"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"
"What?" Adrian held the burning root high as he walked the perimeter of the dank hole he had thrust me into. It was approximately the size of my bedroom back home, two of the walls carved out of stone, the other two made of earth supported with aging wooden beams. Judging by the broken barrels heaped in one corner, at one time this room had probably been used as some sort of storeroom. "Why would I want to kill you?"
The root had burned down almost to his hand. Adrian came to a halt in front of me, evidently satisfied that no light could get into the room.
"Why? I'm trapped, caught, ensnared with a rogue vampire who spends his leisure hours tossing his fellow vamps to a demon lord. Why shouldn't I think I'm going to be dinner?"
He tossed the root onto the dirt floor where it sputtered as the last few inches continued to burn. "I told you I wanted you to help me. I don't make a practice of eating people I need."
"Yeah? That would be a whole lot more convincing if you weren't licking your fangs while you said it." The light from the burning root dimmed. I pressed against one of the stone walls and wrapped my arms around myself. I hate the dark. I hate being closed into small places. Ever since that night ten years ago...
An odd sort of martyred expression came over his face, all hard planes and harsh lines in the dying light. "I wasn't licking my fangs. I never lick my fangs. I'm sorry they bother you, but there's nothing I can do about them."
"What," I asked, nervously watching the flame on the root go from blue to yellow to red as it consumed the last bit of fuel, "your fangs are stuck in landing-gear-down mode?"
He sighed. I don't know why, just the thought of a vampire having anything to sigh over struck me as funny. Obviously, the lack of oxygen in the room was making me delirious. "Something like that, yes. Why are you trying to climb the wall?"
"Don't you think you should build a fire before that bit of wood goes out entirely?" Behind me, the damp chill of the rough stone sank through my jacket and settled into my bones.
"A fire?" He looked at the almost dead root, then back to me. "You are afraid of the dark."
"Yeah. So a nice big bonfire would be really good right about now. Er. That root is dying. You should do something about it."
"What is your name?"
"What?" I moved forward cautiously, keeping one eye on him as I crept toward the barely burning root. "Is it some sort of vamp rule that you have to know the name of the person you're about to kill?"
I squatted next to the root and blew on it, trying to keep it burning while I found something else dry to feed it. Kindling, that's what I needed, something small and thin.
"It's not a rule, no, but I find it's always nice to know what to put on the headstone."
I scrambled around in the dirt and found a couple of slivers of wood which I tossed onto the root, blowing on it to keep the flame alive. It was almost completely black in the room, so dark I couldn't see Adrian anymore, but I could feel him. I could feel him and the darkness and the weight of the massive stone castle over our heads pressing down into me. "Nell," I gasped as the root glowed red, then faded. As the light died, panic, true panic, was born within me. "My name is Nell."
"Nell." His voice, as rough as the stone that imprisoned us, rubbed along my skin as if he were touching me. "That is a strangely old-fashioned name for such a modern woman."
I stood up, disoriented by the dark, panicked, my breath coming short because there wasn't enough air. It had been sucked away, and trapped as we were in this tomb of stone and earth, I had no way to get more.
His voice came from another direction, as if he were circling me. "Nell, why are you afraid of the dark?"
I spun around, my eyes blind, trying to see something... anything. "I'm not so afraid of the dark as afraid of who I'm trapped with. Stand still, will you?"
"You are afraid of the dark," he whispered behind me. "Your heart is beating so fast I can almost taste your fear."
I jumped and turned to face the direction the voice had come. "Stop doing that and let me have your lighter!"
"Why do you want my lighter? Do you intend to set me on fire?"
"That wasn't on my list, but I'll be happy to add it," I said grimly, reaching into the darkness for him. "I want a fire, OK? It's cold in here."
"If it's warmth you seek, I will be happy to oblige," he growled into my right ear. I shivered at the heat of his breath as it whispered along my skin.
"A fire would be better," I said, clearing my throat to try to ease the hoarseness. "I like fires."
"A fire would kill you." His voice came from in front of me now. I waved my hand in that direction, brushing against something warm and hard that melted away into the blackness. "There is no ventilation hole in this chamber. The smoke would asphyxiate you."
"So what?" I sobbed, the panic I'd been struggling to contain washing over me. I crumpled to the ground a pathetic blob of humanity, shaking with cowardice and fear as I panted, trying to ease the pressure that bore down from the weight of the stone above. "I'll be dead once you're done doing this cat-and-mouse thing with me anyway. Why not die where at least I can see my murderer? Are you breathing all the air? There's no air in here! I can't... there's not enough air to breathe!"
"Nell." Hands warm and strong pulled me to my feet. For a moment I thought of fighting him, fighting what I knew he was going to do, but the instinctual need to cling to another human being overwhelmed me. Adrian grunted as I threw myself on him, clutching him, wrapping my arms around him. He was warm and solid, and somehow with my face pressed into his neck, I could breathe easier. It was as if he alone kept the weight of the stone around us from crushing me into an insignificant little pulp. The panic that had washed over me began to ebb. "I'm sorry," he said. "I did not know you were claustrophobic. I would have found alternate shelter had I known."
"You have a heartbeat," I said against his neck, my lips having been pressed against his pulse point. Beneath my arms wrapped around him, his chest rose and fell in a slow, regular pattern. "You're breathing. I thought vampires were supposed to be the undead. You don't feel dead. You're not cold and clammy at all."
"We prefer the term Dark One," he answered, his voice starting deep in his chest. "It has less of the Count Dracula connotation to it."
"So you're not dead?" I asked, relaxing slightly as his hands came around me in a gentle embrace.
"No. I live as you do, but with a few differences."
"Like the fact that you're immortal, and you drink blood, and you burn up in the sunlight, and garlic repels you." I had half expected him to sink fangs in me, but instead he seemed content to allow me to cling to him, finding a shelter in his arms that I had never in my wildest dreams expected.
I felt him shrug, his hands skimming up my back in a manner that had me shivering - but not with cold. "I live until I am destroyed, yes. I need blood to survive, that is true. Sunlight is not especially healthy for me, although it will not burn me to ash as popular movies show."
"What about garlic?" I asked, perversely enjoying the discussion. Smooshed up against him as I was, I couldn't help but breathe in his scent, a masculine combination of man and something else, something woodsy and elemental, something that started a little thrum inside me that I didn't seem to be able to stop.
Nor was I sure I wanted to.
"Garlic doesn't bother me, although I admit to finding it a bit offensive when it's used too heavily in my food."
How sick was it that I was getting pleasure out of clinging to a man - no, not a man, a vampire - who thought nothing of betraying his own people?
What makes you believe I think nothing of it?
"Your food?" I gasped, trying to pretend his voice hadn't brushed my mind. "You mean people? That was a joke? You're talking about people with garlic breath?"
"Yes, it was a joke. If your panic has eased, I will get my lighter. I cannot light a fire, you understand, but if you will allow me to move over to that pile of wood, I will place my lighter there so you might have light as long as the fluid lasts."
I peeled myself off him with an effort, lured away from his warmth and solidness by the promise of light. He flicked his lighter a couple of times, cupping a hand around the flame to protect it as he walked over to a pile of discarded barrel bits. He cleared a small patch, setting the lighter down carefully, lowering the level of the flame. The light from it didn't penetrate the darkness beyond a few feet, but it was better than nothing. I hurried toward it, drawn like a moth to the light that flickered and danced in the draft.
"Better?" he asked. I nodded, rubbing my arms against the chill of the room. Odd how I hadn't noticed how cold it was when I had been snuggled up to him. He kicked aside more wood, clearing a path to a wall a few feet away.
"Ryan," I said, watching as he sat down, his back against the wall.
"Adrian," he corrected, leaning back, his arms crossed, his eyes closed.
"Ryan is friendlier. Ryan all but oozes niceness. I like Ryan. A Ryan would never snack on someone's leg. Adrian sounds" - I made an expressive gesture with my hands - "cruel. Heartless. Savage."
"I am cruel, heartless, and savage. I am the Betrayer."
"Mmm. Ryan reeks of normalcy."
His eyes opened at that.
I made a face. "Maybe you're right. You're not exactly the Ryan type. Adrian it is."
I rubbed my arms again, glancing around for somewhere I could curl up and keep warm.
"No one has ever called me anything but Adrian the Betrayer." For a moment there was a look of surprised longing in his eyes; then it disappeared as he closed his eyes again.
"What are you doing?" I asked, shivering slightly. I hadn't seen any sign of them, but I couldn't help wondering if there were any rats trapped in the room with us. I bet if there were, none would bother Adrian. Weren't vampires supposed to be able to control the creatures of the night?
"I am trying to sleep. There are no rats."
"Stop reading my mind!" Annoyance at the way he dipped into my mind whenever he felt like it drove away the worry about rats and discomfort of the cold.
The corners of his lips quirked stiffly, as if he hadn't smiled in a long time. Even in partial shadow as he was, my inner squeal girl couldn't help but point out just how handsome he was. The faint glow of light picked up the red notes in his hair, kissing the hard planes of his face, the reddish whiskers softening an otherwise hard line of jaw. When his lips quirked upward at the corner, a hint of dimple showed on either cheek. His nose had a couple of small bumps down its length, indicating that he must have broken it once or twice. Eyelashes, thick and black, lay fanned on his cheeks, hiding those beautiful, haunted eyes.
He really was the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen.
The faint line of dimples on either cheek deepened.
Sexy as hell, too, but I expected he knew that.
One side of his mouth curled.
He probably didn't even have to go shopping for dinner. I bet the women were on him so thick, he had to shovel them off.
The other side of his mouth twitched. The dimples deepened.
He didn't do anything for me, though. Nothing at all. I was more sexually attracted to the burned root that lay on the floor than to him.
His eyes opened in surprise.
"Ha!" I told him, rubbing my arms. "That'll teach you to eavesdrop in people's private fanta... er... thoughts!"
"I assure you, it's not an ability I sought. In truth, the fact that we can read each other is more than a little disconcerting since it means..."
"What?" I asked, shivering with the damp and cold of the room.
"Nothing."
He closed his eyes again and appeared to go to sleep.
I kicked his foot. "You have dimples."
One of his eyebrows raised, but he didn't even bother to open his eyes.
"That's got to be against a law of nature. Everyone knows it's physically impossible for vampires to have dimples. Men who have dimples are cute and adorable, like little fluffy bunnies. Vampires are dark, brooding, and tortured. You can't be dark, brooding, and tortured if you could burst out into dimples at any moment."
His eyebrows lowered, but his arms remained crossed over his chest.
I kicked his foot again. "Men with dimples sing Broadway show tunes. Upbeat Broadway show tunes!"
"I don't have dimples." He crossed one ankle over the other just as I was going to kick his boot again.
"Yes, you do. I've seen them. You just don't know you have because you can't see your reflection in a mirror."
You shouldn't believe everything you read.
"You can see yourself in a mirror? Oh. Well, the next time you're near one, you'll have to smile at yourself and see your dimples."
His eyes opened for a few seconds to glare a steel-blue glare at me before closing again. Do I look like the sort of man who goes about smiling at himself in mirrors?
"You look like the sort of man who eats small children for breakfast," I answered. He said nothing to that, just went to sleep sitting on a hard, cold floor in a hard, cold room that somehow didn't seem to be quite as oppressive as it had a few minutes before. Dimples or not, I had to give him credit for calming the major panic attack I had been brewing. I stood for a few minutes shifting from foot to foot, finally saying in a whining voice that had me flinching in embarrassment, "I'm cold."
The martyred look was back on his face, but he opened his arms without saying anything. I didn't wait to debate the pros and cons of curling up next to a mind-reading vampire, I just threw myself onto him, apologized briefly for inadvertently jamming my knee into his groin, wrapped my arms around him, and buried my face into his neck. He was warm and strong and he smelled good. I relaxed into his body, his arms closing around me with a solidness that left me feeling safe and protected.
Which was ridiculous, considering he had just kidnapped me and wanted me to destroy myself in order to save him from a curse.
"Nell?" His voice was low and deep in my ear, his breath hot on my temple as he spoke.
"Hmm?"
"I've never once had to shovel women off me."
I chuckled into his neck, too warm and comfortable to protest the fact that he had been reading my mind.
"But it pleases me that you think I'm sexy."
I pinched a bit of flesh on his back exposed between his black cotton sweater and the waistband of his pants. "Bad vampire."
As I was falling asleep, a thought shimmered in my mind in a way that made me wonder if I had imagined it, or heard an echo of his thoughts.
There can be nothing between us. There is no hope for me. I must die, and you must live.
