She had a reprieve before she had to act. Her fingers trembled.
Standing at the window, looking down again at the young boys playing outside, Macey noticed something that made her go still. The windowsill beneath her fingers was made of wood. And it had a trio of silver crosses embedded in it. She looked more closely and saw that someone had gouged the three plus-shaped figures in the wood. . . and it looked as if silver had been poured into the indentations.
Startled, she spun and found Grady watching her, just as he settled the telephone receiver back into place. "I did that two weeks ago. On every window and the threshold of the doors. There's the flathead screwdriver I used, right there. " He pointed to the table with the tools. "I melted down some old silver that belonged to my aunt. Had it blessed at the church, too. "
Macey could only nod.
"I'm not about to take any chances. The Venators claims an undead can't enter your home uninvited, but I'm fairly certain you didn't invite in the vampire who climbed through your window. " His smile was crooked, but his eyes were still grave.
"No. But Mrs. Gutchinson. . . did. " She choked a little as she was assailed by the memory of the frail woman spread-eagled on the bed, drowning in her own blood. Despair settled heavily over her, weighting her insides like a stone in the pit of her belly. "I tried to warn her, to explain not to let anyone she didn't know into the house. . . "
"But you can't really explain that to just anyone. Can you? Macey. You know I know. You know you can tell me. I have my suspicions, but I'd rather hear it from you. "
She looked away. The desire to tell him, to unload everything in her heart and mind on this man with the elegant hands and sharp mind and steady, empathetic gaze, was so strong she could taste it. But the truth was bitter and unpleasant, and she knew it would change everything between them. Somehow.
"At least tell me what happened last night. " His voice was taut.
That she could do. "All right. "
He relaxed visibly and gestured to the sofa. "Sit?"
Macey shook her head. "I went to see Flora and she wasn't home. That's part of why I'm so worried about her. But her landlady said she was at work, so I left. As I was walking away, an automobile pulled up, and before I realized what was happening, the door opened and someone jumped out from behind a bush. They shoved me inside. There were three vampires in there. "
Her stomach pitched and roiled at the memory of the heavy scent of blood, the sight of Chelle's torn body, and the feel of the vampires' iron-like hands, holding her immobile.
"They attacked me. One of them bit me. " She gestured to her neck, thankful the malicious-looking wounds were
already healing. "But fortunately, the auto had parked in an alley, and someone must have heard what was happening. He got me out of there. "
"Someone?"
"Chas. The. . . uh. . . "
"Right. I know. The man from the diner. " Grady's voice was cool. "The gangster. "
"He's not a gangster. He's a. . . vampire hunter. " Her voice dropped to a whisper.
A blip of surprise widened his eyes. Not what he'd expected. "You're telling me he's a Venator? Or is he some sort of Van Helsing?"
The lump in her throat made it impossible to speak, so she gave a sort of ambiguous nod. "Whatever you want to call it. " She hoped she wasn't breaking some great Venatorial rule by telling him this.
"So he rescued you, and let me guess-that was his coat you were wearing today. "
"My clothing was destroyed. By the vampires. "
"Jesus. " Grady hissed a low breath. His face was so grim, so stony. "That could have been you, this morning. On that slab. "
"Very nearly was. " Macey couldn't hold back the horrible memories. They rushed over her in a deluge of evil black sensations and images. The hand burning into her bare skin, the knife tip etching around her nipple, the raking of the same blade down her torso. . . the brutal fangs gouging her throat and neck. The repugnant smell of heavy blood, of undead flesh, of lust wrapped with malice.
"Macey. "
Grady was there and, hardly thinking, she walked into his arms. They wrapped around her, strong and.
He smelled good. Like man and soap and pine. Something fresh, yet warm and alluring. His heart thudded beneath her ear, solid and steady. "You're safe now. Safe here," he murmured into the top of her head.
Safe? Never.
No. Oh no. She would never be safe again. A tremor of realization shocked her, and her eyes bolted open. Never again.