His gaze met hers. Whispering her name, he lowered his head and kissed her.
It was a chaste kiss, warm and sweet, one with no demands, no expectations. She thought of Dominic’s kisses, filled with fire and passion, then thrust the thought away.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” Bryan asked.
“Okay.”
He smiled at her, revealing the dimple in his cheek. “Good night, Tracy.”
“Nite, Bry.”
She watched him walk down the steps and open the car door. He blew her a kiss before sliding behind the wheel.
He really was a nice boy.
She was smiling when she unlocked the door and went into the living room.
She stopped smiling when she saw Dominic standing in front of the fireplace, his arms folded across his chest, his face like something set in stone.
“Am I late, Dad?” She forced a teasing note into her voice, hoping he wouldn’t hear the fear beneath.
“He kissed you.”
She tilted her head to one side. “So?”
“You are mine, Tracy. I do not want another man’s hands on you. I do not want to smell his touch on your skin.”
“Then don’t.” She stared at him, her heart pounding. Was she mad to defy him like this? Anger radiated from him like heat from a forest fire. She didn’t believe for a minute that he was actually a vampire, but he was a man, a big man, one capable of doing her great bodily harm if she pushed him too far. “I’m sorry,” she said contritely. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“I do not drink coffee.”
“Milk? Tea? Hot chocolate?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I’m all out of fresh blood.”
“Do not mock me.”
His eyes narrowed as his gaze moved to the pulse throbbing in her throat. Maybe it was only her imagination, but she would have sworn she could feel his fingertips caressing her neck, feel his breath on her cheek, followed by the heat of his mouth and the sharp prick of his teeth....
She jerked her head up and the sensation disappeared. “I think you’d better go.”
“Do not see that boy again.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” So much for being meek and lowly. “I’ll see whoever I wish, whenever I wish.”
He took a step forward. “If you see him again, I will not be responsible for what happens.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, my best beloved one, it is a warning. If you care for the boy, you would be wise to listen.”
The look in his eyes, the soft menace in his voice, sent a shiver of unease down her spine. Even though he wasn’t a vampire, it occurred to her that he would be a very dangerous man to run afoul of.
“You still do not believe me,” he murmured. “Perhaps this will convince you.”
Before she could ask what he meant, he was engulfed in a sort of silvery haze and then, between one heartbeat and the next, he was gone and in his place she saw a fine gray mist.
She felt the blood drain from her face. This was not some hypnotic suggestion, not some magician’s trick done with mirrors. It was the same silvery haze she had seen that night in the kitchen.
The mist swirled around her ankles, drifted upward until it surrounded her like a cold gray fog.
“Stop it!”
The sound of her voice had barely died away when he stood before her once more.
With a bravado she did not truly feel, she said, “Can you turn into a bat, too?”
“You still do not believe?” he murmured, and before she knew what he was doing, he had pulled her against him.
The next thing she knew, she was standing in a dark alley watching Dominic. Watching him lift a homeless man out of his ragged blankets and into his arms. Watching his fangs lengthen. The man struggled a moment, then went limp. Dominic bent over the man’s neck and when he lifted his head, his fangs were stained with blood.
“Now?” he asked quietly. “Now do you believe?”
She stared at him in horror and then, for the third time in her life, she fainted.
Chapter 9
Dominic caught her in his arms and willed them back to Nightingale House. Upstairs, he sat on the edge of her bed and cradled her against his chest. Amazing, he thought. No matter her shape or form, she always fit in his embrace as if she had been made for him, as if she were the other half of his body, the missing half of his soul.
He studied her face, the gentle arch of her brows, the dark sweep of her lashes against her cheeks, the tempting shape of her lips, the slight cleft in her chin, the slender column of her neck.
The pulse beating there. Though he had fed earlier, the hunger stirred within him, stretching like a big cat awaking from sleep, its claws raking his insides.
He took a deep breath and his nostrils filled with her scent—perfume and shampoo and toothpaste. He could detect the boy’s touch on her skin. And, over all, the tantalizing smell of her blood, rich and red, flowing through her veins.
His fangs lengthened.
His arms tightened around her as he lowered his head.
Just one taste. Surely, after so many centuries, he deserved just one taste.
He ran his tongue over the skin below her ear, growled low in his throat as he jerked his head up. He had vowed he would never take her by force, never take her unawares. He swore softly. Whether he took a single sip of her blood or brought her into his world, it had to be her decision, her choice.
Rising, he pulled back the covers and laid her down on the mattress. After drawing the blankets up over her, he smoothed a lock of hair from her brow, then bent and brushed a kiss across her lips.
Murmuring, “Sweet dreams, my best beloved one,” he vanished from the room.
She woke to the ringing of the phone beside the bed. Still groggy, she grabbed the receiver to make the ringing stop. “Hello?”
“Hi, Tracy, it’s Bryan. Did I wake you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, sorry. I thought you’d be up by now. I was wondering if you’d be coming down to the beach today?”
She blinked the sleep from her eyes and tried to focus on the clock. Noon! She never slept this long.
She was about to tell him she would meet him there in an hour when Dominic’s warning rippled through her mind.
If you see him again, I will not be responsible for what happens.
She wasn’t sure if Dominic would actually carry out his threat, but she wasn’t willing to find out.
“Tracy?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve got some work to do.”
“All right,” he said, the disappointment evident in his tone, “maybe some other time.”
“Have a good day, Bryan.”
“Yeah, thanks—you, too.”
Feeling like she’d just ripped the wings off of a baby bird, Tracy hung up the receiver.
Feeling numb, she stared up at the ceiling. Dominic was a vampire. She couldn’t deny it any longer, not after what she had seen last night.
There was only one thing to do, and now was the time to do it. Scrambling out of bed, she took a quick shower. After dressing in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, she threw some clothes in a suitcase, packed up her toiletries, then gathered up her paints, an easel, and several blank canvases. It took several trips to carry everything down to her car. Going back to the house, she filled an ice chest with ice, then loaded it with the perishables from the fridge. She dropped a loaf of bread, a box of crackers, a box of cereal, some canned goods and a couple of candy bars into a grocery sack, then carried the ice chest and the sack out to the car, as well.
She walked through the house one last time. Seeing her laptop, she decided to take it along. After making sure everything was turned off, she locked the place up and drove away. Her first instinct was to go home to her folks, but after a moment’s thought, she knew she couldn’t go there, couldn’t take a chance that Dominic would follow her. She couldn’t put the lives of her parents at risk. So, she just drove away, heading north. She wasn’t sure where she was going, just some place far, far away, some place where he would never find her.
By late afternoon, she had left her house, the ocean, and, hopefully, Dominic, far behind.
At dusk, she pulled into a restaurant for dinner, then found a nearby motel where she could spend the night.
Inside, she locked the door behind her, then dropped her suitcase on one of the twin beds. There was something about motel rooms that she found depressing. This one was no different from most: twin beds covered with dark green spreads, drapes heavily lined for those who wanted to sleep during the day, a TV set bolted to the wall, an ugly, nondescript carpet on the floor.
She switched on the TV, flipped through the channels until she found an old Tom Hanks movie, and turned the sound down low.
The Money Pit
had always been one of her favorites and she sat down on the edge of the bed and lost herself in the antics of Hanks and Shelley Long. She even found herself laughing out loud once or twice.
When the movie was over, she went into the bathroom and turned on the tap in the bathtub. She felt a shiver of unease when she looked out the bathroom window and saw that it was dark out. Dominic would be stirring now. How long until he discovered she wasn’t home? How long before he realized she wasn’t coming back?
She put her hair into a ponytail, tossed her clothes on the floor, and stepped into the tub. Lying back, with her eyes closed, she let her mind drift.
She tried to blink back her tears as she smoothed the collar of her son’s uniform. He was so young, barely sixteen.
He smiled at her and for a moment it wasn’t her grown son looking at her, but the little boy he had once been. “How do I look, Ma?”
“Mighty handsome.” She stroked his cheek. “Mighty handsome. Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Ma . . .”
“Promise me, Jacob. Indulge your poor old mother.”
“I’ll be careful, Ma, don’t worry. We’ll whip those Yanks in a week, you’ll see.””
She could hear the eagerness in his voice, see it in his eyes. “I’ve gotta go, Ma. Tom’s waiting.”
Tom Myles was Jacob’s best friend. They had grown up together, played together. It was only fitting that they would go off to war together.
She followed him out onto the verandah, blinked back her tears as he mounted his grandfather’s horse.
“Make us proud, son,” his grandfather said, handing Jacob the reins.
“I will, Gramps.”
Charles shook hands with his grandson and with Tom, then climbed the steps to stand beside her, one arm draped across her shoulders.
Forcing a smile, she waved to her son, unable to shake the awful foreboding that she would never see him again this side of heaven.
They stood there until the boys were out of sight, then Charles went inside, leaving her to stand there alone, her heart breaking.
Dominic came to her that night. Knowing that there were no words that would comfort her, he took her into his arms and held her close, one hand stroking her hair. The tears came then, flooding her eyes, soaking his ruffled shirt front. She cried until she felt hollow inside, until there were no tears left.
“Libby, come away with me,” he said
. “
We can go north. You’ll be safe there, with me.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I have to be here when . . .” She swallowed hard. “I have to be here when Jacob comes home.”
He didn’t argue; instead, he took her by the hand and they walked down the tree-lined path that circled the main house. The air was heavy with the scent of honeysuckle and magnolias. If she tried hard enough, she could pretend that nothing had changed, that there was no war.
When they were out of sight of the house, Dominic drew her into his embrace again, not as a friend this time, but as the man who loved her. To her shame, she went into his arms willingly. He was her only comfort, the only security in a world gone mad, and she clung to him with mindless desperation while he held her and stroked her. It was wrong, so wrong. Her husband, Warren, had been dead less than two years and now her son had gone to war. But, right or wrong, she needed Dominic, needed his strength.
She rested her cheek against his chest, remembering the night they had met three years ago. She had been at a cotillion with her husband when she looked up and saw a tall, dark stranger with piercing gray eyes watching her. She had stared at him, bemused by the feeling that she had met him before—though of course that was impossible. She would never have forgotten a man like that. He lifted one dark brow under her frank regard, then sketched a bow in her direction.
She had been appalled when he asked her to dance. She was a married woman. He was a stranger. Warren had started to protest but she had waved off his objections, saying they must make the newcomer welcome in their midst.
They danced together as though they had done it for years, fit together as though they had been molded one for the other.
They had said little but there was no need for words. When the music ended he had escorted her back to her husband, bowed over her hand, and bid her good evening. They had both known they would meet again. And they had. He seemed always to know when Warren was away from the plantation. He came to her always in the dark of night, appearing out of the shadows as if he were a part of the darkness itself. He spoke to her of faraway places, read poetry to her, brought her gifts—a hat from Paris, a bit of silk from the Orient, a pair of tortoiseshell combs for her hair, a book of Shakespeare’s plays, a silver-backed comb and brush, a gold heart on a fine gold chain. She felt guilty for accepting his gifts, yet she could not refuse.
He was there to comfort her when her mother passed away from a fever. He was there to hold her when Warren was swept away while trying to save one of the Negro children from drowning in the river.
And he was here tonight, when she needed him most.
“
I’ll never see Jacob again.”
“Libby, you cannot know that. Even I cannot foretell the future.”
“I know.” She lifted a hand to her heart, a heart that was slowly breaking. “In here.”
“Then come away with me, my best beloved one. Now. Tonight. Charles can run the plantation. There is no need for you to stay.”
She looked up at him, tears stinging her eyes once again. “Don’t you understand? I have to be here for . . . for Jacob when he . . . when he comes home. Later, when he doesn’t need me anymore, then . . .” She looked up at Dominic and dissolved into tears.
“As you wish,” he said, drawing her body close to his. “I will not force you, or rush you.” He stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “I will wait as long as it takes, my best beloved one, should it take a year or an eternity.”
They had neither. The war grew more intense. Times grew hard, but not for Libby or those she was responsible for. Dominic managed to find food and fuel and clothing. More than once, he was there to defend them against the enemy.
But he wasn’t there the afternoon the raiders came. They stormed through the house, carrying away the silver, Warren’s rifle, and whatever else caught their fancy.
Libby drew back in horror as one of the raiders burst into her bedroom, his intent clear in his eyes. She had fought him with all her strength but it had not been enough and when she knew he meant to defile her, she made a frantic grab for the gun holstered at his side. They struggled over the weapon and somehow the gun went off.
The pain was like being hit by a sledge hammer. It drove her backward, knocking the breath from her lungs. At first, she hadn’t known what it meant. And then she had seen the horror in the raider’s eyes as he scuttled off the bed and stared down at her.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled drunkenly. “I never . . . I didn’t mean to . . .” Face pale, he had run out of the room and left her there.
Staring at the blood slowly spreading over her bodice, she had called for Charles, for Pansy, for Bedelia, but no one answered her call. Murmuring Jacob’s name, she slid into oblivion.
When she woke, Dominic was holding her in his arms. In her weakened state, she had imagined that his eyes were red. She tried to say his name, but she was too weak.
“Libby. Can you hear me? Libby!”
She wanted to comfort him. His voice was filled with such pain, such grief, but she was too weak to lift her hand, too weak even to say his name.
“Come to me,” he said.
She stared at him, not comprehending.
With a low growl, his lips drew back.
She stared at him in helpless horror as he ripped open his wrist and held it toward her.
“Drink,” he said. “It will preserve your life until I can bring you across.”
“No.” She mouthed the word but no sound emerged from her lips.
“Drink.” It was a command now. “Drink, Libby. I cannot lose you again!”
Somehow, she found the strength to murmur, “What are you?”
“I will explain it all to you later,” he said urgently. “Now you must drink before it is too late.!”
But she had lost too much blood. “It wasn’t Jacob’s death I saw,” she said, her voice tinged with wonder. “It was my own. . . .”
She stared up at Dominic, no longer frightened by his dark mien, no longer frightened of anything. His image paled, the room faded as she stared toward a light that grew brighter, brighter.