Blood Vengeance (Blood Curse Series Book 7) (14 page)

And, gods be merciful, but was that perspiration beading above her upper lip?

What the hell was happening to her?

He took a slow, leisurely step toward her, moving more like the wolf from her dreams than a man, and gently, intoxicatingly, bit down on his lower lip. “Are you always this easily flustered?” he drawled.

“I’m not flustered!” she hissed, taking a long, measured stride backward until she bumped into the rail.

“Oh, you’re flustered, all right,” he said.

“Stick. To. The. Subject,” she griped.

He bent over and braced both arms against the rail, anchoring them on either side of her waist, thus caging her in. “Oh, yeah, the subject: We’re not even close to holding hands… brushing up against each other… ” He pressed his hips way too close, without actually touching his pelvis to hers, and then he dropped that gorgeous head, allowing all those perfectly layered, dark blond locks to fall forward into his face, and purred like a freakin’ lion.

She gasped and tried to shove him back.

He didn’t budge. “From where I’m standing,” he murmured, “I’d say we’re about
this close
”—he brought his hand up between them and held his forefinger and thumb about a centimeter apart, right at eye level—“to
brushing up
against one another… real hard.”

She gulped, and he lowered his head even further so that his lips were hovering just narrowly above hers, so close that she could taste his breath on her tongue. Her heart was literally racing in her chest.

“In fact,” he said quietly, “I’d say we’re only one impulsive, reckless heartbeat away from the town, valley, and meadow of down-and-dirty, soul-searching, hair-pulling, name-calling, ecstasy-inducing
animal sex
.” He licked his bottom lip and growled, this time like a wolf. “What do you think?”

Tiffany stammered like a child, just trying to form a consonant. Hell, she would like to buy a vowel! She was trying to remember her name, let alone how to speak, and if she had been any braver, she would have slapped him.

If she had been any more honest, she would have kissed him.

But as it was, she could only stand there panting, her mouth gaping open, her palms sweating, and her heart racing, completely aware of the fact that her forehead was now… perspiring?

Ew…

She wanted to die of mortification.

He reached out to touch the pad of his thumb to her bottom lip, lightly tracing it, as if he owned it, and she literally trembled with confusion and need, utterly enthralled by the tangible power of his desire.

He withdrew his thumb and took an unhurried step back. “I wasn’t saying that you were acting
sexual
with me, baby girl, although if someone were to light a match around us, the whole damn forest would go up in flames. I was simply saying that the mere possibility of a pregnancy, even the chance of a fleeting, passing thought in that direction, is a very real danger, considering how I feel when I’m around you. Yes, my self-control is on a razor’s edge, and yes, if I lose my willpower, I can and will seduce you,
bring you to the exact same level of heat I’m feeling
in minutes, if not seconds.” He turned away, strolled across the deck, and took a seat in a nearby chair, giving her some room to breathe. “But mostly, I’m trying to say that something’s just not right. Something isn’t sitting well with me. I don’t know what. I don’t know why. I only know that you’re just too damn vulnerable right now in your human form.”

Tiffany pressed her hand to her heart and waited while the organ slowed down, finally stopped pounding. She took a deep breath to purge her thoughts and then just stood there, trying to process everything Ramsey was saying. She didn’t want to touch the whole
I can seduce you whenever I want
comment with a ten-foot pole. Not now. Maybe not ever. She tucked her hair behind her ear and decided to stick to the safer subject: his desire to ultimately protect her. “I hear you, Ramsey. I do. So now, I need you to hear me, too.” She leveled out her tone, making each word solid, deliberate, and poised. “The first contact I ever had with a vampire was with Napolean, watching him rip the back door of our cab off its hinges. The next contact was with you, when you erased my memories, supplanted them with something else, and sent me home, without my best friend.”

He shrugged. “Baby girl, I was just doing my job.”

She held up her hand to silence him.
Yeah, she really did that.
“I know.
I know.
That’s not the point. The next contact I had was in the basement of Kagen’s clinic, when Kristina Silivasi tossed me across the room and broke my arm.” She shuddered at the memory. “Granted, I was hanging out with a bunch of lowlife, miscreant, vampire-hunters who had just staked Ciopori through the heart and shot Jocelyn multiple times, but still—” She stopped abruptly. “It’s not important. Besides, it’s a long story.”

He held her determined gaze. “I know. I was there, upstairs, remember?”

She nodded. “Oh yeah, you were, weren’t you? Guarding Ciopori after the attack.”

He offered an affirmative nod and then waited for her to continue.

She wiped her palms on her jeans and pressed forward. “But the point I’m making is this: I’m not ready, Ramsey. I’m really, truly not ready. Not for the pain and suffering, not for what it means, not for all the terrifying events that come after. I’m just not ready.”

He rubbed his jaw and sighed. “And so you’re asking me to let you wait?”

She paused, trying to control her temper:
Let her wait
? “Let me? Are you serious?”

Ramsey frowned. He rose from his chair and started toward her, but then he stopped, stepped back, placed his foot on the chair, and braced his elbow on his knee instead. “Look, before you get all worked up, start calling me an ass and plucking leaves off the trees, let me explain. This is not about some antiquated caveman attitude. It’s not about me controlling you as some dominant male or trying to ride roughshod over you as a vampire. It’s about my role in the house of Jadon. It’s about my role as your protector and your mate. If a male vampire senses danger, Tiffany—
when
a male vampire senses danger—you’d better believe he’s gonna get his hackles up, jump right in the middle of the danger, and try to get between his female and the threat. He’s not gonna feed, sleep, or chill out until whatever it is, is handled. That’s just the way it is. That’s the way it has always been, and that’s the way it’ll always be. That’s not up for debate.”

Tiffany sighed. She brushed her hand through her hair and looked down at the ground. “You, Tarzan. Me, Jane?” she echoed, reducing all of his words to that one simple refrain.

He frowned. “
Tiffany…
”

She met his eyes once more. “Ramsey, please… I’m
asking
you; don’t push this too soon. I hear you, and I’ll be careful. I promise. Just, can we wait?” She took several tentative steps forward and forced herself to place her hand on his massive shoulder, albeit very gingerly. “Please,
vampire
,” she lowered her voice to a delicate hush. “
Let me
wait.”

He blew out a frustrated breath and glanced at her hand. “
Damnit.
” And then his eyes turned impassive, his shoulders stiffened, and he locked that steely gaze with hers. “Three days. I’ll give you three more days.”

Tiffany virtually trembled inside.

Three days was nothing.

She had only been with him for three days so far,
for heaven’s
sake.

She studied his face, analyzing his hardened expression, noting the implacable resolve,
seeing
the sentinel before her. If she were smart—and she was—she would take the three days and run with it. Because truth be told, if she pushed him any further right now, he might just convert her right outside on the deck.

Besides, who knew what might happen in the course of three days? Perhaps they would make some inroads… as friends. Suppose his heart softened just a little bit more? Just maybe—
what if—
in three days, she could barter for a couple more?

Three days were better than no days.

“Okay,” she whispered reluctantly, at last giving in. “We’ll revisit this in three days. I promise.”

He frowned. “Revisit it?”

She sighed. “Ramsey… ”

He nodded. “Fine. Three days.”

*

Ramsey escorted Tiffany back down the hall, where she ducked quietly into her bedroom to get dressed, and he ducked lethargically into his, to get some sleep.

He would be of no use to her whatsoever if he didn’t let his body rejuvenate at some point, and his irrational concern over her safety was definitely interfering with his rest.

Just why, he had no
idea.

Ramsey was not the type to worry.

He didn’t chew his nails. He didn’t pace back and forth across the room. And he didn’t let
what-ifs
and
could-bes
haunt him. He just dealt with things as they came and kicked ass when it was needed. But this was somehow different.

Paramount.

This was about his future, his very life…

His
destiny
.

Shrugging out of his T-shirt and tossing it across the room to hang over a dark gray upholstered chair, he slid out of his jeans and reclined on the custom, hand-crafted bed. He crossed his arms behind his head, overlapped his feet at the ankles, and let his chest rise and fall in deep, soporific breaths as he thought about the decision.

He would give her three days, and then he would convert her.

End of story.

There would be no
revisiting
the debate.

He shut his eyes and tried to make peace with the determination.

By the grace of his ruling moon, Gemini, he hoped he wasn’t making a mistake by
waiting.

eleven

Tif
fany thumbed through Ramsey’s guest-room closet,
her guest-room closet
, trying to pick out something comfortable for the day. She was just about to select a pair of light blue chiffon caravan pants, with a matching tunic, when her cell phone chimed in the background, playing the familiar upbeat ringtone that alerted her to an incoming
call.

She frowned, wondering who it was. Brooke’s ringtone was the theme to
Game of Thrones
, and calls made from her parents rang to Tom T. Hall’s “Who’s Gonna Feed Them Hogs,” so this had to be coming from an outside line. She took three quick steps toward the bed, scooped up the phone, and stared at the display:
local area code, unknown number
.

Hmm.

She paused before hitting the call button, hoping it wasn’t a salesman, and then she placed the receiver against her ear. “Hello?”

“Tiffany?” The female voice was hushed and urgent, a noticeable panic in the
tone.

“Yes?” She waited, her curiosity
rising.

“This is
Tawni.”

She frowned. “Tawni?”

“Tawni Duvall, the woman you met the other day in your office.” The woman fumbled with her phone, clearly dropping it, then she picked it back up. “The one who was wearing
pajamas.”

Tiffany drew back in surprise. A clear image of the disheveled
mess
popped into her mind. “Yes, Tawni, how can I help you, and how did you get my private number?” The moment she posed the question, she realized she had forwarded her calls for the week. She had been waiting to hear back from an important client and was not willing to risk missing the call.

“Is this your private number?” Tawni asked, immediately sounding apologetic. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought I dialed your
office.”

Tiffany winced—she was the one who’d more or less given out the number. “No, no; that’s okay. I forgot: I forwarded the line. What… how can I help you, Tawni?”

The woman began to cry
hysterically
; she really sounded like she was losing it.

“Tawni?” Tiffany didn’t know if she should hang up or what. Not to be cruel, but it was really creeping her out.
“Tawni… ”

The woman sniffled in the phone. “Yeah… yeah… I’m here. I’m sorry. It’s just… ” She lowered her voice. “Oh god, I think he’s
coming!”

Tiffany tightened her grasp on the phone. “Who’s coming? Tawni, what’s going on? Maybe you should call the
police.”

“No,” the woman choked out, her voice still wavering from fear. “Just hold on… please, just for a second.” Tiffany heard some movement in the background, the sound of a door slamming closed—
was it a closet door?
—and then Tawni began to whisper. “Okay, I’m here. I’m hiding.” She didn’t wait for Tiffany to reply. “Miss Matthews, I really need your help. My boyfriend is going to kill me if I don’t get away, and I don’t have anywhere else to
turn.”

Tiffany recoiled. “Tawni, you really need to call the police. Get out of the house and call…
right
now
.”

The woman continued to plead with Tiffany even as she struggled to keep her voice hushed. “I can’t get out, Tiffany. Not during the day. He won’t let me out of his sight, at least not until he passes out, drunk, usually somewhere around midnight. The only other time he lets me out of the house is when he takes me to my babysitting job—I watch a toddler from eight to ten on Tuesdays and Thursdays while his mother goes to the gym, and sometimes Sal—
Saul
—will drop me off at the park for a half hour or so, and his mother meets me there. But as for the cops? His brother is on the force, and his uncle is the Chief of Police. So there’s no way I’m getting a fair deal there. They both know he beats
me.”

Tiffany felt the weight of the woman’s distress, as well as her impossible dilemma, and her heart filled with sympathy. “What about a shelter? Maybe a friend or someone could meet you at the park and pick you up, take you to a safe
house.”

Tawni sniffled. “Maybe. I just… I just don’t know who I can trust. I don’t really have any friends, and Saul’s brother is just like him—they both abuse their partners, and he has so many connections in Silverton Creek. I’m just… oh god, Tiffany, I’m so desperate. I’m sorry I called you like this, but I don’t know what else to do. Who else to turn to.
He’s going to kill me
.” As if right on cue, there was a loud clamor in the background, and someone shouted Tawni’s name. “Oh god, oh god, he’s in the
room.”

Tiffany held the phone away from her ear and listened in suspended animation, horrified to think that she might actually hear this volatile man kill a woman on the other line.
“Tawni.”

The woman didn’t
answer.

“Tawni!”

Still no
reply.

“What park do you go to?” Tiffany rushed the words. “Can you get there tonight? It’s Tuesday—maybe I
can meet you there and take you someplace
safe.”

“Tall Pines Village Park,” Tawni whispered, and then she obviously cradled the phone in her hand, made a tunnel for her mouth and the mic, and lowered her voice to a barely audible sound. “Yes, yes I can! If he doesn’t kill me before then, he might drop me off—oh, but he’ll know that something’s up the moment he sees you. He’ll know that I called someone for help and—” She stopped abruptly. “Unless, unless we can make it look like a coincidence. Do you know any kids? Maybe someone around one or two years old? There’s a toddler playground on the south end of the park, so it wouldn’t look suspicious if there was another mom already there. If you just happened to be hanging out with a child, maybe pushing her on a swing or something, Saul might overlook it. He might just drop me off, watch for a couple of minutes, and then leave. But if he suspects something, even for a minute—
and he’s really paranoid
—then he’ll never let me out of the car.”

“Where the hell are you, bitch!” Something heavy and glass exploded in the background, like someone had tossed a lamp against a wall, and Tiffany almost screamed.

Oh my lord!

This was all happening way too fast.

She didn’t have time to think, and it wasn’t as if Ramsey Olaru was going to let her waltz out of the house, head to a toddler park in Tall Pines Village, and meet with some pajama-wearing, abused woman whom she had just met in her office the day before.

Yeah, that was really going to
fly.

But if she called the police, and the woman was killed…

Well, she didn’t want to watch that headline on the news, knowing that she had turned her back on a stranger’s cry for help.

And as for a shelter, she might be able to find one and take Tawni there, but again, Ramsey would have to be intimately
involved.

And then it finally hit her:
Well, duh! Ramsey Olaru was a vampire.
And a kick-ass Master Warrior at that.

He could crush this evil man with the flick of his wrist, not that she wanted to get in the business of arranging executions, but this guy sounded like he needed a real rude awakening, if not a straight-up beat down.

But…

She had only heard one side of the story.

What if the woman was exaggerating?

Or crazy?

What if she was psychotic and making half of it up?

Still, that broken glass didn’t sound fictional to her, and Ramsey would be able to pull any truth he needed out of Tawni’s mind, or the boyfriend’s, in seconds.

If need be, he could wipe their memories or implant a compulsion in Saul’s thick skull, replace his rage with undying servitude, tell him to never harm Tawni again. Bottom line: Ramsey could do the same thing to this jackass that he had done to Tiffany, the night Napolean had claimed Brooke: send him on his merry way with all his memories wiped clean, never to bother Tawni again.

It was a hell of a lot more simple than involving human
agencies.

She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

While it felt like she’d been deliberating for minutes, the entire process had actually only taken seconds—Tiffany had synthesized dozens of thoughts in a flash. “Tawni, are you still there?” She spoke forcefully into the
receiver.

“I’m here,” the frightened woman whimpered.

Lords, she sounded so, so terrified.

“Meet me at the park at eight o’clock tonight,” Tiffany said.

Tawni inhaled sharply, as if she didn’t dare to hope. “Are you sure? Can you get there? Do you know a kid you can bring with you?” Her voice rose in angst. “Because I swear, if he figures it out, he might just shoot me in the
car.”

Tiffany cringed.

Well now, this was an unexpected twist. Saul had a gun?

Yeah, she could probably bring Phoenix, as long as Ramsey and Brooke knew what was up, as long as the prince had solid protection, but she couldn’t exactly stand there with an entourage, just waiting to take the batterer down.

Talk about tipping Saul off…

It didn’t
matter.

She didn’t have time to work it out in her
head.

There was a terrible commotion; the door to the closet—
or whatever it was
—flung open, and Tawni began to scream.

Tiffany’s heart pounded in her chest. “Tawni!
Tawni
?”

“Who the hell are you talking to?”
Saul’s voice.
The guy sounded murderous. Tawni had not been exaggerating.

“Eight o’clock, Tawni,” Tiffany practically panted the words. “I’ll be there with a child. Do you hear me?
I’ll be there.
I promise. Hang in there. Don’t—”

The phone went dead, and Tiffany held her breath, slowly lowering the device from her ear. Maybe Saul had already injured Tawni; maybe the phone had been disconnected in a scuffle; or maybe Tawni had wisely hung up before Saul could hear their plans. There was no way to know for sure.

Still reeling from the sudden rush of adrenaline, Tiffany tossed her cell across the coverlet, sat down on the edge of the bed, and just stared at the disconnected receiver for what felt like eons. Finally, she braced her head in her hands and exhaled, letting out a long expiration of anxiety: How in the world was she was going to convince Ramsey Olaru to go along with her promise, let alone convince Brooke to loan her precious son, like some stage prop for a potentially violent play?

There was no way,
absolutely no way
she was going to put that child in danger, even if she had to pack an entire arsenal herself to ensure his safety. But she had given Tawni her word, and her word was her bond.

To Tiffany’s way of thinking, the best way to handle it would be to arrive at the park early, place Phoenix in a swing, and try to look as natural and unthreatening as she could. Meanwhile, Ramsey could be waiting
right there
, on the side of the road, in his Escalade, for Tawni and Saul to pull up; and the moment Saul got out of the car, or let Tawni get out on her own, Ramsey could take control of the human’s mind. Hell, jump in the backseat if he had
to.

There would be no need to
wait.

And there would be no real danger—they were only dealing with humans after all.

For a fleeting moment, an image from last night’s dream popped into Tiffany’s mind, and she shivered: a large alpha wolf, standing on the edge of a high rock outcropping, with its tail tucked into a poorly disguised casing of
wool.

The wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Again.

Her mind was so clouded that Tiffany couldn’t reason, but clearly, there was something
else
there: Yes, Ramsey was a predator, lupine in his every gesture and movement. And yes, he was as lethal as the most alpha member of any pack, but maybe there was something else—maybe he was more volatile, more dangerous, than she knew. Maybe he wouldn’t erase the man’s memories and send him on his way; maybe he would just slaughter the lowlife in front of her. Maybe he would bite
her
—Tiffany—just for suggesting the scenario.

She swallowed hard, trying to ease her
fears.

She had given Tawni her word.

Her word.

And she wasn’t about to let the woman die at the hands of a madman, crazy or not, stranger or friend.

Besides, Brooke would feel the same way once Tiffany called her, once she
explained—

The door to Tiffany’s bedroom flew open, and she shrieked, scrambling back on the bed. Ramsey Olaru stood in the doorway, all six feet, five inches of him, wearing nothing more than his skivvies, and by the arctic look on his ruthless face, he hadn’t stopped by to chat.

“I could smell your fear all the way across the hall from my bedroom,” he snarled, “and your
heartbeat
woke me up. What the hell is going
on?”