Chapter Three

Hayley

When my eyes snap open, a couple of things are immediately clear: that the right side of my head feels like it was slammed repeatedly against a concrete wall and that I have no idea where the hell I am.

Panic sets in as I frantically take in my strange surroundings. I'm in a large room with cream-colored walls, laying down on a king size bed with a silver down comforter and matching throw pillows. The only other furniture in the room is a deep cherry wood desk on the opposite side of the room. Nothing adorns the plain, off-white walls. And while there are papers on the desk, I note that they're stacked neatly. Everything is organized and in pristine condition.

My hand reaches up where my head is throbbing and I feel a bandage covering up what seems to be a deep wound. I groan as I finally piece together what probably happened to me.

Who else would be the owner of such a luxurious bedroom? I mean, who can afford an apartment in Manhattan with central air conditioning? The cool temperature in the room sends a shiver down my spine and I'm tempted to snuggle into the soft sheets to keep warm.

And then there's the obvious clue: who in the world would bother to take care of me? There's no one who would give a damn except the one man who needs me alive—at least it seems he needs me for the plan he's cooking up.

Elijah.

I suddenly feel a bit embarrassed and self-conscious. I don't doubt that I'm in Elijah's apartment and that I'm safe here, but I can't control the sudden urge to make a quick exit. I don't like that he's seen how incompetent I am at protecting myself. Though I was way off my game tonight, usually I don't end up unconscious at some stranger's home. I've been taking care of myself for a long time and I don't want to give him the impression that I'm some damsel in distress who needs his help.

I gather up my resolve and decide to bolt. If Elijah needs me for his cockamamie plan to "save the wolves" he can track me down. I have no doubt that he will find me again.

Slowly, I scoot off the bed and tip toe quietly outside the door—and then my jaw drops. If the room I was sleeping in was a bit bare in its décor, the rest of the apartment is anything but. Paintings are hung up all along the walls—lighting up the space with vibrant colors. Most of the artwork seems to be impressionist, but I note a few modern, abstract pieces littered throughout. A huge chandelier hangs over what appears to be a living area, complete with black leather furniture and a fireplace. There is a winding staircase that leads to a second floor that I imagine is decorated as lavishly as the ground floor.

This is definitely an apartment suited for Mr. Park Avenue. And though it's dark outside, I'm sure that in the daylight, if I looked out the window I would see Central Park in all its beautiful, lush glory.

The sound of a cabinet door closing snaps me out of my musings. I scurry towards what appears to be the entryway, which is next to the kitchen area. I note that the light in the kitchen is on, so I tiptoe closer to the door. I'm about to reach for the doorknob, when a deep, masculine voice stops me.

"Leaving already?"

Damn it. I turn around to face Elijah though I'm pretty sure my face is red from humiliation. My eyes flick up to meet his for a second and I see that there's no judgment or anger in his gaze. His dark eyes are warm and he's lips are quirked up a in a slight smile.

I can't stand it. I don't need his pity. But I also can't leave without acknowledging him…what he did for me.

I stare at my feet and mumble, "Um. Thanks for taking care of me or whatever. I'm not sure what happened, but um, I appreciate it."

Elijah doesn't speak, so I step closer to the door. "Anyway, I'll get going. Thanks again—"

I'm about to reach for the knob, but Elijah, with his original vampire speed, gets there before I do. His rough, large hand encloses mine, and a thrilling sensation crawls up my spine—even though we're just holding hands.

"Your choice is your own. But it would concern me to let you go outside after what you've been through tonight. Especially since the one responsible for your injury is none other than myself."

I glance at his face and notice that his brows are furrowed and his eyes are downcast. He seems remorseful and I immediately want to lighten his mood. I hardly know this guy, but I would bet my life that he would never lay a hand on me. Time to let him off the hook.

"Elijah, stop being ridiculous. I know you didn't do this to me. So, it's ok. You don't have to feel guilty."

His thumb rubs softly against my knuckles and my heart pounds hard against my chest. It scares me shitless that his slightest touch affects me this much.

Elijah's voice is barely a whisper. "Please don't go, Hayley."

The tender way he speaks to me, his pleading tone touches me. I make my decision. Even though it might be a mistake.

I give his hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it from my grip—and I can see a flash of hurt cross his face—as if I'm rejecting him.

Then my hand curls into a fist and I punch him in the shoulder playfully. Again, his eyes light up and I'm rewarded with an endearing, small grin.

"Well, if you insist on hosting me in your crazy luxurious apartment, I won't say no. Now what have you got to eat in this joint? I'm starved and you don't want a hungry wolf on your hands—trust me."

Elijah laughs and gestures to the kitchen across from the entryway. "Right this way. I'll prepare something for you."

I'm sitting at an island in the middle of the spacious kitchen when Elijah places in front of me a plate of the most elegant spaghetti I've ever seen. And it smells divine. Who knew that the original vampire could cook? Watching Elijah's confidence and ease working in the kitchen, prepping the ingredients and simmering the basil tomato sauce, was like watching a dance. I've never seen Elijah happier. His pure pleasure for cooking is sexy as hell.

Elijah hands me a fork and my stomach growls loudly. When was the last time I ate? He seems a bit nervous as I twirl the delicate noodles and take my first bite. He raises an eyebrow in anticipation of my review, but I don't leave him in suspense too long.

I moan loudly and stab more spaghetti with my fork. "Ohmygod. Elijah, this is amazing. Try this!"

Before he can protest, I stuff the fork into his mouth. He almost chokes from surprise, but nods in agreement. "I'm glad the pasta is to your liking."

I roll my eyes. That's an understatement. Compared to my usual dinners of ramen noodles and potato chips, this is one of the best meals of my life.

I twirl up another big helping of spaghetti and close my eyes as I take another bite. I put down my fork and fix Elijah with a serious look.

"You should be doing this for a living."

"What? Serving food to beautiful ladies?" He flashes me a flirty smile and winks.

I blush at his corny line despite myself and return his smile. "No, you should be a chef. I've never tasted anything this good. And I can tell you love it."

Elijah shakes his head, "I don't have time for such an undertaking."

I shrug and continue polishing off my plate. It's really none of my concern what Elijah does with his life, but I feel a twinge of disappointment. He's clearly passionate about food—so why does he make these lame jokes and excuses?

"I suppose hatching plans against vengeful exes takes up most of your time?"

The words are harsher than I intend, and though Elijah's lips tighten, his face is a mask. And it's damn annoying. Does that shell of his ever crack?

His dark, soulful eyes look into mine and his hand reaches out to me, lightly touching the bandaged area on my face.

My own hand reaches up and holds onto his. We stay like that, holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes for a while before I speak.

"So what happened to me?"

Elijah exhales deeply and takes his hand away from mine to run it through his wavy brown mane. "Bill, the young werewolf you fought earlier tonight, came back. He hit you on the head with a bottle and knocked you unconscious."

I'm afraid of the answer, but I have to ask, "Is he…?"

Elijah looks away from me and doesn't respond—I have my answer. Shit. I'm furious that this poor kid got mixed up in this mess. It wasn't his fault. Katherine compelled him to kill me and now he's dead. I ball up my hands into tight fists and my whole body shakes with anger.

I only relax when Elijah walks over to me and places his hands on my shoulders to calm me down.

"Hayley, I owe you an apology. This night—what happened to you—I'm to blame. If you want to leave now, I won't stop you. I'll help you leave the city and I promise you'll never see me again."

Elijah's look of concern is enough to convince me of his sincerity. This is my opportunity. What I've been waiting for—a chance to escape. But the thought of leaving now, knowing what I know—and the lives of the wolves that are at stake, twists me up inside. I can't go. I'll stay. I'll fight.

I gaze up at the vampire's handsome face with a determined stare. "What's the plan, Elijah? I'm in."