you whammy his memory?” I asked, astonished.

He went to the sofa and held his hand out to me in invitation. “Whammy?” He smiled, considering the word. “Yes, I did.”

“How is this possible?” I hugged myself tighter, trembling, and he let his hand fall to his lap.

“You can do it too. I’ll teach you.” His voice was reassuring, but his eyes showed concern.

“Is it like hypnosis?”

“Conceptually, yes, but it’s much more powerful.”

It was too much to wrap my thoughts around, that I could manipulate a human’s mind, and I shoved the idea aside. With the human gone—I forced my brain to start over—with
Tom
gone, I could allow myself to move and all the pent-up
everything
made me feel like I was coming out of my skin. Back and forth, I paced the width of the room. My instincts raged that the hunt had been interrupted and my emotions bounced all over the place.
Relief. Anger. Revulsion. Desire
. My feet moved faster.

“Evie?”

I looked at James and noticed when his eyes flicked to my mouth. “What?” I grumbled.

“You got your fangs,” he said, sounding like a proud parent.

“I
what?
”

“It can take a while before they drop for the first time, since we don’t hunt. It’s the presence of prey that triggers them.” His voice was calm and matter-of-fact.

I almost ran into the wall. “I have
fangs?
” I ran a finger over my teeth and felt a sharp pain. James was beside me then and he lifted my hand to look at the slash of red.

“Only vampire teeth can break our skin.” He took my finger into his mouth, then withdrew it for me to see. “There is a coagulant in our saliva. And we heal very quickly.”

Sure enough, the small wound had all but disappeared. James’s gaze met mine and his expression tightened in response. “What is it, Evie?”

“I have
fangs
?” My voice climbed an octave.

“Of course. You’re a vampire. That’s one of the few myths that are true.” He kept his voice soft. “Just allow the muscles to relax and the teeth will retract to their normal position.”

“How?” Talking was difficult since I was taking exaggerated care not to pierce my lips.

“Like this.” He curled his upper lip and his teeth appeared normal, although the canines looked far more pointed now that I was paying attention. As I watched, both teeth extended well beyond their neighbors and their lethal shape was clear. Alarmed, I stepped back and he retracted them. “There are quite a few animals that do much the same thing. Of course, they are all predators.”

It was all too freaking much!

I bolted down the hallway. When I got to the kitchen, I wasn’t surprised to see James in the doorway behind me.

“What’s wrong?” He asked gently.

“The blood and fangs and…” I covered my face with my hands. “I could have killed him, James. I…
wanted
to. And I still do, I ache with it. I want to go downstairs for him, right now, take him in my arms, force his head back and…”

He pulled me into his embrace and rested his chin on my head. “Nothing bad happened.”

“Only because you stopped me! I wanted to live, but I never wanted to be a monster.” Tremors racked my body as I fought to contain the emotions raging through me.

“You are not a monster.” His voice was soothing. “The first few days after being changed are difficult, that’s all. It is during this time that your reactions are particularly acute. Changelings can even turn feral.”

I stiffened.

“I am telling you this only to reassure you. Yes, your instincts are strong. But so is your intellect. I stopped your attack, but you held yourself steady. Most changelings would have found this impossible.”

“But the entire time, I wanted…”

“What you wanted is only natural for a predator, but it’s irrelevant. It’s what you
did
that matters.”

I hesitated. “It would be so nice to believe that.”

James lifted my chin with a fingertip and his gaze was tender. “I give you my word. It is true.” His voice was suspiciously smooth.