hurried to strip the male nurse of his blue scrubs. He put them on, scowling when he got to the white Crocs that were easily two sizes too small for him.
Barefoot, Chase hefted the big human onto the bed in his place, clamping the heart rate monitor onto the nurse’s finger before the machine had a chance to bleat in alarm. To be sure the human didn’t wake up screaming the word “vampire,” Chase made quick work of his memory, scrubbing the attack clean from his sleeping mind. After pulling the sheet and blanket up around the man’s chin, Chase pivoted to head for the door.
Just as Nurse Doublemint was pushing it open ahead of her.
“I’m not sure, Darcy. I just got back from break,” she called over her shoulder, her head turned back toward the nurses’ station as she started to enter the room.
Chase drew back against the wall behind the door. His body was still riding the powerful high of its feeding, every muscle coiled and waiting for his command. He didn’t want to harm the woman, but if she saw him …
She lingered in the doorway and stared toward the bed where the big male nurse lay unmoving, still in a deep drowse. “Mike? You still in here?” she asked, speaking in a hushed tone so as not to wake the patient.
As she took a quiet step into the room, Chase pushed deeper into the shadows behind the open door. He gathered those shadowsaround him, calling on one of his personal abilities that was sometimes even more effective than the strength and brute power of his kind. He held the shadows close, bending them to his will as the woman peered around the room looking for her colleague.
“Michael?” She frowned, shivering a little in the cold of Chase’s illusion. She pulled the fabric of her white cardigan tighter around her. “So much for remembering to turn off the lights when you were done.”
With that, she pivoted on her heel and left, hitting the light switch on her way out.
The room went dark, and Chase released the curtain of gloom that had shielded him from her notice.
He glanced out the window of the door as she returned to the station up the hall and fell into a chatty conversation with the pair of young nurses manning it. Chase slipped out of the room in his stolen scrubs, his bare feet silent as he took the first step into the corridor toward escape.
They didn’t see him.
Nor could any human eyes follow as he flashed with preternatural speed down the opposite length of the long hallway, as silent and stealthy as a ghost.
Once outside, Chase hit the street on foot. To the few humans he passed, he was nothing but a cold gust amid the midnight flurries that fell from the dark sky. He knew exactly where he would go now. With predatory senses guiding him, he headed for a specific residence on the North Shore, as swift and certain as death itself.
CHAPTER SIX
F IVE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-TWO emails in his in-box since the afternoon—including the one Tavia Fairchild told him she’d sent containing his speech file for the morning fund-raiser.
Ever the efficient assistant, she’d gone to the trouble of including a separate file that provided anecdotal remarks about some of the people who’d be attending the charity breakfast. A social cheat sheet to assist him in maintaining his reputation for personability and effortless charm. He barely glanced at the document, finding it hard to care about the pet philanthropic ventures and causes du jour of a bunch of Back Bay socialites or the alma mater team standings of every deep-pocketed corporate executive on the guest list.
Under the low light of the desk lamp in his study, he flipped open his calendar and cast a disinterested eye over the sea of meetings and committees, public appearances and social engagements that filled the pages.
None of it mattered to him, not anymore.
Had it ever? He wasn’t sure. He felt a cold sense of detachment from it all. Even from the sight of his own name, from his own being.
Oh, he still had a
Barefoot, Chase hefted the big human onto the bed in his place, clamping the heart rate monitor onto the nurse’s finger before the machine had a chance to bleat in alarm. To be sure the human didn’t wake up screaming the word “vampire,” Chase made quick work of his memory, scrubbing the attack clean from his sleeping mind. After pulling the sheet and blanket up around the man’s chin, Chase pivoted to head for the door.
Just as Nurse Doublemint was pushing it open ahead of her.
“I’m not sure, Darcy. I just got back from break,” she called over her shoulder, her head turned back toward the nurses’ station as she started to enter the room.
Chase drew back against the wall behind the door. His body was still riding the powerful high of its feeding, every muscle coiled and waiting for his command. He didn’t want to harm the woman, but if she saw him …
She lingered in the doorway and stared toward the bed where the big male nurse lay unmoving, still in a deep drowse. “Mike? You still in here?” she asked, speaking in a hushed tone so as not to wake the patient.
As she took a quiet step into the room, Chase pushed deeper into the shadows behind the open door. He gathered those shadowsaround him, calling on one of his personal abilities that was sometimes even more effective than the strength and brute power of his kind. He held the shadows close, bending them to his will as the woman peered around the room looking for her colleague.
“Michael?” She frowned, shivering a little in the cold of Chase’s illusion. She pulled the fabric of her white cardigan tighter around her. “So much for remembering to turn off the lights when you were done.”
With that, she pivoted on her heel and left, hitting the light switch on her way out.
The room went dark, and Chase released the curtain of gloom that had shielded him from her notice.
He glanced out the window of the door as she returned to the station up the hall and fell into a chatty conversation with the pair of young nurses manning it. Chase slipped out of the room in his stolen scrubs, his bare feet silent as he took the first step into the corridor toward escape.
They didn’t see him.
Nor could any human eyes follow as he flashed with preternatural speed down the opposite length of the long hallway, as silent and stealthy as a ghost.
Once outside, Chase hit the street on foot. To the few humans he passed, he was nothing but a cold gust amid the midnight flurries that fell from the dark sky. He knew exactly where he would go now. With predatory senses guiding him, he headed for a specific residence on the North Shore, as swift and certain as death itself.
CHAPTER SIX
F IVE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-TWO emails in his in-box since the afternoon—including the one Tavia Fairchild told him she’d sent containing his speech file for the morning fund-raiser.
Ever the efficient assistant, she’d gone to the trouble of including a separate file that provided anecdotal remarks about some of the people who’d be attending the charity breakfast. A social cheat sheet to assist him in maintaining his reputation for personability and effortless charm. He barely glanced at the document, finding it hard to care about the pet philanthropic ventures and causes du jour of a bunch of Back Bay socialites or the alma mater team standings of every deep-pocketed corporate executive on the guest list.
Under the low light of the desk lamp in his study, he flipped open his calendar and cast a disinterested eye over the sea of meetings and committees, public appearances and social engagements that filled the pages.
None of it mattered to him, not anymore.
Had it ever? He wasn’t sure. He felt a cold sense of detachment from it all. Even from the sight of his own name, from his own being.
Oh, he still had a
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