The Reluctant Vampire - Lynsay Sands [89]
Harper followed her gaze, spotted Drina slumped miserably on a stool in the kitchen at the opposite end of the house and started toward her at once. Relief coursed through him just at the sight of her. He was passing Stephanie when she made an odd sound that had him glancing toward her. He frowned as he realized that her mouth hadn’t dropped open in surprise; the girl was heaving.
Slowing reluctantly, he asked, “Are you all—” And then he came to a shuddering halt as the smell hit him. His head jerked back to Drina with horror just as her head came up.
She peered at them blankly for a second, and then relief lit up her face like a Christmas tree. She promptly leapt off her stool and rushed forward, clutching what appeared to be a ratty old sheet around her as she hurried to him.
“Oh, Harper, Stephanie. Oh thank God!” she cried. “I’ve been so worried.”
Despite himself, Harper took a quick step back at her approach, but then caught himself and forced himself to stand still. He also stopped breathing, however, holding his breath in a desperate bid to keep from gagging as the woman he loved threw herself at him and hugged him.
Drina held him tightly and for a very, very long time. At least it seemed a very long time to him as he continued to hold his breath, but then she finally pulled pack to peer up at him happily. Her smile was wide, her eyes glowing . . . until she saw his face. Concern immediately replaced her relief.
“You’re terribly flush,” she said with a frown. “Have you had enough blood? Maybe you should lie down for a bit. Are you—Harper, you’re turning purple!”
“I’m fine.” He sighed on an exhale and pulled her to his chest again so that she wouldn’t see his face as he inhaled another breath. Dear God, he thought as the toxic fumes wafted from the love of his life to fill his mouth and lungs. Oh Good Lord in heaven, he moaned inwardly, barely managing not to whimper aloud.
“I wanted to come up—” Drina began, and then paused as she peered past him. “Stephanie? What are you doing way over— Oh.”
She deflated like a punctured balloon, and then flushed with mortification and—avoiding Harper’s eyes—scrurried quickly back to her stool. She crawled back onto it, her shoulders slumped and every line of her body speaking of misery. Her voice was much subdued when she said, “I’m glad you’re both all right, and that you came down so I could see for myself. You can both go back upstairs now with the others, though, if you like. I understand.”
Harper turned to see that Stephanie had moved over to a desk holding a computer, about as far as she could get and stay in the room. He supposed that and the girl’s dismayed expression were what had recalled Drina to the matter of her scent.
Sighing, he glanced back to Drina, and then forced himself to move across the room to join her. With every step, he assured himself that his senses would deaden to the scent quickly, and he could bear it till they did. Still, he couldn’t help holding his breath as he approached and stood in front of her.
“What—?” she began when he appeared before her. But when Harper simply caught her upper arms and pulled her against his chest, she fell against him with a little sniffle that told him how much it meant to her. He suspected his Drina did not cry often, if at all. A weepy woman would never have passed for a male pirate, and he doubted gladiators could afford the luxury of weeping, either.
Harper heard her inhale and glanced down curiously to see that she had her nose pressed to his chest and was trying to inhale his scent. He wondered that she could smell anything over her own stench, so wasn’t terribly surprised when Drina sighed miserably, and mourned, “I can’t smell you. I love your scent, but I can’t smell you.