Trevor smiled as he made his way to the bar. One drink was all it would take.
Returning to the table, he handed a glass to Kay, then lifted his own. “A toast,” he said. “To new beginnings.”
It was the last thing Kay remembered until she woke up in hell.
Hell smelled like urine. And even though Kay knew it was only her imagination running wild, it also smelled like blood. And death.
She didn’t open her eyes. If she kept them closed, she could pretend she was trapped in a remarkably vivid nightmare. She could pretend she was sleeping in her own bed even though she knew she was lying on something hard and cold and damp, like cement.
She could pretend that she was alone, when she knew she wasn’t.
Warily, she opened her eyelids a crack. And found herself staring at a man with shaggy black hair, skin so pale it was almost translucent, and dark gray eyes that burned into hers like hot coals.
Kay shuddered. Maybe she really was in hell. Because the creature hunkered down across from her was either the devil incarnate. Or a vampire.
Either way, she was as good as dead.
Gideon’s nostrils twitched as he inhaled the female’s scent. She smelled of perfume and fear and something he knew instinctively was a drug of some kind, which explained how she had come to be here. But it was another scent that lay beneath the rest that had him frowning. She smelled … feral.
The enticing scent of her blood, the rapid beating of her heart, overshadowed everything else. It had been over a month since his last kill. The woman’s nearness freshened his hunger and he reached for her, his gaze drawn to the pulse throbbing in the hollow of her throat.
She scrabbled backward, but there was nowhere for her to go. In a move too swift for human eyes to follow, he grabbed her ankle and drew her slowly, inexorably, toward him.
She lashed out at him, her eyes wild with fear, her nails leaving long, bloody furrows down his arm and across his cheek.
His hand tightened on her ankle, his predatory instincts sharpened by her struggles.
As though realizing that, she went suddenly still.
“There’s no escape for you.” His voice was deep, quiet, and edged with regret. “I can kill you now, quickly, or drain you a little at a time.”
“You won’t like the way I taste,” she warned. “I can promise you that.”
“I’m past caring.”
“How long have you been here?” If she could just keep him talking, she might be able to make him think about something besides killing her.
“How long?” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
It couldn’t be very long, she thought, since he didn’t have a beard and his hair wasn’t overly long.
“My beard doesn’t grow,” he said. “Neither does my hair.”
“Why not?” She stared at him, suddenly realizing she hadn’t spoken the thought aloud. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
He pressed his forefinger to his temple. “Vampire.”
It was disconcerting, knowing he could read her mind, but before she could think overly much about it, he began to stroke her ankle, his thumb moving lazily back and forth, back and forth. Even through her leggings, his touch sent a shiver down her spine. It took her a moment to realize her boots were gone. Why would someone take her boots? And why was she worrying about that when a monster had hold of her leg?
He cocked his head. “What year is it?”
“Two thousand and twelve.”
“Has it only been three years, then?” he muttered. “It seems longer.”
Monster or not, Kay couldn’t help feeling sorry for him as she glanced around the cell. There was no bed, no blanket, nothing but a cold stone floor, iron bars, and damp cement walls. A small table stood just out of reach on the other side of the bars. She shuddered. How had he endured being locked up in this place for three years without going mad? But that was the least of her concerns. Right now, she wondered if she was going to survive until sunrise.
With the speed of a striking snake, his hand curled around her forearm and he dragged her closer.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice gruff.
“Please, don’t.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. If he hadn’t been a vampire, she might have thought he was praying. More likely, he was saying grace, she thought with morbid humor.
She glanced around the cell again, looking for something she could use as a weapon, but there was nothing save for a dim lightbulb that hung from a knotted cord outside the cell.
And then he was looking at her through those hellish red eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, and folding her into his embrace, he pulled her shirt collar aside and bent his head to her neck.
Kay shuddered when she felt the sharp prick of his fangs against her skin. It was useless to fight, she knew. He was larger, stronger, deadly, but her instinct for survival quickly took over. She pulled his hair and scratched his face. Her nails left bloody furrows down his pale cheeks. She sank her teeth into his arm, and lashed out with her feet. All to no avail. It was like trying to punch her way through a brick wall.
Winded from her struggles, growing weak from the loss of blood, she closed her eyes and waited for death. And then a strange thing happened. As soon as she stopped fighting him, her fear slipped away. There was no pain as he drank from her, only a sense of pleasure that was oddly sensual.
It was her last thought before she drifted away into oblivion.
Gideon gazed at the woman in his arms. She was lovely. Her hair, Indian straight and black, fell past her shoulders, her inky lashes were thick and long. Her complexion was pale now, but her cheeks had been rosy before he drank from her, her skin the color of pale copper. Her eyes were a warm golden brown. She had been right about one thing: He hadn’t liked the taste of her blood. It was strong, bitter. Had he not needed nourishment so badly, he would have spit it out after the first swallow. Had it not been for the sour taste, he would have drained her dry; instead, he had taken only enough to take the edge off his hunger.
He eased her down onto the floor, oddly reluctant to let her go.
Standing, he paced the narrow cell from one end to the other. He had been a vampire for three hundred and sixty years. Wasted years, he thought, looking back through the corridors of time. True, he had traveled the world many times over, seen countries and kings rise and fall, but what had he ever accomplished? Nothing. Lisiana had bequeathed him a long life, but she had robbed him of the chance to have a home and a family. Tied to no one, he had lived like a vagabond, always on the move, drifting through the centuries, leaving no mark of his passing.