Catherine came slowly awake. She blinked up at a high ceiling that didn’t look anything like her apartment. It was too pretty; edged with fancy trim. Her hands smoothed over satin sheets. Nope, definitely not her apartment. She noticed the scent on the bed. She turned her face into the pillow and breathed a little more deeply.
She knew that scent.
“Who are you?” she whispered to herself.
She pushed herself up to sitting, looking around the dark room. There was a lamp on by the door, and from what she could make out, a hella lot of antiques, mostly Georgian. Not that she was an expert, but she liked to watch documentaries about people with old money and too much time on their hands. For fun. Although it wasn’t really fun because it kind of depressed her too.
“Nice place,” she managed hoarsely. She pushed the blanket aside. Her wrists and ankles were raw. She started to rub her wrist and then decided against it because it hurt more to touch it than to leave it be.
She’d hoped last night had been a bad dream, but that she wasn’t at home and the marks were on her wrists and ankles proved her otherwise. She felt her neck. The scabs were still there, sore at the touch.
Vampires?
She would’ve been perfectly happy to go her whole life not knowing they were real. How did you un-know something like that?
She placed her bare feet on the wooden floor. At least someone had taken those godawful shoes off of her. Then she stopped.
She knew who had taken her shoes off.
Just like she knew whose bed this was.
Her heart sped. Calm down, Catherine. Just because he’s the hottest thing you’ve ever gotten this close to, and he happened to come to your rescue, and you’re in his bed…
Actually, wait—she didn’t even know his name. She knew his scent, and blue eyes. He’d acted like he knew about the vampires, like he would have believed her when she told him what had happened. Only she hadn’t had a chance to tell him at all, because she’d passed out instead.
“Well done, Catherine,” she said to herself.
Darcy Branwyn 
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