She hesitated a moment before asking, “Would you mind?”
“No. Go on up to bed. I’ll stay until first light.” He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to be alone. After all, she’d had a hell of a scare last night.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep the bogeyman away.”
With a nod, Megan went upstairs and, after a moment’s indecision, locked her bedroom door. Better to err on the side of caution, she thought, and then shook her head, certain that, if he wanted in, no locked door would keep him out. She still couldn’t believe she had asked a man she scarcely knew to spend the night.
She brushed her teeth, combed out her hair, slipped into a pair of pj’s, and crawled into bed, asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Rhys made himself comfortable on the sofa. With his preternatural hearing, he could track Megan’s movements as she went from bathroom to bedroom. He heard the rustle of sheets as she slid under the covers. For a moment, he considered going upstairs, mesmerizing her with a look, sliding into bed beside her, taking her in his arms, and making love to her, but it was only wishful thinking. When he took Megan DeLacey to bed, he wanted it to be her idea. A short burst of preternatural energy brought the TV to life. He surfed through the channels—game shows, reality shows, world news. Muttering an oath, he switched it off. He sat there a moment, fingers drumming restlessly on the arm of the sofa.
Getting to his feet, he wandered around the room. It was totally feminine, from the pale yellow walls, flowered sofa, and colorful throw pillows, to the knickknacks on the mantel and the fancy curtains at the window. He stopped in front of a bookshelf and spent a few minutes perusing the titles. Her taste ran to mysteries and romances, neither of which appealed to him.
He was about to turn the TV on again when a muffled cry reached his ears. Megan!
A thought carried him up the stairs to her room. The door was locked, but he had yet to come across a lock that could keep him out when he wanted in.
A whisper of preternatural power opened the door, and he stepped into her room. A quick glance showed it was just as feminine as the living room. The walls were pink, the carpet a deep mauve. Flowered curtains hung at the single window. A matching quilt in colors of pink, mauve, and forest green lay folded over the foot of the bed. An antique dresser stood against the wall opposite the bed; a small desk occupied one corner, the seat cushion on the chair covered in the same material as the curtains.
On silent feet, he made his way to Megan’s bedside. She looked incredibly young and innocent lying there, her hair like a splash of reddish gold silk across the flowered pillowcase, the blankets pulled up to her chin. Of course, everyone seemed young and innocent when compared to him and the life he had led, he mused ruefully. No one could do the things he had done, see the carnage he had seen, and remain innocent.
Megan moaned softly. Caught in the throes of a bad dream, her body moved restlessly beneath the covers.
“Megan.” He whispered her name as he toed off his boots. After stretching out beside her, he drew her body against his, one arm holding her close while he lightly stroked her hair. “It’s all right, darlin’. I’m here. No one will hurt you,” he promised. Not even me.
Still asleep, she quieted at the sound of his voice, and then she snuggled against him, her body warm and soft and oh, so alive. And in that moment, as her scent enveloped him, he knew that, for better or worse, he wanted more from Megan DeLacey than her life’s blood.
He stayed at her side until a familiar tingling along his spine warned him of dawn’s approach.
Rising, he pulled on his boots, then rained featherlight kisses along the alluring curve of her slender throat. A thought took him to the theater parking lot where they had left her car the night before.
Taking time to drive her car home was cutting it close, he mused. He parked her car in the driveway, left her keys on the kitchen table, then slid behind the wheel of the Jag and put the pedal to the metal.
She was sweet, he thought, as he sped toward his penthouse. So sweet. And one day soon, she would be his in every way that mattered.
Chapter 5
It was near midnight when Rhys transported himself to his second lair. The house was little more than an empty shell. Except for three large, tan leather sofas and a couple of overstuffed chairs, there was no furniture in the room. No pictures on the walls. No lights save for a large wrought-iron candelabra. A medieval sword hung over the fireplace. The grip was made of wood covered in shagreen leather. It wasn’t merely for decoration. Rhys had used it on more than one occasion. He had, in fact, used it to take the head of the vampire who had recently betrayed him. Rhys used the house as a meeting place to conduct vampire business; on occasion, he took his rest in the walk-in pantry that had been converted to serve that purpose, but not often. There’d been a time when he’d kept a Mastiff to guard the house, but someone had poisoned the dog and he hadn’t gotten around to finding another one.
Tonight, he had called a meeting of the West Coast Vampire Council to see if any of the members had information on the killings in the East. A rogue vampire was bad news for all of them. He didn’t summon the Council to LA unless there was trouble of one sort or another brewing. And the killings in the East smelled like trouble. Big trouble.
While waiting for the Council to arrive, he let himself think of the night past. He had held Megan in his arms until just before dawn. It was a testament to his self-control that all he did was hold her when his body had urged him to take her while she slept, while his hunger had urged him to feed. Monster he might be, but to take advantage of Megan while she slept was unthinkable. Tempting as she was, he wouldn’t defile her in such a despicable way.
He tucked thoughts of Megan safely away as the members of the Council arrived.
Five members of the Council had been destroyed not long ago. Damon had been killed by Erik Delacourt. Saul had been destroyed by Daisy. Tina and Craig had been terminated by Daisy’s brother, Alex. Rhys had destroyed Mariah for her betrayal. News of her destruction, which had been slow and painful, had spread quickly through the vampire community, a warning to others who thought to betray him.
Rhys surveyed the remaining members of the original Council. The handsome vampire with dark, slicked-back hair and a thin mustache was Rupert Moss. He reminded Rhys of a young Valentino. Rupert kept his lair in Idaho.
The tall, angular vampire with wispy gray hair and pale blue eyes was Nicholas. He had been turned when he was in his late seventies, something Rhys had always found a little creepy. He could understand why humans didn’t want to die, but to be immortal at seventy? What was the point? Nicholas spent most of his time in Arizona.
Julius Romano was a California boy who had started dealing drugs in high school. Of medium height, with brown eyes and short brown hair, he had been turned when he was twenty-three. A red-and-black snake tattoo ran the length of his left arm.
Rhys had appointed four new members of the Council shortly after he’d destroyed Mariah.
Adrianna made her home in New Mexico. She was fire and ice, that one, with her flaming red hair and cold blue eyes. She had a penchant for diamonds and furs and was rarely seen without one or the other. She had been a vampire for one hundred and fifty years, and she reveled in it. Rhys didn’t like her and he didn’t trust her, which was why he had brought her into the Council where he could keep an eye on her. If there was one thing about women he was certain of—it was that the female was always deadlier and more cunning than the male. Mariah had been proof of that.
Mark Winchester resided in Montana. He was a good-looking kid, with his wheat-blond hair and dark brown eyes. Winchester had been a year younger than Rhys when he was turned. Built like a Mack truck, Winchester had been a college quarterback in mortality. He had been turned by an admirer after a football game. Fifteen years later, he was still bitter about having to give up football, but there was no help for it. After all was said and done, there were only so many excuses he could use for constantly missing practice and day games.
Stuart Hastings made his lair in Medford, Oregon, where he had once been a renowned surgeon. He hated what he had become. Rhys couldn’t blame him. For a man whose sole reason for living had been saving lives, becoming one of the Undead seemed like a cruel trick.
Seth Adams had been a Union soldier during the Civil War. He would have died at Gettysburg if a hungry vampire hadn’t found him, bleeding and near death, on the battlefield. Adams resided in Washington.
“So,” Adrianna said, looking bored, “why have you called us here?”
Rhys told them as succinctly as possible about the killings in the East. “Have any of you heard anything?” he asked, glancing around the room. “Winchester?”
“What?”
Rhys shook his head. “Stop texting, and pay attention. I asked if you’ve heard anything about the killings in New York.”
The kid shrugged one big, burly shoulder. “Nah.”
“What about you, Adrianna?”
“Nothing. How do you know it’s a vampire?”
“I know.
“I had an e-mail from an old friend who lives in New York,” Rupert said. “He heard the report on a police scanner and went to the scene. It was definitely the work of a vampire. Neat. Clean. He was positive that an old one was responsible.”
Rhys nodded. An old one. There were a number of aged vampires on the East Coast. Of course, that didn’t prove anything. Few vampires stayed long in one place. “What about you, Julius?”
“I haven’t heard anything, but I say we stop sneaking around and join up with whoever it is.”
“I’m not looking for a war,” Rhys retorted. “I’ve had enough of that. Nick?”
“I haven’t heard anything other than what was said on the news, but to my way of thinking, there’s no point in worrying about it now. Unless the rogue comes here, I don’t see how it concerns us.”
Rhys swept his gaze over the Council. “We’ve lived under the radar for quite a while. I’m older than any of you. I remember what it was like to be hunted by hysterical mobs wielding scythes and torches. It isn’t something I want to experience again.”