He could feel Maurice's hatred, his distrust and revulsion, but stronger than those emotions was the man's jealousy.
But it wasn't Maurice who held his attention. It was Sara. She moved with innate grace, her gown flowing around her ankles, the moonlight shimmering in her hair. He had tried not to love her, had tried to stay away from her, but to no avail, and now he knew he would not let her go. He had told her she must decide whether she would stay with him or not, but should she decide to leave him, he had no intention of letting her go. Right or wrong, willing or not, she would be his for as long as she lived.
Sara unlocked the door to her apartment, then stood on the top step with Maurice while Gabriel went inside to make sure the house was empty.
A moment later, he motioned them inside.
Sara went from room to room, turning on lights. When she returned to the parlor, Maurice was sitting on the sofa. Gabriel was standing before the hearth, one arm braced against the mantel. She could feel the tension vibrating between them.
"Would either of you care for a cup of…" She looked at Gabriel and smiled sheepishly. "Tea?"
"I'd like a cup," Maurice said.
"Gabriel, would you like a glass of wine?"
"No."
She glanced from one man to the other, wondering if it was safe to leave them in the room together and then, with a shrug, she went into the kitchen and filled the teapot with water.
Maurice slipped his hand into his coat pocket, feeling a sense of relief as his fingers closed over the crucifix. "She's going to marry me," he said.
"Is she?"
"Yes."
"I don't think so."
"You can't keep her with you. It isn't natural. What kind of life can she have with a…"
"Monster?" Gabriel supplied softly, his eyes narrowing ominously.
"Exactly! She's a young woman. She deserves more out of life than you can give her."
"Perhaps."
Maurice's hand tightened around the cross. "Leave her alone."
"You're a fool, Delacroix. She's mine. She's always been mine."
"You won't have her!" Maurice stood up. "Do you hear me, vampire? You will not have her!"
"Who's going to stop me? You?"
"Gabriel! Maurice! Stop it!"
"Tell him, Sara Jayne. Tell him you're going to marry me."
"Maurice…"
"Tell him!"
"I…" She bit down on her lower lip as she glanced from one man to the other. "I haven't decided what I'm going to do."
"So that's the way it is," Maurice said heavily.
"I'm sorry, Maurice. Right now I can't think of the future. For all we know, I might not even have a future."
"Nina won't have you,
cara
," Gabriel said quietly. He crossed the room. Taking the tea tray from her trembling hands, he thrust it at Maurice. "Go to bed, Sara."
Sleep. Suddenly all she wanted to do was sleep, to forget everything, if only for a little while. Without a word, she went into the bedroom and closed the door.
"You should get some rest, too," Gabriel told Maurice. "You'll have to keep an eye on Sara tomorrow."
Maurice placed the tray on the side table and poured himself a cup of tea. He stared at Gabriel over the rim of the cup. "Who's going to protect me from you while
I
sleep?"
"You have nothing to fear from me," Gabriel replied, "though killing you would be sweet indeed."
"That makes me feel a lot better," Maurice muttered. He set the empty cup on the tray and then, with a last glance at Gabriel, he went into the spare bedroom and shut the door.
A wry grin twisted Gabriel's lips as he heard Maurice turn the key in the lock. Foolish mortal, he mused, to think he was safe behind that flimsy wooden door.
Restless, he paced the room, the smell of garlic strong in his nostrils. He stared at his palm, noting that the burn from touching Maurice's crucifix was still raw and red.
Garlic and holy water, sunlight and silver crosses—such ordinary things, and yet they had the power to weaken him, to destroy him.
With a start, he stared toward the window. And there, deep in the shadows of the night, he sensed the presence of another immortal.
Antonina.
Yes, Giovanni, I am here.
Leave her. Leave this place.
He sensed her smile, knew she could feel his gut-wrenching fear—fear for Sara's life, for his own.
I shall have my revenge, Gianni. She shall suffer for days, but your suffering shall last for eternity.
Nina!
Too late, Giovanni. You should not have refused me. I wanted only to give you one night of pleasure. Now she shall have many nights of pain. And you will feel what she feels, Gianni. That will be my revenge.
Nina, wait…
But she was gone.
Cursing himself, cursing Nina, he went into Sara's bedroom, needing to see her, to ascertain that she was all right.
He stared down at her for a long while. Lying there in her high-necked white sleeping gown, with her golden hair spread across the pillow, she looked like an angel newly fallen to earth. Her goodness, her generosity of spirit, made him ache for things that were forever lost to him.
Needing desperately to hold her, to touch her, if only for a moment, he slid under the covers and drew her into his arms.
She stirred at his touch. "Gabriel?"
"Go back to sleep,
cara
," he whispered.
"Is something wrong?"
"No, love. I just wanted to hold you."
With a sigh, she snuggled against him, her arms stealing around his waist, her legs entwining with his.
He closed his eyes, reveling in her nearness. Her scent filled his nostrils; the warmth of her touch filled the emptiness in his soul, chasing away the darkness. He needed her touch, he thought, needed it to survive as surely as he needed to quench the hunger that damned him.
But there was no thought of taking her as he held her in his arms, only a sense of peace.
Sara… He'd known her such a short time, less than a quarter of a century. Twenty-one years, a mere moment of his existence compared to the centuries he had walked the earth. And yet, of all the years he'd known, he treasured the ones he'd spent with Sara above all others.
He felt her gaze moving over his face, her hand delving under his shirt to explore his chest in ever-widening circles.
Opening his eyes, he saw her staring at him, her expression open and vulnerable.
"Love me," she whispered. "Please, Gabriel, I need you to hold me. I'm so afraid."
And so, he thought, was he. More afraid than he'd ever been in his life. How could he go on existing if Nina destroyed the fragile creature in his arms? How would he ever live with the guilt?
With a low groan, he buried his hands in the wealth of her hair and then, slowly and deliberately, he covered her mouth with his. Her tongue met his like a streak of living flame, spreading light and heat through every inch of his body, every fiber of his being. He clutched her to him, his need for her, his fear for her, overriding any thought of gentleness. She was his woman. Right or wrong, she was his and he would defy the heat of the sun or the fires of hell to protect her.
With a low growl that was nearly a sob, he buried himself within her, sheathing himself in satin sweetness, wanting to pleasure her as she was pleasuring him. And yet he knew she would never fully understand what her love meant to him, nor could he ever hope to give back as much as he received. She was warm and alive, vital and vibrant; her very touch made him feel alive. Her trust, her nearness, meant so much more to him than the brief joining of their flesh.
Later, as the moon faded from the sky, Giovanni Ognibene gazed at the woman in his arms, and for the first time in over three centuries, he felt that he was more man than monster.
Sara woke slowly, filled with a deep and abiding sense of contentment, of fulfillment. Gabriel had made love to her all the night long…
Gabriel! She turned her head and he was there, lying beside her, his eyes closed. She glanced quickly toward the window, relieved to see that it was still dark outside, that he had not yet succumbed to the deathlike sleep that engulfed him during the day.
Lightly, she traced his lips with her fingertip, felt a surge of heat course through her when he stroked her fingertip with his tongue.
His eyelids fluttered open and she found herself gazing into the depths of his eyes—beautiful deep gray eyes fringed with thick black lashes.
"Good morning," she murmured.
"Good morning,
cara
." His gaze moved over her face. How beautiful she was. Her lips were still slightly swollen from his kisses, her hair fell over her shoulders in a riot of golden waves, and her eyes… he knew he would sacrifice the next hundred years to wake up each morning and find Sara looking at him like that, her sky-blue eyes filled with love.
He kissed her softly, gently, let his hands wander over the smooth silky flesh he had possessed only hours before. How quickly he had come to know the hills and valleys of her body, just as he had come to know that she liked to have her back rubbed, that tickling her feet would make her laugh.
He kissed her again, and the slow heat that had been building between them suddenly burst into flame. With a low groan, he tucked her beneath him and merged his flesh with hers, and she rose up to meet him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she offered him her love and took his in return.
They lay locked in each other's arms for a long while, reluctant to part.
He didn't have to glance at the window to know that the sky was growing light. Soon, too soon, he would have to send her from him. And yet he couldn't help wondering what it would be like to be enfolded in Sara's arms when the darkness claimed him. He had told her that being swallowed up in the deathlike sleep had frightened him more than anything else when first he'd been made. What he hadn't told her was that, though he had long ago learned to accept it, he had never learned to like it. It was a frightening thing, to be sucked down into blackness deeper than the bowels of hell, to be helpless, vulnerable. Would the darkness that overtook him be less fearful if he succumbed to it while in Sara's embrace?
"Sara?" He spoke hesitantly, not knowing how to ask for what he wanted, not knowing if he should.
"What?"
"Hold me."
She frowned, puzzled by the note of apprehension in his voice. "I am holding you," she said.
"Will you stay with me…"
"Of course."
He swore under his breath, wondering why it was so hard to ask her to hold him while oblivion swept over him.
"What is it, Gabriel?" she asked, worried now. "What's wrong?"
"Will you hold me until… ?"
She knew then what he wanted. "I will," she promised, unable to believe what he was saying. For the first time, he looked vulnerable. It caused all her protective instincts to rush to the fore. "I'll hold you until you're… you're asleep."
She pulled him closer, her arms tightening around him as she cradled his head to her breast.
With a sigh, Gabriel closed his eyes. He could hear the steady beat of her heart beneath his ear, feel the warmth of her hand stroking his back, his shoulders.
"Be careful today," he said as he felt the blackness descend on him. "Stay in the house. Keep Maurice with you."
"Why? What's wrong?"
He fought the lethargy that was stealing over him. "Nina. She's… here. Don't go out. Promise… me."
"I promise."
"Check… doors…" His eyelids fluttered down and he felt himself sinking into blackness. "Windows… careful… be careful…"
"I will."
"My cloak…" he said, his voice urgent, faint. "Need… it…"
"I'll get it. Gabriel?"
She fought down a rising sense of terror as he went suddenly limp in her arms. He didn't look as if he was sleeping now, she thought. His body was heavy, lifeless, cold.
Telling herself there was nothing to be afraid of, she slid out of bed. Standing there, looking down at him, she began to shiver uncontrollably.
What if he didn't wake up?
She was reaching for her robe when she saw his cloak. Lifting it from the chair, she held it in her hands for a moment, and then spread it over him. It was unnerving to see him lying there like that, and she quickly gathered up her clothes and left the room.
Maurice was already up, looking as if he hadn't slept more than a few minutes. Dark bristles shadowed his jaw; his clothes looked rumpled, as though he had tossed and turned all night.
"You slept with him." It was an accusation, not a question.
The flood of color that washed into her cheeks gave him all the answer he needed.
"I'll understand if you don't want to stay," Sara said, not meeting his eyes. "I've treated you badly, and I apologize."
"Ill stay," he replied curtly, and then he grinned, a dry, humorless expression. "I don't think I have much choice."
"What do you mean?"
Maurice jerked his thumb toward Sara's bedroom. "Him. He told me to watch you. But I'd have stayed anyway. I love you, Sara Jayne. Nothing will change that."
"Maurice, I'm sorry…"
He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "Have you got anything to eat?"
Sara nodded, eager for an excuse to leave the room. How much easier her life would be if she could have loved Maurice. Their life together would have been ideal. They shared a love of dancing, of music, of art. They could have had a good life together, had children, a home in the country, all the things she longed for, and yet, without Gabriel, she wouldn't want to dance, or live. She didn't want to bear another man's children, or live in another man's house.
She wanted Gabriel, and she knew at that moment that she would do whatever she had to do, make any sacrifice necessary, to spend the rest of her life with him.
It was Sunday, and the day passed slowly. Usually, she went to Mass, but she had promised Gabriel she wouldn't go out.
Maurice sat in the chair beside the hearth, his nose buried in a book.
Sara busied herself in the kitchen preparing a huge midday meal, though she had no appetite. How could she even think of eating with Maurice brooding in the parlor and Gabriel sleeping the sleep of the undead in her bedroom? And always in the back of her mind was Nina's threat to destroy her.