And damn him for enjoying it. She was drugged, out of her senses. She wouldn’t even remember any of this when she woke up.
Sighing, he examined her neck to make sure she wasn’t bleeding from the vampire’s bite, which would soon heal and fade. He checked her pulse to ensure she hadn’t lost too much blood, then gently folded her over his shoulder.
Since he was finished hunting for the night, he would see if he couldn’t clean up this mess himself instead of calling in the human network that aided Immortal Guardians.
Opening the purse she had dropped, he drew out her keys and wallet. Her driver’s license yielded a name and address. He smiled. Jenna McBride. With her red hair and freckles, it suited her.
Thirty-seven years old.
Really? He would’ve guessed mid-to-late twenties.
Tucking the wallet away, he studied the keys. There weren’t many. Just a generic car key with no alarm to guide him to the right car in the parking lot, two door keys, and a worn Shrinky Dinks keychain that looked as if it had been fashioned by a child.
Was she married?
No. There had been no ring on her finger when she had clasped his face. And the vampires hadn’t stolen it. The only things they had desired were her blood and fear.
It doesn’t matter if she’s single. She’s human. You’re immortal.
No shopping bags littered the ground. The two employees taking a smoking break outside the superstore had worn the same color shirt and pants the woman did, so she must work there.
“Let’s get you home,” he murmured and raced around to the front of the building. So swift the surveillance cameras would only catch hazy movement that would likely be mistaken for a dust devil, Richart sped up and down the rows of vehicles until he came to an ’80s economy car that bore Jenna’s scent on the door handle.
Getting an unconscious woman into the passenger seat of such a small vehicle at preternatural speeds was awkward as hell, but he managed to do it. He slid behind the wheel, his knees practically impaling his chest. A quick seat adjustment and he started the car.
Minutes later, Richart pulled into the parking lot of a nearby apartment complex and brought the car to a halt beneath a second-floor door that bore the number on her license. Exiting, he readjusted the seat in hopes Jenna would think she had driven herself home and just been so tired she couldn’t remember it. He experienced a moment of unease when he opened the apartment door and immediately scented a male. Pausing just inside, he listened carefully.
Down the hall, someone slept. A lover, perhaps?
Richart carried Jenna, cradled peacefully in his arms, down the hallway and paused outside the first door.
Not a lover. Most likely a son. Though the bedroom door was closed, a male’s scent dominated the room. Jenna’s delightful scent, on the other hand, led him past a small bathroom to a bedroom at the end of the hallway.
He placed her on the unmade bed and gently removed her shoes. Drawing the covers up to her shoulders, he stared down at her.
He had done this so many times over the years, seeing vampire victims safely to their homes. But, for once, he found himself oddly reluctant to leave.
Listening to the soothing thump of her heartbeat, he glanced around the room. A full-sized bed. A less-than-stable-looking desk supporting an outdated computer. A closet with not many clothes. And a battered dresser upon which rested a small TV and a handful of photos.
Four of the pictures depicted a boy ranging in age from infancy to high school graduation. A fifth showed a very young Jenna holding a baby while a grinning teenaged boy stood with his arms around them both.
Richart’s gaze returned to Jenna.
And still his feet refused to move.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Removing it, he glanced down at the text sent by Sheldon, his Second or human guard:
Sunrise in 15. Where the hell R U?
Richart tucked away the phone. Leaning down, he brushed the hair back from Jenna’s face and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Have a nice life,” he whispered.
He straightened. The world around him went black as a familiar feeling of weightlessness claimed him. A split second later he stood in the living room of his home.
Richart let out a piercing whistle.
A thud sounded in the study. “Ow!” a male voice complained. “Damn it! Don’t do that! You scared the crap out of me!”
Though such usually sparked a smile, this morning Richart felt only . . .
He frowned. What was it he felt? Regret? Sadness?
Yes, as though he had just lost something.
Sheldon entered the room. “You cut it kinda close tonight. What happened?”
Richart shook his head, baffled by the uncharacteristic emotions buffeting him. “Nothing out of the norm.” Determined to shake it off, he strode toward his young Second. “What’s the news on the vampire king?”
“You should try to eat something.”
Jenna’s stomach turned over at just the thought of putting food in it. “No way.”
“Come on. You said you didn’t eat before you came in tonight.”
“That’s because everything I ate this afternoon came right back up.”
Debbie grimaced. “Food poisoning sucks.”
“Yes, it does.” Jenna smiled at a customer who walked past, then followed as Debbie wheeled her cart to the end of the aisle and continued to restock the makeup shelves.
The store was fairly quiet, though somewhere in the distance a child threw what sounded like a doozy of a temper tantrum.
Leaning into the basket, Jenna opened a box, drew out a handful of lipsticks, and started arranging them on the display.
“You’re the manager. You don’t have to do that anymore,” Debbie pointed out. “Why don’t you take it easy tonight? No one will fault you for it.”
She shook her head. “I get antsy when I’m idle.”
Debbie’s eyes suddenly widened. Her face lit up with a wide smile. “Don’t look now, but . . . guess who just entered!”
Jenna felt a sinking sensation in her stomach that had nothing to do with the chicken sandwich that had made her so sick. “Who?”
“Prince Charming!” Debbie blurted, looking over Jenna’s shoulder toward the store’s only entrance open at four o’clock in the morning. “Mr. Tall, Dark, and Yyyyyyyyyyyummy!” The last was said in a growl that reminded Jenna of the Cookie Monster. “And he’s headed this way!”
She groaned. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
The Prince Charming currently making Debbie drool was an incredibly handsome Frenchman who had been frequenting the store for the past month or so. Every time he came in, he made a point of seeking out Jenna wherever she might be and speaking to her. First it had been to ask where he might find Krazy Glue. Then it had been to ask if she knew what houseplants fared well in low light. Then it had become friendly chatting with a hint of flirtation.