Between a Vamp and a Hard Place Read Online Free PDF

stake. Really? I laughed to myself. This had to be a prank. I looked around for hidden cameras. If this wasn’t one of those reality TV shticks, I’d be shocked. Of course it made sense that this was a setup. An apartment in Venice that had been untouched for years? A secret room with a vampire? I wasn’t born yesterday. I knocked on the edge of the coffin, unamused. “Nice try, buddy, but I don’t buy the vampire thing. Get up.”
    The actor in the coffin didn’t move.
    Exasperated, I put my hands on my hips. “I’m serious. I don’t know who set you up to this, but it isn’t funny. I don’t believe in ghosts, and I certainly don’t believe in vampires. Good effort, though.”
    He didn’t move. Didn’t respond. I stared at him for a long moment to see if his chest rose with breath, but it was hard to tell in the flickering lantern light.
    I was quickly getting past amused and heading straight for annoyed. Was all this stuff down here a plant, then? One big prank to get me excited and try to scare me to death? If so, it wasn’t working. I was pragmatic at best, and I didn’t have time for this stupid stuff.
    â€œCome on,” I told the silent actor. “Don’t make me call the cops on you. Get up.” When he didn’t respond again, I lost my patience and grabbed at the stake “in” his chest.
    As I grasped it and pulled backward, my fingers brushed against his. I realized, too late, that his fingers were as cold as ice. But then the stake was in my hand and I was stumbling backward, shocked.
    No human hand was that cold. No way.
    As I stared down at the body in the coffin, the chest expanded, filling with air.
    The man’s eyes opened.
    I gasped.
    And he looked right at me.
    â€œUm,” I said, clutching the stake in my hand. “Hi?” I held the stake out to him. “This must be yours. A-are you a real vampire, then?” I backed up, then froze when my legs brushed against one of the crates. I was terrified, but I was also not about to break the priceless treasures in here by scrambling backward.
    The man sat up slowly, like a man waking up from a nap. He rolled his neck and stretched his shoulders, his movements graceful and sinuous. It would have been a pleasure to watch had I not been holding the stake I’d just pulled from his chest.
    He slid his legs over the side and hopped out with an ease that made me nervous. He said something that sounded like a question, and his voice was low and husky.
    I shook my head, still clutching the stake. “I didn’t catch that.”
    He tilted his head, watching me, and his eyes narrowed. As I stared at him, his nostrils flared, as if he was scenting the air. Then he said something else in that strange language I couldn’t make out. It wasn’t exactly Italian. It sure as heck wasn’t English.
    â€œI don’t understand you,” I said as he continued to stalk toward me. I glanced at the stairs, but I was too far away to get to them in time. I was pinned between a gorgeous, mysterious, undead man and crates full of pottery. Damn it.
    He moved toward me, and I inhaled sharply. He smelled . . . strange. Like exotic spices. It was something I’d never smelled before, but it was pleasant. Except now? Now he was standing so close that I could see the utter perfection of his pale skin and the fact that his eyes were blue under those dark russet lashes.
    He touched my cheek, and his hand was ice-cold.
    I gasped and stepped backward, but I was still backed against a stack of crates. There was no place for me to go.
    The stranger said something else in a low, soothing voice. Then, before I could point out that I still didn’t understand him, his lips parted and I watched as fangs emerged from his mouth. With snakelike speed, he hauled me against him and sank his fangs in my throat.
    I squealed, choking at the burst of pain. I felt his teeth