Dark Promises (Dark 25)

"Not that you're real stakes," she whispered aloud, because really, they looked silly. They looked like tips of stakes. She liked things big. Bold. Larger than life. Solid. Especially a stake that stood between her and a vampire.

Trixie lay back on top of the sleeping bag, looking up at the dancing notes, hearing the beautiful song, the one that made her dream when she didn't want to. When she knew better. "I never wanted a man of my own, not after learning they were lying, cheating, lazy bums. He never even spoke one word to our daughter. Not one. Our beautiful girl." Her hand closed convulsively around the little gun. Had her daughter's father been standing in front of her right at that moment, she would have staked him on the spot.

She was quiet for a long time, occasionally reaching up to wipe at the wet on her face. She didn't cry, so the tracks weren't tears, just maybe leftover residue from the fog. Still, her eyes were a bit watery and out of focus when she first noticed the disturbance in the dirt floor. Right in the middle. The dirt spewed into the air, small at first and then like a geyser.

Trixie scrambled to her feet and jumped to the side. She stood over the hole in the ground, staring in shock. The hole was deep and long. It was long because it had to accommodate a very large man. He lay down in the open grave--and it was an open grave--looking up at her. His eyes were open.

Trixie screamed. She wasn't the screaming type and her scream scared her. Most likely it scared the angels in heaven. She lifted her hand and pointed at him. An honest-to-God vampire. Staring at her. It took a moment to realize the little gun was in her hand and she convulsively pulled the trigger. The tiny little stake flew out of the gun and hit him high in the shoulder.

He winced. His eyes, a gorgeous blue--and they were gorgeous, she'd noted that--darkened. Became twin storm clouds. More, he'd been entirely naked. As in naked. All of him. Even the best parts, and although it was truly her worst nightmare, she'd still noted his best parts were really the best. Holy cripes.

Her stupid little stake hadn't done the trick. She backed up, tripped and went down on her butt, hand trying to find the other stakes. She was loading the gun when he rose. Floated. In the air. Floated. Feet not on the ground. Holy cripes all over again. She shoved the stake in the gun and let fly a second time.

The stake nailed him in his arm. It really wasn't a point-and-aim kind of weapon like it was advertised and it didn't seem to be killing him. At all. He looked really alive and really big. Lots of muscle. Lots of . . . um . . . everything.

She caught up the holy water and flung the glass vial at him, forgetting to take out the stopper. He caught the vial in midair. He was fast. Very fast.

"Kod alte han, emni," he snapped.

His voice was like music, even when he was cursing. The sound made her stomach curl, something that hadn't happened since she was fifteen years old. And he definitely was swearing at her.

"Stay back, vampire," she hissed, holding out the big silver cross. So far her very expensive vampire-hunting kit wasn't working. Hopefully the cross was real silver. "And for God's sake, put some clothes on."

Because really. How could she keep her mind on killing him when he was right there in all his glory? And he had glory.

A slow smile pulled at the hard edges of his mouth. He looked all man. Not those skinny, prissy boys they put on the covers of the books she liked to read. No, he was definitely a man. Hard edges and lots and lots of muscle. He might be a bloodsucking vampire, but he was a really hot, manly one. If she was going to die, at least the vampire killing her was scorching hot. She could take that to her grave and perv on it for a very long time in the hereafter.

"Lady, put that silly cross down and tell me what you are doing, because so far, you have shot your lifemate with two darts and thrown a glass vial at him. All of which can be considered disrespectful."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Disrespectful?" Oh, no, he was not going to pretend she wasn't a worthy opponent. "Those are not darts. They are stakes. And I've got more where they came from so don't think you're going to take a bite out of me."

His smile warmed his eyes, and seriously, there it was again, that stomach curl. This time it was accompanied by a curious flutter in the region of days gone by. Long gone by. As in forgotten. As in seriously cobwebby. He was dangerous, and he just had to put on clothes because she couldn't stop looking.

"You are trying to kill me?"

"Well of course." She put her hands on her hips. "You're a vampire and I'm huntin' you. So yes. You're going to have to die, which is very sad and I don't like being the one to have to dispatch you because your music is beautiful, but I'm up to the task so don't come any closer." She glared at him. "And put some clothes on."

It had been a long while since she'd seen a naked man and she didn't remember them looking like him. The artists, the ones famous for their sculptures, didn't get it right. They should have tried sculpting him--before he became a vampire anyway.

"You're distracting me and I've got a job to do," she announced, before she could stop the words tumbling out of her mouth. Now she knew where her granddaughter got her compulsion for blurting out things when she was nervous.

"And your job is to kill me?" he asked.

His voice was gentle, almost a caress. She felt the notes stroke over her skin like the touch of fingers. She shivered. She couldn't help it. She wanted to listen to his voice while she slept. In her dreams. All night. The tone was beautiful, like his song.

"Someone has to do it, and I don't shirk. You're a gorgeous hunk of male, but that doesn't matter. I won't have you biting me and bringing me to the dark side."

His smile widened. He had white perfect teeth. Not, she noted, vampire teeth.

"I appreciate that you think I am a gorgeous hunk of male."

She wanted to close her eyes to savor his voice, his accent, but it was just too dangerous. Everything about him was dangerous. His hair was very long and very black but salted with streaks of fine silvery gray. She always thought men with long hair looked a bit silly, but on him, his hair didn't detract for one moment from his ultramasculine features. She was fairly certain he had a tattoo that crawled up his back and moved over his shoulders and down his arms, but it wasn't like any tattoo she'd ever seen and in the faint light streaming in through the windows she couldn't be certain.

"It will make you happy to know that I am no vampire. I hunted vampires for centuries, but stopped a very long time ago."

She blinked. Her gaze dropped to his thick, heavily muscled chest. Then to his flat--like twelve-pack--abdomen. Serious muscle there. She swallowed, trying to school her gaze to keep from looking any farther down his body, but there was no stopping her wandering eyes. Damn. The man was fine. She was fairly certain he had a fine ass, too. He just hadn't turned enough yet.

"If you aren't a vampire, how can you float in the air and sleep in the ground?" she demanded. Her mouth was watering a little looking at the man's body.

His gaze drifted over her face. Then her body. She felt the touch right through her clothes to her core. The core that gave a convulsive spasm. He was waking up things best left alone. There was possession in his gaze. Interest. Not just any interest, but sexual interest, and she so wasn't going there, no matter how fine he was.

His feet touched the ground just in front of her. He waved his hand, a graceful movement that sent a myriad of notes dancing in the air between them. Immediately he was dressed. A thin black shirt stretched across his amazing chest. His trousers fit him snugly. He wore sandals on his feet.

He looked pretty darn fine in clothes. Really darn fine. This killing-him thing wasn't going so well. And now he was close. So close she could feel his heat. She was cold so his heat felt good. Too good.

"I am Fane. Keeper and guardian of the monastery."

In her life, Trixie was rarely at a loss for words, but she could barely breathe. Up close he smelled good and his music blended with hers. She could hear the song and knew it was beautiful and it was right. How could he be a

vampire when he had a song so perfect? It didn't make sense. The notes made their way inside of her, just as they had before. They settled, all silver and gold, in those lonely places, and this time they didn't retreat. They stayed. And they brought him with them. Her body began to tremble and she stepped back, tripped on the vampire-hunting box and started to fall.

Fane caught her, gripping her forearms to steady her, bringing her in close to his body. To his heat. Holy cripes. He was hot. He had to notice she was shaking like a silly teenager. She was an old lady, well past her prime. He had to stop looking at her with those hungry eyes. If they were just hungry for her blood, well, she could take that. She could fight for her life. She had the feeling he was hungry for something altogether different and she didn't know how to process that.

She put up a hand to ward him off. She wasn't tall and she wasn't short. She was a woman with curves, but he made her feel small. Her hand looked a little silly there, a slim defense against him. He stepped even closer so that her hand rested against his chest. She could feel those delicious muscles there. She felt his heart beat, part of the rhythm of his song. Did vampires have hearts that beat? She thought they were dead.

"Lady. Tell me your name."

He gave the command in a low, deep voice. Husky. Raspy. Caressing. She had to find a way to pull herself together and stop her body from responding to just the sound of his voice. She was no teenager to get lost in a man. He was weaving a spell. Because. He. Was. A. Vampire.

"If I give you my name, doesn't that give you power over me?"