Chapter 28.

"Ow! Stop!"

"Hold still," Christofer demanded with an expression of determination that actually frightened her as he- "Ouch!" she hissed as more shampoo seeped into her eyes.

"Stop opening your eyes," he said, sounding drained as he continued to tangle his fingers in her hair, somehow forcing more shampoo to drip down her face and seep into her eyes and mouth.

"I can do this myself!" she snapped. She moved to take over when he stopped what he was doing to gently, yet insistently, push her hands away so that he could continue with the torture.

"Not with your hand still bleeding," he patiently pointed out with a touch of exasperation, throwing the body part in question a pointed look that had her sighing and reluctantly moving her hand to hang over the side of the tub where he'd told her to keep it when he'd started this line of torture more than twenty minutes ago.

"About that," she said, cringing when he accidentally yanked out a strand of her hair. He muttered a, "sorry," but continued, unfortunately, with his self-appointed task. "Don't you think it's about time that we accepted the fact that I haven't fully turned into what you are and go to a hospital for some good old fashioned st.i.tches?" she suggested, raising her injured hand in front of his face and wiggled her fingers. Well, tried to wiggle her fingers, but the gauze that the bossy b.a.s.t.a.r.d had insisted on coc.o.o.ning her hand in prevented her from moving any of her fingers.

He took her hand in his and gently placed it back where he'd had it, hanging over the tub before he continued washing her hair. At least, that's what she'd a.s.sumed he was doing. He shifted by the side of the tub where he knelt and if her hand hadn't been killing her, and she wasn't starving and struggling to ignore the mouthwatering aroma that Christofer was giving off, she'd probably be able to appreciate just how good he looked in those black boxer shorts.

G.o.d, did he look good, so good, that all she wanted to do was to run her hands over him, caressing his skin as she mapped out every delicious muscle. She wanted to lick every square inch of his body, starting with that happy trail of dark blond hair that disappeared beneath his shorts and end with the spot on his neck that she constantly found herself staring at as she tried not to lick her lips, the spot where she could see his pulse beating just beneath the skin. Her stomach growled loud enough to draw her attention away from his neck and back to her biggest problem.

She needed to escape and ummmm, and.....ummmm..........

G.o.d, he smelled soooo good! Licking her lips, she allowed her gaze to drift back towards his neck, but the realization of what she was doing and thinking had her quickly shifting her attention back to the soapy water and squeezing her eyes tightly shut. She counted to ten and when that didn't help, she counted to a hundred all while she tried to convince herself that the mouthwatering aroma that was a.s.saulting her senses was coming from a double cheeseburger with the works and a side of crinkly fries and not from the man that was pouring more soapy water into her eyes and that she had every reason in the world to hate.

"Your hand will heal as soon as you drink some blood," Christofer softly explained even as he poured more of that soapy water that was stinging her eyes over her head.

Annoyed, she moved to open her eyes to glare at him as she told him exactly where he could shove his advice, but was instantly forced to squeeze her eyes shut and squeal as a full cup of soapy water was poured over her face. It seeped into her eyes, causing her to do a combination of gasping and cringing as she frantically tried to wipe soap out of her eyes. She opened her mouth to ask for a towel so that she could wipe her face, but unfortunately, Christofer had chosen that moment to turn the shower on.

At full blast, making her squeal as she was. .h.i.t with ice cold water.

"s.h.i.t!" Christofer groaned as he, thankfully, shut the shower off.

"Could I-abadowel?" she started to ask, only to have the rest of her question m.u.f.fled as Christofer pressed a large, fluffy towel against her face and proceeded to smother her.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" she demanded, pretty sure that he was trying to kill her as she somehow managed to push his hands away.

His frown was not adorable! she told herself with a glare as she s.n.a.t.c.hed the towel out of his hands. When he went to help her with the towel, self-preservation kicked in and she slapped his hand away.

"Ow!" he grunted, but didn't take the hint and get the h.e.l.l away from her before she was forced to do bodily harm to him. "Let me help you," he said, moving to grab the towel away from her again, this time ignoring her mad slaps.

"Ow!" she cried as he somehow managed to pinch the side of her left breast when he wrapped the towel around her and secured it. She opened her mouth to tell him to get the h.e.l.l away from her, but as soon as she opened her mouth she ended up gasping for air and frantically yanking at the towel that he'd somehow managed to wrap around her so tightly that breathing became impossible.

It took a few frantic attempts, but once she finally managed to yank the towel off and sucked in several deep breaths, she shot him a murderous glare that quickly gave way to panic as she saw him sorting through a pile of combs and brushes. Knowing and fearing where this was going, she scrambled to get out of the tub and bathroom before he could get his hands on her, but sadly, he was a h.e.l.l of a lot faster than her.

"Put me down!" she demanded, struggling in his arms as she did her best to fight her way to freedom, terrified for her precious hair and scalp that had no chance of survival if he got anywhere near them with the large plastic comb in his hand.

"Shhh, just relax, mein Schatz," he murmured as she sat down on the edge of the bed and placed her down rather roughly on his knee. Before she could take advantage of the move, he had his arm wrapped tightly around her waist and was bringing that comb down towards her hair.

"Stop!" she demanded, grabbing hold of the hand that wielded that dangerous weapon and held it away from her.

With an exasperated sigh, he pulled his hand away from her and brought the comb closer and closer to her hair until she was left with no other choice but to scream like a girl.

"What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?" he demanded, cringing even as he moved to continue with his sick plans.

"What the h.e.l.l is wrong with me?" she repeated in disbelief, slapping at the hand coming at her until she finally managed to knock the comb out of his hand. "What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?" she demanded.

"Nothing!" he snapped, shooting her a glare as he tossed her onto the bed and moved to go get the- Oh, h.e.l.l no!

Before the thought even had a chance to form in her head, she found herself on his back as she attempted to place him in a chokehold so that she could- "What are you doing?" Christofer asked as he easily peeled her off his back and placed her on the bed.

"Stopping you from your next attack, you sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" she snarled, more than ready to attack him again if he so much as looked in the direction of that comb.

"Next attack?" he murmured, looking adorably confused. "What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

"You are not scalping me!" she snarled, the shades of red sharpening as she felt the tip of one fang scratch her tongue, and for the first time since she'd woken up to discover that he'd turned her into a monster, she welcomed the creepy changes, hoping that she could use them to her advantage.

"Scalping you?" he repeated back as he shot a questioning glace at the comb before looking back up at her. "I'm not trying to scalp you."

She snorted at that, shaking her head in disgust. "Just like you weren't trying to strangle me when you helped me take off my clothes? Or you weren't trying to drown me when you dunked my head under water? Or blind me when you kept pouring soapy water in my eyes? Or suffocate me when you-"

"I was trying to help you relax!" he snapped, looking so d.a.m.n disgruntled that she was surprised to find herself fighting back a smile.

But, then his words sank in and she couldn't help but frown as she asked, "Relax? How in the h.e.l.l was being mauled relaxing?"

"I wasn't mauling you!"

"Yes, you were!" she snapped back, tightening the towel around herself as she climbed off the bed, careful not to give him a peepshow, not that he hadn't already seen everything.

"I was giving you a relaxing bath!"

She snorted at that as she stomped over to his bags and without bothering to ask for permission, tore through them until she found a grey tee shirt and a pair of plaid boxers that she could pull on. Once she was dressed, she stomped past him, picked up the comb off the floor and sat back down on the bed. She set to work on carefully combing the snarls out of her hair all while glaring at the b.a.s.t.a.r.d that was glaring right back at her.

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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" 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 ch.o.r.e. 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 embarra.s.sed 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 pa.s.s 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 d.a.m.n 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 bloodl.u.s.t 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 b.a.l.l.s 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.u.c.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."

"You don't know that," she bit out tightly even as her stomach rumbled viciously as if to give credence to his words.

"Yes," he said, looking up and meeting her terrified gaze, "I do."

"I would never hurt anyone," Cloe said weakly as the truth of his words sank in.

But that's not why she was starting to believe him.

The reason that she was starting to believe everything that he was telling her was quite simple. The tenuous grip that she had on her self-control was quickly slipping away with every pa.s.sing second. If she didn't get away from him or figure out another way to get through this, any other way, she wasn't going to be able to ignore Christofer's scent for much longer and that would destroy her last hope that she wasn't really a monster.

She refused to accept this.

She didn't want to be like this, didn't want to crave something so wrong and she sure as h.e.l.l didn't want to worry about losing control and- "I can help you, Cloe," Christofer said, cutting into her panicked thoughts before they could take her to a place where she had no hope of escape. "I can help you get through this, learn to live with the changes. I can show you how to stay in control, but I can't help you unless you let me."

She released a mortifying sniffle as she forced herself to focus on the way that his hands gently held hers. She refused to meet his gaze, terrified that he'd see just how afraid she really was.

"You're the one that did this to me," she lamely pointed out, struggling to hold onto the last strands of her humanity even though she already knew that it was a losing battle.

He gave her hand a small squeeze, but it was enough to make her look up and meet his determined gaze. "And if you give me a chance, I'll be the one to fix this."

Terrified of what she would become without his help, she reluctantly nodded. "Just don't let me turn into a monster," she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze head on.

"I'll do my best," he said, giving her hand another gentle squeeze that was probably meant to be rea.s.suring and surprisingly, it was.

Christofer sighed heavily.

He couldn't help it.

"That's not going to work," he pointed out, but she refused to listen to him.

With a mutinous glare aimed in his direction, Cloe picked up the piece of toast slathered in peanut b.u.t.ter and strawberry jelly and took a huge bite out of it. After a few seconds of chewing, her glare shifted to shock, disbelief and finally disgust as she turned around, grabbed the trashcan with both hands and spit out every last crumb. When she was done, she turned on the sink, cupped her hands in the water and proceeded to rinse her mouth out while he stood there, sighing heavily as he wondered just how much longer it would be before she finally listened to him.

"You need blood, Cloe," he said for what was probably the hundredth time since he'd decided to try and fix the f.u.c.k up that the others had created.

"I want to see if this works first," she stubbornly argued as she pushed the offending plate of toast away and with the same look of determination that had accompanied every single "test" as Cloe liked to call them, she grabbed the box of wheat crackers that she'd found in the cabinets, opened a sleeve of crackers, grabbed a small stack and shoved them into her mouth until it became obvious that this test had failed as well and she was reaching for the trashcan.

"Stop doing this to yourself," he said, his exasperation clear as he watched her go through the process of rinsing out her mouth before that look of determination returned and she forced herself to reach for a can of beef stew.

"No one told you that you had to watch," she said, keeping her focus on the small can as she grabbed a can opener and removed the lid. Cloe cringed when the aroma of cold, chemically preserved beef hit her, causing her to gag a little, but it apparently wasn't enough to make her give up this asinine plan of hers. He watched as she went through the process once again, this time pausing to rinse her mouth out twice as long to get rid of the taste of chemically preserved beef from her mouth.

"Are you about done yet?" he asked, noting that she was quickly running out of food to test.