The first thing she did was flip the lock into place, then she put her back to the door again and faced the priest. “He better not do something stupid…”
Anatoly shook his head. “He won’t. James knows I can take care of myself.”
She flinched at that, slightly adjusting her sweaty palm on the pistol’s grip. “Tell me the truth, Anatoly…” Her voice cracked on his name, her lower lip trembling. “Tell me what I just saw,” she demanded.
“I will tell you anything you wish to know, Maggie, but please, put gun away.” He took a tentative step toward her as he spoke and her shoulders tensed in response. “I would never harm you,” he continued. “Please, trust me?—”
“I did trust you!” Maggie raised her voice, tears stinging her eyes. For the first time, the gun wavered in her hand.
Anatoly took another step in her direction, his hand slowly raising, palm outstretched. “Maggie?—”
“If you take another step, I promise I’ll fucking shoot you,” she warned. The door at her back made her feel caged in and his increasing proximity only heightened the sensation. She prepared herself, emptying the emotion from her chest, letting determination and training take its place. “Don’t test me, Anatoly…”
Amusement passed over his face for just a split second and then he stepped forward again as if daring her.
Maggie pulled the trigger before he could get any closer. She watched the bullet slam into his chest, saw him stagger from the blow, and expected him to fall over. He didn’t. With a strained grunt, Anatoly straightened as though all she’d done was land a feeble punch.
“Fuck,” she swore, squeezing off another round as her brain finally registered that there was something inhuman about the priest after all. When the second bullet had the same effect, her next thought was to flee, but as she gripped the doorknob, she remembered she had locked it.
“Shit!”
In the blink of an eye, Anatoly had closed the distance between them and put his hand on top of the gun. He gently pushed her arm down to her side, urging her with his touch alone to finally lower the weapon.
Fingers trembling, her sweaty hand could no longer grasp the gun. The useless hunk of metal dropped to the floor at her feet and panic gripped her heart.
“What are you going to do to me?” she whispered, distress lowering her voice.
He had the audacity to smile at her again as he shook his head. Then he began to unbutton his shirt, drawing her gaze to his torso.
“Did you have to ruin perfectly good shirt, Detective?” he chided, speaking at the same volume as her, no doubt in an effort to be calming.
Maggie watched in horrified fascination as the pair of bullets slowly worked their way back out of his flesh. Unable to stop herself, she raised her fingers to his chest, just in time to catch the first projectile as it fell out.
A cold shiver ran down her spine and morbid curiosity made her want to touch his skin. There wasn’t a mark there, he was as fit and healthy as if she hadn’t just shot him twice. It was impossible and yet she’d seen it with her own eyes.
To her surprise, he took gentle hold of her wrist and pressed her palm to the spot where a bullet wound had been just moments earlier.
“Impossible…” The word was torn from her throat, her eyes fixated on the back of her hand as though she might somehow find the answers she needed there. Finally, she looked up at his face and saw the familiar warmth she was so accustomed to. She searched his eyes, wanting to hear him out, but she wasn’t sure if she could trust a single thing he said.
As she slowly came to accept that vampires were real and one was standing in front of her, she began to connect the dots. From the crash, where Anatoly hadn’t suffered so much as a scratch, to his not eating, she saw the little lies he’d told along the way to cover his tracks and disgust ripped through her.
“I trusted you,” she growled, accusing him. Her hand was still on his chest, and she pushed against him as a surge of anger gave her another shot of adrenaline. It was like trying to move a wall. He didn’t budge.
“You can still trust me, Maggie.” Anatoly’s voice was soft as he laid his hand over hers.
It reminded her of the restaurant, of the way he had comforted her, and the anger dissipated. Maggie was suddenly aware of how close they were standing, but she didn’t step back or pull away. She shifted closer, still scared and hurt, but inexplicably pulled toward him.
“How can I? You lied to me…” She was whispering again. Her gaze went to his mouth and she shivered again at the sight of the blood there. Unbidden, her other hand rose to wipe at it. Vampire or not, it was out of place on the compassionate priest and she wanted it gone.
“Are you even a real priest?” she blurted as the thought occurred to her.
Anatoly tilted his head into her touch, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Da,” he answered. “Being vampire is only secret. Priest is true, history is true…” Anatoly leaned his face a little closer to hers, his gray eyes imploring. “I am deeply sorry, Maggie.”
Against her better judgement, Maggie believed him. She felt herself shifting closer to him, her body brushing against his. The tension between them intensified, though it was no longer charged with fear and wariness.
His arm snaked around her waist and she could feel his palm in the small of her back, drawing her in, urging her against him. Like the fool she was, Maggie complied until she had fit herself snuggly to his torso. She didn’t know what was happening, but she was powerless to resist it.
“Anatoly?”
