Predatory

As she stared with unblinking horror, he curled back his upper lip, exposing long sharp fangs.



She gripped her small glass shard so tightly it dug into her palm. Blood trickled between her fingers. The pain kept things real, because on some level she still wanted to believe she’d wandered into a dark nightmare alley. But this was no dream. And she didn’t have any illusions that her puny weapon would stop him.



Then she realized he wasn’t looking at her any longer. His gaze swept past her to focus on Len, who was throwing himself against the door in a vain effort to break it down. The force of his desperation shook the room.



The fanged . . . male laughed, a soft sound that terrified her more than an angry roar ever would. She edged over to the wall and pressed herself flat against it, wished she could sink into it and disappear, and prayed to a God she hadn’t spoken to since she was ten.



“Leaving so soon?”



His voice was dark and deep, filled with such menace that she had to force herself not to join Len in flinging herself against the door. Instinct whispered, “You’re prey. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t call attention to yourself.”



“I’m sorry that I don’t have more time to discuss things with you—life, death, and how payback is a bitch.” He didn’t move closer to Len.



Len finally turned away from the door. All color had drained from his face, his eyes were wide and staring. “No. Don’t. Tony did the binding.” He sounded almost incoherent.



“But Tony is dead. That only leaves you.” He sounded regretful that Tony was beyond his reach. Then he smiled.



Cassie shuddered. She felt what was coming, sensed death filling the room, the air thick with fear and finality. She told herself to close her eyes.



She watched.



Suddenly, Len’s head jerked sharply to the left, farther than any human neck should be able to twist. If there was an accompanying sound, Cassie couldn’t hear it past the roaring in her head. Len dropped to the floor. Cassie recognized death in his loose-limbed sprawl and empty eyes. And no one had touched him.



She stared at Len’s killer. Was she imagining the slight change in his face—the more predatory shape of his eyes, a more dangerous slant to his mouth? Cassie blinked. Of course she was. No way could she trust any of her senses right now.



It was too much, too much. She slowly slid down the wall until she was sitting. She opened her hand and released the bloody piece of glass. Cassie couldn’t even blink as she stared past Felicity, Tony, and Len. She’d finally found something that frightened her more than dead bodies.



He ignored her as he methodically stripped Len of his clothes. He pulled on the dead man’s pants and shrugged into his shirt. He glanced at the shoes. “Too damn big.” But he put them on anyway. Finally, he turned his attention to her.



“What’s your name?” He moved closer.



Cassie should be a shaking, drooling puddle of terror, but she felt strangely calm. Her heart still pounded way too fast, and she knew her breathing wasn’t normal, but she felt detached from what was going on around her. He would kill her now. He didn’t need to know her name to do that. But she couldn’t work up enough emotion to care. “Cassie.”



He crouched in front of her. “Well, Cassie, we need to get the hell out of here. Now.” He reached for her.



She started to cringe away from him but then stopped. Get out of here? He wasn’t going to kill her? Why not? Cassie’s thoughts felt as though they were slogging through knee-deep mud, each word coming loose with a sucking sound.



His black gaze pierced her. “Here’s the deal. If you stay in this room, Roland Garrity will take care of the job that Tony and Len botched. Even if you run home, you’ll die. You can’t hide from him.” He grabbed her hand and hauled her to her feet.



She flinched at the sharp pain in her cut palm.



He didn’t miss her reaction. Loosening his grip, he examined her bloody palm. “Nasty cut.” He glanced up at her from under thick dark lashes. “It’s not wise to tempt me.” Without warning, he bent his head and slid his tongue across her palm.



The stroke felt warm, and weird, and something . . . more. What should have been a shudder turned into a shiver. But she stopped wondering about her strange reaction as she stared at her palm. The cut was closing. And within a few heartbeats, she couldn’t see where it had been. “What . . . ? How . . . ?” She knew her eyes must be wide and staring.



He didn’t bother answering. “We’re wasting time. Let’s go.”



“What if I don’t want to go with you?” She realized she was in shock, but even knowing that, she couldn’t shake the inertia holding her in its grip.



“Did I say you had a choice?”



He led her to the door, and she didn’t fight him. Even through the shattered reality messing with her mind right now, she recognized the futility of trying to escape.



“I need to call the police.” She glanced back at Felicity. Her friend was dead. Soon the horror of what had happened would crash over her, and she’d drown in her what-ifs and should-haves. But not now. Now her mind was still wrapped in a cotton wool world.



“No police.” He barely touched the door and it swung open. “Tony would’ve had instructions to call in as soon as you were dead. He hasn’t called, so Garrity will know that something went wrong. Right now all of his people will be on their way. We don’t want to be here when they arrive.” He pulled her into the elevator and hit the top button.



“But the police . . .”



He hissed at her. “By the time the police get here, the bodies will be gone. Where’s your purse?”



“How can they get rid of the bodies so fast?” She winced. When had Felicity become just a body?



Cassie was starting to think again. She needed her cell phone and her car keys. Once out of the elevator, she ran down the hall with him right behind her. She grabbed her jacket and purse before following him out the back door. Night had fallen while people died in the funeral home’s basement. She was selfish enough to be thankful she hadn’t been one of them.



“They have . . . resources. Where did you park your car?”



“Out front.” She hadn’t wanted her car sitting in the funeral home’s parking lot. Stupid. As if death would stick to her tires if she parked it there.



They were almost to the street when he suddenly grew still—not moving, not even breathing. Cassie looked away. His complete stillness creeped her out. She scanned the street. Quiet. A mixture of homes and businesses. For the first time, she really thought about running.



“Don’t. I’d catch you. Besides, we don’t have time for that crap. I can feel them. Any minute now they’ll turn the corner and see us.” He’d emerged from his suspended animation thing and herded her toward the street.



How had he known . . . ? No, she’d think about that later.



When they reached her car, he took her keys from her and slid into the driver’s seat. She didn’t argue. Her mind was starting to function, and depending on his answers to her questions, she might decide to bail at a stoplight along the way. Then she remembered. He could kill without touching his victim.



“Won’t need to kill you. All the doors are locked. Relax and enjoy the ride.” He pulled away from the curb and merged into Philly traffic.



Cassie sucked in her breath. Okay, she couldn’t ignore it this time. Her fear had receded a little, but now it came flooding back. “You were in my mind.” Breathe, breathe. “Look at me.”



He glanced at her and smiled. The smile didn’t reach his eyes.



Blue eyes. Straight, even teeth. She folded her hands in her lap to stop their shaking. Had she hallucinated the black eyes and fangs? Had seeing Felicity’s corpse pushed her over the edge? She closed her eyes for a moment, and once again saw his body lying in that glass coffin with the headstone beside it. She opened her eyes.



“Is your name Ethan?”



“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate.



“Where’re we going?”



“To check on some friends.”



Ask him. The sensation of the world she thought she knew flipping upside down made her want to throw up. Ask him. Cassie had never thought she was a coward except for her horror of dead bodies. But at least there was a good reason for that particular phobia. The fear she’d felt in that room, though, proved she’d never make anyone’s top ten fearless women list. To make up for her total shutdown back there, she had to ask him.



“What are you?” Please, please don’t say it.



“I’m vampire.” He never took his eyes from traffic. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”



“There are no such things as—”



“There are. I’m one. Get over it. We don’t have time for you to have hysterics.” His voice was cold, devoid of any sympathy, any understanding.



“Bastard.” She didn’t know how he’d react to name-calling, but for just this moment she didn’t care. Surprised, she realized that some of her fear had faded. No matter what he was, or said he was, he hadn’t killed her yet. Maybe a person could only sustain mind-numbing terror for so long.