He had thought it would be an easy thing, living by night and sleeping by day. He had assumed he would be able to walk among mortals, to dance and laugh and make love as before, but it was not to be. The hunger, new and untamed, roared to life whenever he allowed himself to mingle with humanity. In the beginning, unable to help himself, he had satisfied his thirst nightly, often at the expense of some poor mortal's life. Only after many decades had he learned to control his beastly appetite, to take a few drops instead of a life.
He had learned, to his dismay, that while he looked human, he was an outcast, a creature who would never again belong to the family of mankind.
He had learned, over the centuries, what true loneliness was…
And now he stood in the shadows of the cafe, watching Sara. Dressed in a gown of palest pink, she looked as fresh and natural as a wild rose. Her young man sat beside her, his hand holding hers, his gaze rapt upon her face, and who could blame him? She was a vision, an angel, fair of face and form, with a laugh as soft as a sigh, and a smile more radiant than the sun.
Envy rose within Gabriel, and his hands clenched into fists. It took every ounce of his self-control to keep from crossing the room and breaking the young man's neck. One quick twist would do it. Just one.
Sara, my sweet Sara, why did I ever let you go?
She looked up then, her head turning in his direction, her gaze probing the shadows.
Had she heard his thoughts? Did she know he was there? But that was impossible.
And yet she was rising, walking away from the table. He stood in the shadowed corner, his body trembling as she drew near. He could feel her gaze searching the darkness. But for the terrible weakness that plagued him, he would have dissolved into mist and disappeared.
"Gabriel?"
"Go away."
"Gabriel! Is it you?"
"Don't come any closer, Sara."
She stopped, confused. "What's wrong?"
"Go away."
She licked her lips nervously, wishing she could see him more clearly, but he seemed one with the shadows. "I'll go," she said, "but only if you promise to come to me later."
"I cannot."
"I've missed you, Gabriel."
"Have you?"
"Yes." She took a step forward. "You're in pain, aren't you?"
"How do you know that?" he asked sharply.
"I felt it when it happened. I feel it now."
"Go, Sara, please go."
"You'll come to me later tonight?"
"Yes." The word was torn from his lips.
Two hours later, he knocked at the door of her apartment. Like a callow youth courting his first girl, he stood in the shadows, uncertain and a little afraid.
He heard Sara's voice telling someone named Babette she was dismissed for the night. A moment later, Sara opened the door, and he was overcome with a rush of wild emotion.
"Gabriel! I'm so glad to see you. Come in, come in."
"The lights," he said, hugging the shadows. "Put out the lights."
She frowned at him a moment, then went to do as bidden. Only then did he enter the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
For a moment, he stood there, guilt rising up to meet him. She had no idea what she had invited into her home.
"Gabriel?"
"How are you, Sara?"
"Fine. And you?" He heard the underlying note of concern in her voice. "Won't you sit down?"
With a nod, he sat down on the damask-covered settee.
"Can I take your cloak?" she asked.
He shook his head, retreating into the concealing folds of the hooded garment.
She stood in front of the sofa, her hands toying with the wide blue sash of her dress. "I'm glad you're here. I've missed you."
"You were wonderful tonight," he said.
She flushed with pleasure. "You were there, at the opera house?"
"Indeed. I've never seen anything more beautiful,
cara
. Truly, you were born to dance."
"I do love it so."
He took a deep breath, his hands clenching beneath the voluminous folds of his cloak.
"And the young man who was with you at the cafe? Do you also love him?"
"Maurice?" She laughed softly. "He is just a friend."
"But he would like to be more?"
"Yes."
"Do you love him?" The words were harsher this time, demanding an answer.
"Perhaps, a little."
"Has he asked you to marry him?"
She didn't answer immediately. He could hear the sudden, nervous hammering of her heart, hear the blood rushing through her veins, heating her cheeks.
"Has he?" Gabriel prompted.
"Yes. He said we should marry and start our own ballet company." The thought made her smile. "He said we would tour the world."
He felt the rage building within him as he imagined her married to her young man, walking with him in the sunlight, giving him children…
Summoning centuries of self-control, he fought down the urge to strike out. He had no right to intrude in her life, no right at all. Maurice was the kind of man she deserved. Young, handsome, ambitious. Someone who shared her love of the dance, someone who could share the days and nights of her life.
Someone mortal.
He wanted to kill him.
"If you wish to marry him, I shall see that you're well taken care of. I have a rather large apartment in Marseilles. It shall be yours on the day you wed, as well as a generous monthly allowance."
"I couldn't—"
He held up a hand, silencing her arguments. "You have no parents to provide for you, and I would not see you totally dependent on whoever you decide to wed."
Hurt and confused because he seemed anxious to see her wed to another, Sara took a step forward, then sat down on the opposite end of the settee.
"Is that why you came here, to marry me off to someone else?"
"What do you mean?"
She lowered her gaze. "I've never stopped thinking of you, Gabriel. Every night, I hoped you would come to see me, that you were missing me, longing for me, as I have been longing for you."
She looked up at him, her gaze quietly pleading. "I know you thought I was just a child, that I was too young to know my own mind, my own heart, but I love you, Gabriel. I loved you then, and I love you now."
"Don't!"
"Why? Why can't I love you?"
She reached out to him, and he jerked away. The movement dislodged the hood, allowing her to see his face for the first time.
"Gabriel! What has happened?"
"Nothing," he said, replacing the hood. "An accident."
Before he could stop her, she sprang to her feet and lit the lamp.
"No!" He covered his face with his hands, only then realizing what a mistake it had been to come here.
He cowered before her as she lowered the hood, then pulled his hands away so she could see his face.
"Oh, Gabriel," she murmured, her throat constricting with horror. "My poor angel."
He turned away, not wanting her to see the ruin of his face, not wanting to see the pity he knew would be reflected in her eyes.
A low groan, half pleasure, half pain, rumbled in his throat as Sara drew him into her arms, rocking him gently, as a mother would comfort a wounded child.
"Tell me what happened," she urged.
"I was burned…" His voice was low, muffled against her breasts.
"Burned!" A vivid image of the fire at the orphanage flashed through her mind, and with it, the memory of pain, horrible, excruciating pain. "Oh, Gabriel," she murmured, "I thought it was only a dream."
"A dream? What are you saying?"
"I dreamed of you, dreamed that you had been badly hurt. It was so real. I felt the heat burn my skin…"
She was examining his hands and arms as she spoke, her eyes filling with tears as she saw his burned flesh. "How did it happen?"
He closed his eyes for a moment, her touch soothing him as nothing else could. "It doesn't matter. I was careless. It's not as bad as it looks."
"Does it hurt dreadfully?"
"Not now."
Sara drew him into her arms again as if she knew that her touch brought him solace. "How long will you be here?"
"I… I don't know." He had planned to see her dance, to assure himself that she was well and happy, and then leave. But now… how could he leave her now? Her very nearness was like a soothing balm to his troubled soul; her touch brought surcease from the pain of his wounds.
"Stay," she entreated. "Please stay."
"I don't want to complicate your life."
"How could you do that? You're my guardian angel, remember?"
"I remember,
cara
." With an effort, he withdrew from her arms. "I must go now."
"You'll come tomorrow night?"
"If you wish."
"I do, very much. Will you meet me outside the opera house? We could go to dinner."
"No. I shall come to you here. At midnight."
She rose with him, her eyes shining with happiness because she would see him again. "You won't change your mind?"
"No, but your maid, Babette, must not be here."
Sara nodded. She supposed it was natural that he wouldn't want anyone else to see him. "Won't you… will you… ?"
Gabriel frowned at her. "What is it you wish, cara? You have only to name it, and it's yours."
"Won't you kiss me good night?"
He nodded slightly, intending to do no more than brush his lips across hers. As if suspecting as much, she stood on her tiptoes, her hands gently cupping his ravaged face as she pressed her mouth to his.
Light exploded through him, brighter than the glow of a thousand candles. It flowed through him, clean and pure, filling his mind with images of warm summer days and sun-kissed mornings bright with dew.
Stunned, he stumbled backward, and after murmuring a hasty farewell, he took his leave before she could see the blood-stained tears that dampened his cheeks, before he fell to his knees at her feet and begged her to see past the monster he had become and love the man who no longer existed.
"What do you mean, you can't see me after the show?"
Maurice stared at her, his brow furrowed, his eyes mirroring his confusion.
"I have an appointment," Sara replied.
"An appointment? With whom?"
"An old friend." An exasperated sigh escaped Sara's lips. "If you must know, I'm meeting Gabriel."
Understanding replaced confusion in Maurice's eyes, but only for a moment as jealousy quickly took its place. "So, he's finally come to see you after all these years."
"Yes."
"Do you think it's wise for you to meet with him alone?"
"What do you mean?"
"How will it look, the two of you being alone together in your room?"
Sara felt a blush stain her cheeks. It wasn't proper to entertain a man alone in her apartment. But Gabriel wasn't just any man. He was her benefactor; but, more than that, he was her friend, the closest thing to a family that she had. But it wasn't that thought that brought the flush to her cheeks. It was the knowledge that she wanted to be more to him than a protégée. Much more.
"It will be all right," Sara said, keeping her voice carefully cool and calm. "After all, he's been supporting me for the past five years. I can hardly refuse to see him." She hated lying to Maurice. It wasn't Gabriel who had insisted on seeing her. Quite the opposite, in fact.
"Someone should be there with you," Maurice insisted. "A chaperon, if you will."
"Babette will be there," Sara lied.
Maurice laid his hand on her arm. "I love you, Sara. I only want what's best for you."
"I know." She gazed into his eyes, wishing she could return his affection, but she belonged to Gabriel heart and soul, had been his since the first time she saw him on her veranda.
"Marry me, Sara," Maurice implored. He dropped to one knee and took her hand in his. "I know I'm not nearly good enough for you, but you'll be rich in love if nothing else, I promise you that. Only say yes."
"Maurice…"
"It's him, isn't it?" Maurice rose to his feet, his eyes blazing with anger and jealousy. "You're infatuated with that old man."
"What makes you think he's old?"
"Isn't he?"
Sara frowned. She'd never given any serious thought to Gabriel's age. Thinking of it now, she realized she truly had no idea how old he was. To look at him, one would guess him to be in his late twenties, and yet he seemed much older, much wiser.
"Sara?"
"I don't know how old he is, and I don't care. I'm not running off with him, Maurice. He's only coming by to see how I'm doing."
"Then it won't matter if I'm there."
"I'm afraid it will matter very much."
"Sara…"
"I don't wish to discuss it any further, Maurice. Quick, give me a kiss for luck. There's my music."
She danced that night as never before, certain that Gabriel was somewhere in the audience. Her solo was for him and him alone. When she looked at the prince, it was Gabriel's face that loomed in her mind; it was Gabriel's kiss that awakened her from her enchanted sleep.
She had hoped he would be waiting for her outside the theater, but he was nowhere to be seen. Maurice insisted on walking her home.
She bade him good night at the door, assuring him she would be fine.
She dismissed Babette for the night, bathed quickly, slipped into a modest dark blue velvet dressing gown with a froth of lace at the throat. She lit several candles, filled a bowl with apples and cheese, placed a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table.
She was all aquiver by the time she heard his knock at the door.
Taking a deep breath, she crossed the room and opened the door.
He stood in the shadows as before, his face hidden in a hooded cloak as dark as the night.
"Gabriel," she exclaimed, her voice filled with joy. "Come in." She closed the door behind him, wishing she could keep him there forever. "Let me take your cloak."
"No."
"You needn't hide your face from me."
"Sara…"
She walked toward him, her hand out. "Let me take your cloak, Gabriel. It's warm in here, and you'll be more comfortable without it."
"I was thinking of your comfort."