“I’d prefer your input,” Thomas said, opening the door for her himself. He wanted to do it, and that surprised him. Most of the time the small courtesies he performed were only for effect. But Alexandria Houton was haunting. “Doesn’t that house bother you?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Bother me? The house? It’s beautiful. Everything about it is beautiful. Why do you ask?”
“I sometimes feel as if it’s watching me, biding its time, hating me.”
“Thomas, you’ve played too many of your own video games. What a vivid imagination.” Her laughter slid over him, touching him in places usually reserved for intimacy.
His hand inched across the seat toward hers. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman. But then he glanced out the window and saw the reflection of eyes. Glowing, red, feral eyes filled with hate and the promise of retaliation, the promise of death. Unblinking cat’s eyes. The eyes of a demon. Of death. He shivered, and a moan escaped.
“What is it?” Her voice was soothing, like the soft sound of running water. “Tell me, Thomas.”
“Did you see something weird?” He was choking on fear. “Out the window, do you see anything?”
She leaned around him to look at the reflective glass. “What am I supposed to see?”
The eyes were gone as if they had never been. Was it Savage? His own imagination? He cleared his throat and managed a smile. “Nothing. I guess I just can’t believe my good fortune.”
In the close confines of a car, it was difficult for Alex to ignore her growing hunger. It seemed to gnaw at her insides, spread like a cancer. Her mind seemed to amplify the sound of blood rushing in Ivan’s veins. Beckoning, calling. But her stomach heaved at the thought of touching him, and she fought to keep a smile plastered to her face. He seemed to find every excuse to touch her, brush her leg, her arm, her hand, her hair. She hated it. Loathed it. He made her skin crawl. She hated herself for not being able to return his amorous glances, his touches.
She smiled at him, said and did all the appropriate things, but inside her stomach was rebelling. Somewhere deep inside her soul, a dread began to take shape, to spread. Thomas Ivan was an eligible bachelor, wealthy, charming, famous. Human. He shared her love of fantasy; he admired her artwork. They had much in common, yet even his lightest touch repulsed her. Inside she began to weep.
Cara mia, do you need me? Aidan’s voice crossed time and distance to find her, to wrap her in warm, protective arms.
She bit her lip. The temptation to call for him was nearly overwhelming, but she resisted. She would be human. And she would find a fellow human to love. Maybe not Thomas Ivan, but someone. I’m having the time of my life.
Just so long as Ivan is not.
She felt his withdrawal from her mind, and it felt as if he had taken away her soul and left her dead inside. She lifted her chin and flashed Ivan a particularly brilliant smile. She placed her hand in his as he assisted her from the car. Determined to enjoy the evening, she took his arm as they entered the theater.
Men seemed to be pressing against her, breathing loudly. Heartbeats thundered in her ears. The orchestra’s overture blended with the surging of blood running hotly in veins. Alexandria concentrated on the play, aware it was exceptionally good, yet she was more aware of Ivan’s arm across the back of her seat, of his smell. When he whispered in her ear, his mouth against her skin, she was sickened by it.
Twice she almost excused herself to go to the ladies’ room just for a respite from him.
But she was determined to see this through. She was going to be human even if it killed her. There was a burst of applause just as she heard the words in her mind: It might kill someone.
Shut up! she answered him, exasperated, that in the midst of her despair, he made her want to laugh. But Aidan was gone once more. Just his touch warmed her, and the silliness of his warning. He was taunting her on purpose because he knew she was repulsed by the man sitting so close to her.