It was in her mind to argue. She was an independent woman, after all, accustomed to coming and going as she pleased. If she wanted to work, he couldn't stop her. Modern women were no longer considered chattel, subservient to their husbands' every command, as women had been in Gabriel's time.
And yet, what was the point in arguing? She
wanted
to be here when he woke up, to spend every possible moment with him. And, deep down, she didn't really want to go to work. She knew it was old-fashioned and decidedly unpopular with the women of the '90s, but she liked the idea of being "just a housewife." What could be more important than making a home for the man she loved?
Shopping was something Sarah did well, and she went on a mammoth shopping spree. At Gabriel's urging, she indulged her every whim, buying whatever caught her fancy.
As a child, she had spent hours playing make-believe, and now, as she turned her attention to decorating the house, she pretended that she and Gabriel were no different from any other couple.
While she shopped, she pretended Gabriel was like any other man, busy at the office instead of sleeping in the cellar. She took the Jag and went shopping at the best furniture stores in town, and when she couldn't find what she wanted there, she went browsing through the antique shops. She bought a round oak table and two chairs, a lovely four-drawer chest, a drop-leaf desk.
Life fell into a pleasant routine. A hot and humid August gave way to a hotter September. When she tired of shopping, she went swimming, or lounged beside the pool, reading or just relaxing. Sometimes she rode Necromancer around the corral, reveling in the sense of power she experienced while riding the big black stallion. He was a beautiful horse, with clean lines, a coat that gleamed like ebony satin, and a silky mane and tail.
In the evening, she ate dinner before sunset, took a quick shower, then went into the parlor to wait for Gabriel, pretending he was coming home from a hard day at the office instead of rising from a deathlike sleep.
It was a good life, marred only by the fact that, once each week just after midnight, Gabriel left the house. At those times, knowing he was going out to feed, Sarah found it impossible to pretend they were just an ordinary couple.
Now was such a time. She watched as he slipped on a black Long Rider coat, then pulled on a pair of black kidskin gloves.
She felt faintly sick to her stomach as she imagined those gloved hands wrapped around some poor unfortunate woman while he drank of her blood.
"Is this something you have to do?" She knew it was, yet the words slipped out before she could stop them. "Couldn't you just rob a blood bank or something?"
"I prefer my nourishment fresh and warm," he replied bluntly.
"I could warm it up in the microwave," she suggested, hoping to erase the hard look in his eyes. "Sort of like a TV dinner."
She glanced away, unable to believe she was making jokes about such a gruesome subject.
"This is what I am, Sarah," Gabriel said quietly. "Can you accept it?"
With a small cry, Sarah threw her arms around his waist and held him close.
"It doesn't matter, really," she said fervently. "But how did you ever get used to it?"
He let out a sigh that seemed to rise from the soles of his feet. "It's a craving, Sarah, an addiction that can't be ignored. I need it to survive. In the beginning, I tried to do without it, but the pain was excruciating, like nothing you can imagine."
"Have you… have you killed very many people?"
Gently, he wrapped his arms around her. "I've existed a long time. It's no longer necessary for me to kill to survive,
cara
. I don't need as much blood as I did when first I was made. Those I use feel no pain, nor do they remember anything about what happened."
"You hypnotize them?"
He smiled faintly. "A handy trick, for a vampire."
"There was a story in the newspaper a while back about a woman who claimed to have been attacked by a man just like Dracula…"
Gabriel grunted softly. "Someone happened upon us before I could erase the memory from her mind."
He pressed a kiss to the top of Sarah's head, gave her shoulders a squeeze, and released her. "I won't be gone long."
Sarah nodded, aware of his gaze searching hers, judging her reaction. She should be used to it by now, she thought, so why was it so hard to accept? She'd known what he was in a previous life, had accepted it without hesitation. Why couldn't she do that now? If she was the same woman, why didn't she feel the same? Was it possible that the soul remained the same, but not the mind, or its perception of life?
"I will not let you go again, Sarah." His voice was hoarse, edged with what sounded curiously like regret. "If ever you feel that you can no longer accept me for what I am, if you ever wish to be free of me, then you must destroy me."
"I couldn't!"
"I will not let you go."
His eyes burned into hers with an intensity that she had never seen before. It was a look even more frightening than the blood hunger she had seen blazing in his eyes.
"There are three ways to kill a vampire, Sarah. Drive a stake through his heart. Cut off his head. Expose him to the sun."
She felt the color drain from her face. "No…"
"There's a small window in the cellar. If you ever wish to be free of me, you have only to remove the board from the window while I sleep. Nature will take care of the rest."
She pressed her hands over her ears. "Stop it! I don't want to hear any more!"
Reaching into his pocket, Gabriel withdrew a large brass key and forced it into her hand. "This fits the lock on the cellar door."
"I don't want it!"
"Keep it. The day may come when you'll wish you had it."
"Gabriel, you're scaring me."
"You should be scared," he retorted bitterly. "I am, after all, a monster."
"Dammit, I hate it when you talk like that. You're no more a monster than I am."
"Then why are you afraid?"
She wanted to deny it, but she couldn't. Deep inside where she didn't look too often, she was afraid, not of him, but of what he was.
"What's happened?" she asked. "What's changed? Is it what I said earlier? If it is, I'm sorry. It's just that I hate to think of you doing what you have to do to survive."
"I understand,
cara
," he said, his voice low and soft. "I understand better than you think."
"I love you." She whispered the words as though they could somehow make everything right again.
"I pray you don't regret it," he murmured, and left the room, the long black coat swirling around his ankles.
She stared after him for a long time, the key clutched in her hand. She had never gone into the cellar; now, as if drawn against her will, she walked through the kitchen, down the short flight of stairs, to the cellar.
The door was locked. Her hand shook as she slid the key into the lock; then she opened the door.
She fumbled along the inside wall until she found a light switch. When she flicked it on, a pale yellow light illuminated the room—a room that was empty save for a sturdy pine box that stood in the corner behind the door.
She glanced at the narrow boarded-up window cut into the wall opposite the casketlike box and shuddered.
It took all her willpower to cross the short distance to the box and look inside. An old-fashioned black cloak made of finely woven wool was spread over a thick black comforter.
Her hand seemed to have a will of its own as it reached into the box and rested on the cloak. She closed her eyes, and a quick image of Gabriel sprang to her mind—an image of Gabriel walking toward her, the long black cloak swirling around him like a dark mist.
A small sob burst from her lips as she whirled around and ran out of the room.
A cure
, she thought.
There has to be a cure
.
She repeated the words as she ran up the stairs to her bedroom. Repeated them over and over, like a mantra, as she filled the bathtub.
A cure. It was their only hope for any kind of a normal life.
He walked the streets for hours, his shoulders hunched under the long black coat, his thoughts bleak. Somewhere, there had to be an answer, a way that he could share all of Sarah's life. And yet, as much as he longed to be mortal for her sake, he harbored a deep and abiding fear of death, of finally coming face to face with that power that was greater than his own. A fear of judgment. Of eternal damnation. How many centuries would he have to spend in perdition to atone for his sins against humanity?
He was walking up the hill toward the mansion when he felt it—an awareness that he was no longer alone, that another immortal being was nearby.
He paused, his gaze sweeping the darkness, as the sense of another presence grew stronger.
And then they emerged from out of the shadows, two men and a woman. For a time, they stared at him, and then the taller of the two men spoke.
"You sent for me, Giovanni, and I am here."
"But not alone."
"I brought two of my younger fledglings with me."
Gabriel's gaze swept over the other two vampires. The boy was young, no more than twenty, with curly brown hair and limpid brown eyes. He was curious and afraid, and he hovered close to his master, making Gabriel wonder how he'd found the courage to cross the gulf from life to death and back again.
And then he got a good look at the woman, and for a moment he was looking into a face from the past. She had Nina's dark eyes, Nina's long black hair, the same haughty tilt to her chin. She was, he knew, a woman perfectly suited to the life of a vampire, a woman whose heart and soul had rejoiced in darkness even before the Dark Gift had been bequeathed to her.
He sucked in a deep breath, let it out in a fervent sigh of relief as he reminded himself that Nina was dead.
"My house is at the top of the hill," Gabriel said.
Quillan nodded, the gesture telling Gabriel more plainly than words that the vampire already knew where he lived. "Does the woman know what you are?"
"Yes."
A look of surprise flitted across the ancient vampire's face. "And she accepts it?"
"As much as a mortal can."
"Does she know you sent for me?"
"Yes."
Quillan nodded, and Gabriel started walking again, acutely aware of the three who followed him.
Sarah was waiting for him at the front door, a smile of welcome on her lips. A smile that quickly died as three black-clad figures followed Gabriel into the entry hall.
Vampires. She knew immediately what they were. A chill unlike anything she had ever known seemed to enter the house with them.
"Sarah, this is Quillan."
Quillan. The vampire from France. He was tall and lean, almost cadaverous. His complexion was pale; his green eyes burned with an unquenchable fire. His hair was long and straight and brown, touched with streaks of gray.
"
Mademoiselle
." The vampire bowed over her hand. "May I introduce my proteges, Delano and Sydelle."
Sarah forced a smile as she nodded at each one in turn. The boy smiled uncertainly; the woman's gaze was dark and unfriendly. And hungry.
Delano. A name that meant "of the night." A fitting name for a vampire, Gabriel mused as he led the way into the parlor and invited his guests to sit down.
"In your letter, you asked about the existence of a cure," Quillan said, getting right to the point.
"Yes."
"You are serious about this, Giovanni?"
"Yes."
Quillan glanced at Sarah. "I presume your desire to be transformed into a mortal is because of this woman."
Gabriel nodded. "Can it be done?"
"There is a formula that is rumored to be effective, but I know of no vampire who has survived. Those who have tried it have all suffered long and painful deaths."
"What is it? How does it work?"
"It consists of rare herbs and spices. They must be gathered by the light of a full moon, mixed by a white witch on All Hallow's Eve, and consumed by the vampire at dawn's first light."
Gabriel shuddered. He had felt the sting of the sun once before. Its touch, while brief, had been excruciating. He could scarcely bear to think of the agony those other vampires must have suffered before death claimed them.
"Do you have a list of the necessary ingredients?" he asked.
Quillan nodded. "But I would admonish you to think carefully before you partake of it, Giovanni. The passage from life to death to life is perilous. The journey back to mortality has always been fatal."
"Why would you want to give up the Dark Gift?" Sydelle asked impudently, her black eyes bold with challenge. "Why would you want to spend a few years with this puny mortal, and then die, when all the women of the earth are within your power?"
"Sydelle!" Quillan's voice was filled with quiet authority. "I would remind you that we are guests here. I will not tolerate your insolence."
The woman stared at Gabriel for a moment, her dark eyes glowing with lust, and then she lowered her gaze.
She wants Gabriel, Sarah thought. Not his blood, but his body…
"If you cannot bear to be parted from this mortal, would it not be easier to bring her over?" Quillan asked.
"She doesn't wish it," Gabriel replied.
Surprise flickered in Quillan's eyes. "It isn't necessary that she agree."
Sarah gasped, alarmed by the predatory expression in the vampire's eyes, by the coldness in his voice.
Sydelle leaned forward in her chair. "Tell me, Giovanni," she purred, "have you ever made anyone vampire?"
"No."
"Never?" Quillan's voice betrayed his surprise. "Surely, in four hundred years, you've wondered what it would be like."
"I've wondered." Gabriel took Sarah's hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "But I would not bring her over against her will."
"That is your choice, of course."
"No," Gabriel replied. "It is her choice."
"I admire your restraint."
"Have you never wanted her blood?" Sydelle asked, genuinely curious now.
"Of course," Gabriel admitted gruffly.