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He had fangs.

She must have gasped because he muttered, “I told you not to look.”

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered. “Tell me those are fake.”

“They aren’t.”

She pinwheeled backward until she hit the wall. Holy…good God.

“What…are you?” she choked out.

“No sunlight. Funky choppers.” He inhaled raggedly. “Take a guess.”

“No…that isn’t…”

He groaned and then she heard a shuffle, as if he were moving around. “Could you please shut that lamp off? My retinas got toasted and they need some time to recover.”

She reached forward and clicked the switch, then snapped her hand back. Wrapping her arms around herself, she listened to the hoarse sounds he made as he breathed.

Time passed. He didn’t say anything further. Didn’t sit up and laugh and take out a fake set of teeth. Didn’t tell her that he was Napoleon’s best friend or John the Baptist or Elvis, like some kind of crazy lunatic.

He also didn’t fly up into the air and try and bite her. Didn’t turn into a bat, either.

Oh, come on, she thought. She couldn’t be taking him seriously, could she?

Except he was different. Fundamentally unlike any man she’d ever met. What if…

He moaned softly. From the glow of the TV, she saw his boot poke out from behind the couch.

She couldn’t make sense of what he thought he was, but she knew he was suffering now. And she wasn’t going to leave him on her floor in agony if there was something she could do for him.

“How can I help you?” she said.

There was a pause. Like she’d surprised him.

“Could you bring me some ice cream? No nuts or chips if you have it. And a towel.”

When she came back with a bowlful, she could hear him struggling to sit up.

“Let me come to you,” she said.

He went still. “Aren’t you afraid of me now?”

Considering he was either delusional or a vampire, she should be terrified.

“Would a candle be too much light?” she asked, ignoring the question. “Because I won’t be able to see at all back there.”

“Probably not. Mary, I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

She put the ice cream down, lit one of her larger votives, and rested it on the table next to the couch. In the flickering glow she took in his big body. And the arm still over his eyes. And the burns. He wasn’t grimacing anymore, but his mouth was slightly open.

So she could just see the tips of his fangs.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” she murmured, while she picked up the bowl. “You’ve had enough chances to already.”

Draping herself over the back of the sofa, she spooned up some of the ice cream and leaned down toward him.

“Here. Open wide. Häagen-Dazs vanilla.”

“It’s not to eat. The protein in the milk and the cold will help the burns heal.”

There was no way she could reach where he’d been scalded, so she pulled the couch back farther and sat on the floor next to him. Working the ice cream into a thick soup, she used her fingers to smooth some of it over his inflamed, blistered skin. He flinched, flashing those canines, and she had a moment’s pause.

He was not a vampire. Couldn’t be.

“Yes, I really am one,” he murmured.

She stopped breathing. “Can you read minds?”

“No, but I know you’re staring at me, and I can imagine how I’d feel if I were you. Look, we’re a different species, that’s all. Nothing freaky, just…different.”

Okay, she thought, putting more of the ice cream on his burns. Let’s try this whole thing on for size.

Here she was with a vampire. A horror icon. A six-foot-eight, 280-pound horror icon with a set of teeth on him like a Doberman pinscher.

Could it be true? And why did she believe him when he said he wouldn’t hurt her? She must be out of her mind.

Rhage groaned in relief. “It’s working. Thank God.”

Well, for one thing, he was too busy hurting right now to be much of a threat. It was going to take him weeks to recover from these burns.

She dipped her fingers into the bowl and carried more of the Häagen-Dazs to his arm. On her third round, she had to lean down close to make sure she was seeing right. His skin was absorbing the ice cream as if it were a salve, and he was healing.