The scent of jasmine still clung to him when he woke the following evening. Khira had tried to seduce him in LaSalle's bed. She had been mildly amused, and then angry, when he declined. She had let him feel her power then - let him know his refusal was as useless as a candle in a dark wind - and then she had withdrawn, leaving him breathless and sweating.
"You were so willing the last time," she had murmured. "So strong for one so young - so virile! So like my Grigori of old. I could take you now, willing or not, but it is so much more pleasant when you are willing. And you will be willing..."
He stared at the ceiling, her words purring through his memory, and shivered. Would he? The memory of the night when they had hunted and then slept together was both repugnant and thrilling. Sitting up, he pushed the vivid images aside to consider what she had said about driving the other vampires from the city. It had been a subtle warning, but a warning just the same. She had killed young Dracul, he had no doubt of that. He grunted softly. On one level, he was pleased that there was one less vampire to haunt the world. He knew she would have killed LaSalle without a qualm, couldn't help wondering if she had already warned Madame Rosa and Noah Fox to get out of Dodge, and if they would go without a fight. He had felt her power, up close and personal. Unless the others were very strong, any fight with Khira would have only one conclusion. With Chiavari, the outcome would be less certain. Of them all, Chiavari was the only one who might possess the power necessary to thwart her. Of the two, Chiavari was clearly the lesser of two evils. Chiavari was disciplined. Even within the constraints of his hunger, he was almost merciful. He did not kill indiscriminately, as did Khira. Would Chiavari go at Khira's whim? Leave the city unprotected?
Ramsey swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ran a hand through his hair. What the hell would he do if she told him to leave? He had no ties in the city, no reason to stay, and while he didn't mind leaving if it was his idea, he didn't like the idea of tucking his tail between his legs and skulking away like a whipped cur. Nor could he live with the idea of leaving the unsuspecting community without some measure of protection from Khira. His blood might be mingled now with that of the undead, but in his heart and soul he was still a Ramsey, sworn to protect the innocent from the ravages of the undead.
The memory of her power sliding over his skin cooled his rising anger. He would worry about Khira later. She had not yet called for a showdown, and now, with the Hunger clawing at his belly, she was, for the moment, the least of his worries. Need burned through him, the pain like shards of glass flowing through his veins, overshadowing every other thought, every other desire.
Rising, he showered and dressed, then left the house. He eased his hellish thirst on the first person he found. His mind grasped hers. His arms imprisoned her, and he took what he wanted, what he needed, as though it were his right. He accomplished his task quickly, taking no pleasure in it. Releasing the woman, he vanished from her sight.
Not yet satisfied, he walked on, searching for another victim. Without conscious thought, he found himself standing on the street across from Kelly Anderson's apartment.
Why, he wondered, why was he drawn to this woman? It was more than a hunger for her blood. He could satisfy his demon thirst anywhere.
He stood there for a full five minutes, staring up at the window of her apartment, not questioning how he knew which one was hers. He murmured her name, and a moment later, she opened the window and looked down at him.
Come to me.
The command rose in his mind effortlessly.
A moment later, she was there, walking toward him, her hair falling over her shoulders like waves of black silk. She was beautiful, he thought, and for once it wasn't the desire for blood that filled his mind.
Clasping her hand in his, he took her home. He locked the front door, turned on a lamp. And all the while, she stood in the middle of the room, unmoving.
"Kelly."
She stared at him, her expression blank, like a robot's.
He hesitated a moment, then freed his hold on her mind.
"You!" She glanced at her surroundings, her eyes wild. "How did I get here?"
"I brought you here."
She backed up, one hand going to her throat. "Leave me alone. Please."
"I will not hurt you."
"Yeah, right. Why did you bring me here?"
"I just..." He clenched his hands, wishing he had more experience with women. "I just want to talk to you."
"I don't believe you." She stared at him, her eyes wide with fear. "I saw you... lying in the basement. I thought you were dead. You were burned, your face, your hands and arms... and now..." Her gaze moved over him. "It's like nothing ever happened. There's not even a scar! Who are you? What are you?"
"You know what I am, Kelly. Say it."
"No." She took another step away from him. "It's not possible."
"The proof stands before you. Refusing to say it will not make it any less true."
"There's no such thing." She shook her head in denial. "It's impossible."
"Say it." His voice was soft, gentle, yet demanded an answer.
"Vampire," she whispered hoarsely.
He nodded slowly.
"You kept me here against my will. You... you drank from me."
"Yes." And he wanted to drink from her again.
He could hear the rapid beat of her heart, intensified by the fear building within her. Her gaze darted around the room, lingered on the door, came back to his face. He knew the moment she made her decision, was waiting for her when she reached the front door.
She screamed, a wordless cry of terror.
"Kelly." He took hold of her hands in an effort to calm her.
She kicked him in the shins, drove her knee into his groin with all the strength at her command.
He doubled over in pain, his breath hissing between his clenched teeth. But he did not release his grip on her hands.
When the pain subsided and he could breathe again, he straightened. "Damn it, I'm not going to hurt you."
"Then let me go."
"Will you promise to listen to me if I do?"
"Yes," she replied quickly. Too quickly.
"You can't elude me, Kelly. You can't outrun me. So you might as well sit down and listen to what I have to say."
Apparently realizing the truth of what he said, she went back into the living room and sat down on the edge of the sofa, her hands clenched so tight the knuckles were white.
"I'm listening," she said, her voice sullen, like that of an angry child.
"I'm sorry if I frightened you. If I hurt you. I have only been a vampire a short time and I..."
Her eyes widened in surprise.
"And I am not sure yet what I am doing, or how to do it," he finished, determined to say it all.
She stared at him. "So, you're like a fledging vampire, is that it? And you thought you'd practice on me?"
"No. I want something from you." He held up his hand. "Not your blood."
"What, then?"
"I've seen where you live. I know you haven't any money."
Defiance flashed through her eyes. "So?"
"I want you to kill me." The words seemed to flow of their own volition.
"What?"
"I'll pay you well."
She bounded to her feet. "You're even crazier than I thought."
"Sit down."
She didn't argue but sat down on the sofa once more, her body poised for flight.
"I can't go on like this."
"You don't like being a vampire?" She spoke slowly, quietly, as though trying to humor a lunatic.
He shook his head, then dropped down onto the chair across from her. "I didn't want this life. It was thrust upon me." He closed his eyes as the horror of that night washed across his memory. And then he poured his memories into the girl's mind.
Kristov had pushed him against a wall, held him there while he buried his fangs in Ramsey's throat. It had been Chiavari who had pulled Kristov off him, Chiavari who drove a stake through the other vampire's heart. Ramsey remembered no more after that until he woke in Chiavari's arms, the vampire urging him to drink from the cut in his wrist. Chiavari's voice had been soft yet compelling, as soothing as a mother's lullaby.
Drink, Ramsey, he had urged. Drink your fill . And Ramsey had done just that, suffusing his depleted body with the accursed vampire blood until Chiavari jerked his arm away. He remembered the confusion that followed, the horror he had felt when Marisa told him what had happened. It had been Marisa's idea to bring him over, but it was Chiavari he blamed.
He could still hear Marisa's sweet voice asking if he would rather be dead, and his own sharp reply: Of course I would ! Now, as then, he wondered how he could feel the same and be so different.
Stunned by what had happened that night, he had thanked Chiavari for saving his life, and then left the house. Thanked him! His lips twisted. Thanked him for making him a monster...
A low groan brought him back to the present. Suddenly aware of the effect his thoughts were having on the girl, he cut the connection between his mind and hers. She was lying back on the sofa, her eyes closed, her face drained of color.
"Kelly, are you all right?" he asked. "Kelly?"
Her eyelashes fluttered, and then her eyes opened. She sat up slowly, looking at him as if she had never seen him before. "You really are a vampire, aren't you? It's not a game you play."
He nodded. "Will you help me?"
"I can't. Not like that. Not... not kill you. I'm sorry."
"Damn it, why not? I'll make it worth your while."
"Because it's murder."
"How can it be murder," he asked bitterly, "when I am already dead? Hell, there won't even be a body if you drag me out into the sun."
Her face grew even more pale.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. He was ashamed of his weakness, ashamed of asking her to do what he himself had failed to do.
"Is it so awful?" she asked. "Being a... a vampire?"
"I was born to hunt them. It's what my family has done for generations. It was my sole purpose in life, my reason for living. And now..." He laughed bitterly. "Now I am what I have always hated, what I have spent my life hunting. And you ask if it's awful?" He laughed again - a cold bitter sound, like leaves fluttering over a grave. "You wanted to die when I found you. Now I want to die. Perhaps we could meet death together."
She shook her head. "No. I was wrong to even think of it. And so are you. Suicide is a sin. My granny taught me that life was precious, and not to be wasted. I... I never thanked you for saving my life."
Rising, she crossed the short distance between them, hesitated a moment, then bent down and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."
He looked up, his gaze meeting hers. "You're welcome."
She smiled down at him, and in that moment he knew he wanted to live long enough to kiss her, just once.
Ramsey took a deep breath, afraid he was about to make a fool of himself. Again. He cleared his throat, wishing he had been blessed with Chiavari's innate charm.
"Kelly, I want to ask you something..." When she started to speak, he held up his hand to silence her. "Please, hear me out. I know you've had a hard time lately, that you've been unhappy, and that you think you have nothing to live for..."
"How do you know all that?" she demanded. "Did you read my diary?"
"I read your mind."
She blinked at him, then sat down hard. "You did what?"
"I read your mind when I took your blood."
"That's terrible! How could you do such a despicable thing?"
He felt a sudden urge to laugh. "Please, just listen. I am about to make you a proposition."
"I already told you, I'm not into murder. And I'm not into whoring, either."
"Damn it, woman, just listen!"
She made a face at him, then folded her hands in her lap. "Go on."
"I want you to move in here with me. Purely platonic," he added quickly.
"You need a better place to live, and I... I could use someone to keep an eye on things during the day. I'll make it worth your while. It will only be for a few months. Six at the most."
She shook her head. "Thanks, but I don't think so." She looked at him warily. "Can I go now?"
"I wish you would stay."
She regarded him steadily for several moments. "You don't want a housekeeper; you want a companion, don't you? Someone to keep you company in this mausoleum."
"Yes."
"How do I know I could trust you to behave?"
"You have my word as a gentleman."
She laughed out loud. "What about your word as a vampire? Do I have your word that you won't..." She grimaced with revulsion. "That you won't drink my blood again? And that you'll stay out of my thoughts?"
"Yes."
"I must be out of my mind," she muttered. "Totally, completely bonkers."
He leaned forward. "Then you'll stay?"
"For a week," she said. "We'll try it for a week."
"A month," he countered.
She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "All right. One month." She tilted her head to one side. "Do you sleep in a coffin?"
"No."
"I thought that was mandatory."
He shrugged. "I think it's something only Hollywood and old-world vampires are into."
"Where do you sleep, then?"
"In a room off the cellar."
She studied him for a long moment, her eyes narrowed. It was tempting to read her thoughts, but he refrained from doing so.
"Okay," she said at last. "I'll move in tomorrow, if that's okay with you. Could you call me a cab?"
"Take my car."
"Are you kidding? It would probably get stolen before the engine cooled off."
He grunted softly. He had never been particularly concerned about material possessions, probably because he'd never owned much more than a beat-up Chevy and the clothes on his back, but he was fond of the Porsche.
He called for a cab, walked her to the door when it arrived, then stood there, watching her drive away, wondering if she would come back.