“—saved your life and met his objective for the night,” he murmured close behind her. “I avenged his death tonight. Draven, he was the vampire who—”
“Stop!” she yelled. Her stomach turned. Dear God! She’d never seen the vampire Vincent had been fighting with. She’d been so busy trying to get the blood sucker off her neck and break the thrall that she hadn’t been able to get a good look, and then she’d assumed she’d killed everything in that clearing. “What happened if I pulsed right now? I’d kill you?”
“No. I know how to block it if needed, and your power is not mature enough to get past mine.”
“I don’t like that hood,” she snapped at him. Focusing on that was far better than having to deal with this. For so long she’d known she’d killed the only man she’d ever loved, the only man who’d ever cared about her as she had been without trying to change her or take advantage of her naïveté.
“It is probably best if I keep it up.”
Damn she wished she could see his face. There were just some things that the man said that had her thinking all kind of crazy things and one of those things was that he was purposely keeping his identity from her for reasons beyond why a dead person might not what to show his face. He’d probably been maimed in some gruesome battle thousands of years ago and was now part of some elite force of dead guys who fought vampires.
Okay. It was late. She’d skipped sleeping the night before because she hadn’t wanted to deal with nightmares of Vincent’s death. They always happened the week before his birthday—and the week after—but she had to visit him tomorrow. Her fingers absently wrapped around his high school ring still hanging on a chain around her neck. He’d bought it specifically to give to her. It had taken him months to save up for it, and he’d been so excited when he’d been able to give it to her for their six-month anniversary.
Her hand fisted around it as she reined her thoughts back in. “It’s late and I need some sleep. I have something important to do in the morning—two somethings important.”
“And what are those things,” he asked as he leaned up against the kitchen door frame.
“It’s Vincent’s birthday tomorrow. I promised I’d never, ever forget it. God knows his parents always did.” She absently pulled out the chair from behind her and sat down. It was something she hadn’t thought about often, but when she did, it always made her cry. She’d tried to bake him a cake. The attempt had failed miserably, but he’d eaten the charred result as if it had been the best thing anyone anywhere had ever baked.
Then Wraith’s imposing frame was crouched down in front of her, and his hands wrapped around hers in a gesture of comfort. “What was that other thing?”
She sniffled. “The book. The author turned Vincent into a vampire. I need to go kill the idiot who wrote it.”
“Vincent doesn’t care what some silly living author wrote about him. I think it best you get thoughts of murder out of your head.” His tone was lighter, but firm at the same time.
She sniffled again. “Okay. So I’ll just find some way to ruin his career in another way. Vincent might not care”—her eyes narrowed on him—“wouldn’t care. Vincent wouldn’t because he’s dead and should be referred to in past tense.”
“Do you need to eat before you sleep?”
Her brows quirked. So he wasn’t going to talk about this, huh? Well, fine. She was tired. She was sure of it, but those nightmares weren’t a fun thing to deal with. “No, but I am not sure sleeping right now is good anyway.”
“You need rest. Your powers are weaker if you do not take proper care of yourself.” This time his tone had anger in it.
She rolled her eyes. “Come on. You don’t know me, and I’m not even allowed to see your face. Why do you care if I don’t take care of myself?”
“Because I do.” Then he was helping her out of the chair and toward the back of her apartment. “Your bedroom is back here?”
“And what the hell are you going to do if I decide I am not going to just let you lead me around like a puppet and do exactly what you tell me to do.” The question would have been more effective if she’d put up a struggle. It would have, but she was kind of hoping he’d opt to stay in her room with her. Bad, bad, Bryna! You should not be letting a man lull you into a sense of anything, especially not today! She wanted to believe herself, too, but the next thing she knew, she was in her bedroom with Wraith already starting her disrobing process.
“Are you functional?”
He snorted and then barked out a laugh. “Do you want to find out?”
She made a face at him as he pulled her shirt up over her head, leaving her in only her bra and miniskirt. “I have shirts in the top drawer,” she said softly. “And what if I do?” She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth and glared at him as he went to get her one of the many shirts of Vincent’s she’d saved to sleep in. “Never mind. Really, I can get dressed myself. Since you’re not Vincent, I think it best if I sleep alone tonight.”
There was humor in his tone as he pulled out a shirt. “I assure you, Vincent will not mind if I offer you a bit of rest-filled sleep without the dealings of nightmares.” He held up a shirt that had a band logo scrawled over skull and crossbones. “You still have this?”
Her face crumpled. “Yes, damn it! It was his!” Then her arms folded under her breasts. “How do you know if he wouldn’t mind?” She was sure her brain was going to start to twitch. She should not be having this conversation. Who cared if she had sex with a complete stranger when she wasn’t allowed to see his face? Did dead men have needs? She had no idea.
“He’s dead,” Wraith said again with the strain in his voice. “You’re free to do who you wish.”
“But it upsets you?” She accepted the T-shirt and slipped it over her head before she took off her bra and slipped out of her mini and panties.
“I know Vincent better than you do,” he said softly as he moved to the other side of the room.
She narrowed her eyes to try to pick up on his facial features, but his hood was too deep and cast too much shadow for her to pick up on more than the savage scar running diagonally across his face.
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “I can honestly say I know he’d love for you and me to be better acquainted.”
She snorted then. It was a pick-up line if she’d ever heard one, but she wasn’t going to go there. She’d had her share of mindless stupidity over the years, if there was any chance at all this Wraith knew Vincent in the afterlife, she wasn’t sure she wanted to chance them comparing notes. Her body shuddered before she darted over to her bed and threw down the blankets. She stared at her bed for a moment, and then turned to face him again. “Um, how do you propose to do this no nightmare thing?”
*
Vincent ground his teeth together. What the hell did he think he was doing? Convince her it wasn’t her fault he died. Then get her past the apocalyptical point of time, and let her live her life—without him there to screw it all up. That didn’t stop the blood-boiling need he had for her. She was alive. He had another chance. His body wanted to know for sure she was all right after being sent to Oblivion, only, none of that had happened to Bryna in this reality.
He used his shoulders to push off the wall. “I’ll lie down with you.”
Her look was suspicious. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” His teeth ground together again to stop himself from adding anything else. He was sure with just a moment of two or being close he’d be able to get her worked up to the point of demanding he make love to her, but he was a jerk of gargantuan proportions because he was going to do his damnedest to have anonymous sex with a woman who deserved so much more than that. It was selfish, but hell, he had needs and he knew she needed him; still, she also needed sleep.
“You’re tired,” he murmured. “Lie down and I promise to stay above the covers.”
She still didn’t look as if she believed he wasn’t going to touch her, and she’d be right. He wasn’t going to right now. He’d figure out what real Hell was all about when this was over, but damn it anyway! Hadn’t he earned a chance to be with her again? Even if she didn’t know who he was—as long as he could keep the stupid hood over his face—he could give her a nice experience with a man so she’d stop looking for attention from assholes.
Yeah, he’d lie to himself that way, and he was sure he’d live with it. He was supposed to be helping her move on and find a way to live.
He stopped moving when he got to the side of the bed.
She was still staring up at him. “Why can’t I see your face?”
“In bed,” he said softly and was half-shocked she got onto the mattress and pulled up the covers. She scooted over and looked down at the empty spot, inviting him in next to her. He stretched out next to her and then reached over to turn off the light. His jaw tightened because he could feel the heat of her body so close to his. “Vincent sent me to help you.” He was pretty sure she’d try to send him to Oblivion if she found out he was Vincent, but that was entirely beside the point. “I don’t think he’d appreciate you falling in love with another dead guy.”