“Surely I would know that if I were a vampire. I’ve never sweated blood in my life. Let’s see if I have this straight. Vampires stalk not only humans but also each other. The males betray one another to you human butchers because they need females. I thought they could just bite women and turn them into vampires.” Sarcastically she was ticking off each item on her fingers. “You want me to believe I’m one of these fictitious creatures, so powerful that my voice alone can enslave this strong man here.” Deliberately she gestured toward Jeff Smith, flashing him a gentle smile. “Gentlemen, I’m a doctor. I save lives every day. I sleep in a bed, not in a coffin. I am not the least bit strong, and I have never sucked anyone’s blood in my life.” She glanced at Don Wallace. “You, however, admittedly have tortured and mutilated men, even murdered them. And evidently you derive great pleasure from this. I don’t believe you two are cops, or officials of any law-abiding agency. I think you are the monsters.” She turned her emerald eyes back to Jeff Smith, her voice low, seductive. “Do you really think I’m a danger to you? ”
He seemed to be falling forward into her beckoning gaze. He had never wanted a woman more. He blinked, cleared his throat, and stole a slow, calculating look at Wallace. Smith had never noticed that greedy, cold look on his partner’s face before. “No, no, of course you’re not a danger to me or anyone else.”
“Damn it, Jeff, let’s get her and get the hell out of here,” Wallace snarled, the need to teach her who was in charge riding him hard. •
Emerald eyes slid over Smith, fastened on his mesmerized gaze. She could feel his desire, and she fed it, fed his fantasies of her welcoming his attentions. She had learned at a very young age that she could get into people’s minds, manipulate their thoughts. Initially it had terrified her to wield that kind of power, but it was a useful tool in the O.K., and it was useful now, when she was threatened.
“Don, why don’t they just turn human women? That would make sense. And why did the vampire just quit helping us? We left the area in a big hurry, and you never did tell me what went wrong,” Smith said suspiciously.
“Are you trying to say one of these male vampires actually helped you in your campaign to kill others and that’s how you were so successful?” Shea asked, a little sneer of disbelief in her voice.
“He was nasty, vengeful. He hated the kid, but he particularly despised this one here.” Smith tapped the photograph of the man with the long black hair. “He wanted him tortured, burned, to feel it.”
“Shut up,” Wallace snapped. “Let’s get it over. She’s worth a hundred thousand dollars to the society. They want to study her.”
Shea laughed softly. “If I truly was one of your mythical vampires, I should be worth far more than that to your’research’ committee. I think your partner is holding out on you, Mr. Smith.”
The truth was there to read on Wallace’s face. When Smith turned to confront him, Shea made her move: she leapt out the window, landed on her feet like a cat, and ran for her life. She had no personal items she was concerned about, no favorite memento. Her one regret was the loss of her books.
When he felt her fear, Jacques experienced the need to protect her. The urge was as strong as his desire to revenge himself. Whatever he had done, and he was the first to admit he couldn’t remember, he couldn’t possibly deserve such a horrendous punishment. Once again sleep overtook him, but it was the first time in months he had not filled her body with his pain or possessed her mind for a few seconds, ensuring that she felt his dark anger and promise of retribution. This time he hadn’t punished her. Only he had the right to put fear into her mind, into her fragile, trembling body. She had looked upon his image with a mixture of puzzlement and regret. Did she think he was dead and it was his damned soul haunting her? What went on in the head of a treacherous woman?