“Who can say? They don’t advertise it, you know.”
“No, I guess not.”
Rhys refilled his glass, then looked at her, eyebrows raised. “More?”
“Yes, please.”
He refilled her glass, wondering what she would say, what she would think, if she knew a five-hundred-year-old vampire was sitting beside her, contemplating how he might steal a taste of her blood.
When the band broke into something soft and slow, Rhys set his glass aside. “Care to dance?”
“Are you sure you want to?” She gestured at his arm. “Doesn’t it hurt?”
“I’m a quick healer. So, what do you say?”
She considered it a moment, then nodded.
On the dance floor, he took her into his arms without hesitation. Her body fit against his perfectly, as he had known it would. She was warm with the juices of life, supple in his embrace. He took a deep breath, his nostrils filling with the clean scent of jasmine, the musky scent of a young female. And blood.
Her gaze met his. He knew what she was going to ask even before she spoke. “I have to know,” she said, almost apologetically. “Just how old are you?”
“Twenty-five.” The lie slid easily past his lips. He was too young for her at twenty, too old at five hundred and twelve. “Relieved?”
“Yes. You look younger.”
“A blessing, don’t you think?”
“Some people never seem to age. Sometimes I hate to look in the mirror, you know? The other day, I found a gray hair.” Shirl was even more afraid of growing old than Megan was, since when Shirl’s looks went, so did her career.
“Not to worry,” he said with a faint smile. “You’ll always be beautiful.”
“Flatterer.”
“I call ’em the way I see ’em.” He regarded her a moment before asking, “If you could stay young forever, would you?”
She considered it a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know. Growing up, growing old, it’s what life is all about.”
“Yes,” he remarked. “Life.”
The song ended, and he escorted her back to the table.
Life, Rhys thought as he drove her home a short time later. Its flame burned bright within her, drawing him in, warming the cold, desolate places in his soul.
If he drank from her, he knew he would never be cold again.
Megan stood at the window, watching Rhys walk away. She had suggested he drive home in her car or call a cab, but he had dismissed her suggestions with a wave of his hand, saying the walk would do him good.
She had been a bundle of nerves during the drive home, wondering if Rhys would try to kiss her good night, wondering if she should let him. The knowledge that she had even considered it still astonished her. Maybe he wasn’t as young as she had thought, but she hardly knew the man. Still, a hero deserved a reward, and after what he had done tonight, he was definitely a hero.
Awfully full of yourself, aren’t you, Megan? Thinking one of your kisses would be ample reward for saving your life!
As it turned out, she needn’t have worried. When they reached her house, Rhys walked her to the door, made sure she was safely inside, and bid her a chaste good night.
She watched him until he was swallowed up in the darkness; then, after double-locking the front door, she went through the rest of the house, making sure all the windows were closed and locked, drawing the drapes to shut out what was left of the night. Funny, that while sitting in the club with Rhys, the events at the store had seemed distant, almost as if they had happened to someone else, but here, in her own home, she was suddenly afraid. She knew there was evil and violence in the world. She saw it in living color on the nightly news, but, until this evening, she had never experienced it firsthand.
She could have been killed tonight. They could all have been killed.
Folding her arms over her chest, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Maybe it was time to buy a gun, or at least a canister of pepper spray.
After changing into a T-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms, she went into the kitchen and fixed a cup of hot cocoa. She was sitting at the table, waiting for the chocolate to cool, when Shirl shuffled into the room. Even without makeup, her blue eyes puffy from too little sleep, and her long, silver-blond hair mussed, Shirl was gorgeous.
“I’m sorry,” Megan said. “Did I wake you?”
“It’s all right,” Shirl replied, smothering a yawn with her hand. “I have to be up in a couple of hours anyway.” She dropped into the chair across from Megan’s. “What are you doing up so late? Or so early? Did you just get home?”
“Yes.” Megan wrapped her hands around the mug. “We had some trouble at the store tonight.”
“Oh?” Shirl stared at her, suddenly wide awake. “What happened? Did anyone get hurt?”
“No.”
“Well, come on, girl, I want details.”
With a sigh, Megan quickly told her about Shore’s newest client and how he had come to the rescue. “Just like Batman,” she finished, “but without the mask, of course.”
“Too bad,” Shirl said with a grin. “I like men in masks.”
Megan had to laugh at that. It was one of things they had in common, liking masked heroes. Batman, Spiderman, the Lone Ranger. They all wore masks.
“Did he at least have a cape?” Shirl asked hopefully.
“’Fraid not,” Megan said, smothering a yawn. “I think I’m ready for bed. Do you want to go out tomorrow night?”
“I can’t. I have a date.”
“You do?” Megan exclaimed. “With who?”
“Geez, don’t look so surprised.”
“Well, it has been a long time. For both of us.”
“His name is Greg, and he’s a patrol sergeant with the LAPD. Six-foot three, brown hair, brown eyes. Divorced. No children.”
“When do I get to meet him?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see how it goes tomorrow night. So, what about this guy, Rhys? Any vibes there?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Megan replied, shaking her head. “He’s only twenty-five.”
“So you’re four years older than he is. So what?”
Megan shrugged. “I don’t believe him.”
“You think he’s older?”
“No, younger. A lot younger. But it’s more than that. He’s…” She bit down on her lower lip as she tried to find the words to describe Rhys Costain. “Different.”
“Different how? Two heads? Three arms? One eye in the middle of his forehead?”
“No, nothing like that. I don’t know how to explain it. He scares me, and I don’t know why.” She ran her fingertip around the edge of her cup. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but…he changed his shirt after he was shot…”
“What’s so crazy about that?”
“Hush. I saw his arm when he changed his shirt and I swear—I swear!—the wound in his arm was gone. I mean, gone like it was never there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! Well, I could be wrong. It was dark, but…”
“You’ve had a rough night, girlfriend. Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you.”
“Maybe.” Megan blew out a sigh. “Sometimes, when I’m with him, I get the feeling he’s hiding something. Something dark and dangerous.”
“Hey, if you’re having scary thoughts about this guy, then I’d say follow your instincts and stay away from him.”
Good advice, Megan thought as she rinsed out her cup and made her way upstairs. Good advice, indeed.
Chapter 4
Although Rhys had little to do with the affairs of mortals in general, he made it a point to keep abreast of what was happening around the world, especially in the United States. Especially now, when he was no longer just Master of the City, but Master of the West Coast Vampires.
He grunted softly as he recalled the battle that had increased his territory. It hadn’t been a battle he had sought, but he had never run from a fight. He had destroyed the other vampire without a qualm, and now his domain included Oregon, Washington, and Idaho as well as California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Montana.
He was always amazed at the violence humans were capable of. His kind were supposed to be the monsters, yet man’s cruelty to his fellow beings made vampires seem benevolent by comparison.
Someone had once said there was nothing new under the sun. It was proved nightly, on the news. This evening was no different. Gang killings. Teachers having affairs with underage students. Congressmen being arrested for nefarious dealings. The rich preying on the poor. War in the Middle East. The price of gas going up and down like a yo-yo on steroids.
Rhys was about to turn off the set when the perfectly coiffed female anchorwoman said, “This just in from our sister station in New York City. The bodies of a man and a woman were discovered near the Hudson River only moments ago. According to undisclosed sources, both victims appear to have been drained of blood.”
It was the last three words that caught his attention. They seemed to echo off the walls.
Drained of blood.
Rhys leaned forward, his gaze focused on the screen. In his gut, he knew those three words could mean only one thing. There was a vampire on the rampage somewhere in the city of New York.
Switching off the screen, Rhys opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The cops would never catch the vampire responsible for the killings, just as they would never solve the crime. It would take another vampire to bring the rogue down. Or a damn good hunter.
He grinned faintly, thinking it was too bad for the NYPD that Daisy and her family had given up hunting.
Thoughts of Daisy brought Megan to mind, not that he needed help to think of her. Megan had been uppermost in his mind since that first night. He wondered what she was doing this evening, since Shore’s was closed on Sundays and Mondays.
Curious, he went into his bedroom to change clothes. Before he’d met Megan DeLacey, his wardrobe had been sparse—a few pairs of good slacks, a dozen shirts. But now…He shook his head. His closet held enough outfits to clothe three or four men for a year.
