to attack us, it was running for its life!”
The coachman looked at her as though she was mad. But she ignored that; it was not uncommon for a man to roll his eyes at any woman who voiced an opinion.
But what had spooked the wolf?
Her outriders, two staunch men who had served her family for years, crossed themselves. “I told yer,” said one, who held the horses by the reins, “I’m not going that way. Not through those woods.”
But the other, holding a pistol of his own, had crept ahead a few yards along the narrow road. “It’s likely another wolf. A bigger one,” he shouted back.
“It makes no sense,” Miranda muttered. “Wolves are nocturnal.” Aunt Eugenia had told her of the eerie sounds of them in the Carpathians, and she knew their howls from her family’s country home.
Before her eyes, the dark shadows of the forest seemed to surge out of the trees and rush down the road. Thick blackness swarmed around the man and he turned to run. He howled in sheer terror. It was as though the gloom of the forest had swallowed him whole. Miranda cried out, and the men stood transfixed in shock. A shot exploded. Her coachman had fired, and the flare of powder blinded her.
Blinking, she focused again on the road.
It was empty. The man had vanished.
“No, that’s not possible.” She swung around on the coachman. “We must find him. He must have been dragged off the road—”
“We can’t kill a vampire with a pistol shot.”
“It’s not a vampire. This is daylight, for heaven’s sake! Vampires cannot come out in sunlight.” Or so Aunt Eugenia had told her.
The horses reared, tossed their heads, and hooves flailed. The other outrider had to release the reins; the horses were almost berserk. Then, hooves pounding and throwing up muck, the animals ran.
“They sense it!” The coachman grabbed her arm and pushed her ahead of him. “Run, miss!”
Run? If it was a wolf or a wild dog, she couldn’t outrun an animal like that. And an animal would scent her…
A growl sounded right behind her. Behind her, in the grass, when she had seen nothing go past. Miranda hauled up her hems and stumbled through the mud, away from the forest.
Wasn’t running the worst possible thing to do? Wasn’t it madness to run?
Wind rushed in her ears, but she didn’t think it really was the wind—it was her fear, the race of her blood. She knew something was running behind her. She just…knew.
Was it her coachman with his weapon, or something else?
Black clouds slid across the sun like fingers clutching at the light, and then she was plunged into complete darkness. All light had been extinguished like a candle blown out with a puff of air. There was no sunlight at all—in the middle of the day.
She stopped, stunned, her chest heaving.
All her landmarks were gone. The line of trees, the dip of the fields, the waving heather—it was all just a sea of formless shadow.
Miranda turned in a helpless circle, afraid to take a step.
The ground crunched, and she knew that whatever was chasing her had made the sound deliberately. It was playing with her.
And it was working. She was paralyzed with terror as she heard a soft crack, then the relentless thud of footsteps. She spun around but could see nothing but shadowed trees and rippling grass.
There had to be a way out, or some weapon she could use. Even her reticule would be something, but it lay in the overturned carriage.
Where were her coachman and the other outrider? Had they fled for their lives and left her? When the coachman had pushed her to run, he looked as if the very devil himself was about the drag them to a fiery hell.
Another growl, closer now.
She didn’t understand why the animal didn’t spring. It could take her to the ground and tear her apart. Why did it wait? She wished she had food in her hand, something to throw as far away from her as she could.
“But that would not help, my love,” a deep masculine voice growled. “For you are the only delectable treat that tempts me.”
A man! Where? But not a savior. She knew that from the hungry, predatory sound of his voice, from the words he’d chosen. Had he been the thing chasing her?
Realization froze her to the spot. She had not spoken aloud. He had answered words she’d uttered only in her head.
The shadows stirred and he stepped forward; her eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, so she could see him.
He was huge. He stood far taller than her—far, far taller—and he was surrounded by a dark cape that whipped in the wind. She realized that his hair was waist length and it danced around his chiseled face. Something white glinted at her—
Long, evil-looking fangs, just like in her dream.
Suddenly, strong hands wrapped around her wrists. A guttural laugh echoed by her ear.
He’d been several feet away from her and now he was gripping her, and she hadn’t seen him move.
Any sensible woman would faint. Why go to death conscious? But Miranda realized she couldn’t let herself take that way out.
Powerful arms swept her up, and she kicked and scratched and screamed. A scent enveloped her along with the strong arms. Sweet and rich, as alluring as chocolate. Primal and musky and unbearably mesmerizing too. Somehow the man’s smell made her relax and tense at the same time.
“Quiet. I won’t hurt you. In fact, it’s my need, pretty little lass, to do the opposite.” His husky, baritone voice spoke English in a sensual accent.
He pulled her closer to him, squashing her breasts against his wide, hard chest. She’d never been so close to a man, except in her dream world. She’d never been held like this. A bit of cloud slid away from the sun and light slanted over his face.
His cheek glowed as though it had caught fire. Smoke spiraled off his skin.
She almost gagged on the smell of burning flesh.
A man with fangs, one who burned in sunlight. A vampire.
His full, seductive mouth curved into a grimace of pain, then the faint bit of light disappeared.
“What are you?” she managed. But her traitorous body did not want to struggle in his arms. His scent made her…weak. Her skin felt warm, and her head felt too dizzy. But she had to break free, and she forced her legs to thrash wildly.
“Stop. I am Zayan,” he growled by her ear. That rumble of sound was not like an animal, but like the way she’d heard her brother Simon growl to his new wife, Caroline. Lustful. Hot. Aroused.
She should be afraid. But her nipples hardened, and her breasts lifted against the soft brush of her chemise. Between
