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"Eve, open the door."
But I say nothing, just slice my skin an inch below the crease in my arm opposite my elbow. I pull the knife down, drawing a straight line about two inches long, the cut not very deep for the knife is deadly sharp, but deep enough so that the blood trickles down over the curve of my muscle. He breaks the lock, the door banging open, and he's inside the bathroom, standing there, watching me.
"There," I say, calm now, the pain cutting through all the fear and panic and anger, holding my arm with the bloody line out for him to see. "Does that make you happy?"
He steps closer, leans against the vanity where I sit, my knees up to my chin, and takes my arm in his hands. He bends down and runs his tongue through my blood and then looks at me, his face transformed, eyes blood red, teeth long. He licks the wound several times and soon, I see the incision start to clot and seal from the healing effects of his saliva. He pulls back and examines it. And then he pulls me into his arms and I don't resist.
He doesn't kiss me. Just holds me, my arm marked with a bloody line caught between us.
Chapter 4
“So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you.”
Paul Coelho
"I'll go down to the front desk and get a bandage for that." He leaves me sitting on the vanity. I watch as he dresses, putting on his shirt and tie, then his jacket.
The door closes and I'm alone.
I examine the cut on my arm, feeling all foolish now that I've been so histrionic but I was so confused, so torn between fear and anger and pain and desire, it was like I blanked out. It's always that way. Darkness overtakes me, I find a blade and cut and feel better. Then I see what I've done and I can't believe I'm so screwed up.
A knock at the door signals his return and I let him in without a thought, in stark contrast to earlier.
The world – my world –shifts.
"I had to tell them you stepped on a razor."
I sit on the bed while he bandages my cut, applying a stick-free pad to cover the wound and then wrapping my arm with gauze to keep it in place. He ties it off expertly, as if he's done this before.
"You're good at that."
"Army Ranger training comes in handy now and then."
I can't hide my admiration as I examine his face. Rangers are the best soldiers, the top, superior, enduring extensive physical and mental training, tactics, strategy, planning. Only someone physically superior and mentally stable could survive and complete Ranger school.
"I thought you were a Navy SEAL. Are you a Ranger, too?"
"Not officially, but I took the training, passed the course. Even Hell Week. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm starved." He cracks a grin when he sees my frown. "I don't mean for blood, although that little taste was a treat…"
I shake my head, unable to stop from smiling a bit.
"There's that smile," he says and brushes my cheek. "Don't worry. That mark on your neck is just for show. I won't drink your blood – unless you offer it because I'm just that kinda guy." He puts on his overcoat and scarf. "You're not fit to go out to eat, so I'll go out and get us some food from the little chicken and rib restaurant down the wharf. I know, I know. You don't eat meat. I'll get you a salad. Do you at least eat cheese? I don't know if they'll have tofu."
"I'm vegetarian, not vegan. I can have cheese. If they have pasta, that's good, too."
He goes to the door and before he leaves he turns to face me
"You might want to pull yourself together. We have a lot to talk about."
He puts on his hat and leaves me, the door closing behind him.
Later, he sits across from me at the little table in the room and eats with a single-mindedness he seems to apply to everything he does. I pick at my linguine Alfredo, biting at my food, chewing it but barely able to swallow, not really enjoying it. My stomach's still raw from vomiting.
When he's done, he goes into the washroom and washes his hands. He stands in the doorway, drying his hands on a towel, watching as I pretend to eat. He looks incredibly handsome in his expensive suit, his dark hair shining in the overhead pot light. He looks like a CEO of some multi-million dollar company instead of a vampire-hunting vampire.
"You're not hungry."
I put down the fork. "Not really."
