"Never?"

Erik shook his head. "I sent her a letter, told her I was going to America, that I was sorry..." It had been the hardest thing he had ever done. His only solace had been knowing that he was leaving her and his children well off financially, and that she wasn't entirely alone. Her parents had lived close by, as had his. He knew they would look after his family.

"So, you never saw them again?"

"They never saw me again. I didn't go to America. I couldn't leave them. I stayed out of sight, but I was never far away. I watched my children grow and marry and have children of their own. And when my great-grandchildren were grown and doing well, I left the country." Unwilling to return to his homeland and resurrect unhappy memories, he had never gone back.

"What happened to the vampire who made you?"

"I destroyed her." As though exhausted by the tale, Erik dropped onto a corner of the sofa. It had taken him fifty years to find Iliana. His only regret was that her suffering had been quickly over, while his heartache remained to this day. "I'm curious about something," he said after a time.

"What?"

Afraid he was opening a topic of conversation he didn't want to pursue, yet driven by a burst of uncharacteristic curiosity, he found himself asking, "Why didn't you trash the paintings when you trashed the rest of the house?"

Chapter 13

Daisy frowned, wondering why he had waited so long to ask, and then she shrugged. "I thought about it," she confessed, "but I couldn't do it. They're wonderful!" She made a broad gesture, encompassing the room's blank walls. "Why don't you hang a few in here where you can see them? It seems a shame to keep such masterpieces in a room where no one can see them."

She had never seen such beautiful artwork. Most of the paintings had been dark in nature--storm-tossed seas, sinking ships, winter-starved wolves skulking beneath barren trees, a mounted knight battling a fire-breathing dragon. Her favorite had been of a lonely-looking castle on a windswept promontory.

"Who's the artist?" Daisy asked. "I'm no expert, but they looked like they were all painted by the same hand."

"Indeed, they were," he admitted, pleased that she had seen his work and admired it. He had often thought of hanging a few of his paintings, but it seemed like the height of vanity to cover the walls with his own work.

"I'd love to have one, but I'm sure I couldn't afford to buy..." She stared at Erik a moment, and then she knew. "They're yours, aren't they? You're the artist."

He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. "Guilty as charged."

Daisy could only stare at him. Whoever heard of a vampire having such an amazing talent? Of course, he'd had 325 years to perfect his craft.

A dozen questions chased themselves through Daisy's mind, but before she could ask any of them, someone knocked at the door.

Hope fluttered in Daisy's heart. Perhaps she could find a way to pass a message to whoever had come to call.

Erik stood abruptly. "Daisy, go upstairs. Now."

"I don't want to."

"Yes, you do." He held up a hand to stay the protest he saw rising in her eyes. "It's Rhys."

Rhys! The very name struck terror in Daisy's heart. Rhys was the vampire who was looking for her. Without another word, she ran out of the room and up the stairs.

Erik waited until he heard the bedroom door close before he invited the Master of the City into the house.

"I've been out checking lairs," Rhys remarked as he crossed the threshold. "Checking cameras." He glanced around the room, his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared. "Have you got company?"

Erik smiled affably. "A dinner guest, you might say. I was just about to dine."

"Ah." Rhys smiled, showing a hint of fang. "Any chance there's enough for two?"

"Not tonight."

Rhys nodded. "Did you install a camera?"

"Not yet."

"It was to have been done by tonight."

"The night is still young." Erik glanced toward the staircase. "And my dinner awaits."

Rhys lifted his head, his nostrils twitching like a cat's at a mouse hole. "She smells young and unspoiled."

"Nothing gets by you," Erik remarked dryly. It took considerable effort to keep his expression passive, to keep from putting himself between Rhys and the stairway, but any move on his part now might arouse Rhys's suspicion or, worse, his innate need to hunt.

"Bon appetit, mon ami."

"Yeah, you, too," Erik replied. "But not here."

Rhys threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm going. Meet me at La Morte Rouge later. I've got a taste for French food all of a sudden."

Erik nodded. Rhys had opened La Morte Rouge--the Red Death--ten years ago. It was located along a deserted stretch of highway and catered to an elite clientele. Only vampires, and mortals who got their kicks from nourishing the Undead, were allowed entrance.

After seeing Rhys out and locking the door behind him, Erik made his way to the bottom of the stairs. He stood there a long moment, looking up, his thoughts troubled. He had sworn allegiance to Rhys and the West Coast vampires. Sworn to protect them against all enemies, as they had sworn to protect him. And he had done as promised, until now.

He muttered an oath as Daisy appeared at the top of the stairs. What the devil was he doing, harboring the Blood Thief under his roof? Protecting the one who had taken Tina's blood and destroyed Saul would surely be considered treason of the highest order. If Rhys and the others found out, retribution would be swift, and final.

As much as he liked this house and enjoyed the climate in Southern California, maybe it was time to give some serious thought to finding a new lair, preferably a city on the other side of the country, or perhaps the other side of the world.

Daisy looked down at him, her brows drawn together. "Is it safe?"

"He's gone."

Erik admired the sway of her hips as he watched her walk down the stairs. She was young, beautiful, desirable. Easily worth the risk of keeping her there.

"He scares me," she said when she reached the foot of the stairs.

"And rightly so," Erik remarked. Rhys was a vampire's vampire--cold and calculating. There was little in the human world that Rhys Costain gave a damn about. To Rhys, mortals were useful for one thing, and one thing only. Beyond that, he had little regard for them, perhaps because he had once been betrayed by a mortal female. Only a few people knew that Rhys had been enamored of a noblewoman in the distant past. When he found Josette in bed with another man, he had flown into a rage and killed them both. Erik knew nothing of the affair beyond the bare facts of what had happened. It was something Rhys refused to discuss in detail.

Erik followed Daisy into the living room, beguiled by the scent of her hair, her skin, her blood. He wanted her, all of her, now, tonight. Wanted her in his arms, in his bed. Wanted to taste the warmth of her lips, feel the heat of her skin, savor the sweetness of her life's essence. He could hear it flowing through her veins--the rich, red elixir of life.

As though sensing his thoughts, she whirled around to face him.

Erik paused when he saw the wary expression on her face and knew, in that moment, that what he was thinking, feeling, must be evident in his eyes. A vampire in the throes of the hunger was never a pretty sight.

Muttering an oath, he turned away, his hands clenched at his sides. He was confident he could keep her safe from Rhys. He was less certain he could keep her safe from himself.

Daisy stared at Erik's back, chilled by the predatory gleam she had seen in his eyes. He had looked like a wild animal ready to attack its prey. Fear coiled deep within her, sending an icy chill to every extremity. Just as she had feared, he was obviously keeping her here for only one reason.

A frantic glance around the room showed there was no place to run, nothing she could use for a weapon. She had only her wits and her bare hands, neither of which would repel him. Resigned, she closed her eyes and waited.

Erik scrubbed his hands up and down his thighs, annoyed that he had frightened her. Did she really think he was keeping her here as some kind of midnight snack?

Dammit, he was trying to protect her from a vicious killer. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he heard the voice of his conscience, laughing. Rhys wasn't the only vicious killer. As a young vampire, Erik had committed acts he now regretted, done things he was bitterly ashamed of.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face her. "Daisy? Daisy, look at me."

She opened her eyes ever so slowly. Their vivid green accentuated her pale face.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'd like to believe that," she said. "I really would, but...just now...your eyes..."

"Yes, I know, they turn red when..." He made a vague gesture with his hand.

"When you're hungry? Thirsty?"

"Either one will do." He took a step toward the sofa, but stopped when she recoiled. "I'm sorry I frightened you, but you're a very desirable woman in more ways than one."

She blinked up at him, certain that, as prey, she shouldn't be flattered by his words. After all, she was pretty sure that zebras weren't flattered when stalked by hungry lions.

Erik blew out a sigh. Affairs with female vampires weren't nearly as difficult, which was why he had avoided emotional entanglements with human females for the last three hundred years.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he asked, "How can I convince you that I'm not going to hurt you?"

"You can let me go home."

"Is that what you really want?"

"Yes, of course." But even as she spoke the words, Daisy found herself having second thoughts. A vampire as old as Rhys could probably be out and about both day and night. If Erik truly meant her no harm, she was probably safer here, with him, than at home, alone. Unless she could get Nonnie to come and stay with her. She was pretty sure Nonnie would be able to protect her. But was she sure enough to bet her life, or her grandmother's, on it?