glanced around as she lifted her suitcase into the trunk of her compact car. She’d waited until the sun was truly overhead before stepping out of the house. There was no sign of Lucien. Not that she expected to see him. He was a blood-sucking vampire who sizzled to ash in the sunlight. She hoped he’d crawled back into whatever dark place he’d lived in for the past forty years.
Still, it was a relief he’d finally left. She wasn’t sure when, though. She’d stayed awake all night, listening. Hadn’t slept a wink.
That was probably his evil plan, darn it. She’d had to wait for sunrise, though, before she could start packing. She hadn’t wanted to clue him in to her plans for a speedy departure. It had taken her most of the day to get things sorted.
She lifted her sunglasses to rest on the top of her head as she strode through her kitchen and picked up a box from the table. She’d hastily packed her most prized possessions—whatever she could fit into her car. She’d lived as Natalie Segova for eight years, the longest she’d held on to an identity for decades, so she’d accrued quite a few things. Some old books that were dated pre-Troubles era—before humans realized the shadow breeds existed, and were quite telling of the time—some art, her tools, just in case she ever got close to a dig again. She eyed the contents, then gave a satisfied nod when she spied the small jewelry box tucked inside.
She peeled off her gloves and set them on the table, then reached for the velvet jewelry box. She lifted the lid and gently clasped the locket inside. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the object in her hand, opening her senses. All she could sense, all she could feel, hear and see was a black void. Nothing. She closed up the velvet box and sighed softly in frustration. Still nothing.
She glanced around the room and made a face. She’d been here for so long. It was comfortable. Familiar. She liked it. She liked her work, she liked her students. Heck, she even liked Terry, and good old Rupert who haunted her office. She liked her name, too.
Damn it, she was two years too early. People started to notice after ten years the lack of aging, so she generally made it a practice to move on before folks started to ask questions. But here—she liked here. Now she’d have to create a new name, a new identity. Where was she going to go? What was she going to do? It wasn’t like job opportunities for historians came up regularly.
She tugged on her gloves and lifted the box. She had so much access to information here, information she needed to figure out what the hell was going on with her. Even now she struggled to think of a destination that would help her with her quest. She stomped to her car. She didn’t like moving house. Had done more than her fair share of it. And why was her life in such a state of upheaval?
Lucien. It was all his fault. She dumped the box unceremoniously into the trunk and slammed the lid closed. She clapped her hands together, trying to dislodge as much dust as possible from her gloves. Why should she let another vampire ruin her life?
The thought brought her up short. Maybe she could just ignore him? She snorted. Like anyone could ignore Lucien Marchetta. The man was too good-looking, and too damn determined, to be ignored. She started to drift back toward the house. Send him on his way? Maybe she could get on with her life and to hell with Lucien Marchetta? Just go on living as Natalie Segova...? Her shoulders sagged. No. She couldn’t risk it. If word got out about who—or what—she really was, she wouldn’t have much of a life left, if any.
Being in this position, subject to the whims of a bloodsucker, was damn annoying.
She growled softly as she jogged back into the house to get her bag and keys. It was late afternoon and shadows were creeping across her yard. Dusk came early this close to the mountains. She had to get out of here before Lucien came back. And he would. If there was one thing she remembered about the man, it was how ruthless he could be when his family was threatened.
Her mouth turned down. What she would have given to have that fierce protection pointed in her direction. Well, obviously his regard for her hadn’t cut as deep as hers had for him. She straightened her shoulders. If wishes were horses, there would be no shadow breeds, damn it.
She returned to her car, slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition.
Nothing.
She frowned, turned the key back to its original position and then tried again. Still nothing. She checked the fuel gauge. She still had a half tank of gas. Her eyes narrowed as she popped the hood and climbed out of the car. She lifted the hood, propping it open with the car rod, then rested her hands on the rim of the engine bay as she surveyed inside. It didn’t take her long to notice the distributor cap was missing.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
She heaved back off the car, her hands fisting as she took a few steps in one direction, then turned and stalked a few steps in another direction.
That weaselly, sneaky, clever bloodsucker. How had he known? She knocked the rod down and slammed the hood back into place. Well played, Lucien. Well played. She took a deep breath. Now what?
She whipped her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and sent a text to her research assistant, Ned Henderson, asking to borrow his truck tomorrow. When the sun came up, Lucien would be forced to find cover, and she’d be able to flee. She nodded. That was the safest course of action. Sure, she hated delaying her escape, but it was better to be thorough and alive than impulsive and dead. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.
Great. Now she just needed to make it through the night. She grabbed her bag and keys, hesitated, then removed her suitcase from the trunk. She may as well be comfortable tonight. She hurried to her back door and had just opened it when she heard footfalls on the porch steps behind her. She whirled, surprised.
Lucien leaned against the porch railing, his eyes looking so startlingly blue with his dark hair. His black shirt was open at the collar and he was wearing a black coat that fell halfway to his knees. She frowned. She’d always thought he was handsome. Dreamy, even. Now, though, all these years later, she was aware of him in a way that was new and...unwelcome. She let go of her suitcase and subtly adjusted her grip on her tote, her hand sliding inside. She kept her gaze on him as she grasped the handle of her blade.
Despite the brisk breeze, his coat was open, revealing the dark shirt beneath. He folded his arms, the fabric pulling taut against his shoulders as he smiled. A slow, seductive curve of his lips. His gaze traveled from the top of her head to the tip of her sneakers, lingering on her curves. She swallowed. She wasn’t used to him looking at her like that. Not for forty years. Not ever. It wasn’t friendly, or exasperated, or even angry. No, it was provocative. She swallowed again and the corners of his mouth kicked up in a knowing smile.
She dropped her suitcase and bag and then whirled, stepping toward her doorway, to safety. She needed to get inside. He moved in a blur, slipping between her and escape. She gasped and jerked back, raising her hand. He caught her wrist and he slid his other hand up the doorjamb, skillfully using his body to crowd her back against the external wall of her home.
He eyed the silver blade in her hand with mild interest and squeezed just enough for her to wince at the pins and needles. Her grip relaxed. The dagger fell, its blade burying itself in the wooden slat of the decking. He let go of her wrist and brought his hand up to brace it against the clapboard at the side of her head.
He met her gaze intently as he leaned forward, effectively cornering her against her home. He tilted his head to glance at the suitcase at her feet and arched an eyebrow.
“Going somewhere?”
