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Giving herself a mental shake, she watched him stride across the room. Pulling a chair out from the table, he spun it around, then straddled the seat.
"You okay?" he asked. "You look a little flushed."
"I'm fine."
Grunting softly, he reached into his jacket pocket, withdrew her cell phone and her tool kit, and slid them across the table. Reaching into another pocket, he ran his fingers over her compass. He was reluctant to return it to her even though there was no point in keeping it. If she was determined to hunt vampires, all she had to do was ask her grandmother the witch to make her another one.
"Any chance you've decided to stop being the Blood Thief?"
"No."
"Just because Rhys doesn't know who you are now doesn't mean he won't find out. You've been lucky up until now."
She lifted her chin in a gesture he was becoming all too familiar with.
"I can't talk you out of this, can I?"
Daisy shook her head.
"I didn't think so." Pulling her compass out of his pocket, he tossed it on the table. "You might need that."
"Thank you." She rubbed her hand over the compass, remembering the day Nonnie had given it to her...
"Are you sure you want to follow in your father's footsteps?" Nonnie asked. They were sitting in her screened-in porch. Below, the waves made their endless journey to the shore and back to the sea. A gull floated in the air; a dolphin surfaced in the distance.
"Yes," Daisy had said confidently. "It's what we O'Donnells do."
"It is a course fraught with danger and very little reward," Nonnie remarked.
Daisy shrugged. "Dad's been preparing me for this since I was a little girl. It's the only thing I ever wanted to do. The only thing I know how to do."
"Now, Daisy, child," Nonnie said, giving her a skeptical look, "I know that's not true." Nonnie picked up the compass and rubbed her gnarled hands over it. "This will guide you, but it cannot protect you."
"I understand."
"If you follow it, it may guide you in paths you never thought to follow."
Daisy frowned at her grandmother. "What does that mean? Are you having one of your visions?"
"You will know, in time."
Daisy looked at Erik. Was he the path she never thought to follow? She shook her head. As much as she had come to care for Erik, their lives were miles apart. If she was smart, she would keep it that way. She had heard stories through the years of mortals who had fallen in love with vampires. None of them had ended happily; most of the time, the mortals ended up dead by the hand of their lover, sometimes on purpose, sometimes by accident. Dating a vampire was like bringing a wild animal into your house. You just never knew when it was going to turn on you.
Erik rested his folded arms on the back of the chair. "So, are you in a hurry to go home, or can I persuade you to go dancing at the club?"
"I'd like that." One last night together, she thought glumly, before they said good-bye.
"Are you packed?"
"Sort of. I don't have a suitcase."
"Come on. I've got a couple you can have."
She followed him up the stairs to the bedroom she had been using. Going to the closet, he pulled down a large navy blue suitcase and another, smaller one.
She had expected him to leave, but he stood in the doorway, watching while she packed, putting her clothing into the larger case and her toiletries and make-up in the smaller one.
"I guess you'll be glad to be rid of me," Daisy remarked as she closed the large suitcase. "Glad to have your house all to yourself again."
"I thought I would be, but now...I think I'm going to miss you." Picking up both suitcases, he walked down the hall to the room where he kept his paintings. "Take whichever one you want."
"Oh, I couldn't...I mean, they're so...do you mean it?"
He nodded. "Consider it a peace offering for keeping you here against your will."
"That one," she said, gesturing at the painting of the castle. "It's my favorite."
"Mine, too," he said, smiling. "Go on, take it."
Unable to believe he was actually giving her one of his works of art, Daisy picked up the painting and carried it down the stairs and out of the house.
Outside, Erik stowed her suitcases in the backseat of his car, then opened the trunk so Daisy could place the painting inside. She looked at it a minute, thinking again that she had never seen or owned anything so beautiful.
"Do you want to stop somewhere and get something to eat?" Erik asked.
"No, I'm not hungry. Are you?" she asked, then felt her cheeks grow hot.
"Are you offering?" he asked with a good-natured leer.
"No, sorry."
Laughing, he held the door for her, then walked around to the driver's side and slid behind the wheel. He was still grinning when he pulled out of the driveway.
It was early and a Monday. The club was practically empty, which suited Daisy just fine. Erik ordered drinks, a margarita for her, the house special for himself.
Daisy stared at his glass when the drinks arrived. "What is that anyway?"
"Are you sure you want to know?"
"I think so."
"It's very expensive Madeira laced with a little blood."
Was he kidding? She hoped so, but there was no humor in his expression. And then he lifted one brow. "Want a taste?"
"No, thank you!"
"Want to dance?"
As had happened once before, the jukebox came on when he took her hand in his and led her onto the empty dance floor. As had happened before, she forgot everything else when he took her into his arms and held her close. She wasn't sure swaying back and forth, their bodies so close you couldn't have put a piece of paper between them, qualified as dancing, but she didn't care. She loved being this close to him. Loved the smell of his cologne, the way his hands dwarfed her own, the sense of power that clung to him, the touch of his lips in her hair. Closing her eyes, she lost herself in his nearness, in the bittersweet lyrics of A Fine Frenzy singing about someone who was an "Almost Lover."
Oh, yes, she had it bad!
Time ceased to exist as they danced. As if in a dream, he whispered in her ear, his words warm and soft, relaxing her completely, so that when she felt the touch of his fangs at her throat, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
Erik knew a brief moment of guilt as he closed the tiny wounds in her neck. Had he been less honest, he could have lied to himself, told himself it wasn't his fault. She was beautiful, irresistible, and he was only doing what came naturally. And it was partially true. She was beautiful. And he had done what came naturally because he had no desire to resist.
