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Daisy shuddered. How did vampires handle a "human problem"? And did she really want to know? "What are you going to do with me?"
"Beats the hell out of me." Erik wasn't sure what Rhys and the Council would do if they discovered he was harboring the notorious Blood Thief. Looking at her, with her guileless green eyes and petite figure, it was hard to imagine her searching out vampires and stealing their blood.
Erik swore softly. If he had just followed his own advice, he wouldn't have gotten mixed up with Miss Daisy O'Donnell in the first place. Mortal females were nothing but trouble. You'd think that, after 325 years, he would have absorbed that fact.
He grunted softly as a new thought occurred to him. "You destroyed Saul, too, didn't you? You don't have to answer. I can see the truth in your eyes. Dammit!"
"It was self-defense!" Daisy exclaimed. "What was I supposed to do, let him kill me?"
"You should have stayed the hell away from him." Erik shook his head. What the devil was wrong with Daisy's parents, to let their daughter engage in such a dangerous business? Sure, most vampires were helpless during the day, but not all. Any vampire over a hundred was capable of sensing danger and defending himself if necessary.
He swore again. It was bad enough that she trafficked in vampire blood. He might have been able to talk Rhys out of taking revenge for that, but no way in hell could he protect Daisy from Rhys once Rhys knew she had destroyed one of their own.
She was shivering now. "I guess I'm in big trouble, aren't I?"
"Oh, yeah," he muttered as he took her in his arms. And so am I.
Erik left the house later that night, after Daisy had fallen asleep. What was he going to do with her? The question repeated itself in his mind over and over again. He couldn't let her go home. If Rhys learned Daisy was the one who had taken Tina's blood and staked Saul...Erik shook his head. He didn't even want to think about what Rhys would do to her. Rhys was pretty easygoing most of the time, but cross him or someone under his protection, and he could be downright vicious, even by vampire standards.
So. He couldn't let her go, but he couldn't keep her in his house indefinitely, either. He wasn't sure he could rest comfortably knowing the Blood Thief was under the same roof. Destroying Saul had proven she was a hunter to be reckoned with. And Erik didn't intend to be her next victim.
He was about to return home when Rhys materialized beside him.
"Hey, buddy, you in the mood for a little midnight snack?"
"I was just heading home."
"No way. It's early and I smell fresh blood."
Deciding a refusal might stir Rhys's suspicion, Erik followed him across town to Santa Monica where they found two old derelicts sitting at the end of the pier huddled over a bottle of cheap wine.
"I'll take the one on the left," Rhys remarked.
"You always take the best for yourself," Erik muttered.
Rhys shrugged. "That's because I'm older and--"
"Wiser and stronger," Erik finished for him. "Yeah, I know."
With a smug grin, Rhys dragged the man on the left into his embrace. A moment later, the scent of blood filled the salty air.
Erik grimaced as he wrapped his arm around the other man's shoulders. The wino smelled of booze and urine and too many days without a bath. Muttering an oath, Erik released his hold on the drunk, who staggered backward, then turned and ran down the pier as fast as his unsteady legs could carry him.
Lifting his head from the wino's neck, Rhys smirked at Erik. "You always were a picky eater."
"And you were always a pig."
"Yes, but an older, wiser pig."
"Older and wiser, my ass," Erik retorted. Rhys had been turned a few months short of his twenty-first birthday; Erik had been thirty. But Rhys had been a vampire longer. Perhaps that made him wiser, but sometimes he acted like an arrogant teenager. As for stronger, Erik couldn't argue with that. Vampires grew stronger as they grew older.
With a bark of laughter, Rhys lowered his head to his prey's neck and drank.
Moving to the rail, Erik stared out over the dark water, his thoughts drifting toward Daisy. What was he doing here when he could be home with her? He turned when Rhys slapped him on the back.
"Shall we go find something more to your liking?" Costain asked good-naturedly.
Erik shook his head. Rhys never let him forget the differences in their upbringing and background. Erik had been the oldest son of a wealthy landowner. When he came of age, he had inherited property and a title. Rhys had been the bastard son of a prostitute, forced to steal food and beg for money to survive. Erik thought it an odd twist of fate that the two of them had met and become friends.
"Something perfumed and refined," Rhys suggested with a faint leer, "as befitting a man of your station."
"Enough!" Erik said curtly.
"Never enough," his companion drawled.
"Here we go," Erik muttered as they walked down the pier toward the beach. Rhys might be one of the oldest and strongest of their kind, but he had a melancholy streak a mile wide.
"Never enough." Rhys waved a hand in the air. "In five hundred and twelve years, I've never had enough. Not like you. You had it all."
"It was a long time ago."
"But you still had it," his companion said, his voice turning bitter. "A wife, children..."
"Rhys, don't go there."
"You're right! You're right! The past is over and done, but we've got an hour or two before sunrise, and I'm still thirsty. Come on, let's finish off the night with something that's young and smells good."
Like a wounded animal seeking shelter, Daisy snuggled deeper under the covers. She was usually eager to be up and about, but not today. Why not today, she wondered. The reason hit her like a splash of cold water. Rhys Costain was hunting for her and, according to Erik, he wouldn't stop until he found her.
"So, what are you going to do about it?" she muttered. "Just lie here and wait for him to find you?"
Flinging the covers aside, she went downstairs. Coffee. She needed coffee. And something to write with. A search in her handbag turned up a pen and an old envelope.
Sitting on the sofa, a cup of coffee close at hand, she began to write down everything she knew about vampires. Her father had always said knowledge was power, so what did she know about the Undead? Garlic didn't faze them. Old ones weren't entirely helpless during the day. Grimacing, she remembered that she hadn't needed a mallet to drive a stake through Saul's heart. Erik was able to place wards on his house that kept her from leaving. Was that vampire magic, or warlock magick? According to her father, holy water and crosses didn't provide much protection. As for mirrors, only the very young ones cast no reflection. Daisy had always puzzled over that.
