Page 33 of Lucas
“I suppose I should have brought a bodyguard.”
Romero slapped him on the back. “You’ve always been one to live dangerously.”
Trelane turned to Lucas and held out his hand. “You have my thanks, Lucas Maynard.”
Lucas shook it. “Any time, Mr. Trelane.”
Trelane laughed. “I think you’ve earned the right to call me Devon.”
Chapter Thirteen
Incredible pain.
He’d felt worse, but the pulsing, burning ache deep inside made it difficult to focus on when that might have been. The beast was restless. And they were both hungry.
His memories were dull and clouded, and he couldn’t remember what he’d been doing before waking. What was the last thing he remembered? It was difficult to think past the pounding in his head—a red flag that he was low on blood.
Ginger.
Where was Ginger?
His first instinct was to sit up, but he couldn’t move his body. He was weak as a newly made vampire. That wasn’t good. Think. They’d had lunch, or what passed for food, at a small-town bar. He’d gone outside. That was it. He’d forgotten his wallet.
Vampires had been waiting for him.
His eyes opened, and though he couldn’t move his head, he glanced around the unfamiliar room. A cheap motel. That was unfortunate. He could have used the room service attendant for blood except for the problem of not being mobile.
A warm body moved next to him, and he managed to nudge his head enough to see the dark-brown tendrils spread across hischest. He released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. She was here. Something was going his way. His arms were plastered at his side, but he lifted his head again, this time with more movement. It was only for a few seconds, but it was enough to see the bandage on his upper left arm. The rest of him was covered with a blanket.
He’d also caught more details of the room. A shopping bag sat on the table by the window, a cooler was on the dresser across from the bed, and, in the corner, a duffel had been placed on a suitcase rack.
How did he get from the parking lot at the bar to this motel room? He closed his eyes, and bits of memory stirred. Someone dragging him. Ginger begging him to take a step. Blood dripping into his mouth, then him sucking the sweet nectar that tasted of her.
His eyes shot open. She’d fed him with her own blood.
She moved. It was subtle, but he recognized the signs of her waking.
Then her head popped up. “Lucas?”
She pushed herself up and stared down at him. Her face still scrunched from sleep, her gaze full of worry, but then she smiled.
Somehow, he knew everything would be alright.
She ran a hand over his face and pushed a loose strand of hair away. “Morning. It’s good to see you awake.”
When he didn’t say anything, her smile faded. “Can you hear me? Can you talk?” She picked up his hand and released it. It fell on the bed with a thud. “You still can’t move.”
He licked his teeth and the roof of his mouth. “No.” His throat was raspy, and she twisted around to grab a bottle of water.
“Will water help?”
He nodded, irrationally pleased by the small movement.
She knelt and strained to lift his upper body to stuff a pillow under him. After she drank the first few sips of water, she tipped the bottle to his lips. He drank two small swallows before she took it away and dried his chin and neck where the water had dribbled.
She waited a minute, mumbled soothing words, then lifted the bottle once more. He was allowed the same small amount as before, and she repeated drying his face before setting the bottle aside.
When she turned back, she gripped a dagger.
