Her expression went blank as her fingers clutched the blanket so tight her knuckles turned white.
"Okay. I'm glad we cleared that up," she at last said, her voice careful. "Now, if you would return my clothes..."
"You said you wanted the truth."
"So I did."
Styx sighed with impatience. "Humans are always so difficult. They believe nothing, even when the proof is all around them."
She scooted toward the headboard, a stiff smile forced onto her lips. "Well, we aren't very smart. Now, about my clothes ..."
He smoothly moved onto the mattress. Not so close that she would feel threatened, but close enough to warn her that she couldn't hope to flee.
"Those men were werewolves, and I am a vampire," he said in a stern tone.
"And I assume Frankenstein is waiting outside the door?"
Styx gave a low hiss. Ridiculous Hollywood myths. Humans were foolish enough without having their minds rotted with such filth.
"I see you will not be satisfied without proof." Feeling the need for a sideshow exhibit, Styx pulled back his lips and allowed his fangs to lengthen. "There."
There was no scream. No fainting. Not even a gasp. Instead, the aggravating woman continued to regard him as if he were soft in the head.
"I've seen fangs before. I do work in a Goth bar. Half our customers have fangs of some sort or another."
"I could drain you to prove my point, but I don't think you would like that, angel." He reached across her stiff body to grab the knife that had fallen off the tray. It was long and wicked enough to do its task. "Perhaps this will do."
She cringed back, fear flaring in her eyes. "What the heck are you doing?" she demanded as he ranked open his silk shirt to reveal his chest and the distinct tattoo of a dragon that glittered in the candlelight.
He didn't hesitate as he used the knife to slice through the smooth flesh of his upper chest. This time he did get a small scream from the woman as she held her hand to her mouth in horror.
"Gripes. You're totally whacky," she breathed.
"Just watch," he commanded, lowering his gaze to watch as the bronzed skin swiftly knit back together to leave no more than a thin beading of blood.
His head was still lowered when he felt her shift, and before he could guess her intention, she had placed her fingers lightly against his chest.
A jolt of unwelcome awareness stiffened his body. She was barely touching him, but the heat of her skin seemed to burn a brand of need through him.
He wanted to take that hand and sweep it over his body. To close that small space and wrap her so tightly in his arms that she couldn't possibly escape.
He didn't know where this dangerous attraction had come from, but he was beginning to fear that it wasn't going to be easily banished.
Damn the gods.
"Amazing," she at last muttered.
Fiercely holding still, he struggled to keep his thoughts from straying.
"I am a vampire. A true vampire. Not one of those faux hacks who frequent Goth bars and attend yearly conventions."
She barely seemed to hear him as her fingers continued to torment his chest.
"You're healed."
"Yes."
She lifted her head to reveal troubled green eyes. "And you can do that because you're a vampire?"