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This was like one of those Saw movies … only a little sexier.
Cal stirred at my feet, groaning softly.
“What happened?” he grumbled as I helped him sit up. He tilted my head gently to examine my bite mark and winced. “The last thing I remember is kissing you …”
“I’m OK.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, checking me over for other wounds. “I remember wanting your blood so badly. Then I got just the smallest taste of it. But I was able to pull myself out of it. I remembered it was you. I could hear your voice, smell your skin. And that seemed so much more important than being angry or hungry.”
“Actually, other than the whole ‘mortal peril’ thing, it wasn’t that bad.” I sighed. He pulled his shirt over my head and covered my blood-soaked bra. “I’m OK.”
“I—”
“Don’t,” I told him, tapping my finger against his lips. “Just get us out of here. I need some juice and a cookie.”
“Blood-donor jokes are not appropriate right now.” He growled.
“It’s my blood loss, and I will joke about it any way I please,” I said, slumping against the wall as Cal tried the door again.
Several failed experiments later, we discovered not only that the handle made it very difficult for Cal to open but also that there was something holding the lock in place from the outside. Cal rolled up the leg of his jeans and ripped a black canvas holster away from his leg. He unsheathed what seemed to be a short bronzish sword, broad and flat, shaped a bit like an oak leaf. It was the perfect length to wear against his calf, just less than two feet. It looked worn, old, but cared for. It shone in the dim light as he tapped it against the door, looking for a weak point in the lock mechanism.
“What—what the hell is that?” I spluttered.
“It’s my sword.”
“I can see it’s a sword. But how long have you had it?”
“When I tell you these things, they tend to send you on conversational tangents.”
“Cal.”
“A long time,” he admitted. “I carried it into battle as a human. It’s not as impressive as some of the other specimens I’ve collected over the years, but it’s the one I’m most comfortable with.”
“Are you telling me that all this time, you’ve been walking around with a sword strapped to your leg?” I yelled.
“I never leave home without it,” he said.
“How do you get through airport security?”
He grinned, shoving the blade through the mechanism holding the door shut and twisting it viciously. The innards of the lock tinkled to the cement pad like broken toys. He wrapped his shirt around the handle and yanked the door open.
Cal burst out of the building in full vamp mode, expecting whoever had shut us inside to be waiting for us. But the clearing was empty, quiet, oddly removed from the blood scene inside the shed.
I took deep lungfuls of the clean, cool air, feeling suddenly dizzy. I’d come very close to dying. Again. It was a habit I seemed to have picked up since meeting Cal. And the idea that I could have been killed in some bizarre vampire sex accident scared me. The idea that I could have left Gigi alone, to fend for herself, scared me. But none of these things scared me nearly as much as the fact that some dark, perverse side of my nature was screaming at me to drag Cal back into the shed and do it all over again.
I was going to need serious therapy if I survived this.
I looked up to find that Cal was watching my every move and expression, as if he expected me to burst into hysterics at any moment. I wasn’t 100 percent sure that he was off base with that. I reached into my backpack and pulled out a pack of Skittles. I needed blood sugar, and I needed it quick.
“You feeling OK?” I asked, deflecting.
“Oddly enough, yes,” he said, stretching his arms over his head. “I feel energized, better than I have in weeks.”
Now would not be the time to mention that the energy most likely came from snacking on live, human me. Instead, I chewed my fruity candy, slumped against his bare chest, and leaned my head against his collarbone.
“Good.” I sighed as he lifted me. “You can carry me home.”
15
