VELVET NIGHT

Vickie Anderson propped her feet on the porch railings, flaking off old paint in the process, sipped her ice tea, and leaned back in her rocking chair. It had been a long, hot drive from DC, but worth every mile. She hadn't realized how much she needed to get away. Up here she could forget crime, job stresses, and regulations. As the first firefly flickered in the warm June night, Vickie let out a long sigh and tension seeped out of her aching body.

This old house, deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains, was the perfect haven from the pressures of being a cop in the nation's capital. She had the warm night, honeysuckle in the woods, crickets in the long grass, two owls calling to each other in the trees, and the sound of an engine racing up the road.

Who on earth was it? This was the only house this far up the mountain—not counting the old fishing cabin on the lake.

The noise grew louder. Not a car or truck. It was tinnier and shriller, and getting louder by the minute, until a red motorcycle raced around the bend, bringing with it an aura of power and speed, the smell of fuel, and a cloud of dust on the dry road.

Who in the name of sanity was that? The southwest Virginia representative of Hell's Angels? Whoever it was, they slowed, turned around, and were coming back. Vickie grabbed her empty glass but unbreakable plastic wasn't much use for self-defense. Pity she hadn't brought her gun with her. Was Gramp's shotgun still in the closet beside the fireplace? Did she have time to find it?

As the motorcycle came to a halt, Vickie stood, ready to run for the gun. The rider looked up at her, waving a leather-gauntleted hand as he set the bike on the kickstand. He was tall, covered in black leather like a second skin, his eyes hidden behind the dark visor of the red helmet. If she had any sense, she'd run and pray the spare shotgun shells were still in the Mason jar on top of the fridge.

Instead, she stared like a snared rabbit as he lifted a long leg over the saddle of the bike and turned to face her. "You must be the Andersons' granddaughter," he said, as he unsnapped his chin strap.

Vickie was all ready to say that yes, she was, and armed (fingers crossed) and had four brawny brothers out back. But before the lies of self-defense came to her lips, she looked up at his face, and without quite knowing why, walked over to the porch railing. He came closer, helmet under his arm, a dark mass of curls framing his face.

He paused, just a yard or so away, and from the height of the porch, she looked down at the most compelling pair of dark eyes she'd ever seen. "Hi!" was all she managed to get out. The steamy night was making her breathless.

"Hello!" He smiled. "I'm Pete Falcon. Mrs. Burrows mentioned I'd be having a neighbor for the next few days."

Mrs. Burrows, at the general store and gas, gossiped too much! "I'm Vickie Anderson, just up here for a few days of utter solitude." As heavy a hint as she could drop without actually saying, 'bugger off!'

She should have gone for 'bugger off!' Or should she?

As Pete stepped forward, placing one leather-booted foot on the first step, he moved into the full circle of the light.

Dear heaven! She had the distinct impression she had seen him before—in a "hunk of the month" calendar. He was beautiful: dark eyes glinting in the night, and a wide, full mouth smiling up at her. And tall. Heavens, yes! With broad shoulders that filled his leather jacket. And she was gawking at him! Her tongue was as good as fused to the roof of her mouth—until it flapped loose. "Would you like a glass of tea? Have a seat on the porch." What a stupid thing to say! Especially as he took the rest of the steps two at a time, his leather-clad thighs gleaming in the glare of the porch light.

"Sure. Thanks! It's been a long, dry ride up from Boones Mill."

"Have a seat! I'll get it!"

The screen door crashed behind her as she darted into the house. She all but ran through the living room into the kitchen, grabbing a clean glass from the cabinet, and yanking open the fridge before she made herself calm down. The cool of the freezer soothed her flushed face as she reached in and grabbed a handful of ice. She hadn't asked if he wanted lemon. What the heck, he was getting it!

By the time she squeezed two wedges of lemon into the glass, the panic attack—or whatever it was—had eased. She still wasn't sure exactly why she'd invited a total stranger onto her porch and offered him refreshment. He could be the local rapist for all she knew. Nonsense! He was merely a hot and thirsty biker just ridden up the mountain.

Hot being the operative word.

Vickie had to stop herself from ogling him as she walked back with his tea. He stood at her approach and opened the screen door, closing it carefully so the spring didn't bang, and giving her the perfect chance to ogle his luxuriant blue-black ponytail. He turned back to her and smiled, and her throat went dry. He was close. Too close. And covered in black leather from his boots to his shoulders. His jacket was unzipped at the neck, revealing a vee of male skin and a fine sprinkling of dark hair. As if that wasn't already far too much for comfort, two other zips hung open: one on either side of his chest. For ventilation in the heat, she imagined, but right now, his thin, white undershirt shone against the leather like the moon overhead against the night sky. If she looked a little closer, she was certain she'd see the outline of two dark nipples under the soft, washed cotton.

She was not looking closer! "Here's your tea."

His hand closed over the cool glass, his fingers just missing hers by a hair's breadth. "Thanks."

He stepped away and sat down on the glider. She walked back to her rocker, angling it slightly so he was completely in her line of vision.

He took a long, slow drink, uttered an appreciative "Mmm," and licked his lips. She almost echoed the movement, but remembered, just in time, to take a deep, relaxing breath instead.

A few moments later, he broke the companionable silence. "You're very trusting. You ought to be more careful who you invite into your house."

He was telling her! "Should I turf you off my porch then?"

His smile had to be a trick of the light. No one in creation could look that sexy with just a smile—and okay, a glint in his impressive, dark eyes. "Nah. I'm safe enough but there are some roughnecks and reprehensibles around these parts."

He was so dead-on serious, she had to chuckle. "Oh. The Adamses are still around, are they?"

He looked. Just looked. His face stiller than she could have imagined. "You know them?"

"Everyone from here to Roanoke does! If they're lucky, only by reputation. When I was a kid, I was convinced the TV Addams family were named after them, and had no difficulty deciding scary, old Forrest Adams was a vampire."

Her visitor looked almost offended. Another trick of the light. "Yes," he said, "but there's not too many Adamses around anymore."

"All in the county jail again?"

His face relaxed. "A couple of them. There's even a few gone respectable. Just one or two reprobates left."

Quite enough! Vickie shuddered, remembering Sonny Adams rubbing poison ivy on her face, while his brother Micha sat on her. That Micha had also broken out all over had been scant consolation. "You live up this way?" Who wanted to talk about the George County Adams Family?

"Yup. In the house up the end of the road."

"The fishing cabin?"

He nodded. "Yes. I look out on the most magnificent view of the lake from the back porch."

"My grandfather used to take me fishing there. We spent hours on that jetty, with lines and bent nails baited with red worms."

"The dock has been rebuilt. You must come and see it sometime."

If he'd been eighty, she might have accepted, but as it was…"Thanks." No way! She'd come here for peace of mind, and just these few minutes with Pete whatever-his-name-was, was rapidly disturbing it. "You work down in Boones Mill?"

He shook his head. "In Roanoke. For an environmental group. I cover this part of the state."

That told her nothing, not that she was the least bit interested. She'd just wanted to change the subject from "come and see my jetty." But she couldn't help watching as he tilted the glass and drained the last of his tea. She had to be imagining the way his throat muscles undulated as he swallowed. No way in this light could she see that clearly.

"Thanks for the tea, it hit the spot." Pete set the glass down, smiled again—just to quicken her heartbeat probably—and stood. "I'd better be off."

Yes, he should!

"Ride carefully. The woods are dark." Why was she worried about him? This was a man who could definitely take care of himself.

"I see well in the dark." And his teeth flashed well in the dark, too. "Thanks for the drink."

"You're welcome." She smiled. How could she not, when he took her hand in his, his fingers long and strong but surprisingly cool? So cool, his touch sent goose bumps skittering down her spine. Had to be because he'd been holding his glass.

His eyes gleamed down at her. "Take care, Miz Anderson, and remember what I said: there are some odd types wandering around these days. Just because you're miles from the main road, is no reason not to lock your doors and latch your windows."

And having a sexy hunk in black leather up the mountain was an even better one. "See you!"

She had no idea why she stood on the porch, watching long after his taillight disappeared up the road.

 

He was an unmitigated idiot! As a new-blooded vampire, he'd been warned often enough that he lacked the control of a mature vamp, but no one warned him he'd be as impulsive as a hormone-crazed teenager. Or even more stupid! He'd all but barged onto Vickie's front porch, just because he'd caught a whiff of human blood and a glimpse of her short, silky hair in the moonlight.

John, his mentor, had warned him to stay away from women for a few years, until he got his impulses under control. Damn good advice it had been too! But Pete Falcon had had to make a lunge for the first woman he glimpsed. Okay, not a lunge precisely. He'd restrained himself that much, and she wasn't the first. He'd seen several in the past few weeks, but Mrs. Burrows down at the shop and gas hardly counted. Neither did any of the other women living hereabouts. But Vickie Anderson! He could feel his fangs descending as he thought about her smile, the silvery, silky sheen of her short, blond hair, and the luscious scent of her body in the moonlight.

The woman sent every single one of his vampire senses into overdrive. And not only his senses. He'd just discovered how uncomfortable a vamp erection was under leathers. Hell, he'd been half-afraid she'd notice it even in the dark.

He slowed the bike as he approached his cabin. This had been one ride where the engine hadn't felt good between his legs.

He needed to be alone and get himself under control before he ventured out again. He had to call John to report in, and needed to feed.

"Nothing so far," Pete said into his cell phone, "and I've covered hundreds of acres. All I've found is that one stand of pot I mentioned last week, and that was so small I think it was for home consumption."

"There has to be something, somewhere," John insisted. "Forget pot for now! We've got crystal meth flooding the area, and we're next thing to certain it's not coming in from outside."

"I'll keep looking. Remember that old road I said might have had tracks that the storm obliterated a few days back? I'll go back there."

"Great! Keep going, Pete. It's there. We just have to find it."

Easier said than done—even a vampire couldn't work miracles, and thinking about that…"I need advice." Pete gave a strictly censored account of his new neighbor.

"If you're that interested, I'd say you might be ready for human feeding. Be sure you throw a glamour on her first. You don't want her waking up and screaming in horror. Very upsetting for both of you." Something about John's attitude teed Pete off. "Mind you, once you get the hang of it, it's much easier. Human skin's thinner than the deer and horses you've been using. All it takes is a little nip. Veins are easier to find too."

Pete almost snapped at John. Comparing Vickie Anderson to a horse!

"Be careful, and enjoy yourself!" John gave a totally unnecessary laugh. "It can be fun with mortals! You could call it the ultimate one-night stand."

It took all Pete's self-control not to snap his cell phone shut there and then. Unfortunately he had to listen to a string of suggestions of where to look next, and totally superfluous advice about being careful as they were dealing with desperate and ruthless people. Pete had learned, while still a mortal, about desperate and ruthless people.

He snapped his phone shut after agreeing to meet John in Roanoke the night after next.

Outside was warm and soft as dark velvet. As a mortal he'd never fully appreciated the beauty of the night. Pete reveled in the calm warmth around him, as much as he did the snap of frost on a crisp winter evening, or the night breeze at the beach. Night was different every time and every place, and wonderful when a fascinating woman slept five miles down the dirt road.

He left his bike and ran towards Vickie's, loping at an easy pace. The moon had risen and cast dappled shadows through the woods on either side. He passed the old logging trail. Later. Right now, he had better things to do.

Vickie's house came into sight. All lights out, even the porch light that had drawn him like a moth to flame when he'd first glimpsed her silver hair and pale face in the night. If his heart still beat, it would be racing. Damn good thing he didn't sweat, or his hands would be clammy and his shirt sticking to his back. His mouth ached as his fangs primed to bite.

Could he do this right? What if he hurt her? Took too much? Suppose he mucked up throwing the glamour and she woke? He paused in the middle of the dry dirt track, and ran his hands over his hair, shaking his head so his ponytail brushed his shoulders. Hell, this was too much, too hard. John had not given him enough instruction. It could not be "just" like a deer or horse. Damn! He never got a hard-on over whitetails!

For the first time in nine months, he sorely missed being able to take a deep, calming breath. At least he didn't have an anxious pulse throbbing in his ears. Just a cold weight in the pit of his stomach, and the boner of the century.

Should he go back home and calm down? Prowl the woods a bit until his mind settled? Hell, no! He wanted Vickie Anderson. Needed to feel her warm skin and taste her rich blood. And he'd do it right. As a mortal he'd always made sure his partners received as much pleasure as he did; it wasn't going to be any different now that he was dead.

He'd hold her lovely body in his arms, stroke her short, silky hair with his fingertips, brush her eyelashes with his lips, and ease her smooth skin with kisses before he bit, and he'd make damn sure he left her smiling in her sleep.

He hadn't felt nervous when he walked up her porch steps before. Why this ache in his gut now? Must be his pants, suddenly two sizes too small. Hell, he was hurting. He needed her!

He had to get himself together, or he'd mess this all up. He was vampire. This was part of his nature, how he'd lived. He'd follow his instincts and give her the loving of her life.

He crossed the porch, his footsteps silent in the night. Using his mind, he unlatched the screen door on the inside. Too easy! Even a mortal could have done that. The front-door lock was old and took little effort to open. She needed better protection than that with drug runners lurking in the woods and hollows. Pete grasped the doorknob and turned it slowly. The door opened.

He looked into a neat living room, with old-fashioned furniture, and a braided rug in the middle of the plank floor. An open doorway led through to what looked like a kitchen. To the right a floor fan hummed in the entrance of a darkened room. Behind the noise of the fan, he heard a heartbeat and gentle breathing.

Vickie was so close, he could taste her in his mind. Her skin would be sweet, her blood warm, rich, and heady. Her body soft and supple in his arms. He couldn't wait. Silently, he stepped forward.

And slammed against the metaphysical barrier that barred vampires from mortal homes.

It took all his control not to wail aloud in frustration. To come this close and hit an unsurmountable and impenetrable obstacle. Why? How? Hadn't she invited him into her house? He slammed his body against the invisible block, clawing at the air with his nails, but nothing shifted. She might just as well be in Antarctica for all the chance he had. Hell, he should be the one in Antarctica. He needed cooling down. Fast.

He stepped back, growling in his mind. It made no sense. She'd asked him in, damn it! Or had she? As he looked around the dark porch and the unmoving glider, he remembered her words, in her light, welcoming voice: "Have a seat on the porch."

That was as far as her invitation went. And as far as he could go.

In his pent-up frustration, he leapt down the steps and ran at full pelt down the road and into the woods, racing as fast as his vampire speed could carry him. Dodging trees and jumping undergrowth, scaring every nocturnal animal for miles around. Clever move, that! Now there wasn't a deer within a couple of miles. He might find a slow-moving possum. The prospect did not appeal.

He leaned against a tree, threw his head back and howled long and loud. It felt better and eased his raging erection, but now even the possums and field mice had fled. He leaned his head back against the rough bark and shut his eyes. He wasn't going to feed tonight unless he was very, very lucky. There was old Mrs. Burrows down at the grocery and gas. He let out a weak chuckle. Plump, chain smoking, and great source of local gossip, Mrs. Burrows and her sagging neck held no appeal.

Hell, he didn't want to feed, except from Vickie. And come to think about it, he wanted more than feeding. Whoa there, boy! Better actually get invited into her house first before he let his horny thoughts get him hard again.

Might as well spend what was left of the night doing what they paid him for.

He was not far from a cleared hollow, so he went in that direction. A nice stand of tobacco in the lower fields, and knee-high meadow grass on the hillsides. Nothing illegal there. Shame. He'd have been delighted to uproot a couple of acres of thriving pot.

He stepped back into the woods, climbed the first sturdy tree he found and peered around. The countryside could be amazingly boring at times. He descended, jumping the last few feet just for the hell of it. Gauging his position by the stars, he started back, coming out of the woods a couple of hundred yards up the old logging road he'd agreed to check. He stood in the shadow of the trees and looked around. There were unmistakable tire tracks in the dirt. Who, in the name of creation, went driving up a disused road that led nowhere?

Definitely worth investigating. A bit of tracking might take his mind off his only slightly abated physical condition. Keeping to the trees, he followed the road half a mile or so, and reluctantly turned back. Dawn came too damn early in summer. But yes, without a doubt, tracks in both directions showed someone was going up and down the road. Regularly.

So, the night hadn't been entirely useless. He'd only failed in the most important part.

Once home, he settled in his day haven. As the sun rose over the mountains, he thought of Vickie, and the way her full lips smiled in the moonlight. In seconds, he was dead to the morning.

 

Vickie was on her second cup of coffee, looking out across her grandfather's now-overgrown garden, and listening to a woodpecker tapping the walnut tree. The steady rhythm of the bird searching for insects took her back years. She remembered her grandmother sitting beside her, shelling peas or snapping beans, and her grandfather hoeing between the rows and singing to himself. She was so glad they'd decided not to sell when they retired to Hilton Head. The house needed a bit of work, yes, but that she could afford. She'd rather spend money here than on overpriced real estate in the District. Invest a few thousand, and she'd have a retreat waiting whenever she needed one. And given the stress of her job, she needed a bolt hole.

Sitting in the morning warmth, sipping coffee, lost in the quiet of the countryside was the closest to calm she'd known in months. She took another sip of the fragrant coffee, wondering if a week was really going to be long enough. A shot rang across the woods and with a flash of green, the woodpecker fell to earth among the neglected grass.

Vickie was out of her seat before she stopped to think, and saw two men come though the woods from the left.

They were laughing together and didn't even notice her until they were a few yards away.

"Well, hello, little lady," the younger one said.

The sight of his oily smirk brought back nasty memories. "Good morning, Sonny. Mr. Adams," she added, nodding at the older man. Sonny was glaring and Lucas Adams just gaped, revealing tobacco-stained teeth. "Are you in the habit of shooting on my land? If so, I'm going to ask you to stop."

Lucas Adams's weasly eyes narrowed. "It were a woodpecker," he said, as if that explained everything.

"So I noticed."

"Lookee here," Sonny said. "You just can't let them birds take over. Next thing you know, they start on the house, and before you know it, the place collapses round your ears." He paused. "And I remember you, you're the Andersons' granddaughter, the one what went off to some preppy school."

Seemed pointless to point out that the house had aluminum siding. "If anything needs shooting, I'll take care of it."

Sonny closed his mouth before asking, "You shoot?"

She crossed over to the tree and looked down at the corpse and the few stray feathers the bird had shed as it fell. "Yes," she replied, fighting back tears at the sight of such destroyed beauty. "And I'm the only one who shoots on my land." Now she would have to dig out her grandfather's shotgun. And by the way the pair of them scowled at her, might as well be prepared to use it.

They walked away, taking the longest way through the grass. Vickie hoped it was full of chiggers.

She buried the woodpecker at the end of an abandoned row of blueberry bushes. Something inside her snapped while throwing the red earth on the still-warm body. What senseless killing! And what the hell were the Adamses doing shooting on her land?

The bird suitably interred, she strode back into the house, leaving her coffee cooling outside and hauled the gun from the closet. It hadn't been used in yonks. She could take care of that. She could get gun oil and shotgun shells at the grocery and gas. It wouldn't hurt to have the word spread around that she was armed and ready. Just in case the Adamses weren't the only ones shooting up the wildlife.

The front door stopped her in her tracks. She knew she'd locked it last night and latched the screen too, but now the front door was open a chink. Must be the old locks no longer held. She'd fix that. A couple of sturdy bolts would do the trick. For those she'd have to drive into Roanoke.

She stopped at the grocery and gas, certain Mrs. Burrows would let the entire county know the Andersons' granddaughter up from DC was buying up gun oil and shells. Locking the bag in the trunk, Vickie headed down the mountain, noticing more than she had yesterday, how things had changed in the past few years: new subdevelopments, a shopping center, even an all-night gas and convenience store on 220.

In a large hardware store on the outskirts of Roanoke, she found what she needed: heavy bolts, for the front and back doors, and latches for the screens. While she was here, she might as well take care of the windows, so added a dozen window locks, and for good measure a new screwdriver, to save scouring the house for Gramp's toolbox. That done, she headed for the checkout and turning the corner, all but bumped buggies with Sonny Adams.

"Why if it isn't Vickie Anderson, again!" His grin gave her an unwelcome closeup of two broken teeth. He looked as if he was economizing with razor blades too. On models in Vogue, stubble looked sexy—on Sonny it looked scuzzy. "No hard feelings about this morning?" he asked, a greasy lock falling over his forehead.

Vickie looked him over from his straggly hair, to the broken nails and calluses on his hands. He had a buggy loaded with lighter fuel and packets of lye. What on earth was he doing with enough fuel to set fire to half the Blue Ridge? Did she really want to know? If this were back in DC, she'd suspect…"Okay then?" he asked, taking her hesitation as agreement.

"Sonny," she replied, her voice calm and cold. "If you, your father, or any one of your brothers, cousins, or uncles, step on my land again, you'll leave with buckshot in your hide. Remember that!" Her anger soared as she thought of the beautiful bird now dead under the dirt. Shoving her buggy around Sonny's, she made a beeline for the nearest checkout.

She was still fuming as she drove out of the parking lot.

Why was she so upset?

Accumulated stress, no doubt. And, she had to admit to herself, a touch of fear. The Adamses were bad, and now she'd pissed them off. What the hell! She was armed, and by the time she went to bed tonight, she'd have the house locked up like a fortress.

So much for coming here to forget about felons and crime for a few days.

 

Cup of coffee at her elbow, Vickie dismantled and cleaned the shotgun. For old times' sake, she filled a Mason jar with shells, putting the rest in the drawer in the kitchen table. The cleaned gun she propped behind the pantry door. She'd sleep with it beside her bed.

She was armed. Now to fortify her house.

A screwdriver was woefully inadequate against age-hardened wood. She spent over an hour searching for her grandfather's toolbox, running it to earth in the basement.

The old electric drill still worked, and made the job much easier. The light was failing. She'd better get a move on. She had a new bolt on the screen door and was fixing the first one on the front door, when she heard Pete's motorcycle. When he stopped in front of the house, she smiled. Seconds later, she asked herself why that pleased her. A minute later she knew exactly why. Pete had a killer smile, gleaming dark eyes, long, silky lashes that gave new meaning to "bedroom eyes," and an aura of power that made her feel safe.

Nutty really, but there it was.

"Come in," she said, stepping back from the already open door.

He looked as if she'd given him the moon, the stars, and a couple of universes.

"Thanks, are you busy?" He glanced at the drill in her hand.

"Just fitting new locks."

He stopped almost in mid-stride. "Something happened?"

"I noticed this old lock doesn't hold. So I'm taking care of it. If you can wait a couple of minutes, I'll get you something to drink." Her grandmother's notions of courtesy dictated she leave this and sit with him on the porch, but darn it, she wanted the job done.

He lay his cool hand over hers. "Why not let me do them? Just this one bolt, right?"

"Two here and another couple on the back door. Won't take me long."

"I'll be faster." His hand closed over hers with cool strength. "Let me do them for you."

It was a temptation to accept his offer. She was perfectly capable of doing it herself, but… "Thanks." She released her hold on the drill. "Sure you don't mind?"

His night-dark eyelashes flickered as his wide mouth curled at the corners. "Certain. Won't take me more than a couple of minutes."

She couldn't hold back the grin at his macho exaggeration. "Need any help?" She resisted the urge to smooth back the dark curl that fell over his brow as he shook his head.

"I'll manage. A few screws are a piece of cake. Won't even need the drill."

Playing big strong he-man, was he? The role fit him perfectly. "Okay. Want something to drink?"

"Got some of that sweet tea?"

"Would lemonade do instead?"

His eyes creased at the corners when he smiled. "Sure." He reached for a screw from the open packet on the floor. "You get the drinks. I'll take care of the hardware."

She forced herself to walk away as he unzipped his leather jacket. She was not going to stand there and ogle him—no matter how tempted.

The lemonade wasn't exactly fresh squeezed, but not bad considering it came out of a can. She filled two glasses with ice and added a slice of lemon to each before reaching for the pitcher. Picking up both misted glasses, she made her way back into the living room.

Pete had just finished. The man worked fast! "That didn't take you long," she said, holding out the glass.

His forehead creased as he looked up at her. "I don't mess around," he replied. "If it needs doing," he paused, reaching for the glass, "I get it done." He took a long drink and handed the glass back. His lips left a little semicircle in the condensation. "Why not have a seat on the porch and put your feet up and I'll take care of the back door."

She was in the rocker with her feet up before she realized she'd been bulldozed out of her own house. So what? If he was out to steal, he'd be disappointed. She trusted her cop's instincts here. Vickie leaned back as the rocker tilted with her weight, and closed her eyes.

"Vickie?" Pete filled the doorway, propping the screen open with one hand and holding up a window lock in the other. "Want me to fix these too? Won't take me long. You were smart to get them, your window latches are flimsy in the extreme."

Might as well. It was why she'd bought them, after all. "Thanks. Sure it's not asking too much?" The man had come by for company, not manual labor. Who was she kidding? The look in his eyes suggested he wanted way more than lemonade and conversation.

"No prob," he replied, with a smile that convinced her that last thought had been spot-on. "Won't take me long. Seems crazy to leave them in the package when you need them."

Why argue with a man who knew his own mind? Why be so easily persuaded? She wanted those darn locks on. Knew she'd feel safer with them, but hell, now she owed him. Okay, she'd bake him a batch of cookies or fix dinner one evening.

Or… her mind went off on a tangent at other repayment possibilities.

Heaven on Sunday, what was she thinking? She was not about to offer sex for services rendered. Shame, really! Being raised respectable was a downright nuisance at times. She'd not say "no" to Pete Falcon's arms around her, her head on his shoulder while he eased his cool hand under her shirt and over her bra. She bet he'd snap it open with one flick of his long fingers. No fumbling and getting hung up over the hooks and eyes for him. And when he brushed his fingertips over her breasts…

Pete twisted a brass-headed screw home with his finger. Holding the bolt up with his left hand and setting in the screws with his fingernail was much faster than mucking about with the drill. Faster! It was the difference between snail space and running. Smart woman to get the window locks, too. Trouble was, just being in her bedroom gave him a hard-on. Something about the carved wooden bedhead and the creamy, crocheted spread sent his animal urges rearing.

And verging on the bestial they were too! He pictured Vickie naked under that crocheted spread, sheets drawn up, and one smooth white shoulder showing just enough sweet flesh to tease and stoke his desire. He imagined running his hands over her breasts, and stroking her neck until she dropped her head back, giving him complete access to her perfect vein.

His fangs tingled. Damn! He was hard as a rock again. His own fault this time for letting his imagination run riot. Better get screwing. Wrong verb, that! Pete shifted his hips to ease himself within his pants. Better fix the widow latch.

If only she had air-conditioning and could leave the windows sealed. At least the lower sashes were screwed tight, only the top half opened. Just to be sure, he took a handful of nails from the open toolbox she'd left in the sitting room, and nailed the screen tight to the window frame. No one was taking that out anytime soon.

"You're fast," Vickie said as he walked out onto the porch and reached for the lemonade. Not quite as rich as blood, but in the circumstances, perfectly adequate. "You've done them all?"

"Every last one. Every door and window can be locked up tight." Darn, he should have twiddled his thumbs another twenty minutes, to make it believable. He'd learn—eventually.

"Thanks." Her smile made the misjudgment worthwhile. "I'd have been still doing them at midnight."

"Anytime. Anything else need doing?" Other than herself! Abel, that would have to wait.

"Not right now. I'll only be here a few days." Damn. "I wouldn't have bothered with the locks, but after this morning…"

"What happened?" Interrupting her, but… "Trouble?"

She brushed off his concern with a shake of her head, biting her lip as if to draw back her words. "Not really. Just the Adamses shooting on my land."

"Shooting? Shooting who? You?" He grabbed her by the shoulders, only just stopping himself from pulling her close to keep her safe. "What were they shooting?"

She gave a quirky little smile as if to apologize. "A woodpecker."

He stared, noticing the glistening in her eyes. Whatever was stressing her was more than a dead bird. He ran his hand up the side of her face to wipe away a tear. To his delight, she let him. She pressed her hands against his chest, before leaning in and resting her face against his shirt. "I hadn't seen one in years. It was so beautiful and they shot it dead!" She gave a little sob, sniffed it back and stepped away. "I'm getting wound up over it, I know, but it was so utterly gorgeous, tapping away on the black walnut tree, and they killed it. I know, I shouldn't be surprised. They are a pair of no-goods if ever there was one. I'd just forgotten how nasty they were."

"Nasty" seemed woefully inadequate, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was disagree with her. "Did they threaten you?" If they had, he'd yank their balls off.

She shook her head. "No, just did their oily, sleazy, 'we're just being neighborly' act. I told them I'd be the one shooting if I saw them on my land again."

Seemed the backwoods were as dangerous as the projects. "Better be careful. They're not worth manslaughter charges."

Dear heavens. She had a lovely laugh, like wind in the pines, or a summer breeze over long grass. "I don't think buckshot is likely to kill them. All I've got is an old shotgun—not an uzi!"

"You know how to shoot?" Bad move, that. Her eyebrows lifted and an unamused smile twitched the corners of her mouth.

"Yes, I do."

The set of her head and the edge in her voice convinced him she knew how to handle a gun. He just hoped she was on the side of the good guys. Odd that she'd appeared here, right now, when things were coming to a head.

Even odder that he could think that, while his body clearly indicated definite interest. How could it not? She was the closest thing to beautiful he'd ever seen: her skin pale in the night, her fair hair framing her face, and straight shoulders and firm chin clearly indicating she'd still not quite forgiven the slur on her marksmanship.

He wanted to sit down and talk to her. Find out who she was and what she really was doing here. He also wanted to take her to bed and make wild, passionate love all night. And no doubt scare the willies out of her when she saw his fangs. All he could do was visit her in the night. Later. Let her get to sleep first. "Better be going. Let me know if there's anything else you need."

She gave an odd little smile—almost wistful, which didn't seem in character. "Thanks for fixing the locks and bolts."

"My pleasure."

The smile widened. "See you later."

He took it as a promise, almost skipping back to his bike. He had his invitation. He could come and go as he pleased.

He pleased.

He'd be back.

He turned to wave, but she had gone. Locking and bolting the doors, he hoped.

What were those felonious yobs doing on her land? He wasn't having rednecks bothering his woman! He almost laughed. She wasn't his anything—yet.

Just as well Pete had dropped by, or she'd still be wielding a screwdriver, but even better he'd gone. Pete Falcon was too much of a temptation. The last thing she needed was amorous entanglements. She came up here for peace and quiet, not wild and wonderful sex.

Talk about jumping the gun. The man fixes a few bolts and latches as a neighborly gesture, and she's having sex with him in her mind.

Hell, why not? Wasn't it the ultimate in safe sex? And the man was splendid. Just the sort to take a starring role in a few night fantasies.

She gathered up the glasses and put them in a pan of soapy water, along with her supper dishes, and took a long shower to cool off. Locking her window half open, Vickie settled down between the cool sheets.

She was asleep in minutes.

Pete waited two hours after Vickie's bedroom light went out. Now to enter her dreams.

The front door opened to his mind and he stepped into her house. Nothing blocked his way and never would again. She had given him entry, would give him sustenance, and in return he'd fill her dreams with ecstasy.

The crocheted cover was a snowy heap at the foot of her bed. The pale curtains shifted in the night breeze, and the soft brush of her breath whispered in the silent room. She turned her head to one side, as if offering her neck. One arm she draped across the pillow, the other rested on the sheets pulled down to her waist.

She wore shell-pink satin pajamas. How could she have known he loved the touch of satin against warm skin? He hadn't until this minute.

He was hard, just watching her.

She seemed so frail. So vulnerable. So mortal.

So sexy.

With each gentle breath, her breasts rose and fell under the satin that covered but did nothing to conceal. The soft nubs of her nipples pressed against the pale fabric, her breasts making soft mounds under the satin.

Certain she was asleep, Pete sat on the edge of the bed, watching. He'd thought her beautiful the very first time he set eyes on her, but now, sleeping in the moonlight, she was exquisite. Soft, warm, and relaxed. Her rich, mortal blood, coursing through her veins.

Fixing a few bolts and latches seemed grossly inadequate payment for all that he was about to take. But he could, would, do more. Watch out for her, and keep the Adamses at bay.

Pete's fists clenched at the thought of that lot troubling her. Not much he could do about it while he was dead to everything during daylight, but if they tried anything during his waking hours, he might just ignore John's repeated warnings about harming mortals. He wasn't sure the Adamses counted as human, anyway.

Why blight these moments with Vickie with thoughts of felons and lawbreakers? He had her all to himself and he yearned to feast.

He rested his hand over her left breast to feel the pulse of her mortal heart. Sensation throbbed through every vampire nerve, and rushed straight to his cock. She was magnificent. Naked, she'd be wondrous.

His hand slid over the pink satin, until his fingertips rested on the pulse at the base of her neck. He yearned to bite and feed. Later. He wanted to savor the sleeping woman he lusted after.

It was lust. Blood lust. But lust pure and simple? No. He wanted Vickie skin to skin, ached for her living body curled against his. Dare he strip and climb under the covers? Not this time. He had a night's work ahead of him.

Leaning over, he poised his lips above hers, feeling the sweet brush of her breath, and sensing the life within.

He kissed her. Just brushing lips as he shut his eyes, to better sense her sweet warmth, before pressing her lips until they parted. He resisted the urge to delve deep and caress her tongue with his. Later. For now, he contented himself with lips on lips, as his hand cupped her luscious breast, stroking the living flesh under the satin, and sliding over the lustrous fabric to caress her other breast.

Vickie sighed with pleasure as he kissed harder. Now touching tongue to tongue before lifting his mouth. She let out a little whimper. Disappointed? She wouldn't be.

He cupped both breasts, easing his hands down her torso and pushing aside the sheets as he stroked her belly. Her legs shifted, as if to part for him. He had to fight back the urge to rip apart the satin and enter her sweet warmth hard and deep.

Vampire he was. Animal he was not. He would not take her sleeping. Pleasure her, yes. Feed he must, but no more.

A heavy ache twisted deep inside. If only he could make love with Vickie, hold her in his arms as she consciously gave herself to him.

Yeah, right! Would be nice to fly like vampires in movies too. This was reality. He was not going to fuck her, no matter how strong the desire.

He brushed her warm belly with the flat of his hand, resting a moment on the softness between her hips. He was so tempted to move lower, to cup the heat between her legs.

Better restrain himself. He caught the scent of her arousal. Sweet Vickie. She was almost ready for his bite.

He allowed himself to slide his hands under her pajama top, his sensitive fingers glorying in her warm flesh in his hands, sensing the life under her skin, the blood coursing through her veins.

Soon…

Slowly, to prove to himself he was disciplined as much as to relish the anticipation, he popped the tiny pearl buttons one by one, and spread the satin open.

He brushed her already-hard nipples, easing over her breasts, up to the base of her neck. Her pulse was steady, the blood flow strong. His gums itched in anticipation.

He was ready. But was she?

With the pad of his finger, he traced a line up her ear. She arched her neck in readiness. He couldn't hold back his smile. Soon. Very soon. With the back of his hand he caressed the side of her face and stroked her chin. Slowly, he ran his hand over her short, fair hair. She seemed so vulnerable in the night. So fragile. So mortal.

The very substance of the life he lacked and the source of the sustenance he craved.

He kissed her, right at the base of her throat, before covering her neck with gentle kisses: soft and light like the fluttering of a butterfly's wings. Under his caress, she sighed and moaned, turning her head as if to make her neck more available. Pleasure rippled through her. The scent of her arousal filled the quiet room.

His mouth fastened on the base of her neck, on the soft skin that covered her pulse, his lips moving with her heartbeat, his fangs readying, and his mind attuned to her every breath and the rise and fall of her breasts in the dark.

Her heartbeat quickened as her unconscious need matched his rising desire. He pressed closer to the firm pulse under her skin. His fangs descended. Between heartbeats, he bit, piercing the skin with a clean, fast nip, latching tight.

It was as if he were drowning in her essence, floating on her mind and burrowing deep in her soul. He felt her joy and her burgeoning desire. He caught glimpses of anxiety and worry, but felt them slip away in the tide of pleasure that swamped them both. He let his mind drift until it seemed it was touching hers. The taste of her skin, the richness of her blood, and the scent of ready woman, overwhelmed him. He was one with her joy, her arousal, her need. Sensation peaked between them. Aware he was close to the rim of desire, Pete eased his mouth off her neck, and gently licked the wound to seal it.

Her chest rose and fell as fast as if she'd been running. Her head lolled to one side, exposing the small red marks of his fangs. The wounds would heal fast. He hoped the satisfied smile would remain a long, long time.

He wouldn't forget in a hurry.

He was loath to leave her. It stung deep knowing he had to go the way he came. Unseen, unknown, and unremembered. Damn, John hadn't told him the half. Hadn't even mentioned the incredible bond forged between vampire and provider.

Pete looked down at his sleeping love, knowing deep in his soul, he'd established a connection between Vickie and himself for as long as she lived. Worry surfaced like a sear in his heart. Would she ever know? Could he ever tell?

He rebuttoned her pajamas, drew the sheets up to cover her chest, and left the house silently. Leaving a chunk of his heart behind.

 

Nothing like a good night-prowl to clear the mind. Tonight it didn't work. Maybe he didn't want to clear his mind of Vickie Anderson. Maybe he'd rather dwell on her warm body and rich blood. Maybe thoughts of her smile, her laughing eyes, and the sweet scent of her arousal were more engrossing than searching for a meth lab in the woods.

There was no "maybe" about it!

He was smitten.

New at this vampire life he might be, but he'd been long enough a mortal to recognize the signs. He had it bad. He didn't just have her blood in his veins. Vickie was deep in his mind and heart. Too bad he had a job to do and a report to make tomorrow. He could hardly tell John he'd spent the entire night writing odes to Vickie's breasts! Come to that, no way was he discussing Vickie's breasts, or any other part of her for that matter, with his mentor.

The old logging road needed closer investigation. Might as well start there. He had more than enough energy. He'd never imagined the rush of power that now coursed through him. He almost felt he could fly, like vampires of legend.

He settled for a good, fast run.

He'd seen tracks, but as far as he knew, the road led nowhere. Just petered out in the woods. He kept to the edge, to avoid leaving footprints. His mind was still half on Vickie, and what, if anything, would come of their relationship. What relationship? He almost laughed. What chance was there? Hadn't she mentioned leaving soon? Back to her life, whatever and wherever it was. A life that didn't include a vampire.

Maybe this preoccupation with Vickie made him careless. Perhaps it was truly well hidden. But the first time he noticed the bear trap was as the metal teeth closed around his right ankle, and he fell, face first, into the undergrowth.

A night sound awakened her: perhaps an owl sighting prey, or a deer too close to the house, maybe a raccoon in the trash. But as Vickie lay, eyes only half-open, her sleep-fuddled mind still trying to recapture her disturbed erotic dream, she heard nothing more. No clink of garbage dragged along the ground, no rustle in the grass.

Maybe thirst woke her. Her mouth felt abnormally dry, her tongue stiff and itchy. She was parched. Vickie rolled over and sat up, swinging her legs to the floor. Not bothering with slippers, she padded into the kitchen and downed two long glasses of ice water. Better. Much better.

Back in bed, she settled to sleep, but couldn't. She was tense, tight and wound up. Who was she kidding? She was horny! Whatever awakened her, disturbed one of the best erotic dreams she'd enjoyed in weeks. Years maybe. Quite possibly ever.

She leaned back on the pillow, looked up at the ceiling, and wondered what it said about her if her subconscious had that sort of thoughts about a nice, gentlemanly neighbor. Sheesh! Let the man stop to give her a hand, and she took his entire body. Damn luscious body it was too! She shut her eyes, trying to remember exactly how she'd dreamed of Pete Falcon without his leathers, without anything except his skin and dark black hair sprinkled over his chest and belly, and thick and curly around his cock. No wonder she was dry-mouthed. She was turning into a sex maniac.

She was soaking wet between her legs. She had trouble even thinking about anything except Pete's lips, hands and glorious body. She was in dire need. Her breasts felt hot and heavy and she ached between her legs.

Rolling onto her face and rubbing herself against the sheets wasn't enough. If anything it made things worse. She turned onto her back, and slipped down her pajama bottoms. Spreading her legs, she gently brushed her bush. Yes! Her body responded at once. She went deeper, parting her vulva to slide her finger over her damp flesh. She pressed two fingers inside, working in and out as she imagined Pete's cock inside her.

Beyond inhibition, she was a wild woman flying on need and desire. Letting her fingers fill her, Vickie rubbed her nub with her other thumb. A jolt of sensation met each touch. Wanting to make it last, she eased the pressure, circling her nub as waves of pleasure thrummed out from her core to all but engulf her mind. She was soaring on a raging tempest of emotion and pleasure. As her arousal built, she worked her thumb faster and harder, magnifying her pleasure, until all she knew was her body's wild need and desire. She was climbing great breakers of joy, vast billows of physical sensation, until she reached the crest. Her mind flew. Her being took off on a wild climax that left her body throbbing as she lay in a sweaty heap. Her heart raced as the last ripples of delight fanned out across her mind and body.

She was so loose as to feel boneless, so satiated as to think she'd never experience such intensity again. Vickie pulled the sheet over her still-heated body and closed her eyes. She'd sleep like a babe after a release like that.

An hour later, she gave up.

Sleep utterly eluded her.

It wasn't tension. She was still relaxed, her body loose, and her mind pretty close to the same condition. She was just unable to settle. Stupid as it seemed, she wanted to walk in the woods and feel the night around her.

And no doubt encounter the Adamses poaching or dynamiting fish.

She'd stay away from the lake. She just needed to stretch her legs. A good brisk walk and she'd no doubt sleep like a log. Vickie pulled on jeans and T-shirt, and walking boots over her socks. Grabbing a flashlight, and making sure the doors were locked behind her, she set off down the track. She was going in Pete's direction, she admitted that much to herself. She just wouldn't walk that far. The old cabin was a good five miles up the road.

It wasn't even a mile to the old logging road. She hadn't been up here in years. Wasn't sure why she went now. An odd nagging drew her. A sense that something was wrong. Right! Most likely Sonny Adams hunting deer out of season. She ought to go home and read to cure her insomnia. Or clean out the attic, as she'd promised her grandmother. Vickie walked on, the flashlight on full beam now. If Sonny was out here, she'd be sure to scare off the wildlife to thwart him. She rounded a bend as the road narrowed where the woods encroached on the verges and paused. A dark shape lay huddled to the side of the road. A fallen tree? Wrong shape. Wavering between flight and investigation, Vickie shone her flashlight in that direction, ready to snap it off and freeze if it turned out to be a bear or mountain lion.

She took a step closer as she heard a weak voice call, "Help!"

"Pete?" It was his voice, but sounding wrong. She ran towards him, the beam dancing wildly.

She knelt, as he tried to sit up. "What happened?" Being careful not to dazzle him, she directed the flashlight beam down his body until she saw his foot. She couldn't hold back her gasp. His right foot was tight in the teeth of a bear trap. She'd never actually seen one before—but she'd heard tell of them. This was big enough to take down a bear, let alone a man. The wavering beam of her flashlight revealed mangled and torn skin, blood, and the white glint of bone. No way could she release this with her bare hands. If it was bear-proof it was definitely woman-proof.

"Have you been trapped long?"

"Too damn long," he replied, "but I'm happier than hell to see you here. Often stroll through the woods at night like this?"

If he was trying to lighten things, it wasn't working. "Seldom. You're darn lucky I had insomnia tonight. These things are illegal!"

"You don't say! Can you get me out?" He sounded desperate, his voice tight and sharp.

She stood up. "I hate to leave you. You keep the flashlight. I'm going back to get something to force that trap open."

"Take the flashlight. You need it more."

She wasn't sure about that. Trapped and immobile in the dark, that was the stuff of nightmares. "Keep it, Pete. If only to scare off animals, and it will help me find you when I get back. I'm going to cut across the woods. It's shorter that way."

Shorter, yes. She wasn't sure about faster. In spite of the moon, it was damn dark. Branches and twigs scratched her arms and legs, and a couple swiped her face. She hoped to hell it wasn't poison ivy. She'd worry about that later. As the woods thinned, she ran faster, crossing the road and racing towards her house.

It took forever, rummaging through Gramp's toolbox until she found a crowbar, and stopping to grab bottled water and a first-aid kit. She doubted Band-Aids and Neosporin were adequate, but it was all she had, until she got Pete to the hospital. She grabbed her backpack, shoved it all in and added a blanket and a towel—he was no doubt suffering from shock—and hoisted the lot on her back, gasping at the weight, and set off.

Running.

She went back via the woods. A mistake. The moon had disappeared behind the clouds. Every twig, branch and root seemed intent on tripping or hitting her, and the backpack got heavier by the minute. But by the time she decided the road would have been far quicker, she'd gone too far to turn back. In the distance, she glimpsed the faint beam from her flashlight—she'd been right to insist he keep it. Without that to guide her she'd be stumbling round the woods and breaking something herself. Maybe tripping off another damn trap. That thought slowed her a bit, but a faint "Vickie!" from the direction of the light spurred her on.

"Coming!"

He sounded weak. Heart pounding and blood rushing in her ears, she raced the last few yards, ignoring branches slashing against her face and legs. He was hurt badly—and what if a bear or something came prowling while he was helpless?

The flashlight was lying on the ground, just inches from his limp hand. He'd either fainted or…"Pete?" He opened his eyes as she grabbed the flashlight. "I'm back, and I have something to get you out of there."

"You're a saint, an angel, and an answer to prayer," he said, his voice tight and strained. "The metal is biting so hard, I'm helpless."

He must have hit his head. He sounded concussed, as if slipping in and out of consciousness.

"Don't worry, Pete. I'll get you out of this and fetch my car." Not bringing it had been a mistake. No time to dwell on that now. She draped the blanket around his shoulders as he dragged himself to sitting. By the look of the ground, he'd tried to drag himself and the trap, but a chain anchored it to a nearby tree.

Pulling out the crowbar, she set to work.

Releasing the trap was easier said than done. Pete held the flashlight, but the beam wavered as his wrist shook, and the damn trap was rusted together. Gritting her teeth until her arms and shoulders hurt from the effort, Vickie finally pried the teeth apart, being rewarded with a loud metallic scrape as the trap snapped open.

Pete pulled back his injured leg as if the metal were burning, shutting his eyes as he let out a long gasp of relief.

"You are a saint," he repeated. "Vickie, I love you. You saved my life!"

Nice thought, but didn't men always make wild declarations at moments of high stress and relief?

"Not sure I'd go that far, and if I don't get you to a hospital, you might still die of tetanus. When did you last have a shot?"

"Don't worry about that. Let's just make sure this contraption never snares anyone else." He pulled the chain and brought the trap closer. "No wonder they're illegal."

Whoever set it was not likely to let that concern them. And right now her concern was Pete. Even by flashlight, the damage to his leg was clear enough. He'd bled freely. His wounds had to be dirty. The trap was encrusted with rust.

Neosporin was not going to be anywhere near enough.

She pulled out the bottle of water. "Thirsty?" she asked. "You can have some of it, but I need to clean your wounds. I'll bandage them as best I can, and get you to the hospital."

"Don't bother, Vickie. Go home and I'll take care of myself."

Her snort echoed in the night. She hadn't meant to, but macho wasn't in it. "Pete, it's broken. You can't walk on it."

Ignoring him, she twisted the bottle top loose and pulled up his damp and sticky pants leg. "This will be cold, I'm afraid, but it will clean off the worst, and might stem the bleeding." She poured it as gently as she could over the worst of his injuries. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. In the dim light, the gashes didn't seem as bad as she'd first thought. Maybe his blue jeans had protected him. Maybe the light was so bad she couldn't tell.

His leg might not look as bad as she feared, but he did. Haggard wasn't the word. "I don't care what you say, you're going to the hospital. You've lost buckets of blood, and…"

"I'm not going to any hospital, Vickie, and that's that!"

Might be more convincing if his voice hadn't wavered at the end. "We'll talk about that later." Once she had him in her car and headed down the mountain. "Want a drink?"

"Thanks." He croaked it out. His eyes were half-shut and sunken in the sockets, and his breathing so shallow as to be unnoticeable. And he didn't want to go to the hospital. Men.

"Here." She moved closer, intending to tilt the bottle as he drank.

He stared at the bottle a few seconds, as if uncertain what to do, before he reached out and grabbed her wrist. He wasn't that weak after all. He jerked her close, a frantic look on his face. The water bottle fell to the ground. Before she could retrieve it, he yanked her arm closer, staring at a long, bleeding scratch.

"Blood!" he said, his voice tight but oddly gentle.

"It's nothing, just a scratch from a…" She broke off, horrified, as he licked up the line of the scratch. His tongue was cool and smooth, and in very, very different circumstances, it might have even seemed sexy. Especially as fired up as she'd been earlier, but right now…

She stared as he licked up a smaller scratch, pausing to look at her. His eyes gleamed in the night. Hell, they glittered with an odd light. His face took on a strange cast of excitement, anticipation and…

She yelped as he bit her wrist.

Cripes! Weird beyond imagining. She tried to move but he held her arm with both hands, his grip not the least like that of a man who'd been semiconscious five minutes earlier.

"Stop it!" she yelled, pulling away. She might as well be trying to move a parked car with her toe. Pete had her in a viselike grip and was sucking her blood.

Dear saints in heaven! What was he doing? Some weird moonlight rite? Kinky, twisted…

Warm, soothing, gentle…

Vickie sighed as her resistance faded, and she relaxed beside him. Whatever Pete was doing—and way out there it most definitely was—it was… incredible.

She shut her eyes and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, and letting her free arm curve around his waist.

Each movement of his lips rushed a thrill of sheer, unadulterated pleasure deep down to her core. Slumped against his chest, she let out little whimpers of delight, as every nerve ending in her body sang to the pressure of his lips. The first pain of his bite was long-forgotten. Wafts of sensation clouded her brain, as her body sank into a great pool of pleasure. She was floating, her mind lost in a great mass of sexual delight.

Unbidden, her hips rocked against his thigh as her sighs became groans of arousal, as the thrill that started between her legs spiraled tighter and higher, her mind lost in a wild haze. She was dimly aware that she was building to a climax, but too fogged in her mind to do anything but rock against him and whimper.

Until he lifted his mouth off her wrist.

From drunken ecstasy, she jerked into stunned awareness.

She was in the middle of the woods, and rolling in the dirt with a strange man.

A very strange man.

Still holding her wrist, he looked up. She felt herself impaled by his intent eyes. "Thanks," he said. "I'm sorry it had to be like this."

Like what? This was nuts. Impossible! As she fumbled for words, he ran his tongue over her arm, cleaning off the last drops of blood.

"What the hell were you doing?" she managed at last.

"I was in dire need. I had to feed. The metal of that trap sapped my strength." He paused, licking his lips clean. "Sorry to presume without asking, but the scent of your blood…"

"What are you?"

He was silent a good thirty seconds, the quiet of the woods hovering around them. "Vickie, I'm a vampire."

Now she did pull her arm away, jumping up and moving to put distance between them. She'd read about types like him. Freaks who fed off blood and called themselves vampires. She just never thought she'd meet one up here. Mind you, given that the Adamses were an example of the locals, she shouldn't be too surprised at a resident bloodsucker.

"I know what you're thinking," Pete said.

"I doubt it."

"You think I'm either weird, crazy or perverted."

Pretty close but if he were any of those, she'd better humor him. She could run faster than him, if push came to shove, but felt no menace from him. Only a lingering joy from his embrace—if that wasn't kinky, what was? She'd worry about her reaction to that later. Right now… "I'll get my car and take you to the hospital. You have to need treatment—a tetanus shot if nothing else."

He shook his head. The moon emerged from behind a cloud, and cast dapples of light and shadow, so his skin looked almost transparent in the dark. He did look healthier, less wan, and his eyes had their usual, almost feral, gleam.

That alone was hardly destined to allay her worries. Sexy on her own front porch—where she could lock the door on him—was one thing, but out here in the middle of the woods, when she was feeling hot, aroused and light-headed?

He smiled.

It didn't help one little bit.

"Vickie, I'm not going anywhere near a hospital or a doctor. I know you don't believe me and that's understandable. But I don't need medical attention."

"That's utter nonsense. Are you doctor-phobic or something? Your ankle was mangled by that trap."

"It was broken," he agreed. "Was," he repeated. "Look at it now." He stood up.

Her throat clenched. She swallowed, or at least tried to, as a weight seemed to drop in her stomach. It had to be some incredible trick of the moonlight, but when he pulled up his jeans leg, all that was visible was a jagged, raised line of proud flesh, like a newly healed scar.

If it weren't for his blue jeans dark with blood, she'd think she'd imagined it. Maybe she had. Was she hallucinating? She shook her head to clear the buzzing in her ears. It was going dark… As if from a distance, Pete said, "Vickie. I didn't mean to scare you."

She was falling, but never hit the ground. "Are you okay?" he asked as she felt her body rise in the air. Before she could answer, everything went black and silent.

When she came to, she was bouncing in his arms, lying slap-hard against his chest as he ran down the road. "Pete?" she said, trying to ease out of his grasp. Might as well try to shift her house off the foundations. He had her in a tight hold. She tried pushing away, feeling constrained by his strength, and close to overwhelmed by his male scent.

"Stop it, Vickie," he muttered. "You came close to causing the first vamp heart failure in history. Keep still, will you? I'm taking you home."

Vickie turned her head to the wind. What speed was he running at? Fast enough to need to hold tight, despite her misgivings. Feeling his strong chest under her fingers rekindled the wild arousal she'd thought satisfied. And as for leaning her head against his shoulder as he ran through the night… She was not dwelling on the possibilities.

As they neared the house, Pete slowed to something approaching Olympic runner speed, taking the porch steps two at a time and coming to a halt inches from her front door. She readied herself to be set on her feet. Instead, he shifted her to one arm as he opened the door.

The door she had most certainly locked.

As Pete released his hold, she hoped she could stand on her own two feet. She could. That was something. "I think I'm entitled to a few answers," she said. None too sure where to start her questions.

He nodded. "Later. Right now you need to rest. You also need to replenish your body with fluids. I took a good deal of blood back there."

She was not having this conversation! She was not discussing body fluids with a vampire. She had to be dreaming. She was hallucinating. The Chinese food she'd eaten for dinner had some tainted Oriental spice.

"Get back in bed, Vickie, I'll bring you something to drink."

"No way. I'm making myself a cup of tea."

Pete watched her march into the kitchen, confusion and uncertainty in every step. She was angry and upset, and most likely wished he'd just disappear.

He wasn't going to.

He owed her something. What would have happened to him come sunrise if Vickie hadn't chanced by? She had rescued him. Saved his vampire hide. The trap had had him tight. The iron was fast draining his strength. A few more hours and he'd have been unable to lift his head. He owed his continued existence to Vickie. Who was he kidding? He wanted her. Bad. The taste of her blood in the woods had only rekindled his earlier desire. Hell! It was because he was fixating on the taste and scent of Vickie Anderson, rather than his surroundings, that he'd not noticed the damn bear trap in the first place.

He shouldn't blame her. He was the vampire. The strong, the powerful. She was mere mortal, incredible, sexy, desirable. Ha! Vickie wasn't "mere" anything. She'd saved his frigging life. How many mortals had ever done that? And how many vamps would put themselves in that situation? Heck, he'd even admitted what he was. Not that he could have concealed it. Having a ripped-up leg heal itself was not exactly easy to hide.

What was happening between them? He didn't need to ask that one. Vickie was attracted to him. Her reaction when she bent over him in the woods, hadn't just been neighborly concern.

So, it was mutual lust. He grinned. Nothing quite like it as far as he was concerned. The need that had simmered since he'd fed just after sunset, roared in his mind and stirred his body something wonderful.

Wonderful! Yes, he'd make it wonderful. He'd caress her slowly, taking his time, savoring the softness of her skin, her wondrous curves, and her beautiful breasts. He'd kiss her pink nipples until they hardened under his lips. He wanted to taste her, all of her: the soft roundness of her belly, the smooth insides of the thighs, the sweetness of her core. He couldn't wait until…

She banged the kettle on the stove as he stepped into the kitchen. She'd turned the lights on and got the first clear sight of him. He followed her horrified gaze. His right jeans leg was ripped and soaked with blood up to his thigh. As they both stared, a hopeful fly landed on the still-drying blood.

"Pete," she said, her voice not completely steady. "You might be immune to all the normal microbes that attack humans, but do you really want to sit around like that?"

She was right. She was also accepting he'd stay around awhile. And yes, he did look a fright. "Mind if I take a shower?" He was pushing his luck, but…

"Give me a minute."

She left him standing in the kitchen, watching the kettle on the flame, but was back in moments. "I put out fresh towels for you. I don't have any clean clothes that will fit but I did find a pair of overalls that belonged to my gramp. They stink of mothballs, but are clean. If you like, I'll fling your clothes in the wash."

"No, thanks." He smiled to take away the sting of his refusal. "Give me a plastic trash bag and I'll take them home with me." He couldn't let her find the camera he carried, or the sealed bags for samples, and especially not the small, but efficient, tranquilizer gun he'd never had occasion to use—yet.

He wrapped them carefully in his undershirt and rolled them up inside his clothes as he stripped off and prepared to step in the shower. Hot first, to get rid of the blood and dirt, followed by a good, cold dousing.

Vickie went into the kitchen. She could not stay in the living room. Listening to Pete Falcon in the shower was way too much at the end of a very long night. Between events in the woods, her wild dreams earlier, Pete's incredible statement that he was a vampire, and the impossibility of a mangled ankle healing miraculously, she was feeling more than a little frazzled. She reached for two mugs. She had no idea if Pete liked mint tea, but she needed soothing.

Or did she?

Maybe a wild night with Pete Falcon was exactly what she needed. Might at least get the man out of her system. He was hot, sexy, and his whole bearing suggested he'd be darn good in bed. He was a kook. He thought he was a vampire. She was nuts to even have him in the house. He'd carried her home in his arms after she fainted, after he'd had an injured ankle that healed before her eyes.

The entire evening had to be a wild stress-induced dream.

Noticing the kettle boiling, she dropped two tea bags in the mugs, poured water from the now-boiling kettle, and reached for the honey.

The object of her lust stood not a yard away. Smiling.

Gramps had never looked this sexy in those overalls. Not in her lifetime at least.

She smiled back at Pete, as she set the cups on the old scrubbed table and sat down. "I made us some tea."

"Thanks." He pulled out another chair. "You need to drink a good bit, Vickie. I took far too much from you, but I was in dire need."

They were back here again, right where she wasn't sure she wanted to go, but… "You really did suck my blood, didn't you?"

He nodded. "Yes, out there in the woods, and…" He stopped and shook his head, frowning and looking down at his mug before looking up to fix her with his dark eyes. "Your blood healed me and saved my life. I'll owe you forever for that."

"If you are a vampire…" Something she still doubted and put down to—she wasn't sure what. "How could you have been dying?"

"Iron can harm us, and the teeth of that trap cut through my flesh to the bone."

She'd seen the injuries—and the incredible healing but even so… "I thought it was wooden stakes that did vampires in."

His full lips curled. "You've watched too many 'B' movies. Wood hurts, that's all. Metal hurts too, but saps strength. If I'd still been there at dawn…"

"So the sunlight bit is true?" She couldn't believe she was having this conversation.

He nodded. "For those of us who are newly made."

"And you are… ?"

He paused, as if deciding how to answer. "I was killed not quite a year ago. My transformation happened only a few hours later."

"Oh!" Woefully inadequate, but the best she could manage. What else could she say? He'd been killed. Should she offer condolences? Or congratulations on joining the undead? Under the circumstances, "Oh!" covered things about as well as anything else.

To fill the silence that seemed to stretch between them, Vickie offered him a spoon and the jar of honey and fished out her own tea bag.

"You believe me," he said as he brushed aside her offer of honey. "I half-expected you to call for men in nice, clean, white jackets."

"Yeah, I believe you," she replied as she stirred honey into her tea. She took a sip to test the heat, hoping perhaps the act of swallowing might remove the sensation of utter amazement that threatened to suffocate her. "I wouldn't have if I hadn't seen your leg heal. But I did." She set the mug down on the table with a clunk, aware she was about to spill it, and watched her hands shake as if palsied.

"I've scared the living daylights out of you, haven't I?" He reached across the table, gathering her hands in his. "I never meant to. I shouldn't have told you but you saved me. I couldn't lie."

"You'd have been hard pressed to come up with a convincing lie after what I saw!" Her giggle was halfway to panic. She was totally confused and getting hot and horny for a vampire. The next giggle came out higher pitched. She had to get herself together…

"It's okay," Pete said, raising her hand to his mouth. "I've thrown too much at you. Far too much. I'm sorry."

She looked across the table at Pete Falcon. Took in his now-drying hair, the broad shoulders, covered only by narrow strips of well-washed denim, and the strong hands that held her still-shaking fingers.

She wanted to say something, but had no idea what, and more than words, she wanted… He lifted her hand to his mouth and gently kissed her fingertips. Her mouth went dry. Her throat tightened until she could barely swallow, her heart raced, and as for the rest of her body… Ridiculous after such a gentle kiss. Until he brushed his lips over her knuckles and she whimpered.

"You want it too, don't you?" he asked.

Vickie nodded.

Pete was up out of his seat in a flash. For the second time that night, he swept her up in his arms. Only this time, it wasn't a stride through the moonlit woods, but a few short steps to her bedroom.

"Sure about this?" he asked again as he slid her down his body and set her on her feet.

She grinned and reached up. Running her hands over the back of his head, she pulled off the band that held his pony-tail, and let his still-damp hair spill over his shoulders. "Yes," she replied. "I'm sure."

She might still be dreaming, but never in her wildest moments had she imagined lips like his. Cool. Ardent. Hot. Demanding. Sweeping her along in the strength and desire behind the soft, insistent movements against her mouth. A wild longing stirred deep within her. She kissed him back. As her hands locked behind his head, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground, pressing his lips harder against hers. Another muffled whimper, and her mind zapped. Thinking was too much effort and a major distraction. All she knew, all she wanted to know, was the caress of his mouth on hers, and the sweet, cool pressure of his tongue as her lips parted and he came in deep. She responded with a wild, almost animal need.

Long pent-up desire flooded her mind and body. Her tongue returned his caress, until she was taking the lead, demanding more, needing more, wanting everything. Pete took back control, urging and asking as much as she could give. Offering more and more as her hungry desires rose to meet his demands. She was still off the ground. She barely missed it. Pete's power and strength held her, surrounded her, supported her. She eased her hips into his, rubbing her soft belly against the strength of his erection.

This was utter lunacy. Perhaps she'd been sane for far too long.

"Oh, Vickie," Peter muttered as he set her on her feet and looked down at her lust-darkened eyes.

She eased her hands over his near-naked shoulders, caressing his cool skin, before slipping her hand inside the bib of the overall. Right handy garments for what she had in mind.

He chuckled and lifted his mouth off hers. "Out to strip the clothes off me, are you?"

Why not? What she'd already seen suggested the rest would be worth her while. "Yup," she replied, snapping open one buckle. The bib fell and she got a glimpse of his smooth, broad chest, a fine sprinkling of dark hair, and one dark nipple, that was every bit as beautiful as she imagined that first evening. Brushing aside the bib to get a better view of Pete's definitely splendid chest, she leaned forward and gently licked his nipple. In seconds, it was hard and proud. Sure proof that his desire equaled hers. "I'm quite sure," she said, and released the second buckle.

The too-large overalls were around his ankles.

She stared and gasped.

She'd wanted to feel more skin, but such total, utter and exquisite nudity was…

All her wildest dreams come true.

Beautiful was woefully inadequate.

Incredible was a pathetic attempt to describe the sight before her eyes: blue-black hair spilled over his broad shoulders, lying dark against pale skin in the night. She rested her hand on his wide, strong chest, brushing the scattering of dark hair that narrowed and thickened to a dark cloud of curls at his groin. Curls that drew all her attention to his rampant cock.

She licked her lips as blood pounded in her ears and the wild fluttering in her belly spread, until her entire body thrummed with desire.

"Pete," she whispered, her voice low and tight.

"Like what you see?"

Vickie grinned at the mix of male arrogance and suppressed anxiety that tinged his question. "You betcha, fella!"

She brushed her finger over his proud nipple, slowly tracing a line down his chest, over his navel and…

He grabbed her hand. "Something's wrong here. I'm naked and you're still clothed. Can't have that!"

"Do something about it then."

His "something" was to gather her in his arms, and dump her on the crocheted spread. She purred in anticipation as Pete ran his hands up her legs, and brushed gentle circles on her belly.

Her breasts rose and fell with her hastened breathing. "I want you, Pete," she whispered, meeting dark eyes that gleamed with the same fire that burned deep inside her.

Pete kissed her. Softly. Just brushing lips. "You've got me, Vickie." He eased his hands under her T-shirt and gently cupped her firm breasts. She responded immediately, her nipples hardening under his touch. The sweet scent of her arousal filled the quiet room. She wanted him. His heart swelled till it seemed to fill his chest. She was never going to forget this night. Ever.

He'd do anything and everything he knew to make it incredible for her. He eased up her T-shirt, sliding one hand up her back, setting the flat of his hand between her shoulder blades, as he raised her up, slipping off her shirt with his other hand. It took seconds to snap open her bra and drop it on the floor.

She was utterly beautiful. He'd been attracted the first time he saw her. Smitten earlier this evening. Now he was lost. Totally.

He kissed each breast, fluttering his tongue over each firm nipple, drawing the warm flesh into his mouth until she sighed. "Vickie, you are incredible," he whispered. He kissed over her breasts, down to her warm belly. He couldn't hold back his grin. His touch aroused her, and he wasn't stopping until she was totally fulfilled.

He cupped both breasts with his hands. "Your breasts are lovely. Perfect size, too." He eased a hand down and inside the waistband of her jeans. "While I sit here admiring your breasts, you're still not naked."

"Do something about it then, buster."

Who'd refuse that offer? He had her jeans unsnapped faster than she could follow with mortal eyes, and peeled the worn denim down her legs. While he was at it, he whisked off her white cotton panties.

She gave a little gasp as she realized she was naked. "Showing off your vampire speed?"

"Sweetheart, I've only just started." He wanted to love her all night, but he'd taken so much blood. He knew how weak she was, even if she didn't, but he owed her satisfaction after all she'd done for him.

And she was so ready!

The scent of sexy woman filled the room, or maybe it was his own pent-up desires that magnified her blatant need.

"Are you going to grin at me all night or are you going to…" She broke off with a gasp as his mouth fastened on her breast.

Her gasp gave way to little sexy mewls as he suckled one nipple, while his fingers played with the other one. They were hard, pert and sweetly warm.

Just like Vickie Anderson.

She was woman. He was vampire. And he wanted her more than he'd wanted a second chance at life.

She was so marvelous: her gasps, her little sighs, the way she arched on the bed while his hands caressed her belly. When he reached her pussy, she let out a deep, long sigh as he parted her folds and spread her open, so he could feast his eyes and senses.

And his vampire desire.

She was so ready, how could he withstand her want and his need? Setting himself between her spread thighs, he held her hips steady as he eased into her warmth. Her sighs greeted his slow entry. Her cries and gasps of pleasure matched his thrusts. They came together in a wild crescendo of joy that left her limp and sweaty, and him astounded.

She lay spent and gasping on the bed, her eyes misty, and her body flushed with the after-ripples of her orgasm.

Pete rested his hand on her face. "Sleep, Vickie," he said. "Sleep."

She was softly snoring by the time he pulled on his clothes and let himself out of the house.

Sunshine woke her. How late was it? Not that it mattered. She was in no hurry to wake after her fantastic—and verging on the incredible—dreams. Her night had been filled with Pete—nothing wrong with that, apart from the awful images of his mangled leg caught in a bear trap. But in the way of dreams, his leg healed, and that was when it really went wild. He told her he was a vampire and had carried her home. And made passionate love to her, if her memory was to be trusted.

Come to think of it, she must have climaxed in her dreams. She was wet between her legs and more relaxed than after a full-body massage.

She'd also thrown off her pajamas while she slept.

How on earth had she managed that? She got out of bed to retrieve her discarded jammies, and noticed the damp towels on the bathroom floor.

She never dropped towels on the floor. As she bent to pick up the wet heap, she recognized them as the spare towels she'd set out for Pete in her dream. Either she was sleepwalking to act out her dreams, or Pete had been in her house last night. Which meant…

Vickie sat down on the toilet lid, staring at the bundle of damp towels. It could not be true, but as she looked around, the clothes she'd worn last night were spread over her bedroom floor. She never left her clothes on the floor.

Had Pete really been here? Nonsense, it had to have been a dream. It couldn't be true. Vampires? Self-healing wounds? Mind-numbing sex? No! She'd just been without it so long, was attracted to Pete, and her subconscious had done the rest. She ought to thank her subconscious for the best sex she'd never had. Or had she?

It was too damn real to be a dream and her sated, relaxed body was not her imagination. But it couldn't have happened. Pete did not carry her home and sit at her kitchen table drinking mint tea, his glorious dark hair damp after a sojourn in her shower.

This needed some good, hard thinking about. A drive up the road to the old fishing cabin where Pete claimed to live might not be a bad idea. On the other hand, perhaps going straight home was a wise move. No way! Whatever had or had not happened between them, she needed to know for sure. Sure about what? That her nearest neighbor was a vampire and she'd had sex with him and yearned for more?

She had been dreaming!

And right now, someone was hammering on the door. Vickie was tempted to ignore it, but she reached for clean shorts and T-shirt. Might as well see who it was.

One glance through the glass panel in the door and she regretted that decision. It was Sonny Adams.

Vickie left the screen door latched. Just stood in the doorway. No way was Sonny crossing the threshold into rooms that held thoughts—or dreams—of Pete.

"You been having trouble up here?" Sonny asked, after barely acknowledging her cool greeting.

"What sort of trouble?" She restrained herself from saying, None, until you knocked on my door. Grandma would have said it was rude.

"Outsiders, people who don't belong. Poking around where they have no business."

"Sonny, you're the only person I've seen this morning."

"What about last night?"

She'd like that answered herself, but Sonny Adams was not the one to help. "What was there to see?"

He shrugged. "Just wondered. Looks as though someone's been up this away. That guy up in the old fishing place, you seen him?"

Quite possibly, everything there was to see of him. "I saw him go by on his motorcycle." Complete truth, that. She gave a sigh. "Why not ask him?"

"He int there. The place is all shut up. Sure you int seen him?"

"You're the first person I've seen since I woke up. Besides, what are you getting upset about? It's summer. There's bound to be people about. We're darn lucky we don't get campers and picnickers up here!"

That prospect wiped out Sonny's measly attempts at a smile. He muttered on about people poking where they had no business. Which was a bit rich considering the reputation his family had for poaching. With a parting exhortation to be sure to tell him if she saw anyone, he shambled back to his battered pickup.

Vickie was about to shut the door on him when she spied her backpack. Crammed inside were the flashlight, first-aid kit, and blanket she'd taken out last night. Pete must have brought them back after he left. Which meant she hadn't dreamed it all.

Two empty mugs, still smelling slightly of mint, sitting in the kitchen, pretty much confirmed things. One cup she might have made for herself, but two…

She plugged in the kettle. This needed some good, hard thinking about. Maybe she'd think better after a dose of caffeine. Maybe she needed something stronger, but it was only—she glanced at the clock over the range—eleven, and she needed a clear head.

Given that last night was not part of her REM sleep, then it really happened. She did find Pete Falcon in a bear trap. He did suck her blood. She watched his ripped and torn flesh heal. He carried her home, and they ended up having incredible sex for hours.

Was she hallucinating? Suffering delusions?

If the answer was yes, she'd better hotfoot it back home and make an appointment with the police psychiatrist. If the answer was no then she was facing a new perception of reality.

So, her nearest neighbor was a vampire and she'd had sex with him. And yearned for more. Somehow there was a connection between Pete and her, an understanding, and intimacy she'd never known before.

Dammit, Pete owed her a few explanations.

Not even stopping for the much-needed coffee, Vickie delayed only enough to slip on socks and sneakers, and grab her car keys. Minutes later she was heading up the mountain towards the old fishing cabin.

She should have listened to Sonny. There was no reply to her knock. Shades were pulled down on the closed windows. She noticed recent repairs to the siding and roof, but wherever Pete was, he wasn't at home.

Yet she couldn't push away the conviction that he was nearby.

It was a nice day. He might be out fishing. Vickie walked around the back and headed for the pier. Pete's motorbike stood gleaming in the lean-to out back. He couldn't be that far, but a short walk up and down the lake bank showed no sign of him, and the boat was still anchored on the dock.

She gave up.

Pausing just long enough to tuck a note in the screen door, asking Pete to drop by later, Vickie drove back down the mountain, going right on past her house when she saw Lucas Adams sitting on her front steps.

She pretended not to see him or hear his call as she sped around the bend.

Cowardly perhaps, but she'd had her fill of that lot.

 

Lunch had been a good idea. She was ravenous and thirsty. Hadn't Pete warned her to drink to replace the fluids he'd taken? The movie matinee wasn't quite so smart. With a choice between Interview with the Vampire and a Terminator movie, she opted for the vampires. She might have been better off with the shoot-'em-up. True, she'd always had a thing for Brad Pitt, but as a means of sorting out her confusion over the past night, it was a lousy choice.

And pretty much convinced her she'd dreamed the whole affair. Pete had as much in common with Louis and Lestat as he did with Sonny Adams. Besides, vampires were fiction. Except that Pete was one. There, she'd thought it! Pete Falcon, the man up the mountain she rather hankered after, was a vampire. And if what happened last night happened, she'd also had rather glorious sex with a vampire. In that case, real-life vampires differed greatly from the fictional variety. If "real-life vampires" wasn't an oxymoron.

She'd give herself brain strain in a minute!

What she needed was a nice, safe brush with normalcy. She'd asked Pete to come by. She'd fix him dinner and see if she couldn't get some answers about whatever the hell was going on in her neighborhood. A trip to the Winn Dixie gave her the fixings, and a couple of hours at home, frying chicken, making homemade lemonade, and cutting up potatoes for salad, kept her mind away from thoughts of vampires, and the nagging anxiety of the Adamses. She did not want to dwell on the very possible connection between Sonny and his felonious father and the bear trap, but she couldn't block out the odd encounter in the drugstore. Maybe she was being too much a cop on holiday, but if she'd seen that in DC, her first thought would be crystal meth production and she knew the Adamses well enough to know they were capable of just about anything.

 

Vickie's brief note perplexed Pete. Please drop by this evening could mean anything from: I'm pissed and want an explanation to You're going to get lucky again, fella! and everything in between.

It didn't help that an evening with Vickie, even if she intended to chew him out, was infinitely more welcome than a session reporting to John—with little to report. He was not much further on than when he arrived, other than knowing that there were people out to discourage exploration in a certain area of the woods. Very determined, in fact. After he'd recovered Vickie's backpack and Florence Nightingale package, he'd spent what was left of the night searching the area and found two more equally nasty traps.

He wheeled out his bike, and headed on down the road.

"Pete!" Vickie said with a sexy smile as she let him in. She looked at him shyly for a second or two and then reached out.

He wrapped her in his arms, pressing her warm, living body close. "Vickie, my love," he muttered against her mouth, as he closed his lips over hers.

She let out a little sexy sigh and invaded his mouth with her tongue. He was tempted to race across the mountaintops with her in his arms but settled for kissing her back and easing his hand down to her waist. Her soft flesh was warm as happiness. She had not rejected him. Maybe she didn't understand the ramifications of his life. How could she? He was only learning the advantages and drawbacks of revenance himself. But with Vickie in his arms, nothing else mattered. He shifted the angle of his mouth, cupping the back of her head with his hand, holding her steady, while he took over the kiss, easing into her mouth, brushing the tip of his tongue over hers, and caressing her lips. He let out a groan as she met his need with her increasing desire. Damn! He could smell her need. He had his arms wrapped around a woman who wanted him. He wanted to shout his love aloud until it echoed off the mountains. He wanted to stay with her. He wanted to make love to her until he sensed dawn in the offing. He needed her as male needed female. He wanted more. Much, much more, and he was due in Roanoke in John's office in forty-five minutes.

"What's the matter?" Vickie pulled back as if sensing his irritation.

"I can't stay."

Her disappointment blew like a cold draft across his soul. She didn't ask why, or why not. Just looked at him with her big, gray eyes. "I'd fixed us dinner."

She had! He caught aromas of fried chicken, and something sweet like the pies his mother used to bake for the family. Vickie didn't understand.

"Never mind," she said with a shrug. "If you can't stay, you can't."

"It's not that at all," he said, his need to make her understand but not compromise his cover, warring in his head and heart. "I'd give anything to stay, Vickie, but I have to go. It's work."

She nodded. "I know about work taking over," she said. "That's why I came up here, to get away."

He pulled her close and dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. "Vickie, love, I don't eat—at least not solid food. I feed other ways."

She pulled back, staying in the circle of his arms, but giving herself space to look up at him. "Yes. I learned that last night, didn't I? I half-thought I'd dreamt it all, but I didn't. You're a vampire, you feed off blood."

She sounded resigned, angry, and perplexed all at the same time. "Do you mind that much?"

"I honestly don't know. I don't know what's real, fictional, or utterly impossible anymore."

He framed her face in his hands. The pulse at the base of her neck beat under his thumb, underscoring the vast gulf between their existences. He should probably go down to John's, demand a new assignment and never come back. But to do so would kill his soul the way that enforcer's bullet had killed his body. "Vickie, there's a lot I have to tell you, things I have to explain, make you understand. If I come by tomorrow, will you be here?"

The kiss she gave him answered that question.

"You've been busy, Falcon."

At least John wasn't complaining—yet. "I wish I'd actually found something, but we're talking about covering a lot of ground. I'll concentrate on the area beyond the traps."

"Be more careful next time. You can't count on that young woman rescuing you again, and why the hell weren't you wearing ankle boots?"

Pete treated the question as rhetorical. "When do you want me to report back?"

"Same time next week—but before you nip off to the backwoods, we need to do something about this young woman."

Every nerve in Pete's body bristled. "Such as?"

"She broke your cover. She could blow the whole thing apart."

"Rubbish! She knows I'm a vampire, that's it." Okay, it was a leap beyond most people's reality, but… "It will be fine."

"You can't be sure." He could. His cop's instincts told him so. "Maybe she set the trap, so she could playact the rescue." Yeah, and playacted the rest of the evening—not that he had any intention of sharing those details with John. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a shame I can't break your nose so it stays smashed."

John raised both eyebrows. "Like that, is it?"

"Like what?"

"You took a live feeding from her and the effect went to your head."

It hadn't been his head. "I needed her blood, damn it. My ankle was cut to the bone. Without her sustenance I'd have been crawling home."

"And with it?"

Pete refused to blush. Dammit, why was John acting as if consorting with Vickie was a crime? "She saved me, John. Without her intervention, I'd still have been lying there when the sun came up. You might forget that. I never will."

"I don't deny you owe her a life debt, but that's not all between you, is it? This isn't just feeding or a sense of obligation."

"What the hell do you mean?" Pete growled.

"I'm three hundred years old, Pete. I can recognize a man in love when I see one."

John's almost gentle words hit like a blow between the eyes. Was he in love with Vickie? Was it possible? He barely knew her. She'd saved his life. Her blood sustained him. Didn't that create a bond? Hell, yes! A bond he wanted to renew repeatedly for eternity. John was right, this could get tricky. "What the hell do I do now?"

John gave a little smile and rested his hand on Pete's shoulder. "Only you can decide, but take it from me, it's smart to stay uninvolved with mortals. It avoids endless complications."

Now he told him! No, he'd told him before, many times. "I never realized I'd feel this way about her."

"Time will soon resolve it, Pete. Once this job is over, you could be across the country somewhere. The break will come naturally enough."

His face must have shown exactly how much that prospect slammed into his guts—like a spiral twisting up to his heart. It might no longer beat, but hell, it ached.

John shook his head, sadness in his eyes. "There's no other way, Pete. Trust me. Wind this assignment up. Soon. Get us a nice arrest and you'll have your pick of assignments."

Pete stood. "I'll hold you to that."

John nodded. "Before you go there's a couple of things…"

 

Pete raced home, ignoring trivialities like speed limits, and wishing Virginia was one of the enlightened states that didn't legislate about helmets. Hell, he wasn't worried about head injuries and a little wind in his hair might clear out his confused thoughts.

John had made it darn clear: somewhere out there was a meth lab. All Pete had to do was find it and grab the operators. Might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack! It was only just past one A.M.; he had a good few hours before dawn. Time to scout out a few more square miles.

First, he had to see Vickie. This late she was no doubt fast asleep, but…

As he neared the bend just before her house, he cut the engine and wheeled his Monster bike. No point in waking her if she was asleep. He'd have no trouble getting in.

John was right. Pete Falcon had it bad, and it was fantastic. He and Vickie did need to have a good long talk. If she felt the same, he'd damn well find a way for them to be together.

He left his bike in front of the porch, peeled off his jacket, draped it over his bike and had one foot on the first step, when he heard a noise.

Every vampire sense alert, he stopped. He wasn't the only one here.

He rounded the corner of the house, fury boiling his brain. A dark figure, perched on a box or crate, was peering in Vickie's window. The head shifted from side to side, trying to sneak a peek between the gap in her curtains.

Pete only just remembered to rein in his strength. He leapt forward. Instead of killing—which the asshole deserved—

Pete grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him to the ground. The intruder fell in a heap, felling the upended trash can he'd been perched on. Pete was tempted to shove him in it, and cram the lid on—permanently.

Instead he left him lying on the ground, and turned away.

Mistake, that.

Two sweaty hands closed around Pete's neck just as he heard Vickie call, "Who's there?"

She was awake, and no doubt terrified. As Pete broke the bozo's hold with one hand, he grabbed his shirtfront and recognized the younger of the Adams pair. Typical! Add peeping Tom and stalker to his other crimes.

Reminding himself not to strangle the scuzzball, Pete hissed, "Get lost!"

Sonny snarled and brought his knee up to Pete's crotch. Pete let him, grinning as Sonny hit home.

The look on his face made Pete laugh. "That's enough." As he muttered promises of the alterations he'd be delighted to effect on Sonny's anatomy, he heard Vickie call out, "What the hell is going on out there?" Without waiting for an answer, a shotgun blast exploded just feet away, and a spray of lead shot stung Pete's back and shoulders. Damn, if he'd only kept on his jacket.

The shot burned like fire, but he was strong enough to keep hold of Sonny and drag him to the front porch. "It's okay, Vickie," he called. "I'm here."

The front door opened with a blaze of light, and a blazing Vickie, in a short sleep shirt, shotgun at the ready. Sonny seemed to think she was there to be ogled. A quick thump upside of his head fixed that.

"What the hell is going on?" she repeated.

"Miz Anderson," Sonny began. Out of curiosity, Pete let him continue. "I was just walking down the road and caught this here outsider, lurking round the back of your house. Now, worrying about you being a woman all alone, I ax him what he's doing, and he went for me like a wild coon." He tried to shake off Pete's hold. Pete let him try. "I don't know what it's coming to when a woman can't be safe in her own home, and when a little neighborly concern gets greeted with violence. Why, he threw me plumb to the ground and…"

Pete couldn't hold back the guffaw any longer.

"What the hell's so funny then?" Sonny demanded. "If you ax me, Miz Anderson, you should call the cops."

"No need, Sonny. I am a cop."

That was news to both of them. Sonny gasped in the night. Pete would learn more later. He'd ask. Come to think of it, what did he know about her?

"Well then," Sonny went on, "you should be arresting this here outsider for prowling. I'd seen him! You need to know what's been going on here…"

Vickie's burst of laughter rang in the warm night. "Sonny, I can guess. You used to stand under the monkey bars at school to look up the girls' dresses and you haven't changed."

"Lookee here…" Sonny started.

"Vickie," Pete asked, "you okay?"

"Other than being disturbed by flying trash cans in the middle of the night? Fine. I'll be even finer when you get lost, Sonny. Be glad I'm not arresting you. Aren't you still on probation?"

Seemed even thickos like Adams knew when they were beaten. He slunk off down the road, muttering to himself, and casting snarls over his shoulder that would have done credit to Frank Langella.

And just in time. Pete's back and shoulder stung like hell. A couple more minutes and he'd have had a hard time keeping hold of the sneak. "I'm glad you believed me," he said, putting his foot on the first step. He was going to have to take care of his back, or rather she was.

"It wasn't hard." She grinned. "Want to come in?" She held open the door.

"Please!" He smiled at her and walked towards the light.

"Pete," Vickie gasped, putting her hand on his shoulder and turning him. "What happened?"

"You nailed me with that buckshot of yours."

He heard her intake of breath and her quickened heartbeat.

"It's metal. It's hurting you, isn't it? Have a seat in here." She helped him into the kitchen, turned on lights, and filled a kettle with water. "I'll get them out. Oh, Pete, I'm so sorry! I heard noise and the trash can going over and thought it was a raccoon until I heard voices…" She paused, grabbing towels and a bowl, and leaving for a minute to come back with tweezers and gauze.

"I'm going to have to use metal tweezers to take it out. Will that hurt worse?"

"Just get them out, Vickie, please. I'd do it myself but I can't reach back there."

She unbuttoned his shirt and eased it off his shoulders. Had to be the best thing that had happened to him all evening. "You're bleeding like nobody's business, Pete." She paused for several seconds. "Will you need blood?"

Just as well she was behind him and couldn't see the grin on his face. Saints and angels bless her. She was offering herself… later, please later. After he stopped hurting and she stemmed the slow sapping of his strength. "Later, love. How about get the stuff out first? I'm not much use to you with my strength oozing away like this."

She'd done this to him. She'd thought she was shooting away from the noise. She'd spared Sonny Adams and clobbered Pete. Her mouth went dry. It was done; she had to fix it. "Let me sterilize these and…"

"Don't waste time, Vickie! Sepsis is not a concern. Just wash my back off and get digging."

Despite that, she bathed his back with peroxide. Not that it helped a great deal. He was still bleeding like a stuck pig.

She picked up the tweezers, wiped off the first wound and poked.

Digging into his living flesh—okay, unliving flesh—was not exactly her idea of fun, but she had to get them out.

The first bit was easier than she expected. So was the second. The third one took a bit more digging, but as she dropped the little pellet on a pad of gauze, she gasped. The first wound was completely healed! Spurred on, she worked faster after that, marveling as his flesh healed over once the little lead pellet came out. But it still took her ages. She never realized how many little lead balls they crammed into one shotgun shell.

Pete said little, just gave the odd grunt or wince as she dug deep for a tricky shot. With his fast healing, it was easy to see progress. She dropped the last little pellet onto the gauze, stood back and watched as the final injuries healed before her eyes.

He looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Thanks. I'm glad that's over."

So was she. "You know," she said, crossing to the sink to wash her hands, and dump the bundle of gauze, bloody towel, and shots into the trash, "if I had any doubts about the vampire, undead, revenant issue, this evening cleared them all up. You really are a vampire!"

Right now, he held the future of their relationship in his hands. Forget mind games, glamours and dreams. She deserved the truth. All of it.

Pete nodded. "Yes, love. Does it bother you?"

"I really don't know," Vickie replied. "I half-convinced myself I dreamt last night, but I know darn well I'm not dreaming this."

He stood up and crossed the yard or so between them. "It's all real, Vickie. Very real. Can you handle it?"

She thought about that as she washed and dried her hands, folding the towel carefully to give her a few more seconds. She smiled. "Pete, love. I have no idea if I can handle it. Heck, I barely know you. But I do know I want you."

"Maybe we need to have a good, long talk."

"Afterwards!"

He knew better than to argue. He swept her into his arms. "So glad we're in agreement. Let's go check out your bedroom. Make sure there are no bogeymen under the bed!"

"I can walk, you know."

"I know, but I like having you warm in my arms. Gives me all sorts of naughty, sexy ideas."

Her giggle felt like a warm breeze over his skin. She was everything he'd ever dreamed of, sexy, loving, courageous, and if appearances were to be trusted—his. She leaned her head against his chest, her soft hair brushing under his chin. "How nice," she whispered.

He couldn't agree more. But just in case she changed her mind about messing around with a vampire, Pete darted across the sitting room and into her bedroom, pulling back the bedclothes with one hand, before laying her gently on the pillows. Her nightshirt was rucked up at the top of her thighs, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her pussy. One peek was nowhere near enough. The sweet scent of her arousal stirred his mind—and his cock to immediate attention. "This comes off," he said, lifting the hem.

With a grin and a little sexy sigh, she lifted her hips and half sat up, as he pulled the soft cotton over her head. He'd thought her fantastic last night. Renewed acquaintance cemented that opinion. He sat on the edge of the bed, and grinned.

"Going to sit there all night smirking?"

She had to be kidding. "What do you think?" He trailed a finger down the side of her face and tilted up her chin.

Her eyes glowed with desire and a sexy little smile quirked the corners of her mouth. And what a mouth. Time to stop lollygagging around. He bent over. She raised her head to meet his lips. A wonderfully enticing sigh escaped from deep in her throat as they kissed. Her lips were every bit as sweet as he remembered. The caress of her tongue sent wild ripples through his mind.

He deepened the kiss, as her sighs and her quickening pulse echoed in his ears. He lifted his mouth. "Vickie, you are incredible. Wonderful. My beautiful mortal, I love you."

That was the goddamn crux of his dilemma and for right now, John's admonitions could go hang.

"This is almost too much," Vickie gasped, as her breasts rose and fell with her breathing. "You, loving you. Loving a vampire!" She gave a gasp.

"Get used to it," he said, putting a little growl in his voice. "Because I need you."

"You do?"

"Hell, yes! You saved me twice, after all. Not many mortals manage that."

"True," she agreed, the corners of her mouth twitching a little. "Doesn't that mean you owe me?"

"Owe you what?"

She leaned back on the pillow, meeting his eyes with a steady gaze and an unmistakable smirk. "I'll think about that while you kiss my breasts!"

With an invitation like that, what hormonally inspired man or vampire could follow John's advice?

Her nipples were warm and sweet to his lips, and soft—but not for long. They hardened alluringly under his tongue, coming to ripe, firm points that just begged to be sucked some more. He took her left nipple in his mouth, suckling as if to draw life and sustenance. Her heartbeat was steady against his ear as his mind and soul basked in the warmth and love that was Vickie Anderson. He moved to her right breast, marveling at the joy to be found in her arms. Her hands tunneled through his hair, stroking his head, as she crooned soft sighs of need.

He'd be only too delighted to oblige.

He kissed the pale skin of her rib cage, and the fullness of her breasts, trailing a line of kisses down her chest to her navel, resting his face against the softness of her belly, and relishing the headiness of her arousal.

Sweet moonlight, Vickie desired him! He'd never disappoint her. He stroked her thighs and she opened her legs. Wide. As if in need of more embrace. In need of him.

He slid lower on the bed, until he lay between her thighs, her beautiful pussy just inches from his face. Gently he opened her soft folds, and smiled at the sight of glistening, aroused woman.

His mouth came down. She let out a groan of pleasure that became a cry as his tongue found her core. Her body rocked, her back arched, and he grasped her hips to hold her where he wanted her.

It didn't take long. Her need was as tightly wound as his. All it took was a few gentle strokes of his tongue, his lips soft on her aroused flesh, and she came, yelling aloud her satisfaction, as her hips left the bed. Her body stiffened with her climax, and then sagged limp and lovely on the mattress. Her breasts heaved with her hastened breathing, her racing heartbeat echoing in the little room. Limply she rolled on one side, and propped herself up on her elbow. "That was incredible!"

"Just like you, my love."

"Why, thank you." A little dimple appeared in her left cheek. "Yes, it was wonderful, but please don't tell me it's all over."

No way! "What more do you anticipate?"

"For starters, I'd like to see you naked."

Sheesh! He'd been so hot for her, he'd not even stopped to take his pants off. And they were so damn tight they verged on uncomfortable. "I can take care of that."

Pete was off the bed, his shoes kicked off and his pants unzipped, in seconds. A couple more and he was back on the bed, leaving everything in an untidy heap on the floor.

"Better?" he asked, kneeling up.

"Much," she agreed, rolling over to get a better view. Her eyes widened with shock as she looked at him. "What happened?" She reached out to his cock, pausing a few inches from him.

Feeling the warmth of her hand, he looked down. Dammit! No wonder she'd hesitated. He was lucky she wasn't gasping with shock. He was bruised purple from nuts to knob and most places in between. "What the hell happened?" she repeated.

"Sonny Adams kneed me in the family jewels."

She stroked him with the soft tips of her fingers. "Does it hurt?"

He shook his head. "It's a bit tender, but that's all." Her blasted buckshot had burned, his cock felt tight, but that could just be because he'd never been this hard in his life.

Her mouth quirked up at the corners. "Sonny knees you in the groin and you stay standing?"

"Yup!" He had to grin. "I think it rather nonplused him."

She let out a lovely, sexy laugh. "I imagine he's still trying to figure that one out. It was no doubt supposed to lay you flat."

"Didn't work."

"No," she agreed, her breath catching as she closed her fingers around him. "Sure it doesn't hurt?"

"You don't have to treat it like spun glass. Don't let looks deceive you. I bruise up as fast as I heal."

"I see." He doubted it, but he could explain—later. "Sure it doesn't hurt?" He shook his head. "Isn't there something I can do?"

"You could kiss it better."

She rolled her eyes, her breasts jiggling as she chuckled. "For that smart-ass comment you deserve to be thrown out into the night, but…" She rolled on her belly and scooted to face him. "I'd miss so much!"

He almost cried out as her mouth closed over him. Holding her head, he closed his eyes, threw his head back, and lost himself in sensation. Sweet moonlight, she had a magnificent mouth.

And it went on and on…

How could her mouth be soft, firm, sweet, wet, and demanding all at the very same time? How could she reduce him to a quivering mass but make him feel like a warrior or a king, with a single sweep of her tongue along the side of his cock?

She moved her head back and forth as her lips circled his cock in a glorious, dragged-out caress. It was enough to make a man shout to the skies. Hell! His groans were echoing off the low ceiling. He straightened his neck and smiled down at her. As if sensing his gaze, she looked up, and he almost lost it there and then. The sight of his cock, all but hidden by her sweet lips, and the sparkle of delight in her eyes, just about finished him.

He couldn't last much longer. Didn't want to!

"Vickie," he muttered, easing off. "You're undoing me. Can't wait any longer."

He settled her back on the pillows. Spread her legs. Knelt between her thighs and, lifting her hips slightly, drove deep into her warmth.

She was so wet, so ready and so… his.

He stroked slowly at first, hoping to prolong the pleasure for both of them, but she was as ready as he was. Her hips rocked with his rhythm, and when her inner muscles tightened around his cock, it finished him.

He drove in deeper, hearing his own groans echoing inside his skull, until he came with a great burst of joy, shouting her name. Vickie came seconds later, surrounding him with warmth. Staying deep inside her, he wrapped his arms around her soft body, and rolled them both on their sides. She smiled up at him, eyes misty with satiation. "You're not stopping there, are you?"

"I took blood twice last night," he replied. "You can only spare so much."

"What about doing it for me?"

"Tomorrow," he promised.

"Don't you need it? You said metal weakens you. Lead shot is metal."

He nodded. "Vickie, between your shooting at and having your wicked will of me in bed, I am what you might call… depleted." He grinned. "But I'll last. All I have to do is ride my Monster a few miles up the road. Even a mere mortal could do that."

"Casting aspersions on mere mortals?" She frowned. "You've just had a very nice time with a mere mortal."

"Vickie, you're no 'mere' anything. You're mine." To prove his point, he shifted his hips and moved inside her. "Remember?"

"As if I'm likely to forget in a hurry." She kissed him full on the mouth before rolling on her back and letting him slip out of her. "I can wait until tomorrow." She grinned. "Wouldn't want to deplete you."

His hand eased over her breast. "I'll be full strength when I return."

She kissed him again, leaning into his shoulder, sighing with utter pleasure and satisfaction. "Pete, this is the wildest thing. I come up here to get away for a few days, and meet you. Three days ago, I didn't believe in vampires, and now…"

"What were you trying to get away from?" Sneaky perhaps but, heck, he wanted to know more about her.

"I'm a cop in DC," she went on, "and just once in a while I have to get clean away."

"That was lousy shooting for a cop."

"That old shotgun shoots low. I'd forgotten. I aimed high but not high enough. Sorry."

"It wasn't your gun?"

"My grandfather's. This is my grandparents' house. After my parents died, my grandparents raised me. They moved to Hilton Head six years ago, and I promised to keep an eye on the house. It makes a wonderful bolt hole. I love my job, but sometimes, I need a total break."

"Yeah!" That he knew only too well.

"What about you?" Vickie asked. "You said you were down here working for an environmental group. As a vampire?"

Time for a bit of the truth. "That's my cover, Vickie. I'm a new vampire, a friend lent me the cabin."

"How new?"

"I was killed a little over a year ago." There, he'd said it.

Her heartbeat raced in the silence. "Hell almighty, I've just had sex with a dead man!"

He longed to wrap her in his arms but hesitated. "I'm not dead, Vickie. I was, for a few hours, but I'm not anymore. It's a different level of living."

Vickie let out a nervous laugh. "That's one way of putting it."

She was upset, but not upset enough to pitch him out of her bed—not yet at least. "Does it bother you more than it did last night?"

"Last night I thought I was dreaming. I woke up convinced I was. But now…" She looked up into his eyes. "I'm not." She paused. "Not wishing to sound snippy or anything, but all your talk of loving me, and me being yours. How exactly does a vampire handle that sort of thing?"

"Since I'm new at this vampire lark, I'm doing it the way I always have—except I never met anyone quite like you, Vickie. I'm feeling pretty poleaxed one way and another."

She wrapped him in her arms, drawing him close so his head rested against her luscious breasts. "Oh, Pete." Her voice caught. "I've never met anyone quite like you either." She let out a little laugh. "And they say cops see everything!" It didn't sound like a complaint. "Think you can come spend a weekend in DC?"

Could he? "Got a nice, safe, light-proof place for me during the day?"

"Dracula could go about in daylight, why can't you?"

Should have expected something like this. "He was a few hundred years older than I am." He hadn't even had his first rebirthday yet. "Plus, he was fiction. I'm stuck with the night for a while." Like the next fifty years, if John was right. He'd break that to her later. "I don't turn into a bat, or a large dog either, don't float around in a mist, and can't fly."

A little furrow appeared between her eyes as she pondered that added data. "I'll admit I was curious about the flying bit." She kissed him on the nose. "I'll be happy to settle for what I've got. And yes, I think I can fix up a light-proof room. I live in a duplex, and there's a finished basement a former tenant set up as a darkroom. I'll put a cot down there or do you use a coffin?"

"Another myth."

She snuggled close. "Seems I've got a lot to learn about vampires." She chuckled. "The cop and the vampire! Sounds like a title for a romance novel."

Sounded like problems with the division, but heck, he'd cope. Nothing was keeping him from Vickie. "You've been a cop long?"

"Seven years. I joined right after graduating from college." And to think he'd suspected her of being involved in the local drug trade.

"And you come up here when you need a break?"

"Yeah. I was beginning to think this was turning into a busman's holiday though."

"Why? Meeting me?"

She shook her head. "No…"

"What?"

"There's something going on up here. I've been of two minds to call the sheriff, but I've nothing but a suspicion." He waited for her to go on. "Could be I just dislike them so, I'm ready to suspect them of anything, but I saw Sonny Adams buying the drugstore out of lye and cold capsules."

Heaven help him! "Sure about it?"

"Sure I saw him? Hell, yes. Could be they are spring cleaning, or stripping furniture and someone in the family has severe allergies, but they're ingredients for crystal meth. I should call the sheriff and ask if it's a problem around here. I wouldn't put it past that lot to be manufacturing."

Time to fill in the blanks. "There is a local problem. I've spent the past six weeks scouring the woods for the lab. Either it's well-hidden or they keep moving."

That appeared to shock her more than the revelation he was dead. "Why would you be looking for a meth lab?"

"I'm with the DEA."

"I see." He suspected she really didn't. "Vampires work for the DEA?"

"Paranormal division of the DEA." No point in mentioning the werewolves and ghouls yet.

He heard her swallow. Well, he'd have a hard time believing it, if he wasn't already dead.

"What happened?"

"I was a DEA agent and got shot. One of the team working with me was a vamp. He turned me."

"Does it hurt?" she asked after a long silence.

"Being shot? Yes, worse than buckshot, but not for long."

"No, you big lug. I mean getting turned into a vampire!"

He stared at her. "Not hurt," he replied cautiously, "but there is a lot of sensation."

Her eyebrows rose as she considered this. "Pleasurable sensation?"

He nodded. One more time when he needed a deep, calming breath. "Don't give me that look, Vickie! It wasn't that sort of pleasurable!"

"I see." She pursed her lips like his second-grade teacher when she'd caught him and a buddy throwing a toilet roll around the boys' bathroom. "What sort of pleasurable was it?"

Fair enough question, he supposed. Putting it into words wasn't easy. "Remember when you were a kid, and you'd lie on your back on the grass in summer, and look up at the sky until you felt light-headed? Everything was quiet and the sun warmed you and if you shut your eyes you could feel the earth rotate. You'd be perfectly happy and utterly relaxed."

"Until someone called you in to dinner, or told you to go clean your room."

He grinned with relief. She understood! "Right. Apart from the bit about cleaning your room. I was totally relaxed and utterly peaceful. I didn't hurt anymore. Everything went quiet and misty, until it went black, and later I woke up, as a vampire."

She rolled away from him, settling on her stomach. "Sounds awfully easy, but I bet it isn't."

"Not easy, no. I miss the sunlight, even dream of sunsets sometimes. And the diet gets monotonous. You can't imagine how I felt when you offered me fried chicken—used to be one of my favorite meals. We can drink, but no longer digest solid food," he paused, "but all in all it beats the alternative."

"Yeah." She went very quiet again, running her hand through her hair. "We should be comparing notes about the Adamses, but I don't want that lot in my bed. All I want is you!"

How could any man, alive or undead, refuse that invitation?

He pulled her close, so they lay like spoons in a drawer, her ass curled nicely into his belly, his erection fitting perfectly in the crack of her bottom. He cupped her breast with one hand. With his other he ruffled her short hair back and forth. She let out a contented sigh, and pressed closer.

He thought he'd burst with the emotion burning inside. He was in love up to his eyeballs. Drowning, smothering in it in fact, and had never been happier—alive or vampire. Right, and he was slap-bang in the middle of an investigation, had just about compromised it (at least from John's point of view) and was utterly and totally content. And horny again.

He wanted her. Needed her. Not just for her blood, or her wonderful body. He needed her spirit and humanity. He needed Vickie. His hand eased down her belly and cupped her pussy. With a little sigh, she moved one thigh over the other, opening herself to him. He'd be a churl to refuse her obvious invitation and their mutual need.

Brushing her neck and shoulders with soft, feathery kisses, he had her moaning with pleasure as he eased inside.

A low groan of sheer wonder echoed inside his skull. Never had he known such joy. When had any man, living or undead, felt such utter bliss? He rocked his hips against her butt, pressing deeper and using his muscles to rock his cock inside her. Her arousal peaked as she made little sexy grunts. Her hands reached back to clutch him, as he held her shoulders steady and drove in deeper. She came with a shout of exhaltation, his own cries of satisfaction melding with hers.

They both sagged on the bed. As he eased out of her, she rolled over, nestling her head against his chest as he curled his arm around her shoulders. "I love you, Pete," she whispered, her eyes bright with fatigue and satiation.

She fell asleep in his arms.

Her breasts rose and fell under his hand. He tasted the saltiness of her skin. She was so gloriously and deliciously mortal. He should leave. He was dead beat. He needed blood. He couldn't take more from her. The woods teemed with wildlife, thank goodness. He was in dire need. Between the bear trap and Vickie's exploit with the shotgun, his body was depleted. Lesson there: wear a bulletproof vest at all times. Heck, if he'd just kept his jacket on it would have helped. It was still sitting on his Monster. He'd fetch them both in a minute, after he spent a little more time with Vickie. How could he walk out right after making love? Impossible!

He wanted a little longer with her warmth curled against him. After feeding from a deer and a good day's rest, he'd be fine. Tomorrow he'd get back to searching, but it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. He'd be better off trying to buy the stuff, and tracing backwards. This tramping through the woods was less than productive—apart from getting rescued by the love of his life. Or should it be "love of his death?" "Love of his revenance?" Whatever it was, it complicated things, but if John thought he was giving Vickie up, his supervisor had another think coming.

If need be, he'd take a vacation. Spend the next few weeks with Vickie.

Pete found himself relaxing against her sweet warmth. Finally he gave up even thinking, and dozed beside her.

It wasn't day sleep, it wasn't rest. It was pure contentment.

The smell of the coming dawn brought him back to his senses. He had five, at most ten minutes before sunrise. As he leapt out of bed and reached for his clothes, Vickie stirred. "I wasn't dreaming. I'd offer to cook breakfast, but…"

"I'd offer to stay and keep you company, but dawn is coming. I have to get back to safety."

She was out of bed and reaching for her robe. "Ohmigod! You have to go."

"It's okay. The motorbike will get me up the road in minutes. No prob. I'll be back tonight. Go back to sleep."

Typically, she ignored him. Pulling on her robe and running after him. She reached the top of the porch steps as he stood, shocked, staring at his Monster.

"Pete!" she called. He only half-heard her. He was still gawking at his slashed tires when she ran up beside him.

"Sonny," she hissed.

He didn't doubt she was right. The man intended to inconvenience him and like as not was terminating him. Pete looked up at the ever-lightening sky. "I'll never get back there in time," he said, half to himself. He wouldn't even have time for regrets or a proper good-bye. He grabbed Vickie's hand.

"Can't you leave the bike here and run?"

If only. "I'm weakened. I planned on resting to restore myself. I'll never get up there in time."

Her hand tightened in his. "No prob. Come back to my house."

"No good, love. I need a sealed room where the sun can't penetrate." He wasn't letting her witness this. Better find a spot deep in the woods and wait for the end. Dammit. He wanted to live, for Vickie.

"Come on, you big lug." She stepped away and yanked his arm. "Get a move on. I've got the root cellar. It's as dark as a dungeon. Gramps used to call it 'the coal mine.'"

It was so slender a hope. But more than he'd had a second earlier… "Where?"

He ran back with her, hand in hand, into the house, slamming the door behind them, shutting out the warmth of the slowly rising sun. "Vickie?" What if it didn't work?

"Help me!" She was tugging at a corner of the worn carpet. "I've got to move this and the table."

He pushed the table and chairs aside. She rolled back the carpet and reached to the floor, pulling open a trap door. "It's damp, and probably full of spiders," she said, "but it's dark."

She wasn't kidding. He stared down at uneven wooden steps and blessed darkness. "Can you see enough to get down there?" she asked. "I'll get a flashlight and blankets."

"I don't need a flashlight."

"I do. I'm not risking a broken leg. I don't heal like you do."

He ran down the rickety steps. Definitely cool and underground but dry and, more importantly, dark. As he looked around the packed earth floor for a resting place, a wavering flashlight beam showed where Vickie was descending the steps.

"Be careful," he said, crossing back to the foot of the steps.

"I am. Catch!" She threw him a bundle of blankets.

"I'll get you a pillow."

He hadn't the heart to tell her that when he was deep in day sleep, he'd not notice if he lay on a bed of nails. He spread out the blanket against the northern wall and settled on the pillow she brought from her own bed, a pillow still smelling of Vickie and lovemaking.

She knelt beside him, the flashlight beam playing on old stone walls and dark corners. "What should I do about the bike?"

Good question. He told her how to slip it into neutral and move it off the road, adding the number of Mike the Bike Man in Roanoke. "He'll come fix it." He could smell the approaching dawn. "Better close the trap door."

Her lips brushed his. "I'll take care of everything." The air around him shifted as she stood up and walked toward the steps. The light beam danced and receded. The trapdoor came down. He let the dark embrace him. As the sun rose in the heavens, day sleep engulfed him.

Vickie rolled the carpet back over the trap door and prayed the root cellar was as dark as she remembered. Used to be the only light was from chinks in the trap door. With the carpet and a couple of extra quilts she spread on top of it, the light was blocked—she hoped.

Not much she could do about that now.

Better save her energies for what she could do.

She pulled on shorts and a T-shirt and walked back down the road, taking Pete's ignition keys with her. She picked up his jacket, damp from the dew on the grass. Slipping her arms in the sleeves brought back memories of sleeping in the circle of his arms.

The bike was massive and very red in the morning light. She hoped he was right about it being easy to move. Vickie turned the grip on the handlebars, put the Monster—most aptly named—into neutral, released the kickstand, and gingerly wheeled the bike towards her house. It wasn't that hard. Awkward, and bumpy over her graveled drive, but she managed, wheeling it at last around the back of the carport.

She wanted it out of sight. No point in letting Sonny even think he'd inconvenienced Pete.

She put the coffeemaker on and collapsed into a chair. She was dead beat. Making love half the night took energy. She'd need that coffee. She had work to do while Pete slept.

She called Mike the Bike Man, who promised to send someone up as soon as possible. That taken care of, she took her coffee and cornflakes onto the porch to think. Where, in the hundreds of acres around her, would a couple of felons set up a meth lab?

Back in the house, she opened the drawer at the base of the bookcase and pulled out all the large-scale hiking maps. They were old and yellowed but showed all the trails, some long overgrown.

Some while later, Vickie stood up and stretched. And grinned. She might be wrong but it was worth a look. She was tempted to go on her own, but would wait for Pete. This was not a solo job.

It was hours before dusk, and she'd been up all night with Pete. Might as well catch up on sleep, as she doubted she'd get much after he woke. Grinning at that prospect, Vickie slid between the sheets that still smelled of Pete.

She was halfway to dozing when the doorbell rang.

If that were any sort of Adams, even old granny from the nursing home in Boones Mill, she'd spit.

It was Joe from Mike the Bike, complete with spanking-new tires.

At least she'd sorted that out. Joe's truck bumped off down the mountain and Vickie finally got her nap.

 

It helped. She woke late afternoon, refreshed, ravenous and deeply conscious that Pete was asleep under her feet. Or was he dead? He'd called it "day sleep."

She took care of her hunger by making a nice, thick ham sandwich. If Pete were a different sort of man, she'd be thinking of fixing dinner, but as it was… At least he was darn easy to feed. Her heart seemed to catch. Twice. He would feed—off her. Her body warmed at the prospect. Her heart raced. If she didn't get ahold of herself, she'd need to change her panties. She'd never been this needy or aroused before.

She'd never made love to a vampire before!

Good thing she was sitting down. Just thinking about that sent her head into a spin and her need a notch higher. If she went on at this rate, she'd be leaping his bones the minute he woke.

Meanwhile, she might as well give a last look over the maps. She spread the one she needed on the table, held it down with one hand, and set the sandwich plate on the other corner.

She was in mid-chew when the cellar door opened.

She looked up and there was Pete in the doorway. Her mouth went dry. It took a huge effort to swallow the half-chewed chunk of ham and Roman Meal.

"Hi," she said, when she finally downed the mouthful. "Did you sleep well?"

"Best day's sleep I've ever had. Knowing you were close made all the difference."

She'd made the mistake of taking another bite. It was almost the end of her but worth it to have him cross the room in a nanosecond and pat her on the back. The kiss on her cheek wasn't half bad either.

She swallowed fast and gulped a mouthful of tea to clear her throat. "I'm glad you're okay. The bike's fine and I've been thinking." She looked up at his eyes. He'd obviously been thinking too—and having a few interesting dreams himself, to judge by the front of his leather pants. "About the Adamses."

He raised his wonderfully dark eyebrows. "Do we really have to? I've got a good hour or so before I need to start my prowl."

It was a distinct temptation, but she was a cop and the law came before wild, animal urges. "I have an idea where they might have set up their lab."

"Assuming there is one." He pulled the chair out beside hers and sat down.

Having Pete this close was wondrous, and wondrously distracting. "I doubt Sonny is refinishing furniture for a living."

Pete nodded. "Wouldn't argue with that."

She stood up and held out her hand. "Let me show you."

He glanced at her spread map and shook his head. "Vickie, my love, I've gone over the ground umpteen times. I even caught a whiff that had me hopeful, but decided it had to be a pack of feral cats."

So he'd smelled it, had he? Bingo! "It wasn't. It was the lab."

"If it's out there, it's hidden damn well."

"It's hidden damn well."

He had the grace to listen. He was definitely a man—okay, vampire—to keep. But right now… "I know these woods. Grew up here until I was sent away to boarding school and still roamed them in the summers. You've searched the woods, several times, okay. Have you looked under them?"

His face lit with interest. "In caves?"

"Let me show you." Pete held down one side of the map, watching intently as her finger traced up the line of the old logging road and off on a marked footpath, to a faded, inked-in circle. "Here's the ruins of an old cabin. My grandfather always said the chimneys dated from colonial days."

"I've been over the ruins, Vickie. It was close to there I caught a whiff." He paused. "The caves are near there?"

"The cabin was built over the caves. I only went in them once. Grandpa took me but made me promise never to go inside on my own. There's one large chamber. They must have used it as a cellar once. It even has rough-cut steps leading down. There are other chambers leading off but we never explored those. They have to have it vented somehow, but the caves aren't deep, they probably cut a few outlets."

"Damn lucky they haven't blown the side off the mountain."

Couldn't argue with that. "I don't think safety is any more of a concern than abiding with the law."

"Can you explain how to get into these caves?"

"I can do better than that. I'll show you."

"It's too dangerous!"

"Pete. I'm a cop."

Pete felt his forehead crease as he scowled. He didn't like the option one iota but she was right. And he'd bet she was a damn good cop at that. She'd make a good detective by the look of things. "Show me, and then you come right back, agreed? This is out of your jurisdiction."

"You'll need a good flashlight and a helmet if you're going in."

"Vickie, I can see in the dark. I'll carry the flashlight for you."

It took over an hour, walking through the woods, rather than the road, to avoid notice. By the time they reached the ruined cabin, Vickie needed the flashlight even if Pete didn't. The moon hadn't risen and it was pitch dark.

"Show me where the entry is," he said. "Then I'll take you home."

It was on the tip of her tongue to argue but this was his investigation. "Okay."

It took her a while. Without the flashlight, she'd never have found it at all. The tree her grandfather had used as a marker was fallen, and undergrowth—she hoped it wasn't poison ivy—covered the old doorway. She paced around until she noticed a cluster of fir trees, with broken and bent branches. "Here. I think."

He pushed aside the branches and crawled through, motioning her to stay back. She compromised by peering over his shoulder. There, quite improbably, was an old door weighted down with boulders. Pete lifted one corner and peered in. The whiff of cat's pee pretty much suggested they weren't growing mushrooms down there. He set the door back down and eased back under the trees. "Vickie, you are incredible! I'm off to report this. You stay inside and safe, okay?"

Vickie nodded and didn't even cross her fingers. She'd keep her word. It wouldn't be easy, but getting in the way of a bunch of vampires wasn't a wise move. "What are you going to do?"

"Take you home." He scooped her up in his arms, planting a rather splendid kiss on her mouth. Just when she was thinking about distracting him from his job, he lifted his mouth. "Right now."

He held her tight against his chest, one arm under her knees, the other around her back. She'd be a liar to say she didn't thoroughly enjoy the sensation. Last time he carried her, she'd been halfway to shell-shocked. This time, her mind and senses were in top gear. As he ran through the woods, she did the frail female thing and clung to his shoulders. She relished the security and power of his body. It wasn't just her mind that appreciated him. Her body was keyed up, aroused and ready. And from what he'd just told her, he was going to drop her on her doorstep and run.

He should. He was a cop—okay, a Fed—a bit of an irregular one, yes, but still he was on a job. She wished roaring success to his investigation. Putting the Adamses out of circulation for a good long while could only benefit the entire country. Plus, what this would do for his career.

She was jolted out of her thoughts as he set her on her feet on her porch. He'd run the hour-or-so walk in ten minutes, if that.

He was leaving her. Right now. He had to. He should. He…

"I've got an hour," he said. "Then I must go."

She didn't waste time asking what he planned for that hour. She had the door unlocked in seconds, and all but dragged him inside. Not that he needed much enticing.

He pushed the door shut with his elbow, took her key and locked up, and whisked her into the bedroom.

Her breath jammed up tight in her throat as she looked at him: tall, male and imposing, an almost-feral gleam in his eyes, and his wide lips curling in a grin. "Got something on your mind?"

He nodded slowly. "Bet I can get naked before you can."

Blatantly unfair advantage! He was half-naked before she kicked off her shoes and unzipped her shorts. Why complain? While she pulled off her T-shirt and unsnapped her bra, she had an eyeful of naked, aroused vampire. Not a sight one came across every day of the week. Might as well make the best of it. She glanced up at the clock. They still had fifty-six minutes.

Pete lolled on her bed, leaning against the head, one foot flat on the bed, his other leg dangling off the mattress, toes brushing the hooked carpet. Astoundingly male and arrogant, yes, but not without justification. He was magnificent, and all hers!

Resting her right hand on his nice, firm thigh, she knelt by his knee, eyes fixed on his impressive erection, and moistening her lips in anticipation. Heart thudding with excitement, she leaned forward and took the head of his cock between her lips. Excitement shivered through her, as he hardened even more under her gentle touch. Breathing hard, she held her lips around him for several moments, before she took him into her mouth.

He was so strong, so firm, so male. Her heart thudded with joy, as he muttered, "Vickie, you are fantastic!"

A groan escaped him as she ran her tongue over the smooth head of his cock and up the side. His hands stroked her hair as she worked her mouth up and down. His need matched her own. She could taste his desire, and sense the rising passion between them. She'd make the most of every minute they had.

"Vickie!" he said, easing her head up and away from him. "Better stop, my love, or this will be the shortest fuck in history."

She grinned. "Think so?"

"Right!" He yanked her up onto the bed beside him. Holding her chin between his fingers, he brushed his lips against hers. "Think I can't make it last, do you?"

"Fast or slow, Pete Falcon, you're worth the trouble."

"You said it!"

His mouth came down, hard, certain and determined. Melding his need and her want. She opened to him, welcoming the caress of his tongue and the sweet touch of his lips. She was adrift in a sea of passion, an ocean of desire, pressing against him in her need. A little moan slipped out, as her hands caressed his chest and eased over his shoulders. She wanted him, all of him, his being and his body. She had to break the kiss to catch her breath—and met his gleaming eyes as she tunneled her hands though his dark curls, pulling off the band that held his ponytail in place. Midnight-dark curls spilled over his shoulders in a soft wave of sensuality.

He pushed her down on the pillow. "My turn."

"Fast" was woefully inadequate when it came to describing Pete Falcon. He had her thighs apart before she took another breath. He bent down, his hair brushing her thighs, pausing a minute as he looked up. "You are so goddamn sexy, Vickie, I'm having trouble lying on my stomach!"

"That's my fault? And it's a problem?"

"I can stand it."

She bet he could! Whether she could stand it was another matter entirely. One touch of the tip of his tongue and she all but came off the bed. He fastened his mouth on her and her hips bucked and her back arched. His strong hands grasped her hips, holding her still, as his mouth worked its magic.

By the time he finished, she was a quivering mass of female need, and begging him for more.

That delighted Pete to the very depths of his vampire soul. Vickie needed him, did she? Hell, it was mutual. It raked him to his soul that he had to walk away from her bed, and cope with some of the sleaziest criminals in creation. For now, he'd ignore what awaited him. Vickie was a cop. She knew. She also knew what she wanted. She propped herself up on her elbows, her hair deliciously on end, face flushed rosy with her inner heat. The heat he'd just tasted.

"I'm not kidding, Pete. I hurt for you."

"I can make that better, my love. No trouble at all."

He moved up the bed, so he rested between her widespread thighs: her beautiful, creamy-smooth, wondrous thighs, and drew her close as he kissed each breast in turn. He stroked each hardened nipple with his tongue and had the satisfaction of hearing her groan, and feel her hips jerk with sexy little mortal movements. Yes!

She was in need and so was he.

He positioned his hips above hers, teasing her by rubbing his erection over her sweet, soft belly. He watched her face.

She was enjoying this, but it wasn't enough—for either of them. Fast as he could move, he shifted, eased her legs wider apart, and entered her in one, fast move.

A long, slow, delighted groan came from her parted lips. "Pete!" she cried, and wrapped her legs around him.

The second groan might have been his. They were joined: one in need, desire and love. Nothing else mattered, not the Adamses, not the agency, only what existed between his love and his soul in this small room.

Her panting resounded in his ears, her speeding heartbeat echoed in his mind, as her feminine muscles tightened around his cock.

He stroked in and out, gently, slowly, wanting this to last, but longing for completion: a completion he was sure was mutual. He'd give her all the joy that ever passed between mortal woman and vampire. Her eyes were afire with lust and need. A sweet sheen of sweat glistened on her pale skin. She was moving as one with him, her hips rocking to his rhythm, speeding with him, slowing as he eased, until she took the lead. What a woman. What a love! Vickie set the pace, working her hips faster, easing and tightening her hold on him as her body rocked with rising passion. It seemed they moved forever. It was bare seconds. Could have been all night. He was past worrying. Vickie was his. His love. His connection with the mortality he'd lost. His everything.

Little gasps came from her open lips. "Soon, Vickie, soon," he promised. He'd give all he could take, fulfill her desire with his need. She arched her shoulders and dropped her head back and the sight of the beating pulse at the base of her neck drove him to the edge. He pressed his cock in harder, felt the first ripples of her climax, and set his lips over her pulse and bit. She cried out, the slight pain lost in the crest of her climax. He closed his mouth and tasted.

With the heat of her mortal blood, his climax peaked and hers burst in wild ripples that shook every nerve and sinew in her body. She was still shaking as he lifted his mouth. He stayed deep inside her, savoring every last ripple of her orgasm as her wondrous body shook in his arms.

As her heartbeat eased and her breathing slowed, Vickie opened her eyes and smiled: a slow, sated, sexy smile that had him wanting to start all over again, but she had mortal limits, and besides, they had to talk.

"Satisfactory, love?"

She had such a damn sexy chuckle. "You bet!" She let out another little gasp and tightened round him again. "You're still hard."

He wasn't about to argue such an obvious point. "It's what you do to me, dear."

"I'm still thinking about what you did to me."

"What we did together."

"I didn't bite you."

"No," he agreed. "How was it?"

Her face gave him the answer to that one. "It was"—she paused, as if searching for words—"orgasmic!"

"It was intended to be." He slid out of her and drew her to him so they nestled together. "I want to have a thousand nights like this."

"Is it really possible?"

"Yes! I'll get them to post me to DC. I'll be close, we can live together or apart—whatever suits you."

"My place is big enough for two, and I've even got the darkroom basement, if you like."

He did like, very much, and told her so.

She kissed him, but he sensed she was still insecure. "It will work out, Vickie."

"But you get posted around, right? You won't be in DC forever."

"I'll talk to my project supervisor and see if we can't find you a place with us."

That got a skeptical raise of eyebrows. "You put mortals in the vamp squad?"

"We need a few trusted mortals as support. People to take care of things while we sleep in the daylight hours."

"Hmmm. Don't tell me you call them Renfields."

"We call them assistants. Renfield, indeed! Please, my love, this is not some hack's fiction. This is reality. You can forget the nonsense with crosses and consecrated hosts too."

"What about mirrors?"

He raised his eyebrows. "How the heck do you think I shave or brush my teeth, if I can't use a mirror?"

"Just wondered." She curled close, resting her hand on his chest, and went quiet. Worried, no doubt. He'd thrown a lot at her in the past couple of days, and now he was leaving—for who knew how long and… "What about me becoming a vampire? You bit me, right? Does that mean I'll be one?"

She'd tried to hide the fear but her voice betrayed her, as clear as her heartbeat. "It's not like that. I could take from you for the next fifty years and that alone won't change you. Transformation comes about after mixing and exchange of blood, and certain rituals. It's magical."

"I'm not sure whether to be relieved or let down at that!"

He loved her honesty. "If you do decide you want to turn, it can happen. It's not a decision to make on the spur of the moment if you can avoid it. It changes a lot. Everything, in fact. For me it was easy. I was dying from multiple gunshot wounds. It wasn't too hard to say good-bye to the sunlight when the alternative was death, but for a healthy mortal…" He left the rest unsaid. She had brains enough to work it out.

"I truly don't know, Pete."

"When you do know, then we'll make that choice." He wrapped his arms around her, rejoicing in her mortal warmth. They lay entwined for several minutes. He hated leaving the welcome of her body, but he had a job to do. "I have to go, Vickie. I'm going to nip into the shower. You doze until I'm ready."

She let out a sleepy, very sexy mutter, and lifted her head just enough to kiss him. "Don't leave without saying goodbye."

As if he could.

Warm water cascaded over Pete's head and down his body. It was torture to have to leave Vickie. Who knew how long the stakeout might last? Leave he had to, and come back he would. Even the Adamses couldn't do what was needed to douse a vampire. Pete borrowed her shampoo, rinsing well. He doubted lavender scent would impress John.

By the time Pete toweled himself dry and gathered his discarded clothes from the bedroom floor, Vickie was fast asleep, a contented smile on her flushed face. He hated to wake her but he'd promised, so he bent over the bed and kissed her.

Vickie felt his lips on her cheek and the gentle pressure against her skin. She opened her eyes slowly, her mind reluctant to disturb the sweet, hot memories that wrapped around her sleep. But Pete was leaving. She pulled herself to sitting.

"Take care of yourself, please," she said as she swung her legs to the floor and stood. She was buck naked and delighted to be so. Might as well give him a good memory to take with him into the dark.

"I'll be okay," he said, sounding almost smug. "Bullets can't harm me—at least not for long."

"So I noticed." She had to kiss him for that, managing a very nice one, considering she was worn out. Of course, Pete did a good bit of the work. She'd dream of his mouth all night. When she wasn't having fantasies over the rest of him. She was going to miss him like hell. "You might be immortal but you're not invincible. Watch out."

"Vickie, there will be a team of us on the stakeout. Vamps and others. I'll be fine. You're the one who needs to take care. Might be best if you leave for a few days."

"I'm staying put. I'll stay busy." And try not to worry myself sick.

"It might take days."

"Then I will wait days. And no, I will not do anything to compromise your investigation." That was a given, but it never hurt to point out the obvious to a man.

He kissed her again, slowly, full on the mouth. "I hate leaving you." He grinned down at her and cupped her right breast. "Seems such a dumb thing to do: leave a lovely naked woman to ride down the mountain but…"

"You've got to go. Stop dilly-dallying, Pete. The job awaits."

"Lock the door after me and slide home every bolt. I want to be sure you're safe."

"Perfectly safe. I'll keep the shotgun handy in case Sonny comes around."

"He won't be around much longer."

He disappeared into the warm night. Vickie bolted the door, but stood listening as Pete started the engine and the sounds of the motorcycle faded as he rode down the mountain.

She expected to lie awake and worry but she was asleep in minutes, her mind and body sated and content with loving.

 

Cleaning out the attic, and Grandpa's old shed out back, kept her busy, and provided some intriguing insights on her grandparents. What had they planned to do with all those carefully preserved empty coffee cans? And Vickie was half-tempted to call the Historical Society down in Roanoke to gauge the interest in a collection of number plates dating back to 1933. But on reflection she tossed them in a bunch of boxes and took them down to the recycling center, along with a mountain of yellowed newspapers and an astonishing number of dusty mayonnaise jars. She lost count of how many trips she made down the mountain, her car stuffed with bulging trash bags, but eventually, she surveyed the neat and empty attic, and the shed that was tidier than she ever remembered. It kept her busy, not that she hadn't thought about Pete at least once every five minutes, but the work kept at bay her urges to stroll through the woods towards the old ruined cabin.

 

Evenings and nights were the hardest, knowing when the fireflies came out, he was out there, watching, waiting, and hoping—as was she. She did wonder how a bunch of vampires managed daytime surveillance. That must be when they called in the mortal support, or the old vampires.

A stakeout could take days, weeks. Her heart didn't want to accept that. She needed Pete, wanted him in her bed, longed to watch his hair spring out in dark curls as he pulled off his helmet, hankered for the sound of his Monster coming up the mountain.

She had to settle for the local news and summer reruns.

It was no substitute.

On the third lonely night, Vickie was brushing her teeth, ready to curl up in bed and read awhile, before turning out the light and sharing the dark with her memories. As she replaced the lid on the tube, two helicopters overhead broke the night quiet. Helicopters with searchlights.

Unlikely to be coon hunters. Could only mean one thing: a manhunt. She jettisoned her toothbrush in the basin, pulled her clothes back on, and for luck, grabbed the shotgun and a handful of spare shells. She was debating the question of iced tea or coffee to keep awake, when the first car came up the mountain. Dammit, she was not staying inside. If she didn't turn on the porch light, no one would notice her in the dark. She flicked off all the lights, opened the front door and slipped outside. A veritable convoy of cars, marked and unmarked, were roaring up the mountain, passing her house in a cloud of dust and gas fumes, and harrying up the mountain.

They could only be going one place.

Definitely coffee. A whole pot of it. It was going to be a long night.

 

It wasn't as long as she'd expected. She was only on her second cup when the convoy started back down. More slowly this time, as if now aware of the hazards of driving an unmade mountain road on a moonless night.

Three cars passed: one unmarked, two from the sheriff. The fourth stopped, just yards from where she sat on the darkened porch. She knew she wasn't visible from the road. Not to anyone with mortal sight.

The passenger door opened.

A leather-clad leg appeared.

Vickie couldn't contain herself anymore. She jumped up and ran to the railings, spilling coffee on the way and not giving a hoot. "Pete!"

He was there.

Pete Falcon: her man, her lover, her vampire.

He paused at the bottom step, a dark outline in the night. "We got them, Vickie! And a truckload of evidence. We'll have it sewn up tight." She all but jumped the four steps, landing in his arms.

"I never doubted you would."

"Your tip-off was key. Without it, I'd still be tramping around the woods."

"Pete," a voice called from the car.

"I'll catch you up. I need a few minutes here."

"Okay, bud."

The door slammed and the car followed the others down the mountain.

As the last engine sounds faded into the dark, they were still standing there, wrapped in the night and each other's arms.

"Are we staying out here?" Vickie asked.

"We've only got a few minutes. I'll have to run after them and catch up before they all get to the field office, but I needed to see you."

She needed more than seeing, but Pete was worth waiting for. "You're coming back soon?"

"Might not make it back by morning. If not, I'll be headed this way the minute the sun sets. I want you, Vickie."

The last four words he whispered, but the certainty and hunger in them matched her own.

"You've got me!"

He might not be able to stay but dammit, she'd give him something to remember her by. She stood on tiptoe, pressing her lips to his, opening his mouth and kissing. Deep. Pouring need and love from her soul to his. His arms tightened around her, until her breasts flattened against his chest, and her hips angled into his. He smelled of outdoors, and maleness, and desire. And he was all hers.

It was going to be a long twenty-four hours.

He met her kiss, his tongue caressing hers, working with a passion that demonstrated his need. She had to break the kiss. She needed to breathe. He had no such handicap. Just grinned as she gasped for air and her heart thudded in her chest.

"When are you going back to D.C.?" he asked.

"In a couple of days."

"Should work out nicely."

Yes, it would! Now all she had to worry about was introducing him to her grandparents.