Closing the door, he turned to find the woman sitting up in the bed with the blanket wrapped firmly about her. A pity, that. He had discovered over the past hours he liked looking at her body.
"Where am I?" she rasped.
"At a small estate north of the city." He moved back to stand beside the bed.
Her beautiful lips thinned. "Well that tells me precisely nothing. Why am I here?"
Styx folded his arms over his chest. The woman seemed to forget she was his prisoner. He would be the one in charge of any interrogations.
"What do you recall of last evening?" he demanded.
She blinked at his abrupt tone, her slender shoulder rising in a vague shrug.
"I was working at the bar and some man with his two goons started to harass me." Her eyes narrowed. "I was on my way to the storeroom when you ... did whatever it is you did to me."
"There will be no lasting harm."
"Easy for you to say."
He ignored her rebuke. "What did the men want of you?"
She paused before realizing that she had no choice but to answer. "To talk."
"About what?"
"I don't know. What do you want?"
He gave a low hiss at her elusive answers. As a rule his reputation preceded him. Most intelligent creatures did whatever necessary to please him. They had no desire to discover for themselves if the rumor of his cold ruthlessness was fact or Fiction.
They were wise.
"Did you recognize them? Have they approached you before?"
"I've never seen them before in my life."
"And you have no idea why they would be interested in you?"
"No."
He studied her pale features for a long moment. He didn't believe she was lying. After all, Salvatore had spent weeks tracking her to Chicago, an unnecessary effort if they were acquainted.
Still, there was some explanation for why the werewolf was so anxious to get his hands on her. There was a connection between them, if only he could discover it.
"They must have some reason." He stabbed her with a warning glare. "You possess some value for Salvatore to risk so much."
Astonishingly she didn't cower or whimper beneath his stern gaze. In fact, she tilted her tiny chin as she returned his glare with one of her own.
"Look, I've tried not to become one of those hysterical women who flap their hands and faint on cue, but if you don't start telling me who you are and why I'm here, I'm going to scream until I get some answers," she warned.
Styx blinked. Maybe he should reconsider his approach to the woman. Granted, she was troublesome enough. And no doubt she was terrified. But there was a hint of steel resolve that he hadn't been expecting.
"Do you desire the truth?" he demanded.
"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes. "If you give me some cliche about me not being able to handle the truth, I really will scream."
He didn't know what the hell she was talking about, but if she truly wanted the truth he was willing to give it.
"Very well. The man who approached you last night was Salvatore Giuliani."
She gave a lift of her brows. "Am I supposed to recognize the name?"
"He is pack master."
"Pack master? You mean he's some sort of gang leader?"
"I mean that he is the king of the werewolves. The two goons, as you called them, are members of his pack."
Her expression went blank as her fingers clutched the blanket so tight her knuckles turned white.
"Okay. I'm glad we cleared that up," she at last said, her voice careful. "Now, if you would return my clothes..."
"You said you wanted the truth."
"So I did."
Styx sighed with impatience. "Humans are always so difficult. They believe nothing, even when the proof is all around them."
She scooted toward the headboard, a stiff smile forced onto her lips. "Well, we aren't very smart. Now, about my clothes ..."
He smoothly moved onto the mattress. Not so close that she would feel threatened, but close enough to warn her that she couldn't hope to flee.
"Those men were werewolves, and I am a vampire," he said in a stern tone.
"And I assume Frankenstein is waiting outside the door?"
Styx gave a low hiss. Ridiculous Hollywood myths. Humans were foolish enough without having their minds rotted with such filth.
"I see you will not be satisfied without proof." Feeling the need for a sideshow exhibit, Styx pulled back his lips and allowed his fangs to lengthen. "There."
There was no scream. No fainting. Not even a gasp. Instead, the aggravating woman continued to regard him as if he were soft in the head.
"I've seen fangs before. I do work in a Goth bar. Half our customers have fangs of some sort or another."
"I could drain you to prove my point, but I don't think you would like that, angel." He reached across her stiff body to grab the knife that had fallen off the tray. It was long and wicked enough to do its task. "Perhaps this will do."
She cringed back, fear flaring in her eyes. "What the heck are you doing?" she demanded as he ranked open his silk shirt to reveal his chest and the distinct tattoo of a dragon that glittered in the candlelight.
He didn't hesitate as he used the knife to slice through the smooth flesh of his upper chest. This time he did get a small scream from the woman as she held her hand to her mouth in horror.
"Gripes. You're totally whacky," she breathed.
"Just watch," he commanded, lowering his gaze to watch as the bronzed skin swiftly knit back together to leave no more than a thin beading of blood.
His head was still lowered when he felt her shift, and before he could guess her intention, she had placed her fingers lightly against his chest.
A jolt of unwelcome awareness stiffened his body. She was barely touching him, but the heat of her skin seemed to burn a brand of need through him.
He wanted to take that hand and sweep it over his body. To close that small space and wrap her so tightly in his arms that she couldn't possibly escape.
He didn't know where this dangerous attraction had come from, but he was beginning to fear that it wasn't going to be easily banished.
Damn the gods.
"Amazing," she at last muttered.
Fiercely holding still, he struggled to keep his thoughts from straying.
"I am a vampire. A true vampire. Not one of those faux hacks who frequent Goth bars and attend yearly conventions."
She barely seemed to hear him as her fingers continued to torment his chest.
"You're healed."