Page 98 of Angel Of Darkness

She sucked in a deep breath.

She’d been the monster.

“Nicole?”

Her head turned. Keenan lay beside her in bed, his chest naked, and the sheet loose around his hips. She swallowed. “It’s nothing.” It was still daylight. She could see the sun trickling through the blinds. Could feel the weakness in her body. He’d chosen to sleep during the day? With her? She’d stripped and climbed beneath the covers and basically fallen asleep instantly. She hadn’t even realized he’d joined her.

He stayed with me.

The lump in her chest had nothing to do with her nightmare.

“Something scared you,” he said.

Me. I scare myself. I have for a while now.

His fingers brushed down her arm, and she shivered. “It—it’s really nothing?—”

“Liar.” The word sounded like a caress. “Tell me about it.”

The drumming of her heartbeat wasn’t slowing down. She pulled the covers up and held them with tight hands. In that instance, she needed some kind of shield, and it was the cover or nothing. “Before I was attacked, I-I didn’t even know I could kill.”

“Everyone can kill. People just have to be pushed hard enough,” he retorted flatly. There was a lot of dark knowledge tinting his voice. But then, he’d probably seen everything humans had to offer. Good. Bad. All that waited in between.

Death.

Right. He’d know all about killing.

“You said you saw me before.” Before she’d gotten the stylish new fangs, the bad manicure, and the pretty much unquenchable thirst for blood.

“Yes.”

“She never would have ripped a man’s throat open. Not once.” Her voice dropped. “Twice. I killed two humans.”

“You were under a compulsion, you didn’t?—”

“I liked the blood.” This was the darkest part of her confession. Her gaze dropped to the hands that balled the sheets. “I liked the rush of blood, the power. I wanted to stop. I knew it was wrong. I knew I was killing them and that voice was in my head, pushing me, but I liked the blood.”

And that was her shame.

“You’re a vampire.”

Uh, yes, she knew that.

“Nicole,” he sighed out her name. “You’re supposed to like it.”

“Because vamps like the blood so much, that’s why they kill.” Why she’d had to fight her urges. “The schoolteacher I was—the woman who always got in by ten on a work night, she wouldn’t have?—”

His fingers curled over hers. “Why do you keep talking as if she’s someone else?”

Her gaze lifted to his. Why couldn’t he see? “She was someone else. She was someone good.” She’d tried to be, anyway. Volunteering her time in afterschool programs. Donating canned goods for the homeless. Recycling for goodness’ sake. That woman had been good.

Not a killer.

Not a monster who lusted for blood. Who fought. Killed. Who licked her lips as she stood over a dead man and thought?—

More.

No wonder the dreams wouldn’t stop. “That woman died in an alley,” she told him, holding his stare. Even if she hadn’t died then, she wouldn’t have made it through the year.

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