Claimed by a Vampire. Rachel Lee

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “What fell?” she asked as they waited for the elevator.

      “A pewter plate. It’s fine.”

      She knew exactly the plate he meant. “There’s no way that fell!”

      “Okay, it flew at me.”

      She opened her mouth to tell him to quit kidding when she read his expression. He wasn’t kidding. “Oh, my God,” she breathed.

      He shrugged. “I guess it didn’t like me being there.”

      “What didn’t like you being there? Creed, for heaven’s sake! Are you joshing me? Did it really fly at you?”

      “Heaven has nothing to do with this. It flew at me. And that’s another reason you’re not going back to that place.”

      “Are you okay?”

      “Minor bruise. I’m fine. But I can’t promise you will be if you go back there.”

      She felt almost dazed, trying to grasp that that heavy plate could have flown at him, but despite her distraction and confusion she noticed he didn’t hesitate to enter the elevator car with her this time. So maybe she had indeed misread him earlier.

      But even that couldn’t keep her attention now. Considering what she had felt when she entered her condo this time, it was all too easy to believe in flying plates. For the first time she was truly grateful that she could stay with him that night. Whatever was going on in her place had just magnified to truly scary proportions, and even a hotel room didn’t sound like a safe place right now.

      His condo took her breath away. Two long walls of glass gave an eagle’s eye view of the night city. The living area was entirely open, punctuated only by a bar that divided the kitchen from the rest. And it was full of color, rich colors and textures that made it seem almost jewel-like but not at all garish.

      “This is beautiful!” she exclaimed.

      “Glad you like it. When you live most of your life at night, color is essential.”

      “That must be hard for you.”

      She noted he didn’t answer directly. Most likely, she decided, he didn’t care to discuss his problem. Most certainly not with someone he’d just met.

      His sidestep was almost seamless. “Do you want to work tonight? I can clear a space on my desk.” He gestured to a table that held a computer in front of one of the windows.

      “Not tonight. I couldn’t possibly concentrate. What do you do?”

      “I’m a consultant for a foreign relations think tank.”

      She looked at him again. “That’s impressive.” And it was. But he seemed to shrug it away.

      “Before I got sick, I taught at Harvard,” he answered. “I’m glad I was able to find an alternative that fits within my limitations.”

      She nodded, sweeping her gaze over the room again. “You certainly have a good eye. I can only dream of making my place look half this good.”

      “Why do you say that?”

      “Because I’m not much of a visual person. I mean, I can see something and know I like it, but putting it together with other things to get an effect like this is beyond me.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m more the verbal type.”

      “That’s what they make decorators for.” But he was smiling. “Let me show you where everything is.”

      The penthouse contained every luxury. There was a bath off to one side, sumptuous in its trappings, with a whirlpool tub and a shower both. Fluffy towels that looked brand-new hung from the racks.

      “I never use this,” he said. “I have my own off the master bedroom. I have a second bedroom, but I never got around to furnishing it, which is why I have to offer you the couch.”

      “The couch is fine, really. It looks comfortable.”

      “I’ll get the sheets and blankets for you.”

      “Wait,” she said as he turned away. He paused to look at her, and she felt a frisson of excitement as his golden gaze settled on her. God, he had an intense stare. And his nostrils flared just a bit, as if he were testing the scents in the air.

      “Yes?”

      “What exactly did you sense in my apartment? What thing were you referring to?”

      This time there was no way to mistake his hesitation. “You’d need to ask Jude that, honestly. But you know he deals in the unusual. The stuff that most people don’t begin to want to deal with.”

      “The paranormal.”

      “I guess that’s a fair word. Well, there’s something he’s looking for right now. And I smelled it in your condo.”

      “Smelled it?”

      He nodded. “Think back. I know you were overwhelmed by what you felt, but you probably smelled it, too. It wasn’t exactly faint.”

      Now she hesitated, thinking back, feeling an icy prickle along her spine. Had she smelled something? She couldn’t be sure. “All I was aware of was this … this sense of something there, a thickening of the air, a feeling of menace. God, that sounds crazy.”

      “Not to me, it doesn’t.” His mouth drew into a grim line. “There are forces we don’t believe in until we meet them face-to-face, Yvonne. I’ve met a few of them. I believe.”

      Before she could answer, he turned again. “I’ll make up your bed for you, then I need to work a bit. Most people don’t have enough hours in a day. I never have enough in a night.”

      She watched him disappear down the hall, and was abruptly struck by what he had told her about his illness. Imagine never being able to see the day again. Imagine living in a world where light was a threat.

      And she thought she had problems? But she couldn’t help shuddering again.

      She changed in the bathroom, touched that he had chosen her one pair of modest pajamas rather than one of the more sensual garments she wore to bed just because they made her feel feminine. He’d even packed her slippers and robe.

      Stepping back out into the living room, she found the couch transformed into a bed, and Creed was over at his desk, a distance away given the huge size of this room, working only by the light from his computer screen. The only other light was a dim lamp on the side table at the end of the couch where he’d placed a couple of pillows. Once she switched off that light, the room would be in near-darkness, dappled by the city lights that seemed far away for the most part. Dark enough for sleep.

      But instead of heading straight toward the bed, she stopped instead to look at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that framed the entry door, covering nearly the entire wall. They were jammed with nonfiction, some of the books looking as if they were a century or more old. Not a work of fiction among them that she could tell.

      Then СКАЧАТЬ