"I think perhaps we should give the lady some air." I turned toward the voice that cut through my nightmare. The faces around me pulled back until one came into focus. It was one of the bar patrons, a nice-looking man with high cheekbones, and dark, fathomless eyes. A wave of bile choked me as I struggled to keep it contained. I tightened my grip on the arm holding me up.
"You will feel better in a moment." The man smiled and brushed his hand across my forehead. His voice was beautiful, pitched low, but velvety in its smoothness. It wrapped around me like a soft warm cloak, comfortable and reassuring. Instantly the nausea receded and the room slowed its spinning. "You are not used to our beer. Strangers often find it too strong for their palates. I would advise you next time to try our wine."
I'd only had a sip of the beer, so I knew full well that it wasn't what was affecting me, but I found myself oddly reluctant to dispute anything the man said. I gingerly felt at the back of my head, locating a lump the size of a runty plum.
"You have a small swelling," the man reassured me, his fingers flicking lightly over the painful bump. Behind me, Raphael shifted slightly.
"Are you a doctor?" I asked the man with the silky voice.
His eyes grew black with sorrow for a moment. I wanted to reach out and take him in my arms, to comfort him and ease his pain. "I am not a doctor, although I've had some training in the healing arts. Your injury is not serious and should not trouble you beyond this night."
The pain that had been blossoming in the back of my head eased, fading with the nausea. I'd never been one to have much faith in alternative medical techniques, but I had to admit this man had an extremely soothing way about him.
"Who are you?" I couldn't help but ask. His eyes were intriguing, so expressive and full of emotion, I found myself wanting to draw closer to him, to look deeper into those eyes.
"My name is Christian," he answered, another smile teasing his lips as the voices around us rose in approbation.
Didn't anyone around here believe in using his or her surname?
"I believe it would be best if we got you off the floor and into bed," a voice rumbled in my ear. I stiffened in response. Where Christian's voice was as smooth as water sliding over sand, Raphael's was deep, slightly roughened, and set up a most amazing resonance deep within me. Weren't vampires supposed to be able to work magic with their voices and eyes? Before I could mull this over, I was hoisted up. Raphael released me, then grabbed me quickly when the room started spinning again.
"Well, at least she's not green anymore," Roxy muttered, wringing her hands. "I think you're right about getting her into bed. We're on the top floor, though, and she looks a bit shaky to me."
Raphael didn't answer, just put an arm behind my knees and scooped me up.
"Um," I said, turning my head and flinching just a bit as a hall light hit me square in the eyes. My nose brushed his cheek. I couldn't believe he was carrying me up three flights of awkwardly steep stairs, and he wasn't even breathing heavily. If it hadn't been likely he was a bloodthirsty member of the undead, I would have kissed the man.
One glossy chocolate eyebrow rose as he glanced down at me. "Um?"
"You're carrying me," I said, feeling it necessary to say something intelligent, but lacking the wits to actually pull intelligent things out of my scrambled brains. First insanity, then drugging—now I was in the arms of a man who might be a vampire, and all I could think of was how nice he smelled and how warm he was.
Of course he's warm, he just fed.
I squashed that inner voice down flat and met his amber eyes without flinching. Much.
"Yes," he agreed, his voice thrumming inside me. He had an English accent, giving his voice a richness that reminded me of antique mahogany. It was very sexy. I liked it. A lot.
"Up the stairs."
"Your room's at the top," he replied.
"But you're not puffing or straining or breaking out into a sweat."
Both eyebrows went up at that. "Should I be?"
"I'm not an inconsiderable weight," I pointed out. "Most men would balk at hefting me across a room, not to mention up three flights of stairs."
"I am not most men," he stated, turning on the first landing.
You can say that again, trembled at the edge of my tongue, but I bit it back, saying instead, "Regardless of your obviously fit state, I'm too heavy. I'll give you a hernia. If you put me down, I'll be happy to walk the rest of the way."
"You're not too heavy."
I looked at him as if he had an extra toe growing out of his ear. "What planet are you from? In case it escaped your notice, I'm six feet tall and built like a brick oven, as my mother used to say."