For a moment, both kept still, neither one sure of where to start. Anya moved first. She sat up quickly, grabbing at her blanket as she did so, covering her nakedness. She did not dare to move any further, afraid he might take it as a sign that she was trying to escape. What was this man capable of?
Not that it made her feel any less exposed. She was well aware of the way he was looking at her. His eyes were intent, hungry almost. They seemed to see right through her.
She clutched the blanket feebly to her chest as her mind sifted through the questions in her head.
"What's your name love?"
His voice was rich and deep, seductive without even trying. Her heart thudded in her chest.
"Anya." She was surprised at how steady her voice sounded.
"Anya," he repeated silkily, her name rolling smoothly off his tongue.
A gentle throb was starting at her clitoris. Why was this man having such an effect on her? She tried to ignore his incredibly lean, muscled chest, and kept her gaze to his face, willing herself not to glance south.
"You said you would explain yourself, you had better start now," she said, crossing her arms, then quickly grasping at her blanket as she felt it slip downwards an inch.
She thought she saw him twitch. His demeanor changed, almost imperceptibly. For a moment, a dark look crossed his eyes, but it disappeared with a blink.
He sighed, closing his eyes. She studied his long lashes, trying to read his expression. Was he trying to come up with a lie? A story to make sense of last night? If only she knew what he was thinking.
There was a minute or two of silence. Finally, he spoke.
"My name is Tyrus. I was born in 1798 and I died in 1828. I have lived as a vampire since that day."
He paused, watching for her reaction. She gave away nothing, but her heart was thudding harder now. There was nothing on his face to show that he was joking. Crazy or not, he believed what he was saying.
He continued, "I can imagine what you must be thinking. We vampires have worked very hard to cover up our existence over the past few centuries. We are now nothing but myths, stories in popular fiction and movies. Nothing for our prey to worry about or even suspect.
"Whether or not you believe me, you must know that I am risking a lot by telling you this. I do not wish to harm you, but if you so much as whisper a word of this to anyone, I will have to kill you."
There was a gravity to his tone. She nodded, unable to speak. It was absurd and yet, a part of her started to wonder if it could be true.
"Why tell me then?" Her voice was barely a whisper now, any pretence of bravado was gone.
"If I am honest, I do not know. I had meant to take away your memory of last night," he answered. As he did so, a slight smile crept to his lips, "but it would be a pity to forget all of what happened, wouldn't it?"
Anya felt her face flush immediately, as her stomach did a somersault in response to his mention of their night together. A memory of them intertwined, caught up in their passionate tryst, entered her head without warning. She frowned, remembering something else.