The binder’s death freed her. Cassie pounded on the coffin and shouted for someone to let her out. She watched in horror, unable to help, as Garrity’s finger tightened on the gun’s trigger.
Then he was yanked from her view. She twisted her head in an attempt to see what was happening at the same time she heard one blood-chilling scream. Then silence.
Zareb loomed over the coffin and lifted the lid. “Ethan really should have made it last a little longer. But the Second One was impatient. It doesn’t understand the beauty and satisfaction that come from a lengthy vengeance.”
Ethan shoved Zareb aside and lifted her from the coffin. He’d remembered to put his glasses back on and he’d pulled his hood as far forward as he could.
“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” He grabbed a sheet from the nearest gurney and wrapped it around her.
Then he gathered her close to his body and she could hear the rapid beat of his heart against her cheek.
How to tell him—what she was, and how she felt about him. But she didn’t have to bother with one of those disclosures. He lifted her chin and stared at her.
“You’re vampire.”
She nodded. Would that make a difference?
“I’m sorry.” His voice was soft with his regret.
What should she say? It’s no big deal? Hey, I was ready for a lifestyle change anyway? There was no good response, so she simply nodded.
Cassie felt dazed as she looked around her. A bunch of vampires and four tigers were crowded into the room. Some of the vampires were smashing coffins and equipment while others searched through file cabinets and Garrity’s desk for information. The tigers just lay there looking bored.
“Tigers?” The word came out as a squeak.
Ethan laughed. “Those are our four guards. They’re shifters. They wanted in on the takedown.”
She swallowed hard. Vampires and shape-shifters were real. What other myths and legends were real? “Can we find somewhere to talk alone?”
“Let’s go home. They don’t need us here. I came in Zareb’s car. I’ll borrow it and he can get a ride with one of the others.”
She waited while he retrieved the key and then followed him back to the car. As if by mutual agreement, neither of them spoke during the drive. Once back in Zareb’s home, he heated some bagged blood for her and drank some himself. Then, still silently, he led her to their bedroom.
Cassie really wanted to just jump into bed with him and make love forever. But that would be impulsive. This was one of the most important decisions of her life, and she had to take her time. She took a shower first and then waited while he took one.
He came to the bed naked except for his dark glasses. It wasn’t hard to keep her gaze from his face. She had other interesting places to look, scenic views to enjoy.
Ethan slid into bed and drew her to him. She hadn’t bothered with a nightgown so it was skin against skin. She couldn’t help it, she rubbed her hands over his back, his buttocks, and then she closed her eyes as she tangled her fingers in his hair and he covered her mouth with his in a long drugging kiss. The sensory overload almost blew her vampire circuits.
When she finally drew back, she knew she’d stalled long enough. “I had lots of time to think while I was in that coffin.” She couldn’t do this with her eyes closed, so she drew in a deep breath of courage, and stared at his face. And discovered something amazing. Yes, she could still feel the pull, the compulsion, but she could resist, she didn’t have to look away.
“Uh-huh.”
He smoothed her hair from her face and then kissed her forehead, her cheek, her throat.
Just say it. This had all seemed a lot easier in theory. She took a deep breath. “I . . .”
“You love me?” His breath was warm on her neck.
“Yes.” She absorbed the wonder of him.
“I know.”
“How?”
He smiled and she had to rethink her earlier confidence that she could resist him.
“Okay, maybe I didn’t know. But I had hope. Lots of hope. Besides, I’ve just spent three nights practicing how to say ‘I love you’ in a way that would convince you that I could make you happy for life.” His tone suggested he hadn’t quite believed he could do any convincing at all.
Fine, so she was crying. She swiped at her tears with her fingers. She glanced at them. “Oh, yuck. I’m really crying bloody tears. Gross.”
His soft laughter sent chills wherever chills could go.
“Then I’ll have to make sure you don’t cry anymore.”
She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “I love you. And you don’t have to worry about making me happy for just one lifetime. Now we have a thousand lifetimes to work on it.”
He used his thumb to dry any remaining tears. “And once we reach a thousand lifetimes, we can start all over again.”IN STILL DARKNESS
DIANNE DUVALL
Chapter One
Like the last survivor in a postapocalyptic world, Richart d’Alençon strode down the deserted North Carolinian street. Buildings long since abandoned for the night stared out at him with vacant eyes. Quiet enfolded him, both comforting and disconcerting.
A new enemy had risen among the vampire ranks. A self-proclaimed vampire king, who had ordered his followers to transform their victims instead of just feeding from them. Most nights Richart fought and defeated two or three vamps at a time. A couple of the older immortals had been encountering groups of six, seven, and eight. But tonight . . .
Richart had not encountered a single vampire, and soon dawn would break.
A woman cried out in the distance, snagging his attention.
“H-how did you do that?” she asked shakily.
“He’s a vampire, bitch,” a young man taunted.
Darting between businesses, Richart plunged into the trees beyond, traveling so swiftly most humans wouldn’t see him. Those who did would see but a blur.
“Look into my eyes,” a second man said, artificially deepening his voice and speaking with a laughable B-movie version of a Transylvanian accent. “Look into my eyes and know me for who I am.”
Richart burst from the trees and raced through the oil-stained parking lot in front of a big-ass 24-hour superstore, letting the ridiculous conversation be his guide.
“I am Dracula,” the second vamp continued dramatically.
“Look,” the female captive countered, “just take the money. Here’s my purse. Take it.”
Richart almost laughed. She may not know what the hell was going on, but she wasn’t buying that the kid in front of her was the legendary horror figure Dracula.
“I don’t want your money,” Dracula said petulantly, losing the accent.
“Dude, just bite her,” a third vamp urged. “I’ve got shit to do.”
Richart zipped past two employees taking a smoking break. Busy chatting and texting, they would assume the breeze that ruffled their hair was caused by a gust of wind, not an immortal warrior seeking prey.
Circling around to the back of the sprawling concrete structure, he found three vampires. All appeared to be in their early twenties and huddled in the shadows between two Dumpsters, out of range of the cameras mounted on the corners of the building. Between their lanky forms, Richart glimpsed a small, slender figure shoved up against the wall and held there by a fourth vamp, the one who called himself Dracula.
“Shut up!” Dracula snarled at the others, then went B-movie Transylvanian again. “I am Dracula. I am . . . vampire.” He peeled his lips back and revealed gleaming fangs.
The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit.”
Richart could do nothing to free her until the vampire released her. If he struck now, the vamp could break her neck.
So he simply cleared his throat.
The vampires all looked in his direction.
“Where the hell did you come from?” one spouted and shifted, giving Richart a clearer view of the captive.
The woman turned her head to meet Richart’s gaze.
And the oddest little tingle danced through his chest.
She was pretty, with fiery red hair that fell just beneath her shoulders, pale freckled skin, and wide hazel eyes that met and held his, full of both hope and fear.
Dracula drew his lips farther back from his fangs and hissed like a cat.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Richart leaned against the building. “Yes—yes. I have a very nice pair of those myself.” He smiled, revealing the tips of his own fangs.
Hope fled her features as the woman turned back to Dracula.
“This one’s ours,” Dracula said, “so fuck off. You know the king doesn’t want us to fight.”
These guys must be new. They didn’t even realize he was an immortal, not a vampire.
The woman surreptitiously stuck her hand in her purse, then yanked it out and sprayed Dracula in the eyes and mouth with pepper spray. With his heightened sense of smell and taste, it would’ve felt like she had just held a blowtorch to his face.
Dracula stumbled back, howling and scrubbing at his eyes.
Richart drew two daggers and shot forward, burying one to the hilt in Dracula’s chest and driving him away from the woman.