Tara snuggled down. The pillow felt so cozy, soft as down, and silky smooth against her cheek. A dull ache throbbed at her temple, but as long as she didn’t move too much it was bearable. She had no idea where she was, but she was definitely not in the alley, and that had to be a good thing. She thought about opening her eyes, but decided to put it off a little longer.
There were other people around. Muted voices, the rustle of clothing, but it all seemed far away. The last thing she remembered was that thing in front of her. It had come out of nowhere dressed in dark pants and a jacket with the hood pulled low over its face. At first, she’d thought it was a mugger or rapist, and she’d prepared to fight for her life.
It had come closer, sniffing the air, and a disgusting stench filled her nostrils—dirty smoke and rotten eggs. The hood had fallen back from its face and she’d gotten her first clear glimpse of her attacker.
It was red.
Not pink, but dark red. With yellow eyes.
She’d decided defending herself wasn’t the good idea it had seemed a moment ago. No, running had seemed a much better option. Until something hit her from behind.
After that—nothing.
Oh God, perhaps she was in the lair of the red thing. She hoped not.
Opening one eye a fraction, she peered out through her lashes. The first thing she saw was Christian. A half-naked Christian. He still had his black pants on, but had stripped to the waist, and Tara had never seen anything quite so beautiful. His shoulders were broad, his hips lean, and the bits in between all ridged with muscle. His skin was pale, perfect with a light sprinkling of dark hair between his nipples and down his almost concave belly to disappear into the low-slung waistband. Midnight black hair hung loose around his shoulders, and there were dark shadows under his eyes.
“Graham?” Christian spoke softly, and the young man came into view. He seated himself on the end of the bed not far from Tara. He didn’t even seem to notice her, simply sat, his hands in his lap, a small smile on his face. Tara had the feeling she was watching something private. That she should sit up. Tell them she was awake. Get out of there before it was too late.
Instead, she lay still as stone, hardly breathing, and watched.
Christian came up behind Graham and laid a hand on his dark red hair. He stroked his fingers through it, and tugged the head back, baring the long line of his throat. He moved in closer, rested one knee on the bed and pulled Graham back against his body, wrapping his arms around the other man’s chest. Lowering his head, he licked at the throat, then his lips drew back exposing a huge pair of fangs he sank into Graham’s neck.
Tara must have made a small noise because someone moved beside her. She dragged her gaze from the two men. A third man sat in a chair, his long legs resting on the edge of the bed. She recognized him as the blond rock star lookalike who’d been waiting for the elevator two days ago.
He smiled at her.
“Christian,” he said. “Your guest is awake.”
Christian didn’t release his hold on Graham but he went still. His gaze caught hers, and held her trapped for long minutes. Then he closed his eyes and continued feeding.
Because that’s what he was doing.
He was feeding.
Drinking blood.
Tara forced her mind to accept what she saw. Maybe he was just pretending. Or maybe he was insane, as she had told him earlier, some sort of supernatural wannabe, with a pair of stick-on fangs. But if he was pretending, he was doing an excellent job. She could see him swallowing as the blood flowed down his throat. Graham’s face was blank, almost dreamy, his lips parted. He wasn’t struggling; in fact, his whole body seemed to be straining upward. It was the most erotic thing she had ever seen, and a strange lightness filled her mind while her body grew hot and heavy.
She heard a low, masculine chuckle from beside her, and she forced her gaze back to the blond.
“It looks good, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “So very, very good.” His voice was low, husky, his eyes heavy-lidded, and he was staring at her greedily. “It’s certainly making me hungry.”
He grinned at her, flashing a pair of fangs that she hadn’t noticed before. Her eyes widened. She scrambled into a sitting position and pulled herself as far from him as she could. He chuckled again and reached a hand toward her.
“Piers!”
The hand dropped, and Piers shrugged.
Christian had finished feeding. Graham sat with his eyes closed, breathing fast, but he appeared unharmed.
Christian came round and stared down at her from the side of the bed. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes flicked from his naked chest, to his face, to the blond man on the other side of her, and back to his face.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Am I?”
He reached forward, and she had to force herself not to flinch. For once, his fingers felt warm against her skin as he tilted her face so he could examine it closely. A brief flare of anger flickered across his expression, then it was gone.
“You’ll live,” he said.
She glanced again at the other man. He was sitting back relaxed in his chair, but hadn’t lost that hungry expression. She shivered. “Will I?”