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  Switching from one nipple to the other, Matthew smiled to himself. She'd find the rhythm she needed in no time, he was sure of it. All he had to do was keep distracting her and delay pleasure for them both as long as he could—and make falling over the edge that much sweeter in the end.

  * * * *

  Water was cascading over Claire, deliciously hot and filling the room with steam. She hadn't realized until that moment how much she missed the heat. She didn't exactly feel cold, but simple things, such as closing her hand into a fist, reminded her that she had no heat of her own.

  Light fingers, warm fingers ran down her arms and tangled with her own. She leaned back, pressing her body to Matthew's behind her.

  "This feels good. Can we stay here forever?"

  The laugh she would have expected didn't come. Instead, Matthew bent down to press his lips to her shoulder, just a couple of inches to the left of the still sensitive bite where her neck and shoulder met.

  "I'm afraid we can't, sweetie. The sun will set in an hour or so, and we'll leave then."

  Turning in his arms, Claire looked up at Matthew. His wet hair was plastered to his forehead and laid flat over his head. She couldn't read any emotion on his features or in his eyes; they were as blank as his voice.

  "We're leaving?” Claire repeated. “Where to? Why?"

  From resting flat against her chest, her hands slid up to his hair and she started stroking lightly, fluffing the wet strands up and looking for the soft curls she was used to. Matthew closed his eyes.

  "Not sure where to yet. North, probably. And as to why ... we've been here for a while, we were planning to leave last night but ... your ... siring delayed that."

  Claire's hands stilled in Matthew's hair then fell to his shoulder, resting there for support as she tried to understand. His closeness was making it difficult to think, and she pulled back a little.

  "We? Who is we?"

  Matthew reached behind her and turned the water off. A wave of cold slid over Claire as he opened the glass door and stepped out.

  "Diane and I."

  Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and watched Matthew towel himself dry. He was very studiously avoiding looking at her. She had to force the words out, and hated the waver in her voice when she did.

  "Diane ... that's the woman who ... who killed me. Right?"

  Matthew froze as he was wrapping the towel around his hips. The raw pain on his face was a blade sliding in her gut, and his forced smile didn't make it any better. He picked up the robe she had hung over the heater, then held it open for her to slide into.

  "You're shaking. Come out, sweetie. Let's get you dry."

  Claire didn't want to listen to his quiet words or get closer to him. She wanted answers, wanted to understand. And yet, she climbed out of the shower and let Matthew wrap her in the thick robe and its illusion of warmth. Once he had tied the belt at her waist, he guided her to the living area and sat with her on the sofa. Her eyes wandered around the room and stopped on the mirror above the fireplace. It reflected nothing more than a sofa as empty as Claire felt.

  "Diane is my Sire,” Matthew said quietly. He pulled Claire closer until she was in his arms. “And yes, she drained you."

  Everything that Claire had felt until that instant had told her that Matthew was her Sire, that a link existed between them deeper than a night spent in each other's arms. However, a nagging doubt surfaced at the sadness in Matthew's voice when he used that word—drained—rather than say Diane had killed Claire.

  "Is she my Sire too?"

  A finger beneath her chin angled Claire's face toward Matthew's.

  "No."

  The simple denial was a balm on Claire's mind.

  "She drained you, but it's my blood you drank. I'm your Sire. I thought you knew that."

  "I did. I do. It's just ... why did she drain me? If you wanted to turn me—"

  "I did not want to turn you. She didn't give me a choice."

  The cold was back, no matter the thick terrycloth around her or Matthew's arms holding her tight. Pulling herself free from his embrace, she stood and took two steps away from the sofa. When she slowly turned toward Matthew again, for a brief moment she could see the woman in his stead; Diane. She had sat there, before coming to Claire. The more she thought about her behavior and what she had said, the more Claire became certain that her fate had been sealed at the instant she had walked out of the bedroom on her own.

  "So you didn't want me?” she asked, focusing her attention on Matthew again. She remembered something he had said earlier, and it still didn't make sense. “You'd have left town without even telling me if this hadn't happened? You'd have forgotten making love to me and never—"

  "Stop."

  The word was a whisper, but it might have been a shout for the instant effect it had on Claire. She shivered at the disapproval in that one syllable, but she hurt too much to care for longer than a second. She had gone looking for Matthew two nights earlier hoping to understand the decades he had spent looking over her family. She had found not only an explanation, but also a man dedicated to what he believed, a man she was attracted to beyond what she had ever felt before. She couldn't believe, didn't want to believe that it had only been a one-night stand for him. She had thought she was different from all these other women for him.

  "You've got to understand...” His eyes were pleading for her to listen, and she couldn't refuse to hear him. “Without her intervention, I'd never have sired you. I wanted you safe, and happy. I wanted you to have a long life, children, grandchildren—"

  "But you slept with me,” Claire interjected. “How did you figure I'd get children that way? How was I supposed to be happy if you were going to leave after just a night with me?"

  The sadness she had read on his face before returned, bringing along guilt. His hands were tight fists resting on his knees. She could have sworn his voice was shaking.

  "I've wanted you for months. I told you that. When I realized you were looking for me I thought ... I don't know. I thought I could have a night with you before getting out of your life. I never imagined Diane...” He sighed and shook his head. “I should have protected you better. I'm sorry, sweetie."

  "I'm not."

  His eyebrows shot up at Claire's words. She managed to get close to him again until the robe brushed against his legs despite her fear that he would reject her.

  "I'm not sorry,” she said again. “If this means you won't leave without me, then so be it. I knew what I was doing when I went looking for you, I knew what you were, and I—” The words were difficult to push out. She had never said them before without having a pretty good idea of how they would be received. “—I think I'm in love with you."

  The look of utter surprise on his face could have been comical in other circumstances. As it was, it gave Claire no hint of what he thought of her declaration. Unfurling his fists, he took her hands in his and held them as though they had been fragile birds.

  "You barely know me, sweetheart. You don't love me, not like you think you do."

  She tightened her hands over his and her voice hardened. “You think I'd sleep with just anyone?"

  He stood from the sofa, never letting go of her hands. She had to look up to keep her eyes locked to his, but she didn't break eye contact, hoping he would see the truth of her words in her gaze.

  "I think,” he said very gently, “you had a crush on the mysterious vamp who danced with you in a crowded club and protected you from another set of fangs. I think it was very romantic for you to discover someone had been looking over you all your life. You just didn't realize I wouldn't be able to protect you from everything."

  Claire laughed, the sound holding no joy and falling flat. “I'm not a child—” she started, but Matthew interrupted her by raising their still linked hands to her mouth and laying a finger over her lips.

  "You're not a child,” he agreed. “You're my Childe. A demon has taken residence in your body, in your very heart,
and that demon knows three things. It needs blood to survive, sex to be content, and its Sire for guidance. You don't love me, sweetheart. The demon inside you does, because I've given you these three things since you woke up."

  The sadness was back and it broke Claire's heart. She pressed her lips to the finger that still barred her mouth, and shook her head once more. “I know what I felt when you took me here, and I know what I feel now. The exact same thing."

  "Call it attraction, then. Or lust. But not love. Vampires don't love. That's the first lesson you'll need to learn."

  She would have protested and argued with him all night if need be, anything until he understood that what she felt was real, but two things happened, one right after the other. A shiver ran from the base of her skull and down her spine, not of cold or fear or annoyance, something much more primal that that.

  "The sun just set,” Matthew said. “You'll get used to the feeling."

  He had just finished speaking when the door rattled, as though someone had tried to open it and found it locked. Three sharp knocks followed.

  "Damn. We should have been ready by now. Go get dressed, sweetie, I'll join you in a minute."

  Her protest that they weren't done talking died on her lips at the sharp look he gave her, and she retreated to the bedroom, keeping an ear out for any sounds coming from the living area. She heard the lock click open, then the door, and a woman's flat voice.

  "You're not ready."

  Whatever Matthew answered, Claire didn't catch it.

  She found her dress and underwear folded on a chair, her shoes neatly positioned in front of it. She grimaced, wishing she had something else to wear, then took off the robe and picked up the garments. She was slipping the dress on when Matthew entered the room. He came to her and tugged the zipper all the way up.

  "There's a brush in the cabinet above the bathroom sink, if you want to brush you hair."

  With a murmur of thanks, Claire went to get the brush. The glance she threw in the direction of the living area on her way out revealed no one. Matthew had black pants on when she came back with the brush, and he was buttoning a dark blue shirt. Claire thought distractedly that it matched her dress.

  "It's Diane?” she asked as she started brushing her short hair.

  "It's Diane."

  "So we're really leaving?"

  Matthew threw her a quick glance at that before pulling a suitcase from beneath the bed. “We're really leaving. In just a few minutes."

  When he opened the suitcase, Claire could see it was already packed with clothing. Matthew walked around the room, adding only a few items in, including a video camera small enough to fit inside his hand that he picked up from the dresser. Claire knew what it was at once.

  "Is that ... the evidence?"

  Matthew picked up the camera again and turned it between his fingers. “It is. Small thing, but it could put an end to Jonas’ career. It will."

  It did look innocuous, a small box of silver plastic and metal. Claire started reaching out toward it, wanting to see what it held, but thought better of it. She knew what Jonas did, she had known for months and not been able to do a thing about it. Now the matter was solved, or on its way to be. A little voice inside Claire was crowing that her Sire was the one who would stop Jonas.

  "You're ready?"

  He held out his hand. Claire gave him the hairbrush that he promptly dropped in the suitcase. She followed him out of the room and into the living area, where he placed his suitcase next to a slightly larger one by the door.

  "I need to go home and get some things,” Claire said to his back as he disappeared inside the kitchen. “I can't leave town without even a change of clothes."

  When he reappeared, Diane was just a step behind him. She had a tall glass full of blood in her hand; Matthew held two.

  "I'll take you shopping when we arrive at our next lair.” He handed out a glass to her. “Drink up. It's going to be a long trip and we're not stopping for food."

  She took the glass but didn't bring it to her lips. She was uncomfortably aware of Diane's gaze on her, but she tried to ignore it and keep her eyes on Matthew.

  "It's not just the clothes. I can't leave everything I own behind me like this. I want—"

  "Who will invite you in?” Diane's quiet words seemed to echo in the room. “You're a vampire,” she continued, her voice still very mild. “You can't enter any home, not even your own unless someone who lives there invites you in. Who exactly will that be?"

  Taken aback. Claire looked from her to Matthew and back again. He looked sorry, but he wasn't offering her much help other than a small gesture to remind her to drink.

  "My friend Maggie!” she exclaimed after a few seconds. “She doesn't live there, but she has a key. I can ask her to grab some things for me and—"

  "No. We're leaving. Now."

  Diane's voice had hardened, and Claire didn't feel like she had a chance to convince her. Matthew on the other hand might side with her if she just said the right thing.

  "The letters! We can't leave those behind."

  Claire could see right away that he was hesitating, and from the dark look Diane gave him, so could she.

  "No. These damn letters will stay here. I didn't do all this to keep the status quo."

  From the icy tone of her voice, it was clear that her decision was final. She turned on her heel and reentered the kitchen. Matthew gave Claire an apologetic smile.

  "We'll be back some day. You'll get your things back. Now drink up, sweetie and let's go."

  The blood tasted bitter on Claire's tongue, as bitter as the realization that she was leaving her life behind her, and that, despite what Matthew said, it was unlikely she'd ever get any of it back. Her thoughts drifted toward the wedding dress in her closet, her most cherished possession, a reminder of her mother, and of the little girl she had once been, dreaming of a sumptuous wedding with a prince from a faraway land.

  Then Matthew reached over to run a finger along her cheek, and Claire's resentment withered. She'd never wear the dress, but at least she had her prince. All she needed to do was convince him that she truly loved him, and Diane's cold, calculating looks wouldn't stop her.

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  Chapter Nineteen

  All three occupants of the elevator remained quiet while its mechanism creaked noisily. Two nights earlier, when going up, Claire hadn't noticed the sound at all; now it was all she could hear. It did nothing to help her sort through the jumbled pile of confusion that was her mind.

  While she had always been curious about vampires, maybe a little more than many people she knew, she had never thought about what it would be like to become one, much less wanted it. Now that she was a vamp, she found that the change did not bother her. Some things were still strange, of course, and would take time to get used to, like the increased sensitivity of her senses or the fact that she now fed on blood. Beyond the immediate feeling of strangeness, though, she was looking forward to growing into these new abilities and learning what being a vampire meant from day to day.

  The real difficulty for her wasn't what she was now. Rather, it came from Matthew. She observed him as the elevator stopped and he pulled up the safeguard for a couple to climb in. He gave the woman a perfectly polite if a little cold smile when she thanked him, then looked at Claire. His smile warmed up to hold the same quiet, gentle sadness he had shown when telling her vampires couldn't love.

  She knew what she felt for him. She had been attracted to him since she had first seen him dance at the club, and that superficial attraction had become something deeper when she had learned to know him through the letters he had exchanged with Helena and the conversations she had shared with him. Spending a night with him had only accentuated her feelings, and the butterflies in her stomach when she had first awakened to find him next to her hadn't lied. She could have told him, right there and then; she wished she had. Maybe then he would believe her instead of claiming that her feelings wer
e the result of the bond that now linked them. This bond existed, Claire could hardly deny it when she had felt it from the first seconds of waking up as a vampire, but it merely strengthened what had already been there. She would need to find a way to make Matthew see that.

  The elevator finally reached the first floor. The couple walked out first, the man's arm around the woman's waist and their heads close together as they whispered loving words to each other. Claire heard every word. Envy was a longing pain, only heightened when Diane took Matthew's arm and stepped out of the elevator with him.

  They took a few steps together, each of them carrying a suitcase. They looked like a couple, every bit as much as the man and woman who had preceded them out. Frozen still, Claire could only wonder what her place was supposed to be. Matthew stopping and looking back shook her out of her torpor. By the time she reached him, Diane had let go of his arm and was walking ahead, already pushing past the building's entrance door. He took Claire's hand and they followed her. Claire wished that simple gesture had answered any of her questions.

  After the somewhat neutral environment of the apartment, stepping out into the street was as strange as stepping out onto a different planet altogether. Dozens of sensations assaulted Claire's senses, and she tightened her hand on Matthew's, her mind reeling with an overload of information.

  The irregularities of the sidewalk in front of her jumped to her eyes, and when she looked ahead she could see a small dent in the trunk of her car where it was parked on the side of the street. She knew the dent was there because she had noticed it before, but it had been broad daylight when she had, and she had been standing right next to the car. Somewhere in the street, music was playing out of an open window, and she could hear someone humming along with it. The cars passing by roared as loudly as though they had been on a racetrack. The smell was overwhelming, and she fought very hard not to try to separate the many strands that wove together to form a pungent odor she had never noticed before. It was so strong, she could practically taste it; the urge to spit was hard to control.