Desire the Night(7)

“How long have you been here?” If she could just keep him talking, she might be able to make him think about something besides killing her.

“How long?” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

It couldn’t be very long, she thought, since he didn’t have a beard and his hair wasn’t overly long.

“My beard doesn’t grow,” he said. “Neither does my hair.”

“Why not?” She stared at him, suddenly realizing she hadn’t spoken the thought aloud. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

He pressed his forefinger to his temple. “Vampire.”

It was disconcerting, knowing he could read her mind, but before she could think overly much about it, he began to stroke her ankle, his thumb moving lazily back and forth, back and forth. Even through her leggings, his touch sent a shiver down her spine. It took her a moment to realize her boots were gone. Why would someone take her boots? And why was she worrying about that when a monster had hold of her leg?

He cocked his head. “What year is it?”

“Two thousand and twelve.”

“Has it only been three years, then?” he muttered. “It seems longer.”

Monster or not, Kay couldn’t help feeling sorry for him as she glanced around the cell. There was no bed, no blanket, nothing but a cold stone floor, iron bars, and damp cement walls. A small table stood just out of reach on the other side of the bars. She shuddered. How had he endured being locked up in this place for three years without going mad? But that was the least of her concerns. Right now, she wondered if she was going to survive until sunrise.

With the speed of a striking snake, his hand curled around her forearm and he dragged her closer.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice gruff.

“Please, don’t.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. If he hadn’t been a vampire, she might have thought he was praying. More likely, he was saying grace, she thought with morbid humor.

She glanced around the cell again, looking for something she could use as a weapon, but there was nothing save for a dim lightbulb that hung from a knotted cord outside the cell.

And then he was looking at her through those hellish red eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and folding her into his embrace, he pulled her shirt collar aside and bent his head to her neck.

Kay shuddered when she felt the sharp prick of his fangs against her skin. It was useless to fight, she knew. He was larger, stronger, deadly, but her instinct for survival quickly took over. She pulled his hair and scratched his face. Her nails left bloody furrows down his pale cheeks. She sank her teeth into his arm, and lashed out with her feet. All to no avail. It was like trying to punch her way through a brick wall.

Winded from her struggles, growing weak from the loss of blood, she closed her eyes and waited for death. And then a strange thing happened. As soon as she stopped fighting him, her fear slipped away. There was no pain as he drank from her, only a sense of pleasure that was oddly sensual.

It was her last thought before she drifted away into oblivion.

Gideon gazed at the woman in his arms. She was lovely. Her hair, Indian straight and black, fell past her shoulders, her inky lashes were thick and long. Her complexion was pale now, but her cheeks had been rosy before he drank from her, her skin the color of pale copper. Her eyes were a warm golden brown. She had been right about one thing: He hadn’t liked the taste of her blood. It was strong, bitter. Had he not needed nourishment so badly, he would have spit it out after the first swallow. Had it not been for the sour taste, he would have drained her dry; instead, he had taken only enough to take the edge off his hunger.

He eased her down onto the floor, oddly reluctant to let her go.

Standing, he paced the narrow cell from one end to the other. He had been a vampire for three hundred and sixty years. Wasted years, he thought, looking back through the corridors of time. True, he had traveled the world many times over, seen countries and kings rise and fall, but what had he ever accomplished? Nothing. Lisiana had bequeathed him a long life, but she had robbed him of the chance to have a home and a family. Tied to no one, he had lived like a vagabond, always on the move, drifting through the centuries, leaving no mark of his passing.

Of course, he’d had little incentive. In the beginning, hunger overrode every other desire, every other need. For a time, he had indulged his every whim. He had taken what he wanted, heedless of the consequences to others. He wasn’t particularly proud of his behavior back then, but being a vampire had put him outside the law. Clothing and carriages, horses and homes, gold and wine and women. He had used his preternatural power to take them all, and blamed Lisiana. She had stolen much more than that from him. Didn’t he deserve to get even?