"Then go straight home. Be careful. Don't let anyone in. You've heard about the campus murders?"
"What are you talking about? Oh, never mind. I'm too tired."
"Holly, I need you to listen—"
This was all wrong. Ben had pushed her away, and now Alessandro was telling her to go, and she was cold and exhausted and she didn't want to dwell on death. On top of that, going home sounded incredibly lonely.
At least Alessandro recognized her need for comfort, and that was the best she was getting from anyone tonight. She stepped into his arms again, pressing against the strong wall of his chest. She meant the hug to be sisterly, as he had been brotherly, but heard the soft, surprised intake of his breath.
"Just hold me a moment," she said plaintively. "Just a moment, and then I'll go home."
His fingers curled into her hair, cupping her head as if he held something fragile and rare. "Holly, are you sure you're all right? Can I take you home?"
She didn't answer. The night had left her a raw wound. It was only now, when someone offered sympathy, that she fully allowed the pain.
His hand stroked down the back of her head and neck, traveling strong and gentle over her shoulders. Her clenched muscles trembled, reluctant to release. She'd thought comfort was what she wanted, but now Holly wanted to weep. His kindness was making her hurt worse.
He kissed the top of her head.
At that moment, reaching for warmth was the only balm for her misery. She tilted her face up and took his hard, full mouth with hers. A quick, tentative pressure. She felt his shiver, the sudden erratic beating of his heart. The vibration resonated through her flesh, heating things deep inside her body. His mouth was surprisingly warm, almost human-hot. They paused for a moment, their faces close together.
Holly's blood raced to the pull of his maleness. It drew her like a physical force, as if she could crawl inside his lethal strength and wrap it around her for comfort. A sweet tension began to push against her fatigue, a warm, new curiosity.
She leaned in a little farther, taking his lips again. He pulled back, hesitating, but then returned the soft, subtle kiss with something far more demanding—and delicious.
He tasted of licorice—no, it was fennel seed. Vampires sometimes chewed it as an old-fashioned breath freshener. The cool, sharp flavor made her tongue tingle, and she licked her own lips to get more of the sweetness. She slipped her arms around Alessandro's neck, her hands tangling in the wealth of his hair. He smelled of leather and tobacco and some other unique scent she could not place—the smell of him, of what he was. Holly drowned in it.
His hands held her, strong and steady. She kissed him more deeply, tongue glancing off the long, sharp edges of his corner teeth. Her lips quivered at the sensation, and she explored with the fascination of a primitive first seeing fire.
Alessandro's hands were cupping her face, the strong length of his torso tight against her. She could feel the subtle motion of his whole being with each movement of his tongue and lips, his entire body dancing against her as he kissed.
Alessandro slid one hand up her ribs, over her breast, until he found the tab of her jacket zipper. He pulled it down slowly, the grate of metal on metal resonating with an explosive, erotic weight. About halfway down he paused, pulling his hand back as if it had acted without his permission.
He shouldn't have stopped. Holly leaned into him, her breasts aching. He touched her collarbone, the back of his fingers stroking the column of her neck.
"This isn't what I meant for you," he said, his eyes lost in shadow.
Holly's heart thundered, heat roiling in her body. Slowly she drew away, a tremor of yearning down low in her stomach. She wanted this angel of death as she had wanted nothing before. She had totally forgotten all her caution, all the reasons she had to draw a line between them.
Sometimes she really was too stupid to live. But I want him.
Holly panted in lungfuls of the cold Pacific air, feeling the wind on her hot cheeks. I can't have him.
That kiss had gone far beyond anything she'd planned. She hadn't expected him to respond with such fervor, but there was more than blood-hunger in his eyes. There was all the confused heat and hope of any lover. Who knew?
He pushed the hair from her face. "As much as I want this, Holly, I'm not safe. And you have a good life. You don't need me. Not like this."
"I…" She trailed off, not sure what to say to the resignation in his voice. It made her angry and pained all at once. She put her hand on his arm, meaning to comfort. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He was suddenly restless, shifting from one foot to the other. She looked over her shoulder to see what was the matter, but there was nothing that hadn't been there before. Whatever was making him edgy was coming from inside his head. Doubt? Regret? Embarrassment?
How like a man to get close and then bolt. Apparently basic gender behavior didn't change with immortality. Now, there's a two-edged sword.
"I really have to go," he said quickly, looking down. "Honestly. I'm sorry."
"Can I catch a ride home? I'm not sure I should drive."
Something like panic crossed his face, followed by sharp longing. "I know I offered, but get one of the police to take you. That would be much better."
"Why? Why can't you take me?"
"I have to get out of here. I… I'm a vampire, Holly. You shouldn't be catching rides with me. Not after… I'll see you later."
The soft leather of his sleeve slipped from under Holly's hand. Her fingers tightened in reflex, but could not hold him as he stepped away, melting into the shadows. Alessandro looked back, a quick glance over his shoulder. His eyes caught the errant light in a flash of amber, but his expression was unreadable.
"Go home," he said. "Now."
"Yeah, okay. Call me," she replied. The words sounded forlorn.
It was way past time for the abysmal evening to wrap up. Holly headed toward the house, planning to double-check with the policeman—what was his name… Macmillan?—that she had the all-clear to leave. Floodlights lit up the front porch, making it look even eerier. Yellow tape cordoned off the walkway to the porch. As she approached, three gurneys came down the steps, one after another, sheets drawn over the faces of the victims.
Tears started in Holly's eyes. She'd heard the other professor had been Bill Gamble. He hadn't made it. He was one of Ben's best friends and a really nice guy. Six had gone in. She'd saved only three. Remorse shuddered through her.
Police were everywhere, and they looked anticipatory. Odd. It wasn't as if there were anything to arrest. Now that the ooze was gone, there wasn't even that much to see.
Macmillan had just come out of the house and was walking her way.
"What's going on?" she asked.
He turned and stopped as she spoke, his expression guarded. "It's a crime scene."
Holly folded her arms. "Yeah, but who are you going to arrest? The house?"
Macmillan studied her, clearly making up his mind how much to say. "You're going to need to answer some questions."
"Okay."
His gaze didn't waver, but kept watching, recording her every twitch. "They found another body. She didn't die like the others."
"What?"
"Her death was different. Murder, and not by real estate."
Holly grabbed the sleeve of Macmillan's coat. "How come I didn't see her? Where was she?"
He took a step back, giving her his X-ray look again. "Where's your friend? Alessandro Caravelli? I'll need to speak with him."
"He's gone." Holly felt her stomach plummet to her feet. Alessandro had made an oblique reference to the campus murders. Told her to go home and lock the doors. He knew about the fourth body!