Page 20 of Patrick’s Seduction

“Alright.”

In the car during the ride to her flat, Fallon was quiet, and Patrick used the time to go over everything she’d told him about the attack. There was no doubt in his mind that somebody had set a trap for her to come to the lab where nobody would hear her and come to her aid. He was also pretty certain that Cameron was behind this. But the rest? The attack itself made no sense if Cameron was the one who’d attacked her. Tricking her to come to the lab in the middle of the night, yes, that looked like a desperate move by her ex to be able to talk to her face-to-face, knowing that she wouldn’t invite him into her flat.

But why attack her? There had to be a good reason. Had they argued, and things had gotten out of hand? Or had Fallon tried to flee when she’d realized that Cameron was waiting for her, and had tripped during her escape? It would account for her injuries. But what didn’t make sense was her memory loss. What had caused it?

Did she have a concussion, and that was the reason for her not remembering the event? It would explain her memory loss at least temporarily. But according to the nurse, the doctor hadn’t specifically diagnosed her as having a concussion. So why didn’t she remember the attack? Or did she simply not want to tell anybody about it? He hated himself for thinking this, but he didn’t know Fallon well enough to know what was going on inside her. And he hadn’t had sufficient time to make himself a good picture of Cameron Gallagher, and what he was capable of.

He would work on that shortly, but first, he had to make sure that Fallon would heal quickly. There was no need for her to feel any more pain than necessary. He already knew how to take care of that.

When they entered Fallon’s flat, Patrick closed the door firmly behind them and flipped the deadbolt.

“You should take your medication,” he suggested.

“You’re right. I’ll get something to swallow them with.” She already made a step toward the kitchen, when he stopped her.

He pointed to the couch. “You sit and rest. I’ll get you a glass of something so you can swallow the pills.”

“You don’t have to. I’m feeling fine,” she protested.

“Let me just do this for you, okay?” he asked softly.

She relented and walked toward the sofa, while Patrick marched into the kitchen. It was small, and not difficult to navigate. Glasses sat on an open shelf over the sink. He took one and opened the refrigerator. Inside it, he perused the drinks. Since she couldn’t very well down the pills with a glass of wine, he chose the next best option, a liquid that would hide what he had to put into it. He poured apple juice into the glass, while he kept the fridge door open so his next action was hidden from Fallon, should she look over her shoulder into the kitchen. He set the glass on a shelf, willed his fingers to turn into claws, and pricked the soft pad of his thumb with it. He held the bleeding thumb over the glass to allow the blood to mix with the apple juice. The juice became a tiny little bit darker from the blood, but Fallon wouldn’t notice it. When he was done, he licked his thumb, closing the tiny wound with his saliva.

His vampire blood would help her heal much faster and eliminate the need for pain medication. It was the least he could do. The thought of Fallon drinking his blood excited him, but he tried to push that thought from his mind. Just as he ignored the next thought that emerged: in a human, vampire blood acted as an aphrodisiac.

12

Fallon popped the antibiotics capsule and the anti-inflammatory pill into her mouth and reached for the glass Patrick handed her. She watched him pull his cell phone from his pocket and start typing something. Not wanting to look curious, she swallowed the medications quickly and chased them down with a couple of large gulps of the apple juice. There was a strange taste in her mouth, and she stared at the glass. Had the juice spoiled? She sniffed at the glass, taking in its scent. There was something off about the juice. Its color looked a little darker too, not as pale as usual.

“Something wrong?” Patrick asked, concern in his voice just as a ping sounded, indicating that he was receiving a text message.

Not wanting to sound difficult, she lied, “I just don’t like taking medications.” She placed the nearly empty glass on the coffee table.

“You won’t have to take them for long, I’m sure.” He gestured to the cuts on her arms. “Luckily, they’re not very deep. It could have been much worse.”

He was right. She was lucky that she only had minor injuries. Yet, she didn’t feel lucky. She felt on edge. Her life was being upended. Nothing felt right anymore. She wasn’t safe anywhere.

“I wish I could see it that way. But no matter how superficial the injuries are, they are proof of what a mess my life is.” Right now, she couldn’t see a way out of it.

Patrick sat down next to her on the sofa, turning his body sideways to face her. “I know it’s a lot you have to deal with right now.”

Tears threatened to well up in her eyes, but she forced them down. She didn’t want to feel like a victim. She wanted to be strong. “I don’t understand why he’s doing this to me. How can somebody be so vicious? So cruel?” She lifted her hand to brush a lock of her hair behind her shoulder, and noticed that her hand was trembling. Her nerves were frayed. How much longer would she be able to keep a brave face, when all she wanted was to wallow in her pain and let the tears wash it away?

Patrick took her hand and squeezed it, making her jolt involuntarily.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly and released her hand. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You didn’t; you don’t,” she replied, raising her gaze to his face. “I know you’re doing so much for me already. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I wish all this was over already.” She sniffled. “But what if he’ll never give up? What if he never goes away?”

She expelled a breath, and with it, a sob tore from her throat. She pressed her hand on her mouth, trying to stop herself from crying, but to no avail. Maybe she needed a good cry, but she didn’t want to do this in front of Patrick. She didn’t want him to see her as a weak woman who needed a man’s shoulder to cry on.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered, trying to turn away.

Another breath, and she felt Patrick’s arms around her, pulling her against his broad chest.

“Don’t be. This is my fault,” Patrick claimed. “If I’d followed up with Cameron last night, this might have never happened…”

She lifted her head from his chest, staring at him. “You can’t know that…”