"This isn't a game." He attempted to put his arms around me in an odd, stifling hug, but he was pulled back before he touched me. Thierry stood behind him.
"Sarah," Thierry said. "Is he trying to make you do something you don't want to do? You can tell me."
I opened my mouth but found I couldn't reply to him.
Thierry took a step closer to me, but the Red Devil grabbed him, turned him around, and then sank a wooden stake into his chest. I let out a horrified scream.
Thierry met my gaze. "Why did you help him, Sarah?"
I shook my head. "I… I didn't mean to. I love you, Thierry!"
He whispered something that I couldn't hear and then he disintegrated before my eyes.
"No!" I cried.
My dreams about Thierry—prophetic or not—always seemed to end with him getting staked. But it hadn't happened in real life. It wouldn't happen. I wouldn't let it.
It was just a dream.
I would be normal. I would be happy.
I would.
"Ow," was my first word upon waking up. There was a cool cloth pressed to my forehead.
George blinked down at me.
"Morning, sunshine," he said to me, and then, "She's awake."
"Good." Thierry was back in the room, his eyes now returned to their normal silvery shade of gray. His arms were crossed and he frowned deeply. "How are you feeling, Sarah?"
"Like I should be checking my spleen for splinters."
"Can you sit up?"
"I don't know."
His right hand was on my shoulder, the other on my back, and he supported me as I slowly brought myself up to a sitting position. It hurt, but not as much as I would have thought it would. He sat beside me so I could lean against him.
"Yes, sitting I can apparently manage," I said.
Thierry reached over to undo the top buttons on his spare black shirt, which I now wore, and he peeled the bandage away from my chest. My bra and camisole were ruined and had been thrown into the garbage.
"You're already starting to heal." His warm fingers stroked softly over my bare left breast.
I sucked in a quick breath. My chest ached from my wound, but it didn't stop the rest of my body from tightening with desire at his touch. "Good to know."
He didn't remove his hand. We stared into each other's eyes.
George cleared his throat. "Uh… should I leave the two of you alone?"
"In a moment." Thierry moved his hand away so he could replace the bandage. "Sarah, I went outside to see if I could find Heather and her boyfriend."
"Did you find them?"
"Yes." He stood up from the sofa. "A man, whom I am assuming is the boyfriend, was left dead in the park next to the remains of what I'm sure is Heather. They were both killed.
However, I did retrieve your coat."
My eyes widened. "Was it… did you—?"
He shook his head. "No, I didn't kill them, although I definitely wanted to."
I frowned. "It must have been the Red Devil."
"Pardon me?"
I took a breath. "Right after I was staked a man appeared. He wore a scarf over his face so I couldn't see what he looked like. He called himself the Red Devil and he carried me back here and then I guess he left. If it wasn't for him, I'd be dead. He saved me."
"You were outside the door when the bouncer found you. Someone knocked. I assumed it was you just before you lost consciousness."
I shook my head. "It must have been him. Have you ever heard of him before?"
Thierry eyed George without expression. George, on the other hand, looked beside himself with excitement.
"The Red Devil?" he asked. "He's back? This is so wonderful! I thought he was gone forever."
"The Red Devil is an urban legend," Thierry said.
"No, he isn't." George turned to me. "Sarah, you just met one of the coolest vampires in history. He's a hero. He saves our kind from harm, like the Lone Ranger or Zorro. He swings in, kicks butt, then leaves, and no one knows who he is. At least he used to. He hasn't been seen or heard from in a hundred years. But now he's back. You are so lucky!
Was he hot?"
"Scarf on face," I reminded him. I shifted position on the sofa and the leather squeaked.
"He was tall, though. And are you serious? He's some kind of a vampire superhero?"
"Urban legend," Thierry corrected. "That some have taken to heart and perhaps are trying to emulate. The Red Devil doesn't actually exist. He never has. But whoever this impostor is, I do owe him my thanks for saving your life."
I frowned. "He killed Josh… and Heather."
"Yes, he did."
My masked hero was now a murderer. Vigilante justice. Maybe under that scarf he looked like Charles Bronson, only with fangs.
They'd tried to kill me. I suppose it was an eye for an eye, but still, it was disturbing, to say the least. I'd considered Heather a friend—her betrayal still stung. And now she was a puddle of goo. I guess she was older than I thought she was, since only really old vamps disintegrate when killed. Younger vamps and fledglings stayed in one solid but dead piece.