For several minutes they continued like that, her combing her hair while they glared, until with a muttered, “Marta never complained,” Christofer turned his back on her, picked up her discarded towel and threw it in the bathroom. When he turned back around and found her gaping at him, her mouth wide open as she looked at him with unmitigated horror, he asked, “What?”

“You…,” she started to say, only to pause so that she could swallow back the revulsion that was sending her already queasy stomach into turmoil, “you did that to Marta?” she finally managed to get out, horrified at the thought of Marta being forced to suffer through that kind of torture. She’d barely survived it and couldn’t imagine a woman in her eighties surviving such an ordeal.

“Of course,” he said with a frown as though there was nothing wrong with what he was admitting to doing.

“Y-you sick bastard!” she snarled, horrified on Marta’s behalf.

“What?” he asked with a puzzled expression on his otherwise handsome face, which did nothing but make her shake her head in disgust.

“How could you do that to an eighty year old woman?” she demanded, wondering how she’d missed Marta’s screams for help those times that Christofer had helped his sister with her shower routine, the one thing that Marta had refused to allow Cloe to help her with.

Now she wished that she had ignored Marta’s wishes and taken over that chore. It would have added another hour or two to her day, but at least Marta would have been able to enjoy a pain free bath for at least a little while.

“Eighty?” Christofer repeated back, looking as though he had no idea what she was talking about. Then with a sigh and a shake of his head, he explained, “I haven’t bathed Marta since she turned twelve.”

“You helped bathe her every morning,” Cloe pointed out even as her brain struggled to register what he’d just said and what that meant.

“No, I just helped her get in and out of the shower,” Christofer explained just as she realized what he’d said only a few seconds ago. “She needed help, but she was embarrassed about…..some marks on her body,” he said, shifting his gaze away.

“You bathed Marta until she was twelve?” she asked, wishing that she’d misheard him, but she had a sneaking suspicion that she hadn’t.

Which meant……

“How old are you exactly?” she asked, swallowing back dread as she looked him over, really looked him over as though she was seeing him for the first time.

The man was utterly perfect. There wasn’t a single flaw marring his face or body. There didn’t seem to be a single ounce of fat on his body. His hair was a healthy golden blonde, his eyes crystal clear blue, and his skin perfectly tanned. He didn’t look a day over twenty-five, but could probably pass for a thirty year old with the right clothes. But if he’d been able to bathe Marta when she was twelve, that meant that he was-

“I’m ninety-nine years old,” he announced with a shrug as though it was no big deal and to him it probably wasn’t.

Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t just shrug it off, not when the realization that she’d made out with a senior citizen had her running for the nearest toilet.

Chapter 29

“Cloe,” he said with a heavy sigh as he hunched down in front of her and moved to push a strand of damp hair out of her face.

“Go away,” she muttered angrily, pulling her knees up and hugging them tightly to her chest. She looked so damn lost and scared that all he wanted to do was pull her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay, but he couldn’t do that.

Right now Cloe was terrified and confused, not to mention getting closer and closer to losing control of the monster inside her, and he was afraid of doing anything that would make it worse for her. He’d hoped that she would be relaxed after her bath. It would have made the transition to drinking blood easier, but somehow that plan hadn’t worked. He still couldn’t figure out where he’d gone wrong.

Women loved baths and they especially loved being pampered. At least, he’d always thought so. His stepmother had always seemed to enjoy it when his father would pamper and spoil her as did his aunts and the servants that had worked for his family. He’d seen more than one maid giggle and blush under the attentions of an admirer when they were surprised with bouquets of flowers, chocolates and gifts. But Cloe, as he was beginning to understand, was not a typical woman. She hadn’t appreciated his attempts to help her relax. Every time he realized that she wasn’t enjoying herself he tried harder to help her relax, but nothing seemed to work.

Now they were out of time and he was running out of options. If he didn’t do something soon she was going to fall prey to what Ephraim had referred to as bloodlust and if that happened, he was afraid of what that kind of loss of control would do to a woman like Cloe. He couldn’t take back what he’d done to her, but he could make this transition easier for her, but only if she let him.

“Just leave me alone,” Cloe mumbled, absently shoving his hand away, clearly intent on continuing to sit on the bathroom floor feeling sorry for herself.

With another sigh, he sat down in front of her. He ignored the murderous glare that she shot him since acknowledging that she had every right to go for his balls was counterproductive at the moment. He decided to try another approach to get her to listen before he was forced to finally give up, drag her to the kitchen and force feed her a half dozen bags of blood before this f**ked up situation got any worse.

“Cloe,” he said, pausing as he tried to figure out what he could possibly say to convince her to listen to him and trust him when Cloe gave him the opening that he needed.

“I just want to go home,” she mumbled pathetically, averting her eyes as she roughly rubbed the back of her arm across her eyes, letting him know just how upset and terrified she really was and breaking his heart. More than anything he wished that he could take her in his arms, hold her tightly and make all of this go away, but he couldn’t.

“Cloe-”

“I’m not going to tell anyone about any of this. I just can’t deal with being here, Christofer,” she said slowly, clearly struggling not to lose what little control she had left.

He thought about lying to her, telling her that everything would be okay and that this wasn’t really a big deal, but he couldn’t lie to her. It killed him to see a strong woman like Cloe breaking down like this, but if it helped him explain to her why it was so important for her to stay here then he was going to be blunt with her and pretend that it didn’t kill him to be the one to destroy her last shred of hope.

“If you leave right now, Cloe, you will kill someone before the night is over,” he explained softly, praying that his tone was enough to soften the blow. Judging by the way that she’d flinched as though he’d struck her along with the absolute look of horror on her face, he realized there was nothing that he could say or do that would make this easier.

So he stopped trying.

“I would never-” she started to protest with a determined shake of her head, but he didn’t allow her to finish, knowing that the words would come back to haunt her one day.

“Yes, you would,” he said firmly, reaching out and taking one of her trembling hands into both of his. “You think that you can control this, that you can control what you are, but the truth of the matter is, Cloe, that right now you pose a danger to every man, woman and child that makes the mistake of crossing your path.”