A Fire in the Blood(4)

Someone was watching her.

She slammed the trunk lid down, took a firm hold on the basket, and ran for the outside stairs that led to the second floor. If it was her imagination, she would laugh about it when she was safely inside, sipping a cup of hot tea. If it wasn’t . . .

She had just reached the stairway when a hand closed over her shoulder.

Tessa shrieked, the basket falling from her hands, clothes scattering around her feet, when her attacker slammed her against the side of the building.

She tried to scream, but fear clogged her throat when she looked into his eyes—eyes that burned as bright and red as the fires of hell.

Fight! Her mind screamed at her. You’ve got to fight!

But she couldn’t move, couldn’t look away from those mesmerizing devil-red eyes.

Her attacker smiled, revealing a pair of very sharp, very white, finely pointed fangs.

Vampire! The word rang like thunder in her mind. I’m dead.

She was trying to accept the fact that her life was over when, suddenly, the vampire was no longer holding her, but sprawled facedown at her feet, a thick wooden stake protruding from its back.

Tessa slumped against the wall, one hand at her throat, unable to take her gaze from the dead vampire.

“Are you all right?”

Her rescuer’s voice, low and oddly compelling, reminded her that she wasn’t alone.

Tessa looked up slowly, a shiver skating down her spine. Like the vampire, this man was dressed all in black. Was he here to help, she wondered morbidly, or was he another vampire, come to finish what the dead one had started?

“Are you all right?” he asked again.

When she didn’t answer, he took a step toward her, stopped when she cringed against the wall.

“I mean you no harm.” His voice moved over her like dark velvet, warm and comforting. “You’re safe now.”

Safe? She felt a hysterical bubble of laughter rise in her throat. Safe, with a dead vampire at her feet and a stranger blocking the stairway?

He lifted one brow. “Can you speak?”

She blinked at him, and then she did laugh. Laughed until tears ran down her cheeks.

The stranger muttered something in a language Tessa didn’t understand and then, between one breath and the next, he drew her into his arms. She struggled at first but then, realizing he truly didn’t intend to hurt her, she sagged against him, her whole body trembling in the aftermath of the attack.

Gradually, she grew aware of him, of the strength of his arms around her, of the odd scent that clung to him. She spent a moment trying to determine what it was, but other sensations flooded her senses. The cloth of his jacket was soft beneath her cheek, probably expensive. He was tall, his chest solid as granite, yet his hand was gentle—almost a caress—as he stroked her back.

He held her until her trembling ceased. When her tears subsided, he offered her his handkerchief—fine linen embroidered with the initials A. D. It seemed a shame to use it, she thought as she dried her eyes and blew her nose.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Just a concerned citizen,” he replied, taking a step away from her. “Good evening.”

A dozen questions popped into Tessa’s mind, but he was already walking away. She stooped to gather her laundry and when she looked up again, he was out of sight.

* * *

Andrei Dinescu hovered outside the woman’s living room window, shamelessly eavesdropping. She had notified the police earlier. Two officers had responded twenty minutes later. Now Andrei listened intently as she explained, slowly and calmly, what had happened.

The taller of the two cops—his name tag identified him as Officer Braxton—took notes while the other—Officer Gaines—asked questions, most of which were cut and dried where the dead vampire was concerned. They were, however, far too interested in learning about the man who had saved her.

The woman—Tessa—shook her head. “I didn’t get his name,” she said, glancing from one officer to the other. “I never saw him before.”

“And he just showed up, staked the vampire, and left?” the shorter cop asked, his tone blatantly skeptical.

She nodded.

“You’re sure you’ve never seen him before?”

“Of course I’m sure,” she snapped. “What difference does it make?”

The cops exchanged glances.

“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.

The tall policeman shut his notebook. “Thank you for your help, Miss Blackburn.”

She rose when the officers moved toward the door. “He was just a hunter, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he?”

“Good night, ma’am,” Officer Gaines said. “In the future, you might want to make sure you’re inside behind locked doors before dark.”