And that, she thought grimly, was surely paranoid thinking. Why wouldn't the driver be going slowly, when the wind was driving the rain so hard that visibility was down to practically nothing?
She rose and moved back to the footpath. The car had parked up near the top of the street. Its lights were out, and the driver was nowhere to be seen. See?
Kirby told herself. He'd been going slowly because he lives here. Nothing to worry about
Yet the creeping sense of danger increased. She hurried down the street, away from the car. The sooner she got home, the better.
She crossed the railroad tracks and headed toward her street. Something scraped behind her. She spun, fists clenched and her heart in her mouth. There was nothing behind her. She scanned the night, her stomach churning. Something was there, even if she couldn't see it. Its presence rushed heat across her skin. It was a warning of danger—of evil.
She turned to run, but her leg buckled. She went down, hitting the pavement hard enough to see stars. Cursing softly, she twisted around, looking behind her again. The shadows seemed to part, disclosing a tall man with gaunt features and matted looking hair. He looked like someone spaced out on drugs—there was an odd sort of neediness, maybe even desperation, in his eyes. Then he smiled. His canines were long and white—the sort of canines you saw on Hollywood vampires. He was crazy—or was she? Had the crack on her head sent her imagination tripping?
Evil washed across the night, burning her skin. This was no dream, she thought, horror rising. The stranger snarled and leapt towards her. She screamed and scrambled backwards.
From out of nowhere came a growling black mass, all sinew and power. Panther, she thought, and rubbed her eyes. Maybe she was tripping. Only the creature reminded her of the cat she'd seen when she'd first touched Doyle. He and the animal were connected, of that she was sure.
The cat hit the vampire hard, and the two went down in a fighting tangle of claws and arms. The shadows seemed to close around them, momentarily hiding them from sight. When they parted, it was Doyle fighting the vampire—Doyle wrapping an arm around the stranger's neck and twisting hard. There was an audible snap, and the man with the vampire teeth went limp. He didn't move—wasn't even breathing.
Dead, she thought, and felt her stomach rise. She scrambled over to the grass and threw up what little she'd eaten for lunch.
Footsteps approached. Kirby wiped her mouth and sat back on her heels. She didn't turn around. Didn't want to face him. His gaze all but burned a hole in her back. She clenched her fingers and waited.
"A person is only worth as much as their promise," he said eventually. Though his voice held no inflection, his anger surged around her. She rubbed her arms and wondered again why she could feel his emotions so clearly.
"Well, I've pretty much been told all my life that I'm worthless, so I guess that it's true, isn't it?" Bitterness crept through her words, but she just couldn't help it. He had no right to judge her, even if he had saved her life. Twice.
"At least now I know I can't trust you."
Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away. She didn't need his trust. Didn't need anyone's trust. All she wanted was to wake up from this nightmare.
"A fine statement coming from a man who's just killed someone."
'That someone was about to suck you dry and spit out the remains." She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the chilled fingers of dread creeping through her body. She knew instinctively that tonight's strangeness had only just begun. "What do you mean? What was he? And what happened to that cat I saw?"
He made a sound that was close to a growl. "I refuse to answer any more damn questions out here in the rain." Exasperation sharpened his warm voice.
"Get up—or do you need help?"
"I don't need anyone's help," she muttered and pushed upright. The night spun violently, and she swallowed heavily against the sudden rise of nausea.
"God grant me strength against stubborn women," he muttered. Suddenly his arms were around her and he was lifting her up, cradling her gently against his chest. It felt safe and warm and oh-so-secure. Frighteningly so.
"Put me down," she said, struggling against the strength of his grip.
"No." His arms tightened slightly. He was holding her so close that she could feel the wild beat of his heart. It might have been her own.
"Damn it, Doyle, release me." She thumped his chest. His gaze met hers. Deep in the depths of his eyes wildness burned—the sort of wildness she'd seen briefly in the panther's rich blue gaze.
"I'm wet, I'm cold, and I'm running out of patience," he said grimly. "And you just punched the wounds the manarei gave me."
She looked at her fist. It was bloody. "Oh God, I'm sorry. I didn't know...you didn't tell me."
"And you didn't bother asking."
She bit her lip. No, she hadn't. This man had risked his life twice now to save hers, and the fact that she didn't know why worried her. But that didn't excuse her lack of common courtesy. He'd earned that much, at least. "I'm sorry," she said. "And thank you for saving me." He nodded, though amusement seemed to gleam briefly in his eyes. "Now, will you just remain still until we get to the motel?"
"I suppose I can manage that." She didn't mean to sound ungracious, but she couldn't help it. Being held so carefully, as if she were precious cargo, was doing odd things to her pulse rate.
This time a smile touched his full lips, but he didn't reply, just kept striding on through the night. They reached the motel in no time. His car was parked in front of a room two doors down from reception. He placed her back on her feet, holding her arm with one hand as he rummaged in his coat pocket and pulled out a key.