Uncross My Heart Page 2

  His chest still hurt from where she’d punched him. Shocking to find all that power wrapped in a package that was half fashion disaster, half quirky chic.

  And while he gasped for breath, she’d had the nerve to glare at him like an angry faerie, green eyes flashing, pink lips set in a grim line. Any other day he’d have drugged her with a kiss and a bite, drunk her unconscious and tossed her limp body aside without a second thought.

  Today he needed her, needed someone. Julian Devlin, who had the money and influence to acquire anything he wanted, was short on allies right now. As a reluctant means to an end, she’d do for the time being.

  If he could get her to stop whimpering.

  “Be quiet. They’ll hear you.” He tugged her arm, and she stumbled against him with an indignant huff. He grabbed her shoulders and righted her.

  “I don’t hear anything. They’re gone. Who are they, anyway? I can’t just run away and let them rob me blind…”

  “They want nothing you keep in a shop, trust me.”

  “Where are you taking—trust you? That’s rich. Who are you? What do you want?”

  “Quiet!” He hushed her by clamping a hand over her mouth. With her small body pressed against him and her wild pulse beating beneath his fingertips, she stilled. She was delicate but tenacious, an interesting combination if a bit tedious. The vampire Julian had been would have tired of her by now. He’d have been sorely tempted to drain her and leave her brightly-attired corpse for the tunnel rats.

  He cursed whatever weakness of character it was that prevented him from disposing of her. “Shh. Do. Not. Talk.”

  She nodded, her emerald eyes wide and white rimmed. He removed his hand from her mouth.

  “Now, we need to find Terrace Avenue. My townhouse is there, and I have access through the cellar. Once we reach there, you may go free. In fact, I insist upon it. Though you will tell no one you were with me, do you understand?”

  She made no comment, but the defiance in her stance and her angry gaze spoke volumes. He arched his brows at her and gestured down the tunnel which divided into two up ahead. “Well?”

  “You told me not to talk.” Her lips barely moved, forcing the words to escape deadpan. That pixie glare had returned.

  “You may talk if I ask you a question.” Why was he allowing her to try his patience so?

  She shrugged. “I may. And I may not.”

  “We don’t have time for this, little gypsy. You have no idea the danger we’re in.”

  “So enlighten me.”

  “There’s no time.”

  She crossed her bangled arms over her chest, forcing her small breasts together in what would have been, under better circumstances, a mildly enticing cleavage. “Make time.”

  Yes. He should have bitten her, lack of fangs notwithstanding, and then left her as a minor obstacle for Lambert’s goons to stumble over. Obviously this human handicap extended beyond the loss of his physical abilities. He’d turned stupid besides.

  Damn Lambert. The other vampire would burn for this. Literally.

  Julian glanced into the darkness back the way they’d come. The silence seemed to echo. “All right. They’re vampires. A posse of them. I’m their target, not you, but don’t think for an instant they won’t use you in several indescribably bloody ways before they kill you, just for the crime of being found with me. As my ally, you’re automatically their enemy.” He didn’t expect her to accept that explanation. After all, not many humans openly acknowledged the existence of his kind. It was too horrible for most of them to contemplate that mankind might exist simply as a food source for another, higher form of life. In a way, their ignorance was a blessing.

  “Vampires.” She seemed to ruminate on his words. He would have loved to have shown her his fangs, just to scare her, but since he couldn’t, he settled for a curt nod.

  “Give me your hand,” she said finally.

  Julian stared at her outstretched hand, soft and shapely, the color of porcelain in the anemic light from the few grime-covered bulbs that still functioned in this forgotten place.

  “Come on.”

  She wiggled her fingers at him and he complied, though he would never, even if he somehow regained his immortality and lived a thousand years, be able to explain what compelled him to obey.

  With a swift move that made him long for his lost reflexes, she ripped a dangling charm from one of the cumbersome bracelets on her left wrist and slapped it into his open palm.

  She held it there tightly, a look of triumph and curiosity on her face. Something sharp dug into his flesh, and when she freed him, he found a gold cross lying in his hand. “Did that hurt?” she asked.

  “Not really.”

  She snatched the symbol back from him and leaned over his palm, to inspect it for burns, he imagined. “So you’re not a vampire yourself.”

  He wanted to laugh. And he wanted to kill Lambert in a thousand different ways. This was her litmus test? Enemy or ally based on whether or not a holy symbol seared his flesh? He didn’t have the heart—or was it the soul?—to tell her that was merely a cinematic legend. Besides a stake through the heart, only sunlight and pure flame, such as that from burning wood, could injure him. Holy symbols would only affect those who believed in their power to begin with, and Julian Devlin had long ago stopped believing in anything but himself.

  He held her gaze for a heartbeat and broke into what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “No. I’m not a vampire. Anymore.”

  It’s always best to humor the crazy ones. That was one of Zoe’s Rules for Hassle-Free Living, and it seemed to fit this occasion rather well. If Hugh/Clive Jr. thought vampires were chasing him, well, it wasn’t her place to dispute that.

  “If you’re going to have another panic attack, please get it over with quickly so we can move on,” he said in an annoying tone of bored superiority.

  Zoe snatched her cross charm back from his palm. “I’m better now. Thanks for your concern… So why are the vampires chasing you?”

  He turned slowly, his gaze distant as he surveyed their dingy surroundings. “They either have orders to kill me or bring me back to their boss so he can finish what he started.”

  “Oh.”

  “Can we go?”

  Zoe shrugged and made a show of gauging their position just as he had. Since he’d let go of her, she felt a little calmer and more in control. So far, he hadn’t produced a weapon, or actually tried to hurt her. Perhaps if she timed it right, she could run away as soon as he was distracted and make her way back to…where? The shop? Whoever had broken in might still be there. Regardless of what her dubious companion had said, she had a number of valuable items, mostly pieces of estate jewelry and a few antiques among the clothes and accessories that made up the bulk of her inventory. There were certainly things worth stealing.

  After another deep breath that he observed with a look of curious expectation, she got her bearings and pointed down the tunnel ahead and to the right. “That way.”

  “After you.” He jerked his head in the direction she’d pointed, and reluctantly she took the lead.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes, listening to the distant rumble of traffic overhead and the uneven percussion of water dripping from rusted, slime-covered pipes.

  Zoe wondered if she’d ever get the musty smell of this place out of her clothes. “So…what’s your name?” Tactic Number One: Engage the enemy. During the self-defense class she’d taken at the local community school, the instructor had talked about dealing with kidnapping and the need to humanize oneself to an abductor. Whether this strange trek through Baltimore’s underbelly constituted a kidnapping, she hadn’t decided yet, but it was certainly worth a try to draw her captor out.

  “My name isn’t important.”

  She sighed. So much for Tactic Number One. “So, do the vampires know where you live?”

  That stopped him. His footsteps ceased so abruptly behind her that, rather than seize the opportunity to run, she turned
around to be sure he hadn’t disappeared altogether.

  A gallery of emotions passed across his features, and he seemed to deflate a bit. “They do. I should have thought of that. I can’t believe what he’s done to me.”

  “Who? The boss vampire?”

  His laugh was harsh. “I’m the boss vampire. Or at least, I was until a few hours ago, when Enoch Lambert defanged me.”

  Defanged? Zoe mouthed the word. “That sounds painful.”

  “You have no idea. I’ve been dead for over a hundred years, and I was used to it. I liked it. I don’t want to be human and weak and fucking lost.”

  A dozen impertinent questions ran through Zoe’s mind, not the least of which was, how does someone become devamped? “Well, Terrace Avenue should be this way if you still want to…”

  He seemed to sway again and, for the love of all things holy, Zoe reached out to steady him. He pushed her hand away. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look it. You’re pale and—”

  He raised a brow. “Vampire.”

  “All right, but still.”

  “I need to feed.”

  “Hmm…we humans call it eating, not feeding and…oh. Don’t even think about it, buddy. I’m nobody’s entrée.” She held up her cross for good measure, not that it would have done any good.

  The look he gave her could have stripped paint. “I’m not going to eat you. Two hours ago, I would have, without a second thought. Though I’d wager your blood is a little too sugary for my usual taste.”

  Why on earth Zoe found his lack of appetite for her blood offensive, she couldn’t say. “I’m not as sweet as I look.”

  He reached up to rub his temple where she’d hit him with her purse. “True enough. Do you carry a brick in your purse to fend off muggers?”

  “No, rolls of quarters and…oh crap! I dropped my purse in the basement. Look, Mister…Former Vampire Boss, is there someplace else you want to go? Because I have friends waiting for me, and I’d really like to get back to them.” Did she dare just ask him to set her free? Was she really still his captive, after all? His fingers were no longer clamped around her wrist, and he stood more than an arm’s length away, yet something prevented her from running.

  “I have to try to get home. There are things there I need, but I can’t stay.”

  “All right. Come on. But once we get there, I’m gone.”

  He nodded distractedly. “All the better for both of us.”

  True to her word, the gypsy led him to familiar territory. Though the smell wasn’t quite right, he recognized the access ladder that led up to the basement of his town house.

  “You’re welcome!” she called when he began to climb toward sanctuary. Her chirpy voice echoed loudly off the damp walls.

  She should have wanted only to escape from him. Instead she stood beneath him, hands on her slim hips, waiting for some token of his gratitude.

  “Thank you.” He tossed the words over his shoulder and continued climbing the greasy metal rungs that protruded from the cement.

  Even with his vampire senses crippled by Lambert’s attack, he felt her eyes on him, and after two more rungs, he stopped. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Her tone belied her words.

  Women. This was why he hadn’t sought an immortal mate. The prospect of hearing that tone for centuries on end left him colder than the grave.

  “Thank you very much for your generous assistance, miss.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Now get moving.”

  To Julian’s shock, she clamped her hands around one of the lower rungs and began to climb up behind him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m following you.”

  “What for?”

  “I can’t go back to the shop. Those…enemy vampires might still be there. Not that I would walk through these tunnels alone. I need to get up to the street and call my friends.”

  Julian sighed. “Fine.” He continued climbing, sparing her barely a glance. She’d disappear once they reached street level, and he’d be free to begin working on his revenge against Lambert.

  At the top of the ladder, he didn’t pause to check on her progress before swinging himself over to the narrow ledge that led to the corridor beneath the basement of his town house. With a few feminine grunts and groans, she managed to follow. A moment later, she stood behind him in the cement tunnel he’d had specially constructed to connect him to these sub levels, through which he accessed many of his business concerns during daylight hours.

  The only illumination here was a small bulb set above the half-height door that led to his domain. While the gypsy attempted to peer over his shoulder—no easy task considering she stood about a foot shorter than he did—Julian unlocked the door using the electronic key pad expertly disguised as a series of scrapes and dents in the old wood.

  “There’s a step down,” he cautioned before ducking inside. Again he had to wonder why he bothered. Was it because he didn’t want her sprawled on the cellar floor where he might be forced to step over her at some later date? Or was it a shred of his lost humanity returning? In the nineteenth century, when he’d been human, respect and deference for the fairer sex was the norm. He’d been a gentleman once. He could be still, when he set his mind to it, though those instances had become increasingly rare in recent decades. The women he fed from weren’t looking for respect, and once he’d finished with them, they didn’t look for him either. If he’d also lost his ability to deceive, he wouldn’t be able to make this human forget him. He wouldn’t be able to send her on her way with nothing more than pleasant memories of a sensual interlude or a satisfying one-night stand.

  Fortunately, her irreverent remark interrupted his disturbing thoughts. “Nice place you have here. Dank, but very trendy.”

  Sarcasm from a woman wearing a chain of coins for a belt and a paisley scarf taming her wild golden hair? Rich.

  “I’ll convey your compliments to my decorator.” Already he felt better. He was home. Safe, at least for now, from Lambert’s murderous schemes. How had Enoch planned to kill him? he wondered. Evisceration? Inflicting wounds that a lowly human would not be able to heal? Perhaps a simple gunshot, execution style. That would fit Lambert’s sense of humor so well. Or better yet, complete exsanguination.

  None of those methods would be suitable retaliation, of course. For his old “friend” Enoch, Julian would have to think of the most excruciating death a vampire could endure. He’d need to devise a punishment equal to the crime of throwing away a hundred years of friendship.

  “Up here.” He pointed to the stairs leading to the ground floor. The little-used kitchen, garage and small storage area beckoned, clean, uncluttered and familiar. “You can leave through the back door.”

  She made a disparaging sound. “Thanks.”

  He ignored her, hoping she would just disappear. Instead she followed closely on his heels up the stairs and through the kitchen. “This is one of those fancy older places, isn’t it? All this is original construction, right?”

  He moved to turn on a light, but thought better of it. As much as it pained him, he could do nothing more right now than retrieve a few necessary items and leave again as quickly as possible. There would be no time to rest. “This isn’t one of those mass-produced condominiums, if that’s what you mean. The place actually boasts some architectural style.”

  “I’m sure.” Her fingers trailed the marble countertops, and she cast a covetous glance at the leaded glass inlays of the cabinet doors.

  “The door is right there,” he said in a tone that he hoped would not invite further conversation. He needed a weapon, ammunition and some cash from his upstairs safe…estimated four minutes and he could be on his way, if only she would leave.

  “All right. I’m going. It was nice meeting you, Mister…?”

  “Thank you. Goodbye.” He turned away, determined to get on with his business. It didn’t take much to ignore her indignation at his dismissal, but the very faint metallic c
lick that accompanied her opening the door drew all of his attention immediately.

  Blind panic mixed with an overwhelming sense of defeat surged through his system. Fueled by a wave of adrenalin, Julian threw himself at her and propelled her through the door into the small, cobblestone courtyard beyond.

  “Hey! You don’t have to push, I’m…” Her protest ended in a breathless whoosh as they hit the terra cotta tiles of the patio, and before she regained her breath enough to scream, the kitchen exploded.

  Chapter Three

  Splinters of wood and glass rained down on the courtyard, followed by a choking cloud of dust. Zoe lay stunned, frozen in place by utter shock as well as the taut-muscled body of the man who had just saved her life.

  Her skirt had bunched up around her waist, and her bare legs tangled with his. One of her shoes was missing, and apparently the only thing that had kept her skull from colliding with the ground was his hand, which cradled her head.

  His face hovered barely a millimeter above hers, and his bottomless brown eyes held a mixture of emotions she would have expected from someone whose house had just blown up.

  Another blast rocked the ground before they could even draw in a breath, and his arms tightened convulsively around her.

  Flames lit the twilight, and black smoke billowed up from the ravaged bottom floor of the three-story house. Panicked voices reached them, shouts of the startled neighbors, perhaps. Then came the distant wail of sirens.

  Zoe wanted to scream, but her lungs didn’t seem to work. Instead she gaped at him, no doubt looking like a fish out of water.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Her jaw worked reflexively, but nothing coherent came out.

  “Are you hurt? Is anything broken?”

  Perhaps it was the brief eddy of cool air that momentarily blew away the settling smoke, or maybe it was his hands roaming over her body from thighs to shoulders, prodding and squeezing parts that certainly didn’t need to be prodded or squeezed.

  “Get off me!” The three words escaped in a rush as she shoved her palms against his chest. “I’m okay.”