“You’re doing just fine.”
Shirl swallowed hard. Pain gnawed at her insides, a horrible twisting pain worse than anything she had ever known. Worse, even, than the headaches that had driven her to this. She took a deep breath, her gaze drawn to the pulse throbbing in the hollow of the man’s throat. She could smell his fear. And his blood. And suddenly he wasn’t a man anymore, he was prey. The hunger raged inside her. Desperate to end it, she pulled the man into her arms, felt an ache in her gums as her fangs extended.
Fangs.
Vampire.
Bending the man back over her arm, Shirl lowered her head to his neck. You can do this. She was surprised at how quickly and easily her fangs pierced his flesh. She had expected the act to be abhorrent, the taste disgusting. How could she have been so wrong? Nothing in all the world had ever tasted so wonderful or satisfied her so completely.
Rhys licked his lips as the scent of fresh, hot blood rose in the air. “Enough, Shirl,” he said quietly.
She lifted her head, her narrowed eyes as red as the blood on her lips.
“Enough,” he repeated.
Stop, now? Was he mad? She wanted more, and when she finished with this man, she wanted another. And another. She glared at Rhys, and then she lowered her head to the man’s neck again.
“Enough, dammit!” Rhys said. “Any more, and you’ll kill him!”
“I don’t care!”
“Well, I do.” Before she realized what was happening, Rhys snatched the man from her grasp, and then slapped her across the face. “I said enough!”
Stricken, she stared at Rhys, horrified by what she had almost done. She didn’t want to kill anyone. And yet she wanted more. She wanted it all.
“You will listen to what I say,” Rhys said angrily. “And you will do what I say, or I will destroy you. I warned you once. I’ll have no killing in my territory.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured contritely, and then she looked up at him. “How can you stop when they taste so good?” She licked the blood from her lips. “You didn’t tell me it would taste so good.”
“If you want to be a monster, that’s fine with me. But not in my town.”
“It won’t happen again.”
He grunted softly. “You can control it if you want to. It won’t be easy at first, but you can do it. Now, you need to lick the wounds in his neck to seal them, then tell him to go back to the bar and get something to drink. And, most importantly, you must always remember to wipe the memory of what’s happened from his mind.”
“I can do that? Erase his memory? How?”
“Join your mind with his. You’ll know what to do.”
Rhys watched Shirl carefully. He’d had his doubts about how well she would adapt to becoming a vampire, but she seemed to be one of those who accepted the Dark Gift without a qualm. Sometimes he wondered if some people were predestined to join the ranks of the Undead.
He watched Sharkey stagger around the corner. The man would never know it, but he’d had a close encounter with death that night.
The thought had barely crossed his mind when the scent of another vampire reached his nostrils, and Tomás Villagrande strolled into view.
“You!” Rhys hissed. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Taking in the sea air,” Villagrande replied.
“Uh-huh. You followed us. Why?”
“I wanted to meet the newest member of our community,” Villagrande said, smiling at Shirl. “And one of the loveliest, I might add.”
Shirl smiled uncertainly before murmuring, “Thank you.” She took a step closer to Rhys. She didn’t know who the stranger was, but she knew instinctively that he was an old vampire. Old and dangerous. His power washed over her.
Tomás reached for her hand. Bending over it in an old-world bow, he said, “Tomás Villagrande, at your service.”
Feeling totally out of her element, Shirl said, “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Villagrande.”
“Please, my dear Shirley, call me Tomás.”
“Enough of your smooth talk, Villagrande,” Rhys said irritably. “I have a lot to teach her before the sun comes up.”
“Indeed?” Tomás smiled at Shirl again. “If you’re going to learn how to be a vampire, why not learn from the oldest of our kind? I can teach you things he does not yet know.”
Shirl looked at Rhys. What should I do? Villagrande frightened her, yet she was drawn to him on some deep primal level that she didn’t understand. Was it just the overwhelming sweep of his preternatural power? Or something more mundane, like the fact that he was quite remarkable-looking. Sort of the way she imagined a Barbary pirate might look. Rhys, tell me what to do.
He shook his head, the movement almost imperceptible. This is something you’ll have to decide for yourself, but I would advise you not to go with him.
“Thank you for the offer,” Shirl said, “but I think I’ll stay with Rhys.”
Irritation flashed in Villagrande’s eyes. With an obvious effort, he reined in his anger. “I hope you don’t regret it.”
Shirl flinched. Had he just threatened her? In an effort to placate him, she murmured, “Perhaps another time.”
But it was too late. He was already gone.
Shirl looked up at Rhys. “I think we could have handled that better,” she said, her expression pensive.
“You think?”
“He’s old, isn’t he? Older, even, than you are.”
“Yeah. No one knows just how old.”
“I could feel his power. It was…scary.” Scary, and exhilarating.
Rhys grunted softly. There wasn’t much on this earth that scared him, but Tomás Villagrande was at the top of the list.
Chapter 27
Megan spent all of Saturday, Sunday, and Monday worrying about Shirl. Was her friend truly a vampire now? How was she handling it? Megan hadn’t decided if having a vampire for a roommate was a good idea, but Shirl was still her best friend, and she was concerned about her welfare. Time and again, Megan picked up her cell phone and dialed her roommate’s number, but there was no answer.
By Tuesday afternoon, when Shirl still hadn’t called, Megan’s worry for her friend bordered on anger. Shirl must know that Megan would be worrying, wondering. The least she could do was call, and if, for one reason or another, Shirl couldn’t make one lousy phone call, then Rhys should have done it.
Megan arrived at Shore’s early that night, glad to have an excuse to get out of the house and mingle with people who didn’t have fangs, drink blood, or sleep in coffins.