Awaken the Darkness Page 7

  “It can wait.” Sleep was already creeping up on him.

  “Then I should go down and let Jax out,” she uttered without enthusiasm.

  “He can wait, too.” She needed to rest.

  “If I don’t, he’ll pee on the floor.”

  “I’m pretty sure he already peed in the basement.” The scent of urine had tinted the air outside the hole.

  “Oh.” A moment passed. “Okay.” In the next instant, her breathing evened as sleep claimed her.

  He wanted to lift her and ease her up against the pillows so she could rest more comfortably but was just too damned weary.

  Maybe later.

  For now, he eased her arm from around his shoulders so the weight of his head wouldn’t put the limb to sleep. Then, twining his fingers through hers, he closed his eyes and sank into another deep, healing slumber.

  Darkness surrounded her, suffocated her. She tried to pierce it, but her eyes could find no hint of light. Nothing that would help her escape this prison.

  Weight pressed down upon her, heavy enough to crush her bones. And perhaps it had. There was no part of her that didn’t hurt so much that she wanted to howl with it. But when she opened her mouth, dirt and dust tried to choke her.

  Cold.

  Pain.

  Silence.

  No hope.

  Then a voice came to her, burrowing down through the soil and coiling around her.

  “When love,” a woman began to sing softly, “into my dreams was creeping, I gave my heart into your keeping.”

  Pure ecstasy.

  How she needed that voice, that presence to alleviate the darkness and pain and salvage her sanity.

  Tears welled in her eyes as she let the soft song embrace her.

  Her breath hitched.

  Susan awoke with a sob. Her first thought was that her cheeks were cold.

  Reaching up, she found moisture trailing down them. When she would’ve raised her other hand too, to brush away the tears, she found she couldn’t and turned her head.

  At some point, the stranger from her basement must have moved her, because her head now rested on one of her pillows and her legs no longer dangled off the foot of the bed. Instead, she lay on her back, a blanket pulled up over her.

  The stranger lay next to her, curled up on his side with her hand clutched to his chest. Surprisingly long lashes rested upon his cheeks as he slept, his brow furrowed, his body tense.

  The dream that had driven her to awaken in tears had been his.

  It was one of the hazards of being telepathic. She could block others’ thoughts and keep them from bombarding her when she concentrated but tended to lose that ability once she succumbed to slumber. Then their thoughts and—if they slept—their dreams would often infiltrate hers as his had.

  Rolling toward him, she brushed his hair back from haggard features.

  Fear attempted to creep in. She was in bed with a strange man she had found buried in her basement. But compassion accompanied it.

  Was that what it had been like for him? Stuck down there in the cold dirt, suffering every second of every hour of every day with no hope of rescue?

  His fingers tightened around hers as he shifted. He started to stretch, then stopped with a grunt. His eyes opened, a deep warm brown that still held a hint of that amber glow. “I’m sorry,” he said as he focused on her face.

  “For what?” Her fear melted away as he met her gaze.

  “I should have bathed before lying down. I’ve gotten dirt all over your bedding.”

  Seriously? He had been buried alive for who knew how long while she had been farting around up here, unpacking. And he was apologizing for getting her covers dirty? “How long were you down there?” Had his memory returned?

  He opened his mouth, got that blank look again that held both disbelief and frustration, then shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know.”

  “Could you hear me while you were down there? Did you know I was up here?” If so, he must hate her for not having saved him sooner.

  “I remember hearing you sing.”

  She grimaced. “As if you weren’t being tortured enough.”

  He smiled. And despite the cuts that marred his sunken features, she found it very appealing. “You have a lovely voice. It brought me great comfort.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about my calling the police, have you?”

  “I fear it would endanger you,” he told her with regret. “I will leave, if you wish it. You’ve already helped me enormously. You need not do any more.”

  She shook her head. “Until you remember who you are, you have nowhere to go. You can stay here.” So far his thoughts—fragmented though they might be—had given her no reason to fear he would harm her.

  “Thank you. Could I, perhaps, avail myself of your shower?”

  “Of course.” Sitting up, she glanced down at her dirt-smudged tank top and arms and grimaced. “I think I will, too.” Realizing how that might have sounded, she shot him a look. “After you. Not at the same time.”

  He smiled. “I assumed as much. Why don’t you go first?”

  She had a feeling that once his wounds healed and he regained the weight he’d lost, he would be quite handsome. “Okay. I’ll only be a minute. Can I get you anything first? Some water? Something to eat?” He must be both starving and dangerously dehydrated. She should have insisted he eat and drink something before they’d fallen asleep.

  “Water, please. And you should drink some yourself. Or perhaps some orange juice.”

  Throwing back the blanket, she scooted off the bed. Her head still swam a bit, so she thought juice would be the better choice. “Juice sounds good. Would you like that, too?”

  “Yes, please.” He was so polite.

  “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

  “Careful on the stairs,” he cautioned. “You were dizzy before you slept.”

  Oddly touched by his concern, she left the room and went downstairs.

  Jax greeted her with jumps and licks and tail wags, then raced for the back door. Susan took a moment to put him outside on the long leash that let him explore, then poured a couple of glasses of orange juice in the kitchen. She took a minute to use the half bath off the breakfast nook, then headed back upstairs.

  Her guest had pushed himself up enough to lean back against the headboard.

  Wow. He was really tall. He had been sort of hunched over from his wounds when they’d climbed up here earlier, so she hadn’t really noticed. But he made her bed look short.

  She handed him a glass, smiling when he thanked her.

  It took her no time to empty her own. Boy, it tasted good. She was so thirsty. Hungry, too. They had slept the day away, and she hadn’t eaten anything since last night.

  Opening her dresser drawers and pulling out bikini panties, a bra, some jeans and a T-shirt while he watched felt uncomfortably intimate. “I’ll just be a minute,” she said again as she crossed to the en suite bathroom.

  Inclining his head, he followed her with his piercing gaze.

  Flipping on the light, she entered and closed the door behind her. She eyed the doorknob.

  “It won’t hurt my feelings if you lock it,” he called through the door.

  Smiling, she locked it. There was a strange man in her house and she had not wanted to lock the door while showering because she had thought it might hurt his feelings. What the hell was wrong with her? Had all fear and wariness abandoned her?

  If so, why now?

  Grabbing her toothbrush, she slathered it with minty paste and gave her teeth a good scrub. Much better. Then she stripped off her filthy clothes and tossed them in the hamper. Leaning into the shower, she cranked the faucets and ducked out of reach of the spray until the water warmed. Once it did, she stepped under the liquid curtain and sighed as it settled upon her hair and shoulders.

  It felt great until it hit her blisters. Then her hands began to sting like crazy, prompting her to grab the soap a
nd get it over with in a hurry. The muscles of her arms, shoulders, and upper back ached as she rubbed them vigorously with a foamy sponge. Her thighs did, too. She had been pushing herself so hard to finish her latest manuscript and get it in the hands of her editor that she hadn’t exercised in weeks. Now her body protested the tough workout she’d given it last night.

  Despite her stinging palms and fingers, Susan was happy to be clean as she shut off the water and toweled herself dry. Her ears strained to catch any sound beyond the door but heard nothing. Nor could she hear his thoughts.

  Had he fallen asleep again?

  Had he left?

  A chill skittered through her.

  He hadn’t died, had he?

  Alarmed, she hurriedly donned her clothes, grabbed a comb, then yanked open the door.

  Relief suffused her.

  He sat on the bed, facing her. Both hands gripped the edge of the mattress so tightly his knuckles shone white. His head hung low.

  She took a step toward him. “Are you okay?”

  Nodding, he raised his head and opened his mouth to speak, then stared at her with an expression she couldn’t read.

  “What?” she asked when the silence stretched.

  His lips curled up in a tired smile. “Nothing. You’re just beautiful.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks.

  His smile broadened. “Even more so when you blush.”

  Grinning, she approached him. “Sweet talker.”

  He chuckled.

  “Let me help you up.”

  “I don’t want to get you dirty.”

  “First, let me say: Wow, your mother really raised you right, because your manners are impeccable. Second, don’t be silly.” Tossing the comb on the bed, she pulled one of his arms across her shoulders. He was so tall she didn’t even have to bend or stoop to do it despite the fact that he was seated.

  He rose, resting less weight on her than he had earlier. But his steps were slow.

  His thoughts began to flow into her again, most focused around steadfastly trying to remain on his feet and not wanting to burden her with too much of his weight.

  “At the risk of sounding like a perv,” she said once they stood in the large bathroom, “I don’t think I should leave you alone in here.”

  His lips curled up in another smile. “It’s okay. I won’t fall.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “I am.” And I don’t want her to see me unclothed while I bear so many flaws. He cast the mirror a disgusted glance. I look like an ogre beside her beauty.

  Awwww. That was so sweet. “There’s no need to feel self-conscious.”

  He swore. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

  “Sorry.” Things like that had ruined every relationship she had ever embarked upon.

  “I’ll be fine, Susan.”

  She seriously doubted that.

  “If it will make you feel better, I’ll leave the door unlocked and you can come running if you hear a loud thud.”

  “That isn’t funny.” Her lips twitched. “And yet I’m tempted to laugh, so I must be getting loopy again. I’ll go make us something to eat while you shower.” She hesitated. “Do you need help undressing?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Wrinkling her nose, she gave him a look full of chagrin. “I felt so sleazy asking you that.”

  Amusement twinkled in his odd eyes. “Were I feeling better, I might have offered a sleazy response.”

  She laughed.

  “You don’t by any chance have some men’s clothing I could borrow, do you?”

  She mentally ran through her limited wardrobe. “I have a T-shirt that will probably fit you.” Sometimes she slept in large men’s T-shirts. “But I’m afraid nothing else will.” She had never lived with a man, thanks to her telepathy. She’d kept no souvenirs from her few ex-boyfriends. And nothing else of hers would come close to fitting him.

  “May I borrow the shirt?”

  “Of course.” She retrieved a shirt. “I’ll grab my laptop and order you some clothes while you shower. I’m sure someone around here has same-day or next-day delivery.”

  “Thank you. I’ll reimburse you as soon as I can. But eat first,” he said as he took the shirt. “Your health is more important than my wanting to pretty myself up for you.”

  Smiling, she left the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

  Getting out of the peculiar rubber suit wasn’t as difficult as he imagined getting into it had been. It looked like the type of suit that was meant to hug one’s frame. But it fit his loosely, indicating significant weight loss.

  The wounds he exposed as he peeled it off were pretty gruesome. How the hell had he gotten them? Who had inflicted them? Were they—whoever they were—searching for him? Or had they simply buried him and left him for dead?

  Knowing Susan might be monitoring his thoughts, he guarded them as best he could. He knew he was different in ways that would alarm her. Ways that already had alarmed her, he thought with a grimace as he noted the faint amber glow his eyes held. But her fear had diminished with less assistance tonight.

  He stepped into the shower. The house’s previous owner must have been tall, because he didn’t have to duck to wet his hair. The hot water pouring over him was sublime. For once, he groaned in pleasure instead of pain, though the many gashes that still marred his form stung like fire when the water and soapsuds hit them. How tempting it would be to spend an hour beneath that wonderful spray. But Susan would worry. So he washed his body and shampooed his hair. Then he washed his body and shampooed his hair again, because it felt so damned good.

  Once he dried off, he studied himself carefully in the mirror.

  He guessed he was about six feet two inches tall with short, jet-black hair. His face seemed that of a stranger. Not familiar at all. But perhaps that was a result of the cuts and abrasions that marred his forehead and much of the right side of his face. It almost looked as though he had been dragged face-first across a gravel driveway.

  The weight loss might also be feeding the lack of recognition. He was pretty sure his stomach wasn’t usually so sunken nor his ribs so prominent. As he took in the wealth of deep gashes and what appeared to be bullet holes that parted his skin, none of which bled, he was doubly glad he had not let Susan remain while he had showered. It was bad. Yet it didn’t alarm him as much as he thought it should, neither the multitude of serious injuries nor the fact that he could survive them. As if such were a norm.

  Who was he?

  What was he?

  He couldn’t even tell how old he was. Though he bore no gray hair, he felt sure he was older than he looked, which was around thirty years old or thereabouts.

  His head began to pound as fury rose that he couldn’t remember. His brown eyes began to glow brighter amber. Ah, hell. Memory or no memory, he knew that wasn’t normal. And unbeknownst to Susan, he had sprouted fangs, sunk them into her wrist and siphoned her blood into his veins.

  Was he a… vampire?

  Instant denial flooded him, strong enough to convince him he wasn’t.

  Then what? A lab experiment gone wrong?

  Dragging the borrowed shirt over his head, he tried to calm his tumultuous thoughts. The amber glow in his eyes faded but didn’t disappear entirely. The pain buffeting him was still too great.

  The boxers he had worn beneath the rubber suit had deteriorated enough to not be an option. So he tossed them in the trash bin, grabbed a fresh towel and wrapped it around his hips, tucking the end in to hold it in place.

  He reached for the rubber suit. When he picked it up, something clattered to the floor.

  He glanced down. A cell phone. Did the suit have pockets then?

  He performed a quick search and found only one inner pocket that must have held the phone. He draped the rubber suit over the shower door. He would’ve thrown it away with the boxers, but something told him to hang on to it in case he might need it.

  Retrieving the phone
, he stared down at it. Though it was cracked all to hell, he nevertheless tried to turn it on.

  No luck. He clung to it, and couldn’t quite force himself to toss it on top of the boxers in the bin. Had the phone worked, enlightenment would’ve only been a phone call away. He could’ve called any number stored in it and found out who the hell he was.

  He glanced again at the stranger in the mirror. He could use a shave but cringed at the thought of dragging a blade down over those cuts and scrapes. So he ignored the beginnings of a beard and opened a few drawers. Upon finding a new toothbrush, he removed it from the package and availed himself of the tube of minty paste next to the faucet.

  Susan began to hum somewhere below.

  Leaving the bathroom, he carefully made his way down the stairs.

  Chapter Four

  He found Susan in the kitchen. Something that smelled utterly delicious cooked on the gas stove beside her while she leaned against the counter and typed on a laptop.

  When she glanced up and saw him, her forehead smoothed. “Oh. Good. I was just about to check on you. I stopped hearing your thoughts and was afraid you had passed out.”

  “I’m fine.” He rounded the counter and joined her. The faded jeans she had donned after her shower hugged full hips and slender legs. His greater height—she was about a foot shorter than he was—allowed him to glimpse a hint of the shadowy cleavage bared by her V-necked T-shirt.

  He slid the laptop an uneasy glance. She hadn’t contacted anyone about him, had she?

  She turned it toward him. A pair of men’s sweatpants dominated the screen, displayed by an online store. “I figured until you’re in better shape, you’d want something soft and comfortable. Will these do, or would you prefer jeans?”

  He crossed to stand beside her and watched as she scrolled through a variety of men’s trousers. “Those,” he said, pointing to the pair that leapt out at him.

  “Black cargo pants?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Okay. I’ll get you several pair along with some T-shirts. Any color preference on the shirts?”

  “Black.”

  She tapped more keys. “Boxers, briefs, or boxer briefs?”