Chapter Twenty
Regina forced herself to sit up, open her eyes and stay awake. Vampires had her; she was sure of that now. But not just vampires. There were regular humans, too. The thing was, she couldn't figure out what they wanted. The one she sort of knew—the one she'd danced with at the house and who must have knocked her out somehow and kidnapped her—came to see her almost every night. But everything that happened after his visits was kind of a blur. And she was grateful for that because what little she remembered about the other vampires and what they did to her . . . She didn't want to think about those things. She ran her hands up and down bare arms, pimply with cold; she'd lost even her thin jacket somewhere. Her fingers ran over a sore spot on her left arm and she looked down, touching it gingerly. Dark bruises marred her skin, visible even in the low light. There had been another room. One with bright lights and the cold sting of an alcohol rub, her blood filling the little glass tube. A woman had talked to someone as she bent over Regina's arm. But what had the woman said? And who else had been there?
Regina tried to recall, but a wave of dizziness hit her, making her empty stomach roll with nausea. She lay back down and closed her eyes, wishing it away. It was so ironic. She'd always been one of the good girls—no drugs, no drinking and hardly ever a date. She'd finally decided to break out of the mold, her first tiny rebellion, and what happens? Some wacko nut job kidnaps her.
She sighed wearily and shifted on the uncomfortable bed. It was so hard to think. Maybe that's what they wanted, to keep her confused so she couldn't think straight, couldn't remember their faces when they let her go. Because she had to believe they were going to let her go. Or that someone would find her and the others. It was the only thing that kept her going. She shivered and reached for the blankets he'd finally brought her last night. That was a good sign, wasn't it? It was just . . . the blankets had smelled of perfume. It was a scent she recognized, a musky scent she'd never worn. And she couldn't help wondering who'd been using these blankets before they'd given them to her?
Her eyelids drooped closed and the tears came unbidden. She wanted to go home; she wanted her mom. She drifted off to sleep. Maybe when she woke up, the police would be there, maybe they'd find her. Maybe it would be in time. Before they did to her whatever they'd done to the girl who wore the musky perfume, the girl who didn't need her blankets anymore.
Chapter Twenty-one
Sarah woke to the sting of tears running down her face, the pillow damp beneath her cheek. The tears weren't only Regina's this time. They were Sarah's, too. Tears of anger, of frustration, of despair at the girl's fragile courage and the hope that rescue was near. But how could they find Regina before it was too late, before she ended up like all the others Sarah hadn't been able to save? She sat up in bed, drawing a deep breath. She'd only been a teenager then, she reminded herself sternly. A child. She was an adult now, a woman with resources and contacts of her own. Surely she could figure out some way . . . Her phone rang and she knew it wasn't the first time. It was the ringing that had woken her.
She twisted automatically, reaching for her bedside table where she always left her cordless phone overnight. But it wasn't there. It rang again . . . in the other room. She frowned. She never went to sleep without her phone nearby. Never.
She started to climb out of bed and had a second surprise. She was wearing the clothes she'd worn last night—her sweater and skirt, of all things, and her bra. That was just wrong. No sane woman slept in a bra. It was one of the first things she took off when she walked through the door, along with her shoes. She must have been drunker than she thought when she left the restaurant last night. It was just luck that she'd managed to get home without hurting herself or someone else. Stupid, Sarah. She should have called a taxi. Her phone rang a final, futile time, the ring chopped off as the call was routed automatically to voice mail.
She stood, shivering slightly, as she shuffled on bare feet over to her closet for a pair of slippers and then a quick stop in the bathroom. Crossing into her office, she found her cordless sitting on the desk in its charger. She picked it up and noticed a business card sitting there, a thick, white card with crisp edges and a familiar name . . . And it all came back to her in a rush.
She had gone to the restaurant, but Raj had been waiting in the parking lot. He'd driven her back here and they'd . . . They'd what? She remembered opening the door, remembered letting him into the house. Mrs. M. had been listening at her window like always; Raj had told her that. But then what happened? And how had she ended up in bed fully dressed?
The light on her phone flashed, reminding her she had messages. She called voice mail and discovered there were two. She hit the play button absently, still trying to remember—
"Sarah."
Raj. She collapsed into the chair, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of lust so strong it took her breath away. She leaned forward, hugging herself, her ni**les stiff and painfully erotic against the lace of her bra, her thighs clenched tightly against a need so powerful that she groaned out loud. She wanted to strip away her clothes and—
"We need to talk. I'll be over around ten tonight."
And that was it. He hung up without identifying himself, without saying good-bye, just assuming she'd be waiting for him tonight like a good little pet. “Arrogant bastard,” she muttered, albeit somewhat breathlessly. She pressed one hand over her heart, waiting for her body to recover, only half-listening as her voice mail went on to the next message, which would be the call that had woken her. It was Linda, demanding Sarah call her immediately and tell her all about this gorgeous Raj person and why hadn't Sarah ever mentioned him before. Sarah smiled at Linda's description of Raj. He was pretty gorgeous with those beautiful blue eyes and hunky body. She shivered as another wave of longing hit her.
"Son of a bitch,” she swore suddenly.
She ran to the bathroom and began ripping off her clothes, her sweater first, her bra. Half-naked, she leaned closer to the mirror, holding up her hair and searching her neck for any telltale marks. She was perversely disappointed when she found none, but immediately stripped off her skirt, shimmying it over her h*ps and down to the floor. She'd read all those books about vampires; there was a big vein in the thigh that some of them were very fond of. She stared at her bare thighs in the mirror and then sat down to look with her own eyes. Nothing. No bite marks of any kind.
Perched on her closed toilet seat in the chilly bathroom, mostly na**d, she suddenly felt pretty stupid. If he'd ravished her, why would he have bothered to put her clothes back on? “Stupid,” she muttered. She stood and stared at her reflection. “He did something, though. I know he did."
She shivered viciously and began picking up her scattered clothes. Walking back into the bedroom, she folded the sweater and threw the rest into her clothes hamper, then stripped off her underwear and went to take a hot shower, standing under the pulsing jets for awhile and letting them warm her up. The first thing she'd done after moving into the duplex was replace the “water saver” abomination Mrs. M. had frugally provided with a decent showerhead. She believed in conservation, but enough was enough. Sometimes a woman needed a good, hot pummeling—of the watery variety, that is.
Once out of the shower and dried off, she pulled on her warmest sweats and sheepskin-lined slippers and headed downstairs for coffee. As the first shot of caffeine flowed deliciously through her system, she again considered her murky memories of the night before. She definitely remembered arriving back here at the house with Raj, because she remembered specifically inviting him in. He'd closed the door and then . . . A jolt of desire swept her from head to toe, just like before. Something had happened to her. Something to do with that damn vampire. And she intended to find out what it was.
She stomped back up to her office and found the white business card he'd left on her desk. She dialed his number, knowing he'd be down for the day and hoping the ringing phone would make his rest a hell of a lot less restful.
Raj was uncharacteristically edgy and dissatisfied as he dressed for the night. And it wasn't the usual hunger making him feel this way. He was old enough, and powerful enough, that he didn't need to feed nightly. The woman at the bar two nights ago should have been more than sufficient to keep him strong for another day at least—not that he had to go that long, but he could. He considered stopping in for a drink somewhere on the way to meet Em and the others, but if he needed blood that badly, he could always tap into the bagged supply at the warehouse. And besides, for some reason the idea of feeding from an anonymous stranger was unappealing.
No, it wasn't for some reason. It was for a very specific reason, one with blond hair and a tidy little body he was eager to taste in every way possible. Too eager. Raj didn't believe in self-indulgence. Yes, he drove nice cars and wore nice clothes, and his penthouse in Manhattan was well beyond comfortable in its amenities, but those were things, meaningless possessions he could walk away from without a thought. When it came to his personal life, he was all about discipline and control. He had the occasional vodka, but never drank to excess. He preferred blood from the vein of a beautiful woman, but he never overindulged and always left his women happy and sated. He had his vampire children, but he was their master and their sire. He was not their friend or their drinking buddy. Emelie he trusted utterly, but she was the only one.
Which was why this sudden irrational attraction to Sarah Stratton was so irritating. His need to protect her, to taste her, to steal her away and make her his and his alone, was powerful and instinctive. He didn't have to think about whether he wanted her; he did want her—totally and in every way possible. It took an effort to stop himself from ripping her clothes off and to hell with the consequences. He shook his head in disgust. If he had a choice, he'd fly back to Manhattan tonight and never see Sarah Stratton again. Since that wasn't an option, he'd simply have to act like a civilized man instead of a ravening beast, even if the latter was closer to the truth.
He pulled on his leather jacket and picked up his cell phone, noticing there was an incoming message from the lovely Sarah herself. He frowned, thinking she was canceling their appointment tonight, which was unacceptable. When he heard her message, his frown deepened.
"I know you did something last night, vampire, and I want to know what it was. No one screws around with my head, you got that? Not even you. And to hell with ten o'clock, Mr. High and Mighty. I want you here ten minutes after sundown or I'm going to the cops."
There was a pause during which he could hear her give a frustrated sigh.
"Okay, so I won't really go to the cops, but I'm not waiting around either. If you're not here by nine, I'm leaving and you can just use your stupid vampire tricks to try and find me."
Part of him wanted to chuckle at the exasperation in her voice. And part of him, completely irrational, wanted to applaud her determination in standing up to him. The more rational part demanded to know why she remembered anything at all about what had happened last night. Had he unconsciously wanted her to remember him and left a weakness in the memories he'd planted? That would be both stupid and dangerous. Only one way to find out. He punched in Em's speed dial. His vampires were awake and ready to go. He could hear their voices in the background when she answered.