Page 15 of Brushed By Moonlight

That’s where he was — whoeverhewas. In the attic, directly above me.

A scream built in my throat, held back by a wall of sheer fear.

It took everything I had to back away from the brink of panic and think. Maybe it was just a really nasty dream?

No, I decided. I was wide awake, and his — or her — presence loomed over me.

A presence that emitted no scent, no sound, no nothing. Which meant…?

Finally, it hit me.Vampire.

Henrik?

My pulse revved, and I cursed. The more my blood pumped, the more it would call to him. My sensual dreams had already tinged the air with the scent of desire. Rushing blood would only intensify the draw on him.

I did my best to lie still, slow my heart rate, and think.

The attic was filled with small rooms used as staff quarters in the old days. A long, dim corridor ran the entire length of the house, meaning a person — or vampire — could creep from the west to east wing without encountering any obstacle, apart from cobwebs.

So, yikes. Henrik had been out exploring and found his way to the space directly over my bed. Coincidence?

I doubted it.

The question was, what would he do next? Could a vampire move through walls — or ceilings? Was he liable to burst through at any moment, or would he be content to quietly savor the scent of my life’s blood like secondhand smoke from a nice, relaxing joint?

I doubted that too.

Then another thought struck me. Vampires could enthrall with their voices. Could their mere presence enthrall in a similar way?

My skin crawled as I pictured offering myself to him willingly. I imagined his body pressing against mine… The punch of his fangs… The suction in my veins as he gulped one mouthful of blood after another—

I clenched my hands, cutting off such thoughts. How likely was Henrik to come after me in his very first night at the château? Vampires were parasites. It made no sense to kill off his host, right?

I grimaced at the unintentional pun.Hostcertainly fit.

So, maybe he didn’t intend to kill me. Maybe he just wanted a sip of his favorite drink every night. Was he already trying to enthrall me into wanting that, and possibly more? He could come back again and again, wipe my memory, and I would never know.

My stomach churned.

One thing was clear. The longer I lay there, the more I would be at his mercy. A strange buzz was already building around my mind. The early stages of his thrall?

I had to get away, and fast. But moving would let him know I was onto him. Worse, it could even excite him.

I thought hard. Option One — to yellFuck off, Henrik!at the top of my lungs — didn’t seem wise. Option Two — hightailing it out of bed — was no better, because where would I go?

That left Option Three. I gulped, desperately searching for a better plan.

The buzz in my mind increased from the level of a single bumblebee to a dozen hornets.

I forced a few deep breaths. Fine. Option Three. To move without moving. A trick my great-grandmother had been proud of mastering, but that I had only ever tried twice. Once, it had gone perfectly. The other time, I’d nearly “moved” myself right out of existence. Was I really ready to risk that?

The hair standing on my skin yelped,Risk it! Risk it!

I closed my eyes and pictured myself in bed. The angle of my limbs, the shape of my body. I memorized the feel of the sheets, the pattern of wrinkles in the blanket. I cataloged tiny eddies in the air above and around me.

Then, picturing exactly that scene, I slid silently out of bed, tiptoed to a corner of the room, and looked back.

My body was still in bed, slumbering peacefully. The blanket was wrinkled, and air wafted around my huddled form exactly as it had before.