She glanced around the room. She needed a weapon, she thought. Something. Anything. But there was nothing to be found in the parlor. She searched the rest of the house, giving vent to her rising frustration as she moved from room to room.
Returning to the living room, she tried the front door again, then perched on the edge of the sofa, her foot tapping impatiently as she tried to think of a way out. She didn't know how much longer the vampire would be gone, but after what she had done, she didn't want to be there when he returned.
Erik moved quickly through the shadows. He preyed upon the first human he found, took what he needed, and moved on. Deciding to keep the girl had been one of the stupidest decisions he had ever made. Thinking about it now, he wasn't sure what had possessed him to do such an idiotic thing. He couldn't keep her indefinitely. And now that she knew where he lived, he would have to move on. He hadn't lived as long as he had by being careless, or by trusting others. Until now, no one, save Rhys, knew the location of his lair.
Erik cursed softly. He had three choices. He could wipe his memory from Daisy's mind, though that might be difficult now that they had exchanged blood. He could kill her. Or he could let her go, pack up his few possessions, and search out a new lair. To his chagrin, he wasn't inclined to do any of them. His lair suited him. He had no desire to take Daisy's life, and, somewhat surprisingly, he didn't want her to forget him. One thing for certain, he knew he would never forget her.
Eager to see her again, curious to see if he could coax her into his bed, he quickly returned home.
A wave of his hand opened the front door. As he crossed the threshold, his eagerness to see Daisy was dampened by the sight that met his eyes. His living room, sparsely furnished to be sure, was a shambles. The carpet was splattered with tomato sauce, melted cheese, pepperoni, and lettuce, as well as a dark stain that turned out to be Coke. A Tiffany lamp lay in pieces. Sofa pillows were strewn across the floor.
Daisy O'Donnell sat on a chair in the middle of the living room, her arms folded over her chest, a defiant expression on her face.
Wordlessly, he moved past her. A quick inspection of the downstairs showed that Hurricane Daisy had blown through every room. The kitchen had escaped her wrath, but then, there was nothing in the drawers or cupboards for her to savage.
Tamping down his temper, he went upstairs and looked in the master bedroom. His bedding was piled on the floor; the pillows, too. She had emptied his dresser drawers and added the contents to the pile on the floor, along with his shoes and the clothes from his closet.
She had emptied the medicine cabinet and poured his specially blended, one-hundred-dollar-a-bottle of cologne down the sink. His comb and his toothbrush were in the toilet; she had written I hate you on the sink top with toothpaste, and vampires suck on the mirror.
She had trashed the other bedrooms as well, although the damage was minimal.
He was reluctant to open the door to his studio. He frowned as his gaze swept the room. He took a quick look in the other rooms, then took a deep breath in hopes of quieting his anger.
He let it out in a long, slow sigh, and then returned to the living room. Standing in front of the fireplace, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you feel better now that you've destroyed my home?"
"Yes, thank you," she said, even though it was a lie. Trashing his house had been a stupid, childish display of temper, although she had to admit it had made her feel better at the time. Now she just felt guilty, and ashamed.
He took a place in front of her chair, his arms folded across his chest. "You do realize that I can compel you to do whatever I want?"
A shadow of what might have been fear passed behind her eyes. She quickly blinked it away, her lips thinning.
"You don't believe me?"
"No."
He summoned his power, watched her expression change from defiance to wariness as preternatural power filled the room.
Daisy stared at him as his power swept over her. It lifted the fine hairs on her arms, sent a shiver of awareness trembling down her spine.
Speaking to her mind, Erik commanded her to rise, to wrap her arms around his waist, to press her lips to his.
His hands bracketed her hips, drawing her body tight against his as he kissed her deeply. And as he did so, he let her know that she was completely at his mercy. When she understood that she was powerless to resist him, he released her from his hold and took a step backward.
"Exactly," he said. "Anything I wish. Perhaps you should contemplate what that means while you're cleaning up the mess you've made."
Cheeks burning with humiliation, she spun away from him, her movements as jerky as a robot's as she cleaned up the mess on the floor and put the living room to rights, then marched down the hallway toward the guest room.
Erik dropped down onto the sofa, one arm draped along the back, silently berating himself for his strong-arm tactics. What did he hope to gain by keeping her there against her will? And what was he going to do with her now?
Chapter 11
Daisy fumed silently as she stood in the middle of his bedroom, wondering where to start. Muttering an oath that would have made her father blush, she began hanging up Erik's clothes and putting them back in the closet. She couldn't help noticing that he only bought the best, whether it was shirts, slacks, or sweaters. His scent tickled her nostrils as she hung up a long black cloak reminiscent of the type Dracula always wore in movies. It was a compelling scent.
She folded his underwear and put it away, then put the sheets on the bed, only then wondering what need he had for a bed when he slept in a casket in the basement.
Going into the bathroom, she washed the toothpaste from the sink top and the mirror. Could he see himself in a mirror? In the movies, Dracula had no reflection. She wasn't sure why. One supposed authority on the subject said it was because a vampire had no soul, but Daisy didn't think that was possible. How could anyone live without a soul? And if they didn't have a soul, did it leave the body when the vampire was turned? And if it did, where did it go? Of course, since vampires weren't truly alive, but Undead, maybe a soul was just so much excess baggage.
With a shake of her head, she dropped his comb and his toothbrush into the wastebasket. Funny, she had never thought about vampires brushing their teeth. Did they have coffin breath when they woke in the morning?
Reluctant to return to Erik's presence, she plopped down in the middle of his bed and contemplated her immediate future. What was he going to do with her, or to her? Whatever he had in mind, she was certain she wouldn't like it the least little bit. She liked his kisses, though.
The thought brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. His kisses should have been repellant, disgusting, so why weren't they? Or maybe they were. Maybe he had used his vampire mojo to mess with her mind so she only thought they were pleasant.
She shuddered with the memory of his thoughts controlling hers. It had been a horrible experience. She had felt him inside her head, heard his commands, and been helpless to refuse.
I can compel you to do anything I want.
Now that was a scary thought. Of course, she hadn't believed him when he said it. She wouldn't make that mistake again. When she got out of there--if she got out of there--she would consult her grandmother. Nonnie O'Donnell was a white witch of the highest order. If anyone could conjure a spell to keep Erik out of Daisy's mind, it was Nonnie.
Daisy bolted off the bed when Erik appeared in the doorway.
His gaze swept the room.
"I hope it's done to your satisfaction, master," she said with as much sarcasm as she could muster.
His gaze moved over her, ever so slowly, lingering on her lips, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hip. "I'd like the bed better if you were in it."
"I'll bet you would!"
"You might like it, too," he said with a wicked grin.
His words made her heart race. Had that been a threat? Would he force her to submit to him?
Erik swore softly. He hadn't meant to frighten her, but he had. She stared at him, wide-eyed, like a deer caught in a bright light. He could hear her heart pounding, smell the fear on her skin.
Blowing out a breath, he shook his head. "I'm not going to hurt you." How many times had he said that? "You must know that I can't let you go."
"Why not?"
"Because you know where I rest." He spoke to her as if she were a child who must be made to understand. "No one living knows that." He stressed the word living.
Her face paled. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."
"Of course. That's what they all say."
Daisy stared at him. How many others had he killed? Would she become one more casualty in a long line of men and women he had silenced? The thought made her knees go weak.
Erik muttered an oath as all the color drained from her face. Fearing that she would faint again, he swept her into his arms, then sat on the edge of the bed, holding her close to his chest.
"Daisy, Daisy," he murmured, his voice low, husky with desire. "What am I to do with you?"
She stared at him through the thick veil of her lashes. Her eyes were wide and very green in her pale face, her lips slightly parted.
It was an invitation he couldn't resist. Lowering his head, he claimed her mouth with his, his tongue sweeping across her lips, demanding entrance, boldly exploring.
Daisy gasped as his tongue dueled with hers. Heat, like lightning, exploded through her, sizzling through every nerve and fiber of her being. Her hands curled over his shoulders, holding on for dear life.
Breathless, she closed her eyes as the world swam out of focus. There was a roaring in her ears, a sense of loss as he took his mouth from hers.
Bereft, she looked up at him. A small cry of panic escaped her throat when she saw the faint red glow in his eyes.
Vampire! The word screamed in her mind as he lowered his head to her throat.
Her whole body went still when she felt his fangs against her skin, but the pain she expected didn't come. Instead, a sweet warmth crept into her limbs, stealing her strength, stilling the protest she knew she should be making.