Authors: Toni Kelly
“Savannah?” Max asked, his deep Irish brogue echoing through the line. “How the hell are you?”
“Hmm, I could go for a pound of your wings right now. Or a pint of Guinness and a plate of potato skins,” she gushed into the phone line, her tone almost flirtatious. Luke had yet to experience this side of her, and it captivated him. There was a freedom to her tone as she relaxed into the corner of the sofa.
“Sounds like you’re not getting enough to eat over there.” Max’s voice held a hint of concern.
Savannah laughed. “Oh, Max. Man, do I miss you. But don’t worry, everything is fine. I’m simply a bit homesick.”
“Now ya got me worried, love. Is everything okay? If you’re missing me, your
employer
, something’s not right about this picture.”
Love. These days, terms of endearment were used loosely. Even he called her pet and love. Of course he did not mean anything by the terms. Or so he preferred to think.
Twisting her fingers in the sheet, Savannah shivered and her smile faltered. “Max, you’re more than an employer to me and you know it.”
“Aye, and you to me.”
She cleared her throat. “Italy is beautiful, stunning. Still, I miss the pub, the night crowd. I bet Tricia and Pete are there already, am I right?”
Luke frowned. Strange, as she did not strike him as a night person—at least not in going to Blood Bar.
“Of course,” Max replied. “And Jason, Kelly, Colin and numerous others. But we’ll be here when you get back, begging you to regale us with tales of delicious meals and dates with Roman gods. I’d personally prefer to hear about the goddesses. I’ve always been a fool for big, chocolate-brown eyes.”
She laughed again, only this time it sounded forced. “If you only knew. Goddesses and gods there may be, but gods certainly aren’t dating me. My new employer might have the looks down in the god department but he is far from datable. It seems Romans can be highly overrated. Not to mention, he hangs with a strange crowd.”
Should he be glad she thought him handsome or insulted she thought him a poor date? Despite his misgivings, he could not fault her logic.
“He’s not trying any funny business with you? Because if he so much as harms a hair on your head, I swear—”
“No, Max.” She blushed as she glanced down. The silky camisole had slipped to the side, revealing one rosy nipple. Luke’s gut stirred. “No funny business,” she said, tugging her camisole into place. She bit her lip.
Max laughed. “All right. Try to enjoy yourself there. Learn some new recipes. You didn’t spend these last couple years working your arse off for nothing. I’ll have plenty of work for you to do when you return.”
“Goodbye, Max.” Savannah ended the call and set down the handset, leaned her head back. Had she meant what she’d said? Why did she lie about them spending the night together? Maybe last night meant nothing to her.
Luke fisted his hands. He would have to ask Broderick to investigate Max further.
Her stomach rumbled, and she swept the cover aside. “Shh, grumpy. I’ll get you something. Be quiet.” Pushing herself to a standing position, she stumbled into the kitchen. She had yet to sense him.
Her long, toned legs moving as she walked to the fridge and took out a carton of eggs, several slices of cheese and an apple hypnotized him. Munching on the apple seemed to steady her appetite while she whipped the eggs and cheese. Neat and efficient, she sauteed the red peppers and onions she’d put in the pan earlier. She was at home in the kitchen, her mood lifting even as she cooked. She ate with the same precision and tidiness she used in preparing her food, as if her meal should be savored.
Never could he remember ever eating with such passion. Neither Victoria nor his mother had enjoyed the kitchen and although his housekeeper, Mrs. Thompson, frequently allowed him to sneak freshly baked scones and jam, he ate in a hurry and never gave taste much thought.
While washing up, Savannah hummed, scrubbing the omelet pan with long, firm strokes. Her thoughts seemed to be elsewhere as she continued to rub the already clean pan. He took a step toward her, pausing as she squeezed the sponge and pulled her arm from the shallow sink water. “Damn it.”
The pungent scent of blood flooded the air. Saliva pooled on his tongue and he backed against the wall. He had just fed. Cravings should not be so strong, especially since he’d recently killed.
Streaks of red dripped down the underside of her sud-soaked forearm, tinting bubbles in the soapy water below a pinkish hue. Pushing past his hunger, he stood behind her. “Where are you hurt?” he rasped.
“Fuck.” Savannah jumped and turned around. “You scared me.” Her wary gaze pinned him. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long,” he lied. “Is the cut bad?”
“I’m fine, really.”
Who was she trying to convince, him or herself? He edged closer. “I heard talking.”
“I made a phone call,” she said.
“That cut definitely appears to have a sting to it.” He nodded at her arm.
She released a long breath, as if weighing her options. “Truth is, it burns like hell but I want to be a chef. No way I’ll ever make it with my latest penchant for injuries. They only seem to happen when you sneak up on me, though.” Her brows drew together. “I think you may be hazardous for me.”
If she only knew how close she was to the truth. “You cut yourself without any help from me.” He rubbed his forehead.
Eyes narrowed, she said, “Hello? Only a joke. Don’t go serious on me.”
“Let me see the wound.” He grasped her arm then grabbed a nearby towel. It was a long but clean wound. He held the cloth against it, using one corner to wipe off stray drops of blood. Closing his eyes, he felt muscles along his jaw pulse. Every moment spent close to her, he walked a fine line. Beneath the strong scent of life-giving fluid that ran through her veins, he detected the faint aroma of orange blossoms and locked onto it as if it were a lifeline.
“It’s practically a surface cut,” she said. “Luke, are you okay? You look...I don’t know...sick.”
“What?” His hand stilled in wiping. Her voice rang out as if from afar.
“Are you okay?” she asked and placed her hand over his, her short, ruby red nails drawing his attention.
“Blood.” Had he lost complete control? The pulse at her neck beat a seductive rhythm beneath her skin. He ached to caress the long ivory expanse between the side of her jaw and the top of her shoulder. “I can smell it.”
“You can?” She sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. “I can’t. I smell eggs and onions. You must have an exceptionally sensitive sense of smell.”
“I do.” He met her gaze, felt her trepidation—or was it his own? “This wound is a bit deeper than the surface but you are going to be fine. I am going to put on a bandage. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” She tilted her head, studying him as he wet a clean towel and held it to her forearm. “Have you always had such a keen sense of smell?”
The question did not surprise him. Of course she was curious. He should be cursing his stupidity and yet his admission gave him a sense of relief. He tired of living in a world full of deception. Grew weary of trying to fit into the mold of vampire or human when he did not feel he fully belonged to either.
Savannah shifted in place, her nervous energy almost tangible. “I can see well. I’ve always had twenty fifteen vision.”
He rubbed his forehead. His mind was too clouded to think about right or wrong. What he should and what not to say. Did it even matter? “My sense of smell has improved with age. Hold this to your cut for a moment. I shall get the first aid kit.” He placed her hand against the damp towel then swallowed a sigh of relief at the distance he created between them. From a cabinet on the other side of the kitchen, he removed a first aid kit. He bought the kit years ago and yet could not recall any of his former companions using it quite as much as Savannah.
“How unusual.” She came to stand behind him, her arousal like an invisible fog coaxing him.
“Savannah.” He half turned and tensed beside her. “No.”
“No, what? You didn’t say no last night.” Her voice sounded husky in the gray light of dawn. Casting her gaze downward, she pulled the towel off her arm. Burgundy liquid pooled from the slice, dripping onto the floor.
“You are hurt.” A knot caught in his throat as he cut a piece of gauze then turned, gripped her arm. “You are still bleeding. We need to stop the blood.” The vein at the base of her wrist thrummed upward as if straining toward his mouth.
“Luke, please. Stop worrying about my cut. It doesn’t hurt.”
“Savannah, I cannot.”
She frowned, trailed a finger over his hand, which cradled her elbow. “I don’t understand.”
He breathed in deep and looked away as her touch taunted him. How had he let her get to him? Her scent, her voice?
Wetness splattered against his skin and he swore fire engulfed the underside of his arm. A stinging pain ate through his mind’s haze, doubling him over. The acrid scent of burning flesh infiltrated every pore.
“Bloody hell.” He hissed and yanked his hand from her arm as several drops of her blood trickled down his forearm and over his wrist. Everywhere red touched, the skin blackened and burned. Supporting his arm, he ran over to the sink. The rush of water washed away the blood, exposing new flesh and damaged muscle where his skin had melted away.
Savannah backed away, her face a mask of terror. “I-I’m so sorry, I don’t know how... I couldn’t have done... I don’t know what happened.”
Fury gripped him, and afraid of what he might do, he held himself immobile. Who was she? Had she done this on purpose? He shook his head and grabbed a kitchen towel, carefully wrapping his forearm. When he glanced up, he could see disbelief through the glassy glaze that covered her eyes. “Maybe I should be asking what the hell you are.”
* * * *
Body-wracking sobs made Savannah’s steps clumsy as she rushed down the hall toward freedom. The door to leave was behind her but she couldn’t heed logic. Besides, she’d tried that already and it had only gotten her into more trouble. Must she learn all life’s mistakes through experience? She shivered, recalling her attackers’ hands on her. She wanted away from them, from Luke and from the idea others might truly have a reason to avoid her. Did Ben’s shunning of her suddenly have justification?
No, she wouldn’t accept it. And yet she’d seen the proof herself. Luke’s arm couldn’t be explained. Plain and simple, her blood ate through his skin.
“No.” Salty tears clung to her cheeks and dipped between her lips. Exhaling a shuddery breath, she brushed the back of her hand across her face.
The hallway dead-ended with a winding staircase and she climbed it.
What the hell! Life’s experiences had turned her into a fairytale-hunting pansy instead of a reality-facing warrior. Anger carried her up the rest of the steps in a hurry and she burst through the exit to the roof with the momentum of a freight train at full speed. Cool air hit her face and yanked her out of her spiraling thoughts. The view stunned her, forced the breath from her lungs and made her swollen eyes widen. She stood staring. “Incredible,” she whispered.
Small maples shaded forked pathways as flowers of every color and shape wove around the paths like perfect accessories. Sweet and musky fragrances wafted past in symphonic harmony. This was how Alice must have felt when she stepped beyond the tiny door into the white rabbit’s topsy-turvy wonderland. Unlike Alice, though, she wanted to lose herself here, never to be found again.
With deep, long breaths, she calmed her thoughts and scanned the area. Garden? Who was Luke kidding? He’d built a veritable forest on the roof of his building. Sniffling, she bent and inspected a flower’s delicate, lavender petal then fingered a small white sign in front of several stems. Neat, black letters spelled
Epilobium angustifolium
. So much detail, so much thought. Did he even take time to enjoy it?
She walked a bit further and sank onto a soft patch of grass below a tree. Exhaustion tugged at her. The mid-afternoon sun peered through leaves above and a cool breeze whirled around her. Though she trembled, she wasn’t quite ready to leave this newly discovered sanctuary. What kind of man created something so beautiful? The same kind of man who touched her with so much passion and carried her through the city. The one who’d fought to protect her then left her alone. The one whom she’d burned with her blood and who most likely thought her a freak now.
Groaning, Savannah buried her head against the tops of her knees and rocked to the wind’s sway. So many physical scars had healed and yet emotional ones still held her. She choked back one last sob and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping when she awoke, the nightmare would have ended.