Carnal Thirst

“What do you mean, why not? Because you can't, that's why not! People will be looking for me. I have friends! They'll have the cops down on your ass so fast you won't know what hit you.'

He looked at her intently for several moments. “You have no close friends and no relatives. Even if you did, it would be of no consequence to me. Nor, might I add, does the thought of having cops on my ass particularly distress me.'

'How do you know I don't have any friends or family?” she demanded indignantly.

He pushed away from the bed abruptly. Before she could even blink, he was standing practically nose to nose with her. She felt her jaw sag in disbelief. He lifted a hand and very lightly traced it along her temple.

'Because it is here.'

Maggie swallowed with an effort. “What are you, a fucking mind reader or something?'

'No, I'm a fucking vampire,” he said, smiling thinly.

* * *

He wasn't sure why he'd brought her here. It was not physical attraction that had drawn his attention, though after he'd cleaned her, he saw that she was very appealing and womanly—reminiscent of women born in his own day. Physically, she was not what his “type” had become over the long years. He preferred small, slender women, but then, it seemed modern society had shifted to that preference decades ago and he along with it.

He'd tended to her for three days while she struggled to stay alive. Bathed the feverish sweat from her brow, changed the dressing on her wound, and cleaned the blood from her skin. He'd seen every inch of her body in repose.

It had almost been like tending a child, except she resembled no youth, and her appearance was such that he had no trouble distinguishing her from one so unsuitable for his carnal appetites.

She was buxom and tall, leggy. Her bare legs had entranced him while she writhed in bed. He'd had to sponge bathe her, touching every inch of skin, and he was surprised at how smooth she was, how hairless and fine her flesh. She was strong and muscled, but the hard edges of an average weighted woman did not exist on her. Softness appealed to him immensely. Women should be soft, malleable to a man's rough body.

It had taken a supreme effort of will not to explore her body as she lay helpless, but he found it distasteful to take advantage of a woman recovering from death and going through the change.

It amused him to know that he was not so much a monster as he'd supposed he was. Had he been, he could have fucked her as much as he pleased and left her to die when he was through. He'd known of others who had, and the act disgusted him more so now than it had before.

She was awake now. And the set of her jaw and stance, the fire in her eyes and her threat to take his head off both amused him and made his groin tighten uncomfortably.

This was no fleeting desire. She promised full, lasting passion, if only he could unleash it. Now he could press her and release the lust that had built inside him. He'd been long without a woman of any kind. The vampiresses could not move him as short lived humans could, vibrant with life and passion. He'd expected to have a human of his own by now, but the woman he'd found most appealing had been taken from him before he could complete binding her. He'd come upon Maggie after his fight with Raoul over that woman. How odd that losing her had led him to such a welcome surprise.

The resistance of her mind to his probing fascinated him. He marveled at her strength of will, perhaps more so because she could resist him even near death. Once he'd broken through, the memories that lay inside allowed him to explore the facets of her personality, to know the depression she'd sunk in to after her mother's death and the loss of her business.

Strangely, it moved him.

He'd not been moved emotionally in far too long, nor challenged in centuries, and he found himself eagerly anticipating it.

Arching a brow, he smiled as her eyes widened. She seemed caught between watching his face and staring at the bulge in his pants. She found him as appealing as he found her.

That was good. It would make the journey so much more pleasurable.

He could touch her any number of ways by bending her mind to control her sight, allowing him to move unseen around her. While parlor tricks were amusing among the inexperienced and unwary, he craved making her respond to him in a wholly new way.

She was shocked by his words, disbelief etched on her face. No one believed in vampires until they were bit on the neck....

His smile deepened as he brought his hand up to touch her face. In that moment, she tried to kill him.

* * *

Maggie had lost all desire to leave the room. She couldn't contain the shock on her face. She had thought the man was a serial killer or something. Then he had claimed to be a vampire, and she decided he was just plain insane. The problem with that comforting theory—and she would never have believed that would be a comforting theory before—was that the words were no sooner out of his mouth, than she swung the poker at him again for all she was worth.

Once again, she didn't manage to do anything except dig another whole in the wall. While she was trying to pry it loose, he skated a cool finger over one cheek that sent chills down her back.

'Such fire,” he murmured huskily. “I believe I'm going to enjoy this far more than I had anticipated. You will join me downstairs to dine, chere?'

He promptly vanished. Just vanished.

One moment he was there, and the next ... he was gone.

She'd never come as close to fainting in her entire life. She didn't even want to check the door anymore.

She scurried back to the bed and pulled the covers over her head.

Lying flat, she squeezed her eyes shut. I'm going to wake up. I'm going to wake up . She repeated the mantra until she calmed down enough so that her heart wouldn't beat her to death.

Idly, she wondered if fear induced pulse racing would burn as many calories as an elliptical machine.

She'd never felt more fatigued in all her life. This had to be good for something more than shaving years off her life.

When she finally nerved herself and pulled the covers down, she discovered she was in the same room and hadn't magically transported to her bedroom. The only difference was the door was now standing open.

Did he seriously think she'd eat with him? He'd attacked her, hadn't he? Maybe not. It didn't make much sense that he would reign himself in now, after she'd tried to brain him twice. She'd certainly provoked him enough if he was going to be violent. Then again, he had abducted her and wouldn't let her leave.

Maggie looked down at herself. Her clothes looked bad enough she wouldn't want her at the dinner table. Her jeans were torn at the knee, probably from when she'd fallen to the pavement. There were also brown patches along one hip. Her black knit shirt was ripped at the neck, making the neckline drape almost to her cleavage. They were clean though. That realization put her in a cold sweat. She felt sick to her stomach. Surely he hadn't undressed her and done her laundry? The thought was just too horrible—and unbelievable—to contemplate.

Maggie looked around the room for her sandals, but her shoes were nowhere to be found, and she mourned their loss. It would be impossible to get replacements at this time of the year.

She finally decided she'd stalled long enough. There was nothing for it. She had to leave here somehow.

Retrieving her poker—not that she thought it would do her much good since she'd only managed to hit the wall so far—Maggie exited the room, padding down the hallway on the dusty floor. Her skin crawled at that dirty feeling between her toes, but she ignored it. Almost immediately she spotted the grand, curved staircase leading to the lowest floor.

The front door stood at the bottom of the stairs like a beacon.

Maggie sailed down the stairs. She was halfway down them when she saw the man step into the foyer.

Escape was practically in her grasp, however. She tensed all over, envisioning the scenario in her