She shuddered. "They're looking at me." And saying, you're next. "I'm surprised you don't have a bearskin rug on the floor."
He winced. "Howard wouldn't go for that. And they're not looking at you. Those eyeballs are glass." He opened the fridge and peered inside.
"I guess you and Howard killed them?"
"Yeah." He set a bottle of beer on the counter and unscrewed the top. "We're...hunters."
She wrapped her arms around herself. She'd been a hunter once, too. She'd started off using her teleportation skills to hunt for her father and brothers in the prison camps. But then she'd seen the hideous cruelty, and something had snapped. Instead of hunting for those she loved, she hunted for those she hated. Prison guards, Nazis. A vampire had to feed every night, so why not do it and rid the world of monsters at the same time?
But Jedrek Janow had discovered her scheme, and she had become the hunted one.
She perched on the arm of a brown leather couch. "I'm a little sensitive about being hunted."
"You're safe here." Phil took a drink. "Only Howard, Connor, and I know about this place."
"That's good." She looked around.
On the back of the couch lay a hand-woven blanket with a Native American design. The couch faced the fireplace, with a coffee table scarred and imprinted with drink rings. An old recliner and floor lamp rested close to the bookcase.
A staircase led up to a loft. She could see several beds up there, all covered with colorful quilts.
Phil was still in the kitchen, sipping his beer. The heat from the explosion must have made him thirsty. Close by, a wooden dinette table and chairs sat on a braided rug.
She took a deep breath and tried to convince herself she was really safe. "Is there any synthetic blood in the fridge?"
"No. Are you hungry?"
"Not now, but I usually have a snack before dawn, and I'll be very hungry when I wake up."
"I'll arrange a delivery when I report in to Connor. I need to make sure Phineas got back to Romatech all right."
She wondered if Phil was going to be in trouble for running off with her instead of staying at Romatech. "Where should I sleep? Is there a basement?"
"There is, but it has windows." He opened a door underneath the staircase. "When Connor comes here, he sleeps in the closet."
"Oh. Okay."
Phil smiled and returned to the kitchen. He took a flashlight from a cabinet. "I'll check the perimeter. Make yourself at home." He went out the back door.
With a groan, she glanced at the dead deer. "Life sucks, huh?"
She checked the bolt on the front door. A Malcontent could just teleport inside to kill her, but at least the bolted door would stop any deer or moose relatives intent on revenge.
The closet under the staircase was surprisingly roomy. It was bare except for a row of shelves at one end. She pulled a blanket and quilt off a shelf and spread them on the wooden floor. Then she wandered through the small kitchen. Some clean clothes were stacked on top of the dryer. Flannel pajama pants, T-shirts, a navy terry-cloth bathrobe.
A nearby door opened onto a small bathroom. She grabbed the bathrobe and locked herself inside. She glanced at the mirror above the vanity. Nothing. The only thing she could see reflected was the claw-footed old bathtub behind her. She kicked her boots off. Good Lord, she hated mirrors. They made her feel like...nothing. Small and worthless.
I think, therefore I am, she reminded herself. She had feelings, hopes, and dreams, just like a live person.
But her dreams had just been crushed. Her eyes misted with unshed tears.
She untied her whip and slipped out of her catsuit. While the tub filled with hot water, she rinsed out her underwear and bra in the sink. She hung them to dry on the towel bar.
She settled in the deep tub, letting the hot water seep into her cold bones. She closed her eyes, hoping to relax, but her mind filled with a vision of smoke and fire.
She'd loved that club. She'd designed it, furnished it, decorated it. She'd auditioned the dancers and hired the waiters. It had been her refuge from the cruel world. A place where she controlled everything, and everyone did as she commanded. It was a sanctuary where she never had to feel small and never had to endure the pain from her past again.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. What was she going to do now? Spend the rest of eternity hiding, quaking in fear, with nothing to do but relive the horrors of her past?
She shampooed her singed hair, then ducked under the water to rinse it off. Her face burned. That was her fault. She shouldn't have waited so long to teleport herself and Phil away from danger. But she hadn't quite believed his story about the bomb. How on earth could he have known it was in her file cabinet?
She climbed from the tub, dried off, and put on the terry-cloth robe. It was obviously made for a man. The shoulder seams hung halfway to her elbows, and the sleeves fell past her fingertips. She rolled up the sleeves, belted it tight around her waist. The robe was designed for a man's broad chest, so she flipped the collar inward to help cover her cleavage.
She grabbed her whip and padded into the kitchen. The lights had been turned off, and a big fire blazed in the hearth. She dropped the whip on the coffee table. Was Phil trying to make the place look romantic? Candles flickered on the mantelpiece. And the moose that had been overhead was now gone. She whirled around. The deer and wild pig were gone, too.
A door creaked open, and she spotted Phil at the top landing of stairs that led down into the basement. He switched a light off, then stepped into the main room.
He smiled, his blue eyes gleaming as he looked her over.
Her knees grew weak, but she covered it by sitting suddenly on the couch. She ran a hand through her short, wet hair. "What happened to the animal heads?"
"I moved them to the basement. I figured you wouldn't mind."
"No." She curled her feet underneath her on the couch and adjusted the bathrobe to make sure she was covered.
He moved closer, still looking at her and still smiling. "I checked the perimeter. We're in danger from two vicious-looking raccoons living under a wheelbarrow." His gaze shifted to the coffee table. "Thank God you have your whip."
She knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but the few tears she'd shed in the bathtub had only been the tip of what felt like a giant iceberg in her chest. She turned her head away so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.
"I called Connor to let him know we're here. He was relieved to know you're safe."
She started to say a snide remark about Connor, but was too tired to think one up.
"Phineas will come before dawn to bring you a supply of synthetic blood," Phil continued. "So you won't be forced to bite me after all."
She nodded. Relief swept through her, threatening to make her tears overflow. If only Phil would do something awful, then she could scream and throw a fit. She winced inwardly. Was that what she'd been doing all these years? Relying on anger to keep from dealing with her real feelings?
"Vanda." He waited till she cast a furtive glance his way. "Sweetheart, it's going to be all right."
Tears burned her eyes, and she looked quickly away.
"I'm going to wash up."
She heard the bathroom door creak shut. Dammit. She wasn't going to cry. What was the point? She stood and paced to the kitchen table and back. Nothing to keep her mind off her troubles. No television. No computer.
She stopped in front of the bookcase. How to Gut a Fish in Five Easy Steps. Taxidermy for Dummies. A romance novel? She pulled out the paperback and studied the half-naked couple embracing on the front cover. She smiled to herself, wondering who had brought this book to the cabin. Howard, Phil, or Connor? Maybe they read the love scenes to pick up a few pointers. Not that Phil needed any help in that department.
He had been incredible. So intense. So sexy. He had made her melt.
"Are you too hot?"
She jumped, and turned toward his voice. He'd just emerged from the bathroom. Bare-chested. The book tumbled from her hands.
He nodded toward the fireplace. "I wanted to make the place more cozy, but the fire might be too hot for July."
"It - It's fine." She grabbed the paperback off the floor and stashed it on a lower shelf, stealing one last glimpse at the hero's chest on the cover. No comparison. The model looked fake. Posed. Waxed.
Her gaze drifted back to Phil. Now that was a chest. Broad across the shoulders. Brown hair, still glistening from his bath and curling as it dried. A thin line of hair dissecting six-pack abs and disappearing under the plaid flannel pajama bottoms he wore low on his hips.
He walked toward her with something clasped in one hand. "I found something in the bathroom that might make you feel better."
Did it require batteries? "What is it?"
He showed her the clear bottle filled with a greenish liquid. "It's aloe vera. Good for burns."
"Oh." She touched her face. "I'll heal during my death-sleep."
"Which is about seven hours from now." He sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to him.
She perched on the edge and lifted a hand to take the bottle. To her surprise, he didn't pass the lotion to her. He squeezed some onto his palm, then set the bottle on the coffee table next to her whip.
"Hold still." He moved closer, then dabbed some lotion on her chin with his finger.
"I can do it myself."
"You can't see where the bad spots are." He smeared some across her forehead.
It did feel wonderfully cool. "I must look awful."
"You're always beautiful to me." He smoothed some lotion over her cheeks. "You've been crying."
Just the mere mention of tears brought the dreaded things back to her eyes. "I lost everything. My club. My friends."
"Your friends still care about you. You haven't lost them." He dabbed some lotion onto her nose.
She sniffed. "I lost the club. It was everything to me."
He rubbed his hands together to coat them with aloe vera, then smoothed his palms down her throat. "It wasn't everything."
"Yes, it was. I designed it myself. I made all the decisions. It was my creation. It was...perfect." His hands felt perfect, too.
"It gave you a great sense of accomplishment."
"Yes. Exactly." She was so glad he understood. "I was happy there. I felt...safe and secure."
He leaned back against the sofa cushions. "It was brick and mortar. Wood and cement. Nothing more."
She stiffened. He didn't understand at all. "Did you listen to anything I just said?"
"I did. You felt a great sense of accomplishment. You felt happy and secure. And those feelings were all attached to your club."
"Yes." A tear ran down her cheek.
"Vanda, the club didn't hold your feelings. You do that in your heart." He brushed her tear away. "Nothing - not a Malcontent or an explosion or a fire - can take your feelings away from you."
The iceberg lodged in her chest melted away, and more tears streamed down her face.
"Do you know what I see when I look at you?"
"A crazy undead lady with purple hair and a mean disposition?"
He smiled and ran his fingers through her damp hair. "I see a beautiful young woman who is smart and brave and can accomplish anything she sets her mind to."
"You think I can be happy?"
"I know you can."
More tears escaped. "You say lovely things, Phil."
He kissed away the tears. "Actually, I'm more a man of action."
She could imagine what actions he had in mind. "Phil, it will kill me if anything happens to you."
"I'll be fine." He kissed her brow. "Trust me."
"That's why I refused your help, you know. It's not that I'm ungrateful or stubborn. It's that I...I..."
He kissed the tip of her nose. "You've grown a little fond of me?"
"Yes." Her face felt hot again. "Just a little."
"Good." He grabbed the Indian blanket off the back of the couch and spread it on the floor in front of the fire. "I'm a little fond of you, too."
Her gaze drifted to the bulge in his flannel pants. "And yet, you show it in such a big way."
He grinned. "Come here. I want to kiss some part of you that doesn't taste like aloe vera." His blue eyes glimmered with heat. "I'm sure I can find just the spot."
She knew he could. She circled the coffee table and stood in front of him.
He touched her cheek. "Vanda, I love you."
Her heart cracked wide open. "Phil." She threw her arms around his neck. "What would I do without you?"
She was falling in love. She hadn't wanted to. But he was proving far too irresistible. And sweet. And sexy. "Will you make love to me? Now?"
"I thought you'd never ask." He bent his head down.
CHAPTER 14
Vanda leaned into Phil as he kissed her. It was a languid, leisurely kiss. No doubt he intended to make love to her slowly and thoroughly. But the rhythmic stroking of his tongue against hers, the feel of his soft skin under her roaming hands, and the earthy, manly scent of him filling her senses - it made her bones melt, her heart race, and her desire spiral out of control.
She dug her fingers into his back and arched into him. She pressed her hips against his groin, rubbing his hard length. The aching emptiness between her legs grew hot and demanding.
To hell with leisurely lovemaking. They could do that the second time. Or the third.
She broke the kiss. "Let's get on with it." She fumbled with the knot on her terry-cloth belt. Everything was tinted red, so she knew her eyes were glowing.