A quarter of a mile. She could hear the boisterous music in the distance, and the glowing lights served as a comforting beacon in the night. She was almost there.
Yet, the hair stood on the nape of her neck. She couldn’t fight the fear escalating in her blood that the wolf would soon pounce on her and kill her. That he was only letting her believe she would make it before he lunged at her.
He had not attacked all this time. Maybe he wasn’t stalking her but corralling her back to the dance club for some dark purpose.
Every breath she took chilled her lungs. Goose bumps trailed down her arms and legs. Instinctively, she rubbed her arms, trying to warm them.
Wrapping around her in a seductive, sultry way, a voice whispered, “Huntress.”
A vampire. Not a wolf. A blood-seeking vampire.
A woman’s voice? A man’s? She couldn’t tell. All she knew was she would soon be at the dance club.
Before long she would ask for Atreides’s help. She fought the panic setting in.
“You will never make it before I’ve had my fill of you. So close, but not close enough,” the voice whispered.
The threat was all too real. She started to run.
A hand seized her neck from behind. She screamed.
But no one in the noisy club would hear her.
She clawed at the hands around her neck, the strong fingers painfully tightening, bruising, attempting to subdue her, trying to force her to drop her sword. She tried to twist out of his iron grip, but she couldn’t break free. In that instant, she knew she was going to die. But she wouldn’t give up that easily. Make the beast fight for his meal. She stomped on his foot with the sharp heel of her sandal. He cursed in some ancient language. Then something struck her hard in the back of the head, sending streaks of light across black satin in her mind.
Her fingers loosened on her sword, and she dropped it with a clatter on the asphalt. Her senses still reeling from the blow to the head, she fell to her knees, scrambled for her sword, and grasped it with her fingertips. A hand grabbed her arm and yanked her away from the asphalt, then lifted her. Hands encircled her throat again.
The music from the club, the excruciating pain radiating through the back of her skull, the malevolent being’s teeth tearing into her neck, black eyes watching her, teeth dripping with her blood…all vanished into the mist.
“My lord,” Jacques said, waking Atreides from a fitful sleep. “The huntress cried out and thrashed about, but then became still as death. Her heart is still racing. You said I was to tell you if there was any change in her condition.”
Atreides combed his fingers through his hair and finally focused on his loyal manservant, who looked as neat as ever in a crisp white shirt and black pants, his dark brows raised. “Jacques repeat all after you said, ‘My lord.’”
Jacques cleared his throat and repeated the message.
Atreides stumbled out of bed. “She’s asleep still though?” He yanked on a robe, then tied it.
“Sound asleep. Almost eerily so, my lord.”
“And she has made no other sounds, or reacted in any other way?”
“I don’t think the one who attacked her can control her thoughts.”
Atreides gave him a disgruntled look. “We have no idea what might occur between an ancient vampire and a huntress.”
Jacques coughed a little. “Your brother’s mate, my lord.”
“Tezra,” Atreides said. “She’s an anomaly in and of herself.” He reached the door to the guestroom and paused. “She cried out though?”
“Aye. Maybe she had a nightmare about her assailant attacking her.”
“That would be a good bet. But we believe her assailant was an ancient and is dead.” Opening the door to the room, Atreides wished he could take away her nightmares like he could a human’s. But he could not control a huntress’s mind. And he hoped a vampire who had fed on her couldn’t give her new nightmares, if by some chance her attacker was still alive—unless there had been two of them. That might explain the multiple bites on her neck.
He stared at the gown she wore, the silky material revealing rounded full-sized breasts and rosy nipples while the covers rested at her waist. He turned to Jacques who raised his brows and gave a slight shrug.
“I told you to ask Catherine to provide a gown for her. Has she nothing more modest?”
Jacques shook his head.
As much time as the man spent off-duty with Atreides’s housekeeper, Atreides figured he would know. “I’ll sit with her now that I’m up. Get some rest.”
“As you wish, my lord.” Jacques bowed, then shut the door on his way out.
Atreides took a seat next to the bed and touched the huntress’s cheek. Though she’d received two units of blood, she still appeared pale, and he didn’t like that she was so unresponsive. He pushed away the hair caressing her neck and considered the bite marks. They were already fading. Tomorrow, he could send her home to her hunter family and let them protect her. Keeping her any longer than necessary wouldn’t be prudent. Even now, her family could be searching for her, worried that she hadn’t returned home.
He glanced at her gown and figured he should pull the covers higher. But then again, she would probably be too hot.
Yawning, he leaned back in the chair and wondered why the hell he was sitting up on the uncomfortable piece of furniture. The bed looked much more inviting and if the huntress thrashed around, he would still be aware of it.
He slipped into bed and at one point, felt the huntress snuggling up to him. He chuckled, darkly amused, though he really shouldn’t have been. She stirred his libido with her soft body pressed up against his when he shouldn’t be feeling this way. Then, without another moment’s hesitation, he wrapped his arm around the huntress, glad she was finally no longer having the nightmares, and he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Several hours later, the huntress screamed in Atreides’s ear. He opened his eyes and stared at the wild-eyed huntress who scooted back from him on the mattress and yanked the covers to her chin. She glowered at him as if he had taken advantage of her!
“Sorry,” he replied, not sounding in the least bit apologetic.
He hadn’t dragged her from her side of the mattress to hug her against his chest. Not like he’d wanted to. She had come to him, and what was he supposed to do? Push her away? The fact he had his arm around her was only because it was more comfortable for him that way.
He rubbed his head, trying to clear the fog from his mind. Well, maybe he did pull her against his chest later when she was having another nightmare.
Hell, he’d stretched out to rest his weary back and make sure she didn’t wake alone in a strange room. He couldn’t help that she’d only quieted in his arms.
She glanced at his robe that had parted, exposing a naked thigh.
He smiled at her shocked look—considering how she’d danced so hotly in his arms last night—pulled his robe closed and left the bed. Then his expression grew somber. “Do you remember what happened last night?”
“I—I asked for your help. I—I didn’t expect this.” A deep frown materialized.
She thought he’d brought her home to seduce her? He would have done a lot more than held the wench in his hard embrace if that had been the case.