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Erik watched Rhys and the woman disappear into one of the rooms. He sat there a moment, thinking how complicated his life had suddenly become, and then, smiling inwardly, he hurried home, eager to see the woman who was the cause of it all.
Daisy was stretched out on the sofa, drifting toward sleep when she sensed Erik's presence in the house. Bolting upright, she glanced around the room, fearful that Rhys might have come home with him.
"It's just me," Erik said.
"What did he want? Does he know who I am?"
"No. Apparently there's another hunter in town. Rhys got a whiff of him at Tina's boyfriend's house."
Daisy wrapped her arms around her body, relieved that Rhys didn't know who she was. "Is Tina...did the hunter destroy her?"
"Yeah, she's dead for good this time, and her boyfriend, too."
"Was he a vampire?"
"No, just a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Daisy bit down on her lower lip. She was sorry to hear about the deaths, but at the moment, the only thing that mattered was that Rhys didn't know who she was.
"I can go home now, can't I?" she said, thinking aloud.
"I suppose so." He dropped into the chair across from the sofa. She was so beautiful. How could he let her go? He had known her little more than a week, but it seemed like she had always been there, a part of his life. He was going to miss her company and her conversation, the scent of her shampoo, the sound of her laughter, the sexual awareness that flowed between them.
Daisy stared at Erik, wondering why she suddenly felt so depressed. She should have been thrilled that she was out of danger, delighted at the thought of going home and sleeping in her own bed, living in her own house. Why wasn't she?
"I can take you tonight, if that's what you want," Erik remarked.
"Well, I need to pack, and...and it's late. I can go tomorrow, if it's all right with you."
He nodded. "Sure. Anything you want."
"Thank you for looking after me. For protecting me. I...I appreciate it."
"No problem."
"You're not going to leave town, are you? I promise not to tell anyone where you live, or come here again."
Leaning back in the chair, Erik crossed his arms over his chest. Leaving LA would be the smart thing to do. He knew Rhys wouldn't like it, but it wasn't Rhys's decision to make.
"Erik...please don't go."
"Why? I'm evil, remember? You said so yourself. Vampires are horrible monsters."
Daisy felt her cheeks grow hot as he parroted the words she had said. "I was wrong about that, at least where you're concerned. You're not a monster."
"Oh? What am I?"
There was no way to answer that without making a fool of herself, she thought frantically. She knew he was a vampire, a creature who existed on the blood of others, but it no longer seemed to matter. She had grown inordinately fond of him in the last few days, so much so that she couldn't imagine her life without him. But she couldn't say that, because no matter how much she cared for him, how attracted she was to him, they were worlds apart. They had no future together, yet she couldn't abide the thought of his leaving town.
"What am I, Daisy?"
"You're...you're my friend, and I don't have many of those and I'd hate to lose one." She blurted the words in a rush, then lowered her gaze, afraid he might laugh at her.
"Daisy, look at me."
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his.
"I don't have any friends."
"What about Rhys?"
"I guess he qualifies, in a way, but I don't trust him, not the way I trust you."
"Then you'll stay?" she asked hopefully.
"Yeah." He would have stayed whether she wanted him to or not, Erik thought, because there was no way on earth that he could leave the city as long as Daisy was in it. "I'll take you home tomorrow night."
For Daisy, the next day passed slowly, and yet all too quickly. She wandered through the house, then went upstairs to Erik's studio. It was a large room, unfurnished save for a long wooden table that held palettes and tubes of paint, brushes and palette knives, cans of gesso and linseed oil, paint-stained rags, an easel. A stack of blank canvases stood in one corner. She paused to admire the painting of the castle that she liked so much. Was it a real place, she wondered, one that held some special significance for Erik?
Later, she went into the bedroom to fold her clothes, only then realizing she had no suitcase in which to put them. She took a shower and washed her hair, spent a pleasant two hours watching a love story on TV, and then went into the kitchen to make lunch. It was while she was making a sandwich that it hit her--she was going home. Tonight, she would fix dinner in her own kitchen. It had been days since she had been outside. Perhaps tonight she would go out to eat.
After fixing a tall glass of iced tea laced with lemon and sugar, Daisy sat at the kitchen table to eat lunch and contemplate her future. She had always thought of vampires as evil creatures, monsters beyond redemption. She had never felt the least bit of guilt at taking their blood; she had always been proud of her brother Alex. While she and Brandon collected vampire blood, Alex took heads. He was one of the best hunters in the States, maybe the world.
Daisy put her half-eaten sandwich aside. Since meeting Erik, she no longer thought of all vampires as evil. How could she? True, he had tasted her blood, but that was what vampires did. Might as well hate cats for hunting birds, or lions for hunting gazelles. It was the nature of the beast. Erik had kept her there against her will, but it was only to protect her from Rhys.
"Erik..." She whispered his name, jumped when he appeared before her as if she had wished him there. And perhaps she had. "You're up early."
"You're leaving tonight. I wanted to spend as much time with you as possible."
"I'll miss you, too." She was tempted to ask him if she could stay a little longer, but what was the point. The longer she stayed, the harder it would be to go. Instead, she reminded herself that they were worlds apart. She was the Blood Thief. He was a vampire. She sold the blood of the Undead; he drank human blood to survive.
Looking at him, she wondered how any female in her right mind could ever think of leaving. Every time she saw him, she was struck anew by the chiseled masculine beauty of his face and form. Maybe what she felt wasn't affection. Maybe it was just plain, old-fashioned lust. After all, no woman over the age of twelve could look at Erik Delacourt and not want to run her hands over his arms, or feel those arms around her. Just thinking about being in his embrace brought a rush of heat to her cheeks.
