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I crossed to the bar in the corner of the living room and pulled the stopper out of the flask holding an aged brandy. I poured myself a drink, swirling the amber liquid in the glass, watching as it coated the crystal before retreating in a sensuous liquid dance. I sighed and closed my eyes, downing the alcohol, feeling the heat spread through my system like a wildfire spreading through the dry California timber.
I slammed the glass on the counter and gripped the edge of the bar, feeling the burn now. I clenched my jaw against the sudden pain in my abdomen, knowing it would abate but relishing the momentary punishment. It took a few minutes before the burning agony subsided and I stumbled to the easy chair, dropping into it with relief.
Alcohol always made me feel more human than demon and I sighed, rubbing my face and looking toward the bedroom. Just the thought of her almost brought me to my feet, but I resisted, instead, I analyzed what made her so damn hypnotizing.
Beauty wasn’t the reason I felt like a horny teenager in her presence. After all, I had held court with some of the most beautiful women in the world. No, it was something more subtle and elusive and I wondered if it was her blood that connected me to her, that made me want to protect her, even from herself...even at my peril.
Guilt bit at the lining of my stomach and I shifted in the chair, keeping my eye on the hall in case the hunger overwhelmed her again. She had exercised a great deal of restraint already, showing coherent thought as opposed to ravenous rants.
I glanced at the clock and raised an eyebrow. Naomi had made it far longer than any of my other doomed bids for partnership.
Of course, none of them drank my blood beyond that first minor infusion.
My eyes widened and I snapped the chair closed.
None of them had wanted my blood the way Naomi did.
Was it just newborn syndrome or did she crave me as much as I craved her?
I stood and crossed the distance, pushing the bedroom door open. A slight rise and fall in her chest, the rhythm of sleep, greeted me and I sighed, leaning on the threshold and just watched her. My gaze traveled to the ceiling and I wondered if Michael would smite me the moment I stepped out of this hideaway.
If I were in his shoes, I would.
The shuffle of fabric caught my attention and I dropped my gaze. Naomi rolled toward the door, tucking her hands neatly under her cheek in an angelic pose that slammed the point home.
I turned away, heading to gather her clothing before she woke. When I returned to the room, her breathing transitioned into a light snore that shattered the angelic vision and I smiled. I placed the pile at the foot of the bed and started out of the room.
“Don’t go,” her soft voice stopped me in my tracks.
“I can’t stay,” I said without turning.
“Why not?” she asked, the lilt in her voice that of curiosity as opposed to either hunger or lust and I tensed, glancing back at her.
“Because.”
It wasn’t the answer she was looking for, but instead of the open hostility that would have brought to the surface a few hours ago, a vulnerable disappointment shifted through her features.
“Damian?” she said as I started out of the room again.
This time I turned. She sat with the covers pulled over her chest, her shoulders bare and the bathrobe hanging half in and half out of bed. Her disheveled hair and breathy pout set my heart on fire.
“What?” I tried to keep my voice from shaking, to keep the fear that now pounded in my veins away. The speed of her transition was not possible, there wasn’t an ounce of bloodlust left in her gaze, what was there now was a curiosity that leapt from the depths of her mind like a beacon.
She looked around the room and back at me.
“This isn’t a dream, is it?”
The sincerity and sweetness in her voice caught me off guard and a lump formed in my throat. I shook my head slowly and the guilt came crashing down, mowing me over like a rogue bulldozer. Overwhelming sadness hit and I stumbled from the room, falling to my knees in the hallway from the power of it.
The wrongness of it all tossed me into a dark pit of despair and I covered my face, horrified at what I had done.
When her hand slid onto my shoulder, I couldn’t meet her gaze.
“I’m sorry,” I managed to whisper.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t tell me it was okay, instead, she knelt beside me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders and leaned her head against mine.
I turned, meeting her gaze and she offered a conciliatory smile.
Jesus, how I wanted her, and I couldn’t help myself this time. This time when I kissed her, it was met with surrender and I soared with the gentleness of it. This creature was so different in demeanor than the woman I turned that I began to wonder if it was indeed a dream.
“It’s not,” she whispered against my lips.
“Not what?” I pulled away meeting her gaze.
“Not a dream,” she answered, sending chills through my frame and before I could react, she pulled me into another kiss.