Companions by Susan Sizemore

he'd thought he'd hear upon waking up. The woman's words were too prosaic not to be real. It was a humiliating thing for her to have to admit, and probably not the first thing she'd planned tosay when the vampire in her bed awoke, but it was no doubt the most pressing thing on her mind.
    Istvan had half hoped the woman was part of a long, erotic dream. Half, because too much of any emotion was a dangerous thing. Of course she, and the dangerous situation, were very real. It would have been easier to let her die at the hands of Maria's nest, but he had tasted her instead of having the others hunt her, and now she was his. He did not know what had come over him when Page 28
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    he arrived at Maria Ventanova's nest, but here they were, tied together by the bloodbond he'd always rejected. He had responsibilities. She had needs. She looked at him with anger and defiance, but she still needed something from him.
    He knew he should make her ask. Defiance should not be permitted, dependence should be fostered. That was the safe, traditional way to start with a companion.
    He moved his arm and let her up. When she bolted out of the room, he followed her.
    The bathroom was across a hall from the bedroom. Istvan took a few moments to check out the other rooms. There was a second bedroom that looked to be used as an office/guest room. The room held bookcases, a pillow-strewn daybed, and pots of orchids on a long table under grow lights. He found the exotic blooms pleasant to the eye and smiled to find that the woman cultivated such an interesting hobby.
    He turned back to deal with the woman. When he entered the bathroom, he noticed that she'd put on a short green bathrobe and that she was holding a large gun in a two-handed grip.
    If you keep a gun in the bathroom, where do you keep the handcuffs?
    He enjoyed her blush at the erotic overtones of his thought.
    "Stop that!" She carefully aimed at his heart. She refused to look him in the face, though she knew he wanted her to. He knew that she still knew he was smirking. "Stay out of my mind."
    I can't do that. He took a step forward.
    He knew she'd never shot anyone before, but she was trained to do it. She had plenty of motivation. Her memories flooded him, of him pressing her back on the bed, his hands on her, of his mouth, the sharp prick of teeth, of him on top of her, inside her, of the hot intoxication when his blood poured into her mouth. It hadn't felt like rape. She hated that she couldn't feel like she'd been raped, no matter what she could objectively tell herself.
    It had been rape all right. In a way, they'd both been raped.
    He took another step.
    She fired the gun.
    The little room echoed with the roar of the shot. She'd been braced for the recoil, but it still took her back a half step.
    Istvan yawned. He stretched. He scratched the spot where the bullet had entered his chest. He didn't bleed, fall down, and die.
    "I need a shower," he said.
    He should have at least been writhing in agony. He almost reacted to the pain that shot through her head and back to him with such sudden intensity that it forced her to her knees. She didn't drop the gun, though. Istvan plucked it out of her hands.
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    The trick was not to let her see how much it hurt. If he hadn't been prepared for it, he'd be bleeding all overher white-tiled floor right now. Strong, stubborn will kept him going.
    First, he carefully placed the gun in the cabinet beneath the sink. Then he grasped Selena's wrists and pulled her up. Her expression reflected the pain they both felt. His fingers were numb, but he managed to untie the belt of her robe without fumbling too badly. He gave himself points for style and was just glad the bullet had made a fiery exit through his flesh instead of lodging in the rib it had shattered. Thank God for high-caliber