Page 2 of Don't Bite the Botanist
With a deep exhale, Tressa let the connection slip away. She had no doubts the compulsion would hold. Even without the aid ofsupernatural abilities, people would always choose to believe the comforting lie. Nope, no murderous vampires hiding in the shadows. Just another example of human brutality. Tragic, but something that happened every day in the world.
Tressa gave the woman a pat on the shoulder and stood up. “You should go get cleaned off,” she told Becca. “You don’t want your daughter to see the blood.”
The fogginess cleared from Becca’s eyes as the woman shook the trance off. “You’re right,” she said, her voice steadier. “I should go do that.”
Watching Becca hurry off down the hall toward the restroom, Tressa removed the clip that held her long black hair in a bun and let out a deep exhale of pleasure as the tension released from her scalp.
Another mission accomplished. Time to go home.
Well, almost. Tressa had already taken care of the daughter’s memories, but things could be dicey with children’s developing brains. Since the girl’s trauma had warranted an overnight stay in the hospital for observation, Tressa might as well pop by her room one last time before returning to Fall River Mills and the cadre of vamps that was her family.
Strolling down the hospital corridor, Tressa chuckled as she thought back on everything her cousin, Saiden, had recently gone through to woo his new mate, Cora. The fiery horror film director had definitely disrupted their lives over the past couple weeks, in all the best ways possible.
Even though Cora hadn’t wanted to become a vampire initially, she had taken to the undead life with ease. Not to mention her presence had turned Saiden from Sir Grumps-a-lot into Sir Grumps-a-little-less. He still sported his signature scowl most of the time, but whenever his eyes landed on his mate, it was like Tressa could see aweight being lifted off his shoulders.
And she loved nothing more than to tease him about it.
Cracking open the door to the girl’s room, Tressa peered inside and found the young one fast asleep with a relaxed expression on her face, a crochet octopus clutched tightly in her arms. Tressa grinned at the familiar stuffed toy, then gently closed the door.
Pleased that everything was once again right in the world, Tressa took off at a brisk pace, heading toward the exit. She was already leaving later than she planned, but the police had detained the woman for longer than Tressa had anticipated, meaning the single blood bag she brought with her was long gone. The five-hour drive back to the compound in eastern California was going to seriously suck.
The hallway echoed with the satisfying tick tack of her lemon yellow pumps as she made her way out of the children’s ward and back into the main corridor. Beyond that, the hospital was relatively quiet with daytime visiting hours nearing their end.
She turned a corner, and an intoxicating scent hit her like a punch to the face.
Creamy sweet vanilla.
Tressa froze mid stride and took a deep inhale. A groan nearly slipped from her lips as a shiver ran down her spine, and all thoughts of leaving vanished.
She didn’t often eat food, but something about the smell made her mouth water, a hunger building inside her that was so foreign to the usual cravings for blood. Her feet carried her several yards down the hallway before she even registered that she was moving, her mind reeling from the scent and her body marching forward of its own volition.
She thought following her nose would take her toward the front of the hospital where visitors and overworked staff flocked to the café andgift shop, but nope. It took her down a hallway marked Long-Term Care.
Odd place for a bakery, Tressa mused as she drifted down the dimly lit corridor, drawn on by the hypnotizing aroma.
Seconds later, she found herself in front of room 113, the source of that creamy vanilla scent. Her shoulders slumped, her hopes crushed. It was probably just a ‘get well’ treat brought in for a patient.
Rising on her toes to spin back toward the exit, she glanced through the small window in the door, and her eyes landed on a body lying in the hospital bed. Something about the sleeping man caught her attention, and a slight tug in her chest prevented her from walking away.
He was cute, no doubt, even with all the wires hooked up to his body. Shaggy, dirty blond hair fell to his shoulders, and his chiseled jaw sported at least a couple months growth of facial hair. His expression was relaxed in sleep, but she couldn’t help but notice the tension lines around his eyes, as if his dreams were filled with terrible images.
A strange sensation tickled the back of her mind, urging her to investigate, and Tressa’s hand landed on the doorknob.
A gust of air wooshed out when she entered the room, and that siren scent smacked her in the face again. Even if she stuck her nose in a bag of fresh-baked cookies, the smell shouldn’t be anywhere near that potent, heightened vampire senses aside.
She scanned the room, but there was no evidence of any tasty treats. In fact, the space was essentially empty aside from the medical equipment and an unused guest chair. No get well cards or photos. No flowers or balloons. No magazines or books to be read. Whoever this guy was, it didn’t look like he’d had a single visitor.
Letting the door swing shut behind her, she took a few steps closer to the patient, intrigued by the mystery of the sleeping man. A charthung at the foot of his bed, and curiosity had the file in her hand before she could even ask herself what the heck she was doing. She spent a lot of time at this hospital dealing with rogue vampire victims, and the last thing she needed was to get banned for sneaking into a patient’s room and reading his private medical record. She could only compel one person at a time, so she’d be more than a little screwed if multiple security guards showed up to drag her out of the building.
And yet, not an ounce of that logic was able to silence the persistent voice in her head that whispered there was more to this guy than meets the eye.
Flipping open the chart, she read through the first page.
At first glance, it was all pretty basic. Name: Ethan Ambrose. Age: thirty-two. Occupation: botanist. She flipped over to the intake notes next, skimming through the documentation that said he was found unconscious outside his laboratory when authorities showed up to deal with a burning building. Under cause of injuries, it simply said, “animal attack.”
Tressa scrolled through more pages, but nothing leapt out at her as to why she couldn’t shake her curiosity about the man. Of course, there was a possibility the so-called “animal attack” was actually the result of a rogue vampire. It was a common enough rationalization they’d heard police officers use in the past. But why hadn’t Baylin sent her to deal with his memories if that was the case? The question rolled around in her brain until she reached the very bottom of the page.
Status: Medical coma induced.
