Shadows Strike(9)
“Lucky you.”
“Absolutely. Immortals live longer. We’re stronger. We’re faster. The older an immortal is, the greater his speed and strength, and the more sunlight he can tolerate. Older immortals also possess stronger and more varied gifts, because their bloodlines have been diluted less by ordinary human DNA over the millennia. So we spend our nights and—on very rare occasions—days hunting and slaying psychotic vampires who prey upon humans.”
“Wow.”
He frowned, unsure what had spawned the solitary word. “Wow what?”
“Wow. Those humans who work with you and keep your existence a secret must really be hard-core. With a lot of connections. How the hell have they managed to keep all of this a secret? Especially today, when everyone and their brother has a cell phone that can record video and instantly upload it to the Internet? Someone must have seen something by now.”
He shrugged. “As you said, they’re hard-core and have connections.”
“I’m guessing anyone who tries to renege on that confidentiality agreement you want me to sign tends to meet a swift, untimely end.”
“Honestly, I have no idea what the network does to those who attempt to betray us. I haven’t had much hands-on contact with the network until recently. But, again, you have nothing to worry about, Heather. Once they learn you’re a gifted one, they’ll want to protect you the way they do us. I know I already said this, but you really don’t want anyone to find out about your advanced DNA. Now more than ever.”
His cell phone chirped. Ethan drew the phone out of his back pocket and saw that it was Ed, his Second. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.”
She nodded.
“Yeah?” he answered.
“Are you at David’s?” Ed asked in his gruff voice.
“No. I’m”—he glanced at Heather—“at a friend’s.”
She watched him curiously.
“What friend’s?”
Ethan didn’t want to go into detail and sought some way to avoid it.
Heather caught his attention. “Do you want me to give you some privacy?” she asked, voice low.
“Was that a woman?” Ed asked with an astonishment that grated on Ethan’s nerves.
Ethan mouthed No to Heather and rose. “Yes,” he answered Ed.
“Hot damn! You’re finally getting laid,” came Ed’s jovial response.
Ethan lowered his voice. “It isn’t like that.”
“It had better be like that. You’ve been celibate for decades. That shit isn’t natural.”
Ethan turned his back to Heather. “It hasn’t been that long, damn it.” Hell, Lisette had just broken things off with him a year ago, not that Ed knew anything about that. “Did you call just to piss me off or did you want something?”
“I called to find out where you are. The sun is rising and your ass tends to fry in it when you’re stuck outside. I wanted to make sure you were settled somewhere safe for the day.”
Ethan sighed. “I’m safe.”
“You suffer any injuries tonight?”
“A few,” he admitted. His Second’s job was to keep tabs on him and keep him safe. He wouldn’t begrudge the man his ability to do so.
“Do you need blood?”
“No, I’m good.” An overstatement, but he didn’t want Ed to rush to his damned rescue. “Just sit tight. I’ll talk to you later.”
“If you say so. Have fun. And do everything I wouldn’t do,” he added, laughter in his voice.
Ethan ended the call and turned back to Heather.
She raised her eyebrows. “Was that your girlfriend?”
He shook his head. “My Second.”
“Second what? Second wife?”
He grinned. “No, Ed is my Second, or human guard. My Renfield, if you will.” Most movie buffs were well-acquainted with the fictional character Renfield, who had been Dracula’s human assistant in films for almost a century.
“So . . . he keeps you safe during the day?”
“Yes.”
“You really can’t go out in daylight?”
“Correct.”
She studied him. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but . . . are you bullshitting me, Ethan? I really want to believe you, but it’s all so . . .”
“Weird?” he suggested, using her word.
“Yes.”
He smiled and held a hand out to her. “Come here.”
After the slightest hesitation, she rose, circled the sofa, and placed her small hand in his.
Damned if that didn’t make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Ethan led her over to the window that wasn’t shaded by the front porch’s roof. Releasing her hand, he raised the blinds halfway, then held his hand in the bright morning sunlight that flowed inside. His skin swiftly began to pinken with a sunburn that deepened and darkened to an angry red before blisters began to form. He gritted his teeth as pain rose.
“Stop!” Pushing him back, Heather hastily lowered the blinds.
Ethan’s hand burned as though he had just rested it upon a hot stove.
Heather carefully took it in both of her own and inspected it. Her brow furrowing, she raised her gaze to his. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I’ve been asking you to believe a hell of a lot, Heather. Most of it on faith. This was something I could prove to you with ease so you wouldn’t be left doubting.”
When she looked down at his stinging hand, her hair flowed forward and shielded part of her face from him.
Ethan reached out with his free hand and brushed the hair back, tucking it behind her ear.
Her breath caught.
Fingers tingling from the brief contact, he struggled to suppress the urge to bury them in the silky brown tresses and draw her closer. “I want you to feel safe with me,” he murmured. “I want you to feel comfortable with me.”
“I do,” she whispered. “I probably shouldn’t, but I do.” She glanced at his hand. “Does it hurt?”
His lips quirked wryly. “Not as much as my back.”
“Where the vampire stabbed you?”
He nodded.
“Is there anything I can do? Would you like me to take a look at it?”
He hadn’t been able to do much with it on his own beyond splashing some alcohol on it and clumsily dabbing it with a towel. “I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”
Smiling, she led him over to her kitchen’s breakfast nook and motioned for him to sit in one of the two chairs at her small table.
Ethan pulled it out, swung it around to face him, and sat down, straddling it.
“Take your shirt off,” she ordered.
He drew his long-sleeved T-shirt over his head and draped it over the chair’s back. When he looked at Heather, he found her staring at his chest.
Was that admiration in her gaze? Or was she checking out his wounds?
Heather glanced up. A pink flush mounted her cheeks as she moved to stand behind him.
Admiration. That was promising.
She hissed in a breath.
“Is it that bad?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Well, it isn’t bleeding, but . . . yeah. It looks pretty bad.”
Mortified that Ethan had caught her ogling his chest, Heather stared at his broad back.
Sooooo much muscle, which rippled as he folded his arms over the back of the chair and leaned forward.
The ragged edges of the deep puncture wound the vampire’s knife had carved gaped a little, revealing damaged muscle she didn’t examine too closely, afraid she might see bone if she did. Had Ethan been human, the wound would no doubt still be bleeding profusely.
“Do you have any butterfly closures?” she asked.
He nodded. “In my bag.”
Heather retrieved his duffel bag and returned to his side. “Anything you don’t want me to see in here?”
“No. You might want to avoid touching the clothing, though. It’s probably still sticky with blood.”
Kneeling down, she unzipped the bag and peered inside. Wadded-up bloody clothing, some spare blades, and first aid supplies. Nothing that would raise red flags. No naked selfies, freaky porn, severed body parts, or anything else alarming.
“Do you want me to pour some rubbing alcohol over it?” she asked, rising with the butterfly closures in her hand.
“Yes, please. I splashed some on it earlier, but did a pretty half-assed job.”
He made no sound when Heather saturated a cloth she retrieved from the bathroom with alcohol and held it to the wound. He was so tall, she didn’t even have to bend down when she leaned in close and blew on the stinging flesh.
Ethan tensed and rested his forehead on his arms.
Regretting the pain she must be causing him, Heather carefully pinched the edges together and secured them with butterfly closures. She taped a gauze bandage over everything, then rested a hand on his warm shoulder.
Weren’t vampires . . . or immortals . . . supposed to be cold?
“How’s that?” she asked, shifting to his side so she could see his face.
He raised his head. “Thank you.”
She swallowed. “Your eyes are glowing.” A beautiful, vibrant amber. “Is it from the pain?”
He gave his head a slow shake. “It’s from your touch,” he rumbled, his voice deep and husky. “I like the feel of your hands on me, your warm breath on my skin.”
Her heart kicked into high gear again, slamming against her rib cage.