Page 104 of Road Trip with a Vampire
His gaze flicked to the room behind me, lingering on the weapons on the entryway table. “May I come in?”
I nodded and moved aside to allow him entry. “Sure.”
He stepped into the room without further preamble, dressed in the same T-shirt and jeans he’d been wearing at the warehouse. The same clothes he’d worn when we’d left Reggie’s apartment that morning. It was a stark reminder of how little time had passed since I’d learned the truth about him and everything had turned upside down.
Incredible that so much had happened in one day.
“You said you don’t want to see me again,” he began. “I respect that. But before I bow out of your life forever, I need you to know that everything I have ever said to you was true. At least insofar as I understood it at the time.”
My temper flared. “Insofar as you understood it at the time?That’s some qualifier.”
He flinched. “I know.”
“You’ve said a lot of things to me,” I pressed. “A lot of it’s hard to reconcile with what happened at the warehouse.”
“I know that it must seem that way,” he said. “But the part about my having amnesia, about not being able to rememberwhat brought me into your life, was true.” He looked away. “So was everything I’ve said about what you mean to me. How incredible you are. How badly I want you. I meant it. All of it.” His throat worked. “I still do.”
Something hard and unyielding inside me softened around the edges at the raw sincerity in his tone. I folded my arms across my chest, fighting hard to hold on to the anger and betrayal.
Against my better judgment, I stepped closer to him. I didn’t fail to notice his sharp intake of breath or the way his pupils dilated as I met his stare.
“You have twenty minutes,” I reminded him. My weapons were still within easy reach if all of this went south in a hurry. “Tell me everything.”
Twenty-Four
Three weeks earlier
It was nighttime, and Peterwas thirsty.
Life, he thought, would be much easier if he did not need to feed quite so often. The streets of this small California town were frequently empty at night, which made finding his meals an unending challenge.
As he wandered the town, trying to distract himself from his thirst, he heard unusual sounds coming from a dark alley. Whoever was making that racket sounded human, if the cursing he heard was any guide.
Peter walked quickly in the direction of the noises, thinking of the meal he was about to enjoy. Soon he would be fangs-deep in whoever was making that racket and he could go back to his coffin at the bus station. The accommodations left much to be desired, but at least tonight he wouldn’t return to his temporary home thirsty.
When he saw the woman struggling with a box larger than she was, though, he stopped dead in his tracks.
Something was…different about her. She was small, with curly reddish-brown hair she’d tied back in a simple ponytail. Under different circumstances he would have loved to get his hands on her ample curves. But it wasn’t her physical appearance—alluring as it was—that kept him rooted to the spot once she came into full view.
It was the raw power he could all butfeel, which simmered, wild and hot, through her bloodstream. This power was familiar to him somehow, just as she was, though he had no idea why. He imagined sinking his teeth into her neck, suckling at the wounds as her blood spurted into his mouth, her unchecked power nourishing him, and he was instantly hard.
If he’d ever been any kind of gentleman, he would offer to help with the box she was struggling with. But he wasn’t a gentleman—perhaps had never been one, even before he’d lost his memories—and so instead of offering to help, Peter simply watched her, spellbound, as the box tumbled out of her arms and onto the ground.
“Shit.” Her voice was as fierce as the power flowing through her veins, but it had nothing on the ferocity of her expression when she looked up and saw him standing beneath the streetlamp where he’d been cowering in plain sight, watching her.
In the end, he helped her, throwing her box into the dumpster. Maybe in a past life he’d been a gentleman after all. He pretended not to notice the way she eyed the tense and flex of his forearms as he moved and had to tamp down the thrill that went through him at the thought of her finding his body pleasing.
“Thanks, Mr.…” she prompted.
“Peter.”
“Mr.Peter?”
He barely suppressed a smile. She was so irrepressiblycharming, this stranger he’d just met. He wanted to tell her that, and almost did. In the end, though, he listened to the instinct that told him this would be a terrible idea and held his tongue.
“Just Peter,” he said instead. She watched his mouth as he formed the words, eyes flicking to his scar. A frisson of heat went through him. This time, he allowed a small smile to slip free. “And you are?”
“Zelda,” she replied.
