“And then what? What will I do with my life? I can’t be a doctor anymore. That’s all I know how to do—and now, I’m a freak, don’t you understand? I’m not normal. And I won’t drink human blood. I just won’t.”
“You’ll die if you don’t,” a voice came from the entrance door before it slammed shut.
Maya’s gaze snapped to the man who now stood in the foyer. Tall and skinny, he looked at her.
“That’s Dr. Drake, and as much as I’d like to disagree with him, he’s right,” Gabriel added.
“Looks like I came just in time.” Drake stepped further into the house and stretched out his hand toward Maya. “We’ve met before, but I’m afraid at our last encounter you were unconscious.” Then he turned to Gabriel and looked him up and down. “I see your visit wasn’t welcome.”
Maya had no idea what the doctor was referring to, but apparently Gabriel did, because his next word sounded more like a warning than a greeting. “Doc.”
With a smile Drake perused her. “The turning completed well, thanks to Gabriel.”
Maya looked at the doctor. What did Gabriel have to do with her turning? They’d told her a rogue had attacked her and turned her. When she gave Gabriel a questioning look, he dropped his lids slightly as if he wanted to hide from her scrutiny.
“What do you mean?” she asked the doctor, staring right into his blue eyes.
“Well, surely, they told you what happened.”
Maya’s hackles went up. They were keeping something from her. They hadn’t told her the truth. “No. Why don’t you?”
Drake looked from her to Gabriel and then back. He appeared flustered.
“You were in pretty bad shape when they found you. The turning had started, but it didn’t take. We only had two choices: let you die or turn you fully.”
Memories of the previous night flashed in Maya’s mind. “You didn’t let me die.” She remembered the pain and the cold. And the strange dream she’d had.
“No, Gabriel turned you fully. He gave you enough of his blood for the turning to take. For all intents and purposes, he’s your sire.”
Maya’s mouth gaped open as she looked back at Gabriel, who stood a mere three feet away from her. Now it all made sense. Her dream hadn’t been a dream at all. That night she’d fed from Gabriel’s wrist, she’d felt his body warm her, comfort her. Now it was no surprise that he was so protective of her. To him, she must feel like his daughter. No wonder he’d been so reluctant to kiss her and had looked so ashamed and guilt-ridden when the kiss had ended.
Was it regret she saw in his eyes now?
“There was no time to waste. I had to act,” Gabriel said, and it sounded like an apology.
Had he acted rash and made a decision he now regretted? She didn’t want to know, couldn’t ask him, but his eyes said it all: so much regret, so much pain. He’d taken on a responsibility she wasn’t sure he wanted. That’s what she was to him: somebody he had to take care of because he’d turned her. He’d made her into what she was.
“You owe me nothing. You saved my life, and I thank you for it,” she pressed out, trying not to cry. But she wouldn’t take anything else from him. Not even his offer of protection which clearly came from a misplaced sense of responsibility of knowing that it was his blood that had eventually turned her into a vampire. His blood that ran through her veins. Was that why she lusted after his blood? And was that the reason she felt this attraction for him?
“Dr. Drake, I’d like you to examine me.”
“Certainly. Let’s use Samson’s study,” he answered and pointed toward a door at the end of the corridor.
When Gabriel made a move to follow them, she added, “In private.”
Maya caught his look from the corner of her eye. What she saw stunned her. He was hurt? Shouldn’t he be relieved that she had released him from his obligation to take care of her? Yet he looked anything but.
Maya shut the door of the study behind her and let herself fall against it. The room was wood-paneled with dark wood and a collection of overstuffed bookcases. The large antique desk held two computer screens and other assorted gadgets. It appeared the owner of the house—Samson, she assumed—liked his electronic toys.
“How are you feeling?” the doctor asked.
She gave an impatient wave with her hand. “Let’s cut to the chase and talk doctor to doctor.”
He nodded. “Fine.”
“Even though I hear you’re a psychiatrist, I guess you’re the closest they have to a real doctor in San Francisco.”