Damek was struck dumb by the offer. It was made easily and without reservations. As a vampire, he could feel all Craig’s emotions and there was no coercion, no sense of fear, only pure, sincere generosity.
“I’m humbled by your offer, but I’m perfectly fine. I tend to use blood banks in these modern times.” Blood was much easier to come by these days, especially since he owned a private blood bank. But it was cold and almost lifeless when he drank it and lacked the power of fresh, warm blood.
Craig removed the hanky from his finger and inspected the cut. It had already stopped bleeding. “That makes sense, but the offer is there if you ever need it.”
“Why?” Damek truly wanted to know, wanted to understand why this human would give something so precious so freely.
“Because you’ve done everything you can to help my family and you’ve asked for nothing in return.”
Although it should have been impossible, Damek felt his face getting warm. Damned if he’d blush like some fledgling. He was a vampire, damn it. Lord of the night. Feared by one and all.
Except, it seemed, by this particular human.
Damek inclined his head in acknowledgement. The dawn was coming. He could feel it in his bones. Time was short. “If you ever need anything from me, call the number on the card I gave you. Day or night, it is no matter.”
“You can move around in the daytime?” Damek heard the curiosity in Craig’s question but wasn’t about to answer. His secrets were his own. Keeping them had allowed him to stay alive for hundreds and hundreds of years.
“Day or night,” he reiterated. With that, he faded back into the shadows and disappeared. He left the club behind him, making sure the door was locked. As he hurried through the city streets toward his home, he could feel the dawn snapping at his heels.
Chapter Four
Chrissten came awake suddenly, her heart racing. She’d been dreaming. Or at least she thought it was a dream. She kept her eyes closed and her breathing as even as she could, not wanting to alert whoever was in the room with her that she was awake.
And there was someone there. She could sense him.
She caught a whiff of his scent and her entire body unclenched and relaxed. It was her mystery male. Whoever he was. She had no idea about his identity. She only knew his smell made her feel safe. As if he surrounded her in an invisible net of comfort.
She shifted her head slightly on the pillow and his scent deepened. Strange. She sniffed again and realized it was coming not only from the room but also from the pillow. Was she in his bed?
It didn’t matter where she was because she was free. Free from her prison. It was almost unbelievable after so long, after losing hope of rescue. She allowed the pure luxury of simply being in a soft, warm bed with clean sheets to wash over her.
But she wasn’t safe. Not really. Not with Brian running around out there somewhere in the city. She shivered beneath the blankets. She wouldn’t be truly free until he was dead.
A movement on the opposite side of the bed made her flinch in spite of her best efforts to remain still.
“You’re okay. Everything is okay.” His deep, sleep-roughened voice sank into her bones, settling into every cell of her body. The blanket was pulled higher around her. “Are you cold? I can get you another blanket.” Without giving her time to answer, he moved away from the bed and went to the closet. A moment later, he returned, shook out a blanket and spread it over the pile already on top of her.
She was cold, which wasn’t normal. Her metabolism was fast and her body temperature was usually slightly higher than a human’s. But a chill permeated her entire being.
It was difficult to focus, but she forced herself to do so. “Who…who are you?” She licked her dry lips. She was so very thirsty. She looked around and saw a glass on the nightstand and struggled to sit up.
“I’m Hank. Hank Brewer.” He helped her sit up, propping her back against the headboard, arranging the pillows until she was comfortable. When she was settled, he lifted a glass of orange juice to her lips. “Here, sip this slowly.”
Grateful, she tilted her head slightly and drank. She was parched and soaked up the slightly warm liquid. Some of it spilled down her chin, but he was right there, wiping it away.
“Easy.” He pulled the glass away. “Give yourself a minute. You don’t want to drink too much too fast. Might make you sick.”
She nodded and took a minute to really look at him. Hank. She liked his name. It was strong, like him. Up until now she’d been so focused on his scent she’d paid little attention to his appearance.
He sank down onto the bed beside her, making the mattress dip with his weight. Chrissten studied his face. His eyes were the palest blue she’d ever seen and were fringed with thick eyelashes. His brows were straight and dark in contrast to his hair. It was short and blond. Real short. Almost military short. His nose was large and straight. His lips firm and full. His chin square.
This was one tough male.
His shoulders were so wide he blocked out the rest of the room from her line of sight. His biceps swelled beneath the cotton of his long-sleeved shirt, hinting at his strength.
Her heart skipped a beat and picked up its pace. She wanted to curl her body around him, using his heat to warm her.
Which was totally nuts. She’d just met him. Hadn’t she?
She licked her lips again, thankful they weren’t as dry as they’d been. “You were there, weren’t you?” Even as she asked, she knew the answer to her question. He’d been there.
“Yeah. I was part of the team that extracted you.”
“Team?” It sounded like a military operation, but she knew it wasn’t. Her brothers had both been there.
“The pack.” Hank placed his hand on her upper arm. She flinched and he immediately removed it. He started to stand, but she didn’t want him to leave her.
“Stay.”
“You sure?” His laser gaze studied her. She knew if she asked him to leave he would. That released some of the irrational fear surrounding her. She owed him some sort of explanation.
She nodded. “It’s just when you touched me…” She couldn’t continue. She didn’t want to remember how Brian had touched her whenever he wanted. She started rubbing her arms, frantic to remove Brian’s touch. The covers fell to her waist.
She could still smell him under her skin. She’d never be free of him.
Strong hands captured hers and her eyes flew upward. Not Brian. Hank. This was Hank. Panic slowly began to recede.
“I’m sorry.” God, she was a basket case.
“Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to apologize for.” His tone was fierce but gentle. “I just don’t want you to hurt yourself. You still have a long way to go before you’re fully healed.”
She looked down at her arms, seeing them for the first time. Mottled bruises in various shades of blue, black, brown and purple ranged up and down her skin. Now that she was looking at them they began to throb. She pulled her hands from his and tugged the covers over her, ashamed for them to show.
Hank got up from the bed and walked to a closet. He withdrew a long-sleeved denim shirt and came back to the bed, driving home the fact she was in his room, in his bed, resting on his pillow. It felt very intimate, but not frightening.
“Here. You can wear this.” He knew. He knew how much the bruises bothered her. She peered deep into his eyes and saw no pity, only understanding. Slowly, she released her death grip on the blankets and let them fall to her waist.
Chrissten raised her left arm and flinched. She was sore and stiffer than she’d thought.