Fangs But No Fangs. Kathy Love

glance at her as she walked beside him, but he was shocked to the core. This woman, who he’d obviously done a terrific job of making dislike and mistrust him, had just given him a compliment. Well, a compliment of sorts.

      “Actually, I haven’t gambled at cards for years.” Not since his wastrel days frequenting gambling hells all about London. “Are you sure you aren’t feeling lightheaded?”

      She obviously must be feeling a little confused to say anything complimentary about him.

      “No,” she said, stifling back a yawn. “But I am exhausted.”

      “Well, I’ll get you home as quickly as possible.” He led her to his car, opening the door for her.

      “Don’t go too quickly. I don’t want you to run down anyone else tonight.”

      A smile tugged at his lips, but he didn’t comment.

      The ride back to the trailer park was much like the ride to the hospital. Silent. Jolee had her eyes closed, although this time he was fairly certain she just dozed.

      Instead of pulling in her driveway, he turned into his own. When the engine rumbled to a stop, Jolee opened her eyes, peering around.

      “Thanks,” she murmured, obviously not thinking it odd that he didn’t drop her off at her door. She reached for the door handle. Christian also reached for his, jumping out of the car to come around and help her.

      Jolee was already standing, using the door to steady herself.

      “Thanks, I can handle it from here.”

      She started across the street, but Christian followed, catching the hand of her good arm.

      She stopped and glanced down at where he touched her, then lifted an arched brow. “I said I can handle it from here.”

      He shook his head. “The nurse said you need to have someone with you tonight.”

      “Well, you are right across the road, so if I need you—”

      He shook his head. “You’re going to spend the night with me.”

      She immediately shook her head, then narrowed her eyes as if the action had caused her pain. “No. I promise I’ll come right over to you if I have any of the symptoms.”

      “No. You will stay at my place.” Lord, she was a stubborn little mortal.

      Her eyes narrowed again, but this time out of annoyance rather than pain. “You are impossible. No.”

      He smiled slightly. Well, at least she was thinking the same thing about his disposition.

      “The other option is that I stay at your trailer, but as I recall, you have no sofa. I suppose I could share your bed.”

      Her eyes widened now, flashing. “No! This is ridiculous. I’m perfectly fine to go home and go to bed. I don’t need you to stay with me.”

      “Right then. Off to your bed.” He started to tug her toward her trailer, but she dug in her heels.

      “You would seriously do this, wouldn’t you?”

      He lifted an eyebrow. “Yes. It’s doctor’s orders.”

      She stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “I will sleep on your couch.”

      “My bed.”

      “Couch.”

      “Bed.”

      “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered. “Fine. I’ll sleep in your bed.”

      He started to tug her back toward his trailer.

      “But”—she dug her heels in again; he stopped and looked at her—“you will sleep on the couch.”

      “Absolutely.”

      Jolee allowed herself to be led into his trailer. She was so tired, she just didn’t have any more fight left in her.

      She collapsed, drained, on his couch, while he set down her tote bag.

      “You should go straight to bed.”

      She nodded, too tired to get up. Instead she flopped over on the cushions, the movement hurting her shoulder, but she didn’t care. It felt so good to lie down.

      “Do you want to borrow something to sleep in?” he asked.

      She nodded, barely even aware of what he’d asked. He just needed to go and let her rest.

      He left the room and she let her eyes drift shut. But he returned just moments later.

      “Here you go.”

      She opened her eyes and he was holding out a white button-front shirt. Crisp white cotton, obviously tailored. Of course.

      She reached out a hand to take it, the cotton softer than any she’d ever felt.

      “Thanks.” She glanced up at him. He nodded. And for the first time, she realized what he looked like. Blood smeared the shoulder and collar of his shirt. The material was wrinkled, and his hemline untucked. His hair, which was cut to look chicly disheveled, was way beyond that, sticking out wildly.

      “You’re a mess,” she stated.

      He glanced down at himself, then smiled, just a faint tug at the corner of his mouth.

      A rather adorable smile, she thought as she yawned, and let her eyes fall shut again. Too bad he probably knows it.

      “My name doesn’t mean pretty in French either,” he suddenly said, and for a moment, she thought she might have dreamed the comment.

      She opened her eyes and he was there. Still messy. Still adorable.

      “My name is Christian. Christian Young.”

      She smiled, sleepiness making her feel relaxed and a little disconnected. “Christian. That’s a nice name.”

      She closed her eyes and slept.

      Christian stood over her, watching her. Her breathing came in a low, even rhythm. In. Out. Her spicy scent surrounded him again, the sharper scent of her fear and pain gone. Thankfully gone.

      He stared at her face, still pale, but a hint of pink colored her high cheekbones. She would be all right.

      He didn’t think God would be interested in his thanks, but he thanked him anyway. He hadn’t given any credence to God, even when he was alive. Funny, that he should now. Now, when he had no chance of being forgiven by God or man.

      Hmmm. He’d never quite believed that he’d be able to do Step Seven of his twelve steps. But there it was, Humility—asking a higher power to remove his shortcomings.

      He looked back at Jolee, again seeing another face, the face that had prompted this change in him. The face of a mortal whose only mistake had been to love his vampire brother. Did his brother Rhys still ache for Jane? Of course, he did. Christian could never expect forgiveness from him. Or Sebastian. His baby brother was right to stand by Rhys. Rhys had been right about Lilah all along, that she was evil and cruel and never loved him, but Christian’s obsession with her wouldn’t allow him to listen. Rhys would never forgive his shortcomings. Never.

      Unable to think anymore about what he’d done, he spun away from Jolee and headed to his bedroom. There, he stripped off his soiled shirt, throwing it on the small dresser. The white material landed in a pile. He started to undo his pants when something on the shirt caught his attention.

      Slowly he approached the garment, staring at stains, rusty brown against white. Picking up the shirt, he studied the smears. For the first time, he smelled the blood there. Even dried, the blood still contained that intoxicating scent, that lure. He lifted the shirt to his nose, breathing in deeply. His hunger responded, his muscles seizing with the urge to feed. But still his fangs didn’t extend.

      He threw the garment away