The crimson droplets beckoned him. His hold on her tightened. He licked his lips as the hunger stirred deep within, searing his insides, demanding to be fed.
Unable to resist either the pain of his hunger or the temptation of her blood, he lowered his head and licked the blood from the wound.
And tasted death.
Chapter 3
Shannah woke slowly. Her eyelids felt heavy and it was an effort to open her eyes. For a moment, she stared blankly at her surroundings. The walls were painted taupe with white trim. The ceiling was white. A fire burned in the hearth across from the canopied bed on which she lay. A thick white carpet covered the floor. Heavy draperies the same color as the walls covered the room’s single window. The dresser against the far wall looked like an antique, as did the high-backed oak rocking chair in the corner. Large, expensive-looking paintings hung on the walls—one was of a stately park where people in eighteenth century clothing strolled along tree-lined lanes; one was of a Paris cathedral; the third depicted a quiet lake beneath a full moon. The fourth painting was of a dark castle set upon a windswept hill. Where was she?
Where was he?
Her head ached and when she touched her fingertips to her forehead, she made two discoveries—her fever was gone and there was a rather large bandage taped above her left eye. She didn’t remember being injured. Frowning made her head hurt worse.
It wasn’t until she slid her legs over the edge of the bed that she realized she wasn’t wearing anything save for her bra, panties, and a dark blue velvet robe with a black satin collar.
When she stood, the robe’s hem dragged on the floor and the sleeves fell past her hands. She glanced around the room, looking for her clothes, but they were nowhere in sight. She checked the closet and the chest of drawers. Both were empty.
She walked across the floor, her bare feet making no sound on the soft thick carpet. Putting her ear to the door, she listened for a moment before she opened it and stepped out into the hallway.
A glance up and down the narrow corridor showed several doors. None of them were open.
Clutching the collar of the robe in one hand, she tiptoed along the hallway, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet beneath her feet.
She paused at the top of the landing, listening, and when she heard nothing, she padded quietly down the staircase.
At the bottom, she paused again.
Was she in his house? And if she was, where was he, and why were there no clothes in the closet? She had come here looking for a vampire. Now that her fever was gone and she was thinking more clearly, she knew how foolish that had been. Vampires were creatures of myth and legend.
But what if he was something even worse?
Where had he put her clothing? She could hardly walk back to her apartment in her bare feet, wearing nothing but a too large bathrobe, nice and comfy as it was.
Moving as quietly as she could, she made her way into the kitchen, thinking to fortify herself with a cup of strong black coffee.
No such luck. The cupboards were empty. The stove and the refrigerator looked new and unused. The fridge was empty. There was no table. Odd, that there was no food in the house but then, maybe he never ate at home. Still, it was mighty strange that he didn’t at least have the basics. Or a few dishes.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had been truly hungry. She rarely ate a full meal any more. Doing so made her sick to her stomach and yet, for the first time in months, she was famished.
She was standing in the middle of the floor, her stomach growling, when there was a knock at the back door. She hesitated a moment before opening it.
A cute young man with curly brown hair stood at the door holding a large box of groceries. “Miss Shannah?”
“Yes?”
“Where do you want this?”
She glanced at the cardboard box in his hand. “I’m not sure. I didn’t …”
“It was a phone order from Mr. Dark.”
“Oh.” Was that the stranger’s name? Mr. Dark? She took a step backward. “Just put it on the counter, I guess.”
The young man did as bidden. He handed her a receipt and a pen. “Just sign here.”
She signed the receipt and handed the slip of paper and the pen back to the young man. “I’m afraid I don’t have any cash for a tip.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, grinning. “Mr. Dark took care of it. Have a good day, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
She closed the door, then went to look through the box. It held a jar of instant coffee, a half-gallon of milk, a box of assorted individual servings of cereal, a small box of sugar, a loaf of bread, lunch meat and cheese, eggs, bacon, a box of pancake mix, syrup, a jar of peanut butter, another of jelly, a six-pack of soda, butter, salt and pepper, a small jar of mayonnaise, mustard, and ketchup, as well as paper plates and a package of plastic knives, forks, and spoons, some plastic cups, as well as a toothbrush and toothpaste. At the bottom of the box she found two frying pans and a toaster.
Her stomach growled loudly as she stared at the bounty before her. With a shake of her head, she put everything away, then set about making French toast and bacon for breakfast.
Mr. Dark, indeed, she mused. She didn’t know if that was his real name or not, but it fit perfectly.
She carried her breakfast into the
