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As he descended the porch steps, he wondered if there would ever again come a time when he didn’t feel the need to hunt every night.
He had almost reached the corner when he caught a scent that made his hackles rise. Desmarais had been there, loitering beneath the tree near Skylynn’s bedroom window, and not so long ago.
Swearing softly, Thorne retraced his footsteps. Crossing the street, he walked around Skylynn’s house. There was no indication that Desmarais had gone into the backyard or approached any of the doors. Still, his presence so close to Skylynn was unsettling.
Dissolving into mist, Thorne returned to Skylynn’s bedroom. She slept on her side, her cheek pillowed on her hand, a faint smile on her lips. A smile he had put there.
Resuming his own form, he went to check on Sam. The boy was sprawled facedown on the mattress, one leg sticking out of the covers, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed.
Kaiden stood there a moment, then, opening his senses, he moved through Sam’s mind. The boy wasn’t hiding from anything; his amnesia had been caused by a hard blow to the back of his head. He would let Sky know tomorrow.
Satisfied that neither of the McNamaras were in imminent danger, Thorne walked down the hallway toward the master bedroom. Hunting would have to wait until tonight. No way was he going to leave Skylynn and Sam alone while they were asleep and vulnerable, not when Desmarais had been sniffing around.
The master bedroom was a large square room done in shades of brown and green with lots of ruffles and lace. It was obvious that Paddy hadn’t changed a thing since Maureen passed away. Several family photos were scattered across the top of the chest of drawers. A frame on the wall next to the bed held the image of two tiny handprints. A sewing basket sat next to a pair of glasses on one of the bedside tables; a long blue nightgown hung from the back of the door.
It seemed almost indecent to even think of sleeping in the bed Paddy had shared with his wife, but it couldn’t be helped. It would be dawn soon. He needed a place to spend the daylight hours, but taking his rest in Sky’s bed was out of the question now that Sam was home. And even though the odds were slim that anything would happen during the day, he intended to stay nearby, just in case.
After locking the door, Thorne slipped off his running shoes, stripped down to his briefs, and slid under the covers. He could feel the lethargy stealing over his body, leeching his strength, drawing him down into the thick, velvet blackness that was like death.
Sky was in the kitchen trying to decide what to have for breakfast when Sam shuffled into the room. His surly expression and the dark shadows under his eyes were ample proof that he’d had a rough night.
“You got any coffee?” he asked, slumping onto a chair.
“Of course. Do you still take it black?”
He snorted. “It ain’t coffee any other way.”
Ignoring his gruff tone, she poured a cup for Sam and one for herself, then sat at the table across from him. Feeling like a child defying authority, she laced her coffee with two teaspoons of sugar and a healthy dollop of milk.
“What happened last night?” he asked. “How’d I get home?”
“Kaiden brought you back. You were dead drunk.”
Sam’s gaze slid away from hers. “I don’t remember,” he said, his tone surly. “But what the hell, I don’t remember much of anything else, either.”
“Drinking like a fish won’t bring your memory back.”
“I’m sorry, Skylynn,” he muttered. “I know I’m behaving like a jerk, but ...”
“Hey,” she said, smiling. “You can’t help it.”
“Are you saying I was always a jerk?” he asked with a wry grin.
Sky felt a rush of hope at the familiar banter. “Not always.”
“Just most of the time?”
He sounded so much like the old Sam, she wanted to kiss him. Instead, she asked him what he wanted for breakfast.
Later, while loading the dishwasher, Skylynn wondered where Kaiden had gone. After the night they had shared, she had expected to wake up beside him. But then, her vampire rarely did what she expected.
Her vampire. The thought made her stomach curl with pleasure. Last night, after they made love, he had asked if he could drink from her. After what they had shared, there was no way she could have refused. Not that she had wanted to.
She lifted a hand to her neck, thinking how strange it was that something that sounded so hideously repulsive could be so gratifying. Was she being foolish to trust him not to take too much? He had admitted he didn’t trust himself to stop while they were making love, though she wasn’t sure why that made a difference. She pondered the question for a few minutes. Giving him her blood had been an unexpectedly sensual experience. Was it the same for him? Would she die if he took too much? Or, worse, become what he was? Maybe she would ask him about that later.
In the old movie, Love at First Bite, it had taken three bites for George Hamilton’s Dracula to turn the girl into a vampire. In Twilight, becoming a vampire had been described as a horribly painful process that took days, certainly not something Sky would ever want to experience. In other books she had read, an exchange of blood had been necessary for the transformation.
No matter how it happened, there was always biting and blood involved.
The drone of the lawn mower drew her gaze to the backyard. Looking out the kitchen window, she smiled when Sam waved at her. Once again, she felt a rush of hope that, with time, everything would be all right.
She dried her hands after starting the dishwasher, then went upstairs to change the sheets on her bed. At the top of the stairs, a strange vibration in the air drew her down the hallway to Granda’s bedroom. She paused a moment before trying the door, only to discover it was locked.
She frowned a moment, then called, “Kaiden, are you in there?”
There was no answer, of course. If he was in there, he would be asleep. And then, to her surprise, she heard his voice inside her head asking if she was all right.
After assuring him all was well, she went into her own room. Humming softly, she pulled the sheets off her bed and carried them down to the laundry room. She dumped the bedding into the washer, added soap and fabric softener, selected the setting she wanted, and closed the lid.
Leaving the laundry room, she went down to Granda’s lab. It still hurt to believe he was gone. It was so easy to imagine him sitting at his desk, his glasses perched on the end of his nose while he pored over his journals, or muttering to himself as he tried to solve some complicated formula. How long had it taken him to come up with the potion he had concocted for Kaiden? And how would they ever find the missing ingredient?
