Ignoring him, Roland tossed the towel aside and settled his palm on the ribs he had seen Sarah clutching as she ran. Just as he had suspected, three of them were cracked.
His hand heated as he focused his flagging energy. His own ribs began to ache as hers healed beneath his touch.
Releasing her, he shifted uncomfortably.
“Here.”
A bag of blood appeared a few inches in front of his face. Roland’s gaze followed the arm offering it to its owner.
Marcus now stood behind the sofa. “I brought it to you in case you were simply too tired or lazy to get it yourself.”
Roland brushed it aside impatiently. “Get that out of here.”
“Stop being stubborn,” Marcus demanded. “You need it and she’s unconscious.”
“But she could wake at any moment.”
Actually, she already had.
Chapter 6
Sarah had been flirting with consciousness ever since Roland had settled her on what felt like a very comfortable sofa.
Roland was a vampire. Marcus was, too. And she was now alone with them and terrified of what they meant to do to her. She needed to escape but had no hope of outrunning them. So she had enacted the only plan she could think of with her head pounding and sharp pains darting through her chest every time she drew in a breath: feign sleep, eavesdrop, gather information, then sneak away at the first opportunity.
The hardest part so far had been keeping her heartbeat steady and slow despite her fear and not flinching when Roland had touched her sore ribs.
Well, no. The absolute hardest part had been not freaking out when Marcus had told Roland to feed, assuming she would be the main course.
The more she listened, though, the more uncertainty crowded her. Roland didn’t sound like the soulless predator she had seen suck the blood of that goth kid in her front yard. He sounded like the nice guy she had spent the day with. The one who had let her sleep on him without copping a feel, disinclined to complain about her weight resting on his many wounds.
He sounded protective of her.
“And Seth thinks I’m unreasonable,” Marcus muttered. “She knows what we are.”
“And she’s already seen me feed once, Marcus. I don’t want her to see me do it again. She’ll be scared enough when she wakes.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Clearly you didn’t see her face when she dove for the car and screeched away.”
Inwardly, she winced. Jeeze, that sounded cowardly.
“I was preoccupied, if you’ll recall,” Marcus responded dryly. “Besides, she was only afraid because she thought you were a vampire like the others. Once you explain that you’re not, that you’re an immortal, she’ll come around.”
He wasn’t a vampire? What was an immortal?
“The way Mary did?” Roland asked dryly.
Who was Mary?
Marcus snorted. “Mary was a twit, infected by the superstitions of her time and easily influenced by others.”
“She was not a twit. She was well-educated.”
“She was a bluestocking, a student of the classics with her head in the clouds. Despite her love of books, she knew little more of the world than her female peers and, as I said, was easily influenced by others. Perhaps if she had been capable of thinking for herself, she wouldn’t have betrayed you the way she did.”
Roland grunted.
“None of that matters, anyway, because Mary and Sarah are two different people. Mary would never have hit a man in the head with a shovel to save you. Sarah did.”
Well, that made her feel better.
“Plus, I happened to see a number of paranormal romance novels on her bookshelves when we were at her place, so she may not freak out at all.”
“What do you know about romance novels?” Roland asked skeptically.
“Bethany liked them. I recognized several she had read.”
“Well, liking the fiction doesn’t mean Sarah will like the reality.”
The pain in her head increased minutely when Roland carefully prodded the left side of her forehead, then brushed her hair back.
“I don’t really care whether she likes it or not as long as she accepts it and doesn’t rat us out.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
“Really? You, the king of paranoia, aren’t worried she’ll blab our secret?”
“If she did, who would believe her? She’d be locked away in a looney bin faster than she could say Nosferatu.”
“Not if she led the police here.”
“I’d make sure she couldn’t. She didn’t see the way here. A blindfold or a sedative will prevent her from seeing the way back. Or, better yet, I could have Seth pop in and transport her.”
Sarah sensed movement above her face before Roland’s hand withdrew.
“What are you doing?” He sounded surprised.
“Stopping you from doing something stupid.”
“Let go of my arm, Marcus.”
Fear surged to the surface again at that ominous warning.
“Feed first, then heal her.”
What did that mean—heal her? Heal her as in render first aid? Why was it so imperative that he feed first?
She recalled the soothing heat that had suffused her chest when he had touched her ribs moments ago. The sharp pains had vanished, as had the ache. She was once more able to take deep breaths.
What had Roland done to her?
“When she wakes, I don’t want the first thing she sees to be me holding a bag of blood to my lips,” Roland bit out.
Oh crap. He is a vampire.
“Then hurry up and feed before she wakes.”
“She’s already close. Her breathing is changing.”
She swore silently.
“Then leave the room and feed.”
“And have her wake up alone? No.”
A charged silence followed.
“Oh, man,” Marcus breathed. “You like her.”
Against her will, Sarah’s eyes flew open and sought Roland’s reaction.
He was kneeling beside her, his hair mussed and damp with perspiration around his face. The terrible wound in his neck was sealed and no longer bled. A long cut followed his jawline from his right earlobe to his chin where one of his opponents must have tried to slit his throat again and miscalculated, laying open the flesh so deeply that she feared she would see bone if she rinsed away the blood.
His shirt was saturated with the red liquid, his clothing torn in numerous places. He was also holding his left arm close to his body in a way that made her wonder if it weren’t broken.
Battered and looking no better, Marcus stood behind the sofa. In one hand, he held a bag of blood similar to those used in hospitals.
Neither man paid her any attention as they stared at each other.
Marcus looked concerned. Roland looked bitter.
“You do, don’t you?” Marcus pressed. “You like her.”
A muscle in Roland’s cheek jumped. “Don’t you think that would be rather foolish, considering?”
“Considering what—that she’s smart, pretty, and good with a gun?”
“No,” Roland said, his voice laden with sarcasm. “Considering she would have used her gun on us if you hadn’t made her promise not to. As soon as she wakes up, she’s going to run screaming for the door.”
Okay, she knew he was a vampire or whatever, but felt guilty anyway because running and screaming had been her first impulse and he looked as if he knew that and his feelings were hurt.
Marcus stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I think you’re wrong.”
“Why, because you know her so well?”
“No, because you’re so distraught over her injuries and her potential fear of you that you’ve missed something pertinent I have not.”
His gaze still on Marcus, Roland brushed his fingers through her hair in what seemed an unconscious gesture of affection. “And what might that be?”