get me a towel or a pot holder or something.”
There was a noise of rummaging, then a blue-and-white checked towel thrust in front of my face. “I’m not a burglar.”
“I don’t care. Go back to where you were.” I snatched the towel. The bullet hole in Nathan was perfectly round, identical to the one in the trash can, but for the torn flaps of skin around it. It looked like some kind of diseased tropical flower. I pressed the folded cloth to it and held it, noting the time on the clock. With my other hand, I reached up and touched Nathan’s face, clammy with sweat. “When the bleeding stops, I’ll give you something for the pain.”
“He can heal from this, right?” our visitor asked. “I swear, I thought it would just slow him down.”
I nodded. “It will slow him down. And he can heal from it. But not the way you see vampires do it in the movies, where the bullet oozes out and the wound closes up instantly. If you’d gotten his heart, he would be dead now.”
The guy made a noise of self-loathing. “God, I’m sorry. But you understand my position, right?”
I did. If I had been a human fighting with a vampire who could have easily killed me with his bare hands, I would have used any method at my disposal to stop him. Understanding didn’t stop me from being pissed off at the guy who’d shot my sire. I turned back to Nathan. “Do you think you can walk?”
He gave a shaky laugh. “Oh, I could run a mile. Just point me in the right direction.”
“Do you think you can walk with help?” I fixed him with a no-nonsense glare. The medical kit is downstairs, and I don’t want to leave you alone with him.
Then tell him to get the hell out, Nathan said, his gaze flicking to the stranger. He’s the one who broke in and shot someone. I’m not worried about hurting his feelings.
Neither am I. But the bullet needs to come out so you can heal faster. I helped him sit up, intending to get him on his feet and downstairs, so he could rest.
“You stay right where you are,” I ordered the intruder. “I’ll be back.”
The hell you will. I’m not going anywhere, Nathan argued.
“You have a recently fired piece registered to me, with my fingerprints on it. I’m not leaving,” the burglar assured me. “You want help getting him wherever he needs to go?”
“Stay where you are,” I repeated, and, to Nathan, Yes you are. You’re going downstairs, away from the crazy man who shot you.
Before I could get him on his feet—and before he tried to argue with me—he stabbed two fingers into the wound and, barely restraining his grunts of pain, pulled the bullet out himself. When he withdrew his fingers, a cold, wet jet of blood shot out, and I clamped the towel over his stomach with a curse.
“What the hell were you thinking?” I scolded, reminding myself firmly that any of the various germs and bacteria he’d just introduced into the wound wouldn’t affect him.
“Now the bullet is out,” he said, infuriatingly calm despite the beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. His teeth chattered and he sagged against me. “And I’m staying right here.”
Swearing, I pulled him to rest against the wall, his legs dragging two wet trails of blood after him.
“You’re an idiot,” I muttered, placing his hand to hold the towel over the wound. I turned back to the assailant. He’d remained exactly where I’d expected him to be, nursing the knuckles I’d bloodied.
“Is your friend okay?” he asked, with enough grace to appear genuinely remorseful.
“He’ll be fine.” I leaned hard on the word “fine,” so he’d know I was still dangerously pissed off. “What were you doing here?”
“Dropping off blood. Max pays me to come by and stock the place—the mini fridge in his room and the big one here. I do it once a month. Sometimes he pays me between visits to drop in and give the bum’s rush to any overnight guests that might be…disinclined to leave without saying goodbye.” He shrugged. “I’ve got a key, and you can ask Dolores, the morning doorman. She thinks I’m the cleaning lady.”
I arched a brow at him. “Okay, cleaning lady. What’s your name?”
“Bill. William. Bill.” He reached behind him. So did I, looking for the gun. He smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m just going for my wallet.”
“I don’t need to see ID, Bill.” Interrogation was harder than I’d imagined. I wished Nathan was up to the job. It seemed that in the movies the questions all flowed in a seamless pattern of logic. My thoughts were all over the place, would probably come out all scattered. “So, if you and Max are so chummy, why do you carry a gun when you come to his place?”
Bill shrugged. “I always carry a gun.”
“Why?” I had definite issues with people who just carried concealed weapons around. I wasn’t a card-carrying member of the NRA for a reason.
He snorted, as if I couldn’t possibly be serious. “Why not?”
I didn’t want to get drawn into a gun-control argument with someone who just exercised his second amendment right in Max’s kitchen. Staring him down, I crossed my arms and waited.
“Well, for one, it’s kind of like my sidearm. I was in the Marines for twelve years, and I just never got used to not having a gun with me. I also need it, in my line of work. Max isn’t my only client. But this is the first time there have been other vampires here that he didn’t tell me about. Usually, he’ll give me a heads-up when bloodsucking guests are going to be here. That’s why I attacked you guys, because as far as I know, you’re not supposed to be here.”
“Well, you’re wrong. Max offered us a place to stay. But still, a gun? Why not a stake?” I realized I still had him cornered on the floor. There was a small first aid kit in the odds-and-ends drawer in the island—nothing that could help me with Nathan’s wounds—and I retrieved it. “Have a seat, and I’ll bandage your hand.”
“Thanks, I’d appreciate that.” He slid onto one of the stools, glancing ruefully over the pots and pans littering the floor. “Hell of a fighter, your boyfriend.”
“He’s my sire,” I said, not elaborating any further on the messed-up nature of the relationship between Nathan and I. The guy might have just ambushed us in our sleep, but he didn’t deserve that kind of punishment.
I opened the first aid kit and took his hand in mine. His knuckles were swollen and split, and I felt a little sick knowing I’d caused the damage. Still, Nathan was far more damaged. I looked to him, and he gave me a weak wave from his spot on the floor. His face was gray, but he’d dropped the towel and I saw that the bleeding had stopped. I faced Bill again. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“I don’t carry a stake because it’s not a sure thing. A gun, I can shoot and take someone down, at least long enough to get the hell away from them. With a stake, you’ve got to hit the heart. I’m not a doctor. I don’t know where somebody’s heart would be.” He winced as I swabbed the blood from his hands with a disinfectant pad. “I mean, really, do you think you know where the human—sorry,
