Now, the priest could hardly enjoy the act. It was routine, like brushing his hair or getting dressed when he rose for the night. Feeding on mortals had never been pleasant for him, so it wasn’t as though he was missing out on anything by treating it this way.
An errant thought intruded as he accepted James’s offered wrist. What would it feel like, what would it taste like, if he were to feed from Maggie?
He stopped short, his fangs extended, ready to sink into the deacon’s exposed flesh, and a shudder of disgust and excitement both coursed through him. With a growl, he bit into James, unable to stop himself from imagining that the hot blood flowing into his mouth was hers.
James sat stoically as Anatoly took what he needed. He couldn’t have known what the priest was thinking, but he felt shame all the same. Surely he noticed the vigorous way he drank, how he shut his eyes to block the vision of his brother out.
The blood was the same as it had always been, but in his mind, he daydreamed of Maggie clinging to him as he fed from her soft neck, her supple body pinned beneath him… An involuntary groan escaped him at the mental image.
Alarmed at himself, Anatoly suddenly pulled away, dribbling blood down his chin into his beard. James looked likewise startled, not by the priest, but something beyond him. Twisting in the chair, Anatoly followed his gaze and was met by the sight of Maggie.
She was standing in the doorway, still wearing the tight black dress and pink sweater. An expression of shock and fear darkened her features and Anatoly noted that she’d stuck her hand into her purse.
“This area is closed to the public,” James scolded her, rising off the coffee table and moving to block Anatoly from the detective. “You really should have knocked.”
“The door was open, I thought…” Maggie started to answer and then shook her head. “What the fuck is going on here?” Her eyes were fixed on James’s wrist, which was still oozing blood from two puncture wounds.
Anatoly rose from his seat, being careful not to startle the cop with the motion.
“Easy, Maggie,” he told her softly. The rush of having just fed coupled with being in her presence made him feel almost giddy. His heart was racing, blood rushing in his ears. “I can explain, just let me tend to Deacon James first, da?”
He watched her swallow and for a second he feared she wouldn’t agree. Then she gave a slow nod, hand still stuffed in her purse at her side. There was so much tension in her body and that keen alertness made her features hard.
“James, if I may.” Anatoly put his hand out and James promptly extended his wrist. They had done this so many times, the deacon fully knew what was coming next, but that’s not what he worried about.
This wasn’t how he wanted Maggie to find out that he was a vampire, but she’d wandered in on him feeding. There was no way a white lie would cover his tracks. It was better to embrace the moment and let her see that he meant no harm.
A single lick was all it took to seal the wounds, making it as if they had never existed. There was more to it than that, but it was a trick Anatoly had quickly picked up as a new vampire to cover his tracks.
“Oh, shit…” Maggie swore and with a swift motion, she finally withdrew her hand from the purse.
Only it wasn’t empty.
She was holding a small pistol and the barrel was pointed straight at Anatoly’s chest.
Chapter Eighteen
A million thoughts were running through Maggie’s head, but the first one that made it past her lips was, “What the fuck are you?” She couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice. She was seeing Anatoly in a whole new light and suddenly, her early vulnerability around him made more sense.
“Maggie…” His tone was soothing, kind, and it conflicted with the wildness of her heart beating. “Put down gun, Maggie. I am not going to harm you.”
Her jaw flexed, her palms sweaty with nervousness. The only thing keeping her steady was the pistol she held. It’s weight reminded her that she was a cop, a servant of the city of Anchorage, and whatever she was facing now was just another horror in a long list of horrors she’d witnessed in this job.
“I said, what the fuck are you?” she repeated, stressing the words through clenched teeth.
“He’s a vampire,” James announced as though it were obvious.
It was definitely not obvious, even if it should have been. In Maggie’s world, vampires didn’t exist let alone take the form of a man that five minutes ago she’d been swooning over like some love sick puppy. No, none of this was obvious. It came as a tremendous shock to her system to the point that all she could do was shake her head, convinced that they were messing with her.
“Vampires aren’t fucking real!” she growled back, glaring at the deacon though the barrel was still steadily pointed at Anatoly.
“Maggie,” the priest’s soft voice drew her gaze back to him. He hadn’t moved since she drew the weapon, not even to raise his hands from his sides. To look at him she’d never guess he was being held at gun point. “Perhaps it would be best if James stepped outside. That way we can discuss situation in private.”
James made to disagree, but Anatoly added sternly, “I will be fine, Father Deacon. Please, go rest.”
Fear gripped Maggie, mingling with the pain of betrayal. He was trying to get her alone. Should she allow it or force James to stay here? Supposing his words were true and Anatoly was really a vampire, would the deacon’s presence make a difference for her safety?
“Get out,” Maggie barked, motioning to the door with her head even as she stepped around so he couldn’t get behind her. She kept the pistol trained on Anatoly, but her hard gaze remained on James until the door shut behind him.
