"Does it have a lock?"

"The bathroom does, the door to my room doesn't. But I promise you, n.o.body will walk in there while you're in it."

She hesitated for a short moment. "Fine."

12.

No lock on the bedroom door: at least it meant they couldn't lock her in. And since the bathroom locked, she could even get a few minutes of privacy.

Ursula sighed with relief.

"I'll show you to my room," Oliver offered.

Blake instantly cut in, a pointed look directed at him. "We both will."

She refrained from rolling her eyes at their show of excess testosterone.

Oliver's room was on the third floor of the ma.s.sive mansion. A large oak staircase led to the upper floors. Ursula made note of her surroundings. When Oliver opened the door to his room and stepped inside, she followed him. Blake entered behind her.

For an Edwardian, the room was large. And a little messy.

Oliver rushed to s.n.a.t.c.h a pair of boxer briefs from the floor and hid it behind his back. "Sorry," he apologized softly. He motioned to one corner of the room. "That's the bathroom. Fresh towels are in the closet, and if you want to change your shirt, there are plenty of T-shirts in there if you want to borrow one."

She looked down at her top and noticed the blood stains on it. But did she really want to wear one of his T-shirts? Why was he trying to be so nice to her? To give her a false sense of security? She swore not to fall for it.

Nodding, she looked around. She slowly walked to the window and peered outside. There was no fire escape in front of the window. She turned slowly.

"It's a nice room. Is it just the two of you living here?"

If they thought she was making polite conversation, they would be mistaken. All she wanted to know was whether somebody else could show up at the house later, messing up her plans.

Oliver smiled. "Our parents own the house, Quinn and Rose. But they're on their honeymoon in England."

England? Far enough away for them not to return suddenly. But something else in his answer didn't make sense. "Honeymoon?" If they had two adult sons, why were they just now going on their honeymoon?

"Yes, it's a little complicated," Oliver offered.

Blake chuckled. "I'll explain it to you if you want."

She shrugged. The more she found out what and who she was dealing with, the better. Other than that, she wasn't in the least bit interested in what their family circ.u.mstances were. Right.

Clearly excited that he had something to talk about, Blake launched into his explanation. "I'm actually their only blood relative anda""

"If you must tell the story," Oliver interrupted, "then please keep your facts straight. I carry Quinn's blood, so I'm as much a blood relative as you are."

Ursula gazed at him, finding it odd that he seemed slightly upset at Blake's words. As if he wanted to make sure not to be left out.

"Well, okay, so I used the wrong words, big deal! Anyway." Blake turned back to look at her. "Quinn and Rose are my fourth great-grandparents. They had a falling out two hundred years ago and only reunited a couple of months ago."

That explained one thing: Rose and Quinn were vampires. However, something else of Blake's story couldn't be true then. "Vampires can't have children. I overheard the guards talk about it."

The knowledge had somehow filled her with satisfaction: at least it meant that vampires couldn't procreate the way humans did, and therefore one way of replenishing their ranks was closed to them.

"Not entirely true," Oliver threw in. "Vampire males can father children with their human mates. But in Quinn's and Rose's case it was different: they were both human when they had a child."

Blake nodded eagerly. "Yes, and that's the line I come from." Then he pointed to Oliver. "Oliver is only related to Quinn, not to Rose."

Oliver glared at him. "Which doesn't make me any less family." Then he relaxed his facial muscles. "Quinn is my sire. I've been working for Scanguards for over three years. I was human then, but I knew what they were, but Samson, the owner, he took me under his wing. I was his right hand, his eyes and ears during the day when he was vulnerable."

Ursula couldn't help but notice the proud sheen in his eyes when he spoke of his boss.

"I was with them out of my own free will. Until . . . " He hesitated and stared at his shoes.

She didn't say anything, simply waited anxiously for him to continue. How had he become a vampire? Had he chosen it? Or had they finally forced it on him?

"Anyway, I'm sure you'll be comfortable here."

Then his look darted past her toward the bed. Whatever he saw there made him approach. She held her breath, wondering if he'd suddenly attack her. However, he walked past her, making her turn.

Reaching for something on the nightstand, he mumbled, "Just a precaution."

That's when she saw what he was doing: he unplugged the small black telephone that had blended in with the dark color of the furniture. Darn! She hadn't instantly noticed it upon entering the room, but she would have seen it once she made a more careful a.s.sessment of her surroundings when she was alone. Too late. Her chances of calling her parents had just decreased.

She swallowed away her disappointment and met Oliver's gaze. His blue eyes shimmered with what looked like regret. She shook off the thought. No, vampires didn't feel regret. Maybe she was simply too exhausted to think clearly.

As if he sensed her frustration, he said, "I'm really sorry, but we can't risk you calling anybody. It might not only put us in danger, but you too. I know you want to talk to your parents, but what if whoever captured you watches them now that you escaped? They must know that you'll try to contact them. It would give your hiding place away."

Grudgingly, she had to admit that he was right. Her blood was too valuable for them to lose her. They would try to recapture her and use any means to do that. But Oliver didn't know that.

Without thinking, her next words left her lips. "So you believe me?"

He seemed to contemplate his answer while he swept a long look over her body, one that strangely enough make her feel hot and tingly.

"My gut feeling tells me that you told us the truth, but I can't always trust my gut. I need proof, because too many things don't make sense."

"Like what?" she countered.

"Why they would keep you captive for your blood when it's freely available on the streets."

Her blood wasn't freely available on the streets as he put it, but she couldn't tell him that. Once he knew what her blood did, he would want it too. He too would see the potential to make a lot of money by pimping her out to other vampires, just like her captors had done. No, she couldn't divulge that kind of information.

"It happened, but I don't know why," she lied, trying not to blink when their eyes locked. Could he tell she was lying?

"Let's just say there was a compelling reason, just for argument's sake," he conceded. "Then I find it very strange that you were able to escape at all. You said they had guards to watch you."

Ursula pushed her shoulders back. "Yes they did. But the guard was called away to another room when there was trouble. I used the opportunity to escape."

Oliver shook his head. "And the other vampire? The one who fed from you? Where was he? See how that doesn't make sense? Surely he didn't leave the room too."

"Of course he didn't."

"Don't tell me you overpowered a vampire by yourself."

The mocking look in Oliver's eyes got her dander up. How dare he make fun of her?

"And what makes you think I can't do that?"

"Look at you! You're what, five three, five four? And how heavy? A hundred and twenty pounds? You couldn't even overpower a human male, let alone a vampire. Somebody must have helped you escape."

Angrily, she fisted her hands at her hips and glared at him. But she kept her tongue in check. "The jerk didn't care! Okay? He had gotten what he'd come for and let me walk out of the room! He didn't know I was escaping. He probably a.s.sumed that I was going back to my room."

When Oliver stared at her with suspicion in his eyes, she withstood his gaze without blinking.

"I don't believe it."

"Can't you leave her alone?" Blake griped behind him. "What's so important about it now? She escaped. End of story."

"What are you not telling me?" Oliver insisted, ignoring his half-brother.

"There's nothing."

He didn't believe her; that much was clear. She couldn't even blame him.

Slowly, he stepped back. "Fine. We'll talk tomorrow. You're tired and you've been through a lot. Make yourself at home. There's a TV, music, books. If you're hungry, Blake will bring you some food."

Then he turned and left the room. She heard his footsteps fade as he walked down the hall.

"Are you hungry?" Blake asked.

"No."

Blake nodded and turned away, leaving her alone.

For now, she had dodged a bullet, but how much longer could she keep the truth from Oliver?

13.

Ursula sank into the warm water, allowing it to caress her tired body, taking pains to keep her injured arm out of the water so that the bandage didn't get wet.

She had not only locked the bathroom door but also wedged the clothes hamper underneath the door handle as an extra precaution. She wouldn't put it past Olivera"or Blakea"to barge in so they could look at her naked. Both of them had stared at her with l.u.s.ting eyes. With Blake, she knew for sure he wasn't l.u.s.ting after her blood, but with Oliver she had her doubts. Maybe he wanted both: her body and her blood. After all, she'd offered him her body before. Perhaps he wanted to collect on her promise, now that she was out of immediate danger.

But she hadn't made this promise to a vampirea"not knowingly anyway. She'd made it to a handsome young man, a man she'd believed to be human, and she'd made her promise out of desperation. Things had changed since. He had turned out to be the enemy.

That thought sobered her. How could she not have seen the signs? After three years living with vampires, she'd developed a sense for recognizing what features gave them away: their fluid, graceful movements, the alertness in their eyes, their seemingly perfect and flawless skin. And then of course their speed. But Oliver had simply stood there, not moving when she'd met him, eliminating the possibility of recognizing him as a vampire by his movements.

His blue eyes had mesmerized her, blinded her so that she hadn't seen anything else.

She jerked her thoughts away from him. There was no use crying over spilled milk. What was more important now was to work on a plan of actiona"just as soon as she finished her bath. However, feeling how the warm water relaxed her aching muscles, how it soothed her tired body, made her want to simply close her eyes and allow sleep to take her away to a safe place. Maybe if she could just take a moment and rest, everything would look less desperate, less hopeless.

But no, she couldn't allow herself to weaken. Determined to remain strong and alert, she reached for the shower gel and lathered her body, ridding herself of the last traces of blood and dirt that had acc.u.mulated during her escape from her prison. She scrubbed harder and harder as if by doing so, she could scrub away the scars of the last three years.

Yet she still felt dirty, sullied by the vampires who'd used her. It was a stain she feared would never disappear, no matter how much soap she used to wash it away.

Realizing the futility of her efforts, her eyes welled up. And in the privacy of a stranger's bathroom, she allowed the tears to come. How long she cried, she couldn't tell, but when she finally stopped, the water was tepid.

Numb from her show of weakness, she reached for the towel she'd pulled from a closet earlier and dried herself off. She pulled on her pants without her pantiesa"those were currently hanging over the towel rack to drya", but when she looked at her blood- and dirt-stained T-shirt, she considered Oliver's offer of fresh clothes.

It cost her a good deal of pride to admit to herself that she wanted to feel a clean shirt on her skin. Tossing her own T-shirt on the floor, she removed the barricade in front of the door and unlocked it.

The bedroom was emptya"n.o.body had entered it. It was a relief.

Scrutinizing Oliver's closet, Ursula found nothing out of the ordinary: his taste in clothes was very . . . human. Jeans in varying shades of blue and black, T-shirts in a variety of colors, several business suitsa"which surprised her, since he didn't look like he wore formalweara"and shoes, belts, and ties.

She opened a drawer: socks. The one next to it revealed a stack of underwear. A wave of heat shot through her. Red-faced, she shut the drawer quickly. Of course she knew that even vampires wore boxers or briefs. But she wasn't interested which category Oliver belonged to. She already knew that: he'd picked up a pair of boxer briefs off the floor earlier.

Blindly jerking a T-shirt from one of the stacks, she closed the closet door. She quickly pulled the shirt over her head and tucked its ends into her pants. It was too large for her, which was to be expected, but it did its job.

Ursula glanced at the clock on the bedside table. At least four if not five more hours till sunrise. It was time to make a decision: stay here with the vampires and hope she could convince them to help her and the other girls who were still imprisoned, or make a run for it, hoping the police would believe her story and help her.

Which scenario had the higher likelihood of succeeding?

As always when facing a monumental decision that could change her life for either the better or the worse, she contemplated each side on its own merits. First her option of escaping and running to the police: it seemed relatively simple. Only two men were in the house, one of them a human whose senses weren't any sharper than hers. While Blake looked strong, she had the feeling she could outsmart him. Not so Oliver. But knowing that vampires were nocturnal creatures, it was highly likely that he was sleeping deeply during daylight hours, making a daytime escape her only viable option. Besides, even if he woke, once she'd fled from the house, he couldn't follow her if he didn't want to be burned to a crisp by the sun.

Finding a police station shouldn't be too difficult. She could ask any pa.s.serby for directions. But once there, what would she tell them? That a group of vampires had kidnapped her and were still holding a dozen other girls captive? No. They would think she was crazy. What if she told them that some illegal prost.i.tution ring was imprisoning girls? It was a more likely scenario, and the police would surely investigate. She was sure that once she went to the Bayview district, where Oliver said he'd found her, she would find her way back to her former prison. She'd made sure to remember street names and memorable buildings.

But once the police were there, raiding the building, what would happen then? She knew that the mortal weapons the police had would never kill a vampire. What they needed were stakes and guns with silver bullets, a fact she'd learned during her captivity. The police would be slaughtered by the vampires. She herself would be far enough away to escape and be able to return home. But could she live with the guilt of having sent so many men to their deaths? And what about the other girls? Could she live with the knowledge that they were still imprisoned as blood wh.o.r.es?

Ursula shook her head.

But was her other option any better? Could she convince the vampires from Scanguards to help her and go after her captors to save the other girls and make sure this didn't happen to anybody else? The more she thought about it, the more she knew she had no choice. If anybody could fight those vampires, it would be other vampires. They would know what to expect and be prepared to fight them. It would at least be a fair fight. But if they succeeded, could she keep it a secret what her blood and the blood of the other girls meant to a vampire? Or would they find out that their blood acted like a potent drug on a vampire? Would they too want it for themselves?

Over and over she thought about the consequences of staying rather than trying to escape to take her chances with the police. In her gut, she knew the answer to her dilemma, but was afraid of admitting it to herself. As minute after minute pa.s.sed, she couldn't delay her decision any longer. She would stay.