He gave her an angry look, then headed up the path to his front door. She had to practically run to keep up with him. He took so long to respond, she’d begun to think he wouldn’t even bother answering. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said finally.
“Try me,” she said, a little breathless as they stopped in front of the door.
“You don’t belong in my world,” he said gruffly as he unlocked the door and held it wide for her to enter.
“You’ve just invited me inside....”
Chapter Three
Could he risk telling her the truth? That the monsters of the world’s nightmares actually existed in a shadowy, secret society? She wouldn’t believe him. No one did until it was too late to listen to the warnings. He’d never worried about people heeding him before, but he found he wanted her to believe him--not just think he was some psycho.
Had he not been attacked, all those years ago, he himself would still be ignorant and deny their existence.
He could warn her, tell her what had happened to him ... and what Danior had done to her. But that wouldn’t mean she would listen.
Clara waited in the foyer, watching him expectantly with her soft, hazel eyes. She perceived too much. There was a vibrancy about her spirit that was difficult to resist ... or deny. That, and she was too damn beautiful by half, a woman built for loving. Being so close to her incited him to a raging lust he was hard pressed to control. Small wonder that Danior wanted her for his own.
“Follow me,” he said finally, resigned, leading her into the living area that opened off the front entryway. A two story cathedral ceiling stretched above them, the hewn wood warm and inviting in the soft yellow light of a central chandelier. Here was as good a place as any to divulge his secrets.
He picked up a remote and hit a button. Instant fire roared to life in the fireplace.
Sitting near the blaze in an overstuffed chair, he stretched out his legs and bade her sit across from him. He stared at the fire, waiting until she was settled before beginning.
“Seven years ago, I was on the force, heading up the case of the Necro-ripper.”
“I remember when that happened. I was in college, we were all terrified.”
He nodded. “We thought we had him tracked down to the swamp. Had every available officer out there scouring the area, set up a perimeter and road blocks, the works. He wasn’t getting out. He’d taken another girl, you see....”
He turned his gaze to her, watching her reaction. “My partner, Jim, and I had discovered some tracks. I never got to radio the finding in. Something fell from a cypress, slashed into my back. My left arm was nearly severed in the struggle. The last thing I remember was seeing Jim’s head floating next to me in the water, and then blackness.”
Clara looked about to speak, but Raoul held his hand up, stopping her. “I woke up in the hospital a week later. They’d found the Necro-ripper. Put about three dozen bullets in him. But the damage had already been done to me. I ... changed the first full moon....”
She looked confused, unsure of what to say. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, wringing the bottom edge of her blouse. “I ... I don’t understand.”
Watching her steadily, he held her rapt with his gaze so that she couldn’t look away. “I was infected, chere. By a very rare virus. So rare, it’s become nothing but a myth, or a tale to scare children.... Lycanthropy ... a werewolf.”
* * * *
Clara laughed. What he’d said wasn’t the least bit humorous, but the horror he described, the conviction in his voice.... Her body hurt as though she’d lived through it, and her gut reaction was to bleed off the fright in the only way she knew how. She was disturbed to hear her hysteria so plainly, but she couldn’t help herself. After only a moment, she went quiet, confronted by his dead seriousness, his silence.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, ashamed at her lack of control. It had been a hell of a night. She rubbed her eyes with her fingertips, covering her face with her palms, unable to bear meeting the condemnation she knew he bore her. What she’d done was unforgivable. She’d been brought up better than that. But how could she have suspected he would tell her something so ... so outrageous and impossible to believe? She expected any minute some cameraman would jump out and surprise her with the knowledge she was on Scare Tactics.
“It’s understandable, chere.”
That only made her feel worse. Worse still, her gut told her he wasn’t lying. She couldn’t believe that he would lie about something so horrendous--not when his voice held the pain of truth. Not when confronted with the evidence of his extensive scarring. There had to be some explanation for it, but at the moment, she couldn’t fathom what it could be.
“This is crazy,” she said finally, her voice muffled by her hands, still cowardly trying to hide her shame.
“Don’t make me show you, Clara. I don’t want you to fear me.”
Dropping her hands to her lap, she looked at him, struck by his tone and words. He was just as beautifully masculine to her now as when she’d first seen him. Hearing his admission, however crazy it sounded, hadn’t changed her desire for him, her desire to know him. It was insane to have such strong feelings when she didn’t know him, but he provoked a powerful response in her that she’d never encountered before.
“I would never fear you,” she said with conviction, feeling it to be true. Obviously he was attuned to action, but as a foil for violence, not an aggressor. He’d been a police officer before. It that was true, it would explain much.
“You can’t know the future.” He looked into the fire, his jaw hard.
No, she couldn’t, but she knew her feelings of the moment. She wanted to go to him, to soothe his torments, but she dared not right now. He seemed ... distant, troubled. So she did nothing but sit there, watching him. He excited her, but he didn’t scare her, intense as he was. Still, there was one inconsistency she hadn’t considered. “If you’re a ... lycanthrope, how can you wear that?” She indicated the ring in his right nipple. “Isn’t it silver?”
He smiled darkly. “I like a little pain mixed with my pleasure.”
The low timbre of his voice vibrated along her nerves like an electric current. Heat flooded her, pooling between her legs. She shook herself mentally, trying to get a grip on her emotions. It was frightening how easily he could play them. Maybe he was more dangerous than she realized ... just by sheer potent sexuality....
“I know you don’t believe me. You needn’t worry. I will still protect you from Danior.”
She felt better moving on to a different subject. It allowed her to gain control of her libido--before her brain was fried. Better not to dwell too long on his disease ... or her reaction to him. “Who is he?
He watched her a long moment before finally saying, “He is a vampire.”
Clara shivered, unexpectedly chilled by this admission. She should have known better than to ask. She was reminded of that eerie wind that hadn’t touched him, how he’d seemingly vanished. No, it just couldn’t be. Still, Raoul’s contempt made her curious. “You say that like you hate ... them.”
“I do, as do all of my kind.”
She couldn’t fully believe him--it was just too far past the realm of believability--but suddenly she was fascinated. The paranormal had always captured her imagination. She’d spent more hours than she cared to remember reading horror books through the night. “Why?”
“They seek to control, to drain us. Our blood is like a drug to them, addictive, potent, rare. I have never met a natural born shape-shifter, but even those who were once human are scarce. Men rarely survive their attacks-- women, almost never.”
From a scientific standpoint, it made sense, just based on old legends and stories. Lycanthropes were like superhumans. It stood to reason that their blood would be more powerful, and highly prized by a vampires, who subsisted on blood. And also that it would be difficult and painful for a human to survive such vicious attacks, which
