"I walked!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with wonder. "Gabriel, I walked."
He smiled down at her, his heart pounding with joy. His blood, his demon blood, had saved Sara's life, and now it seemed it had returned the strength to her legs. Even if his soul spent eternity in hell, he would ever be grateful for the Dark Gift that had brought such happiness to Sara's eyes.
"Put me down," she said, wriggling in his arms. "Put me down. I want to walk!"
And she did walk. With his help at first, and then, slowly, haltingly, she walked from one end of the room to the other on her own.
"Perhaps you should rest now," Gabriel suggested.
Sara shook her head. She could feel strength flowing through her, feel her legs growing stronger with each passing moment. "It's a miracle!" she said fervently. "Nothing less than a miracle."
A miracle, indeed, Gabriel mused. A little of his accursed blood had the power to restore her strength, but even as he watched her, he couldn't help but wonder if she would think the miracle worth the price if she knew how it had been wrought.
Holding her arms away from her sides, she twirled around, her gown billowing around her ankles.
"A miracle! Gabriel, I can walk. Do you know what that means? I can walk." She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. "If I can walk, I can run! If I can run, I can dance!"
With boundless energy, she twirled around the room, her eyes shining, her hair floating around her shoulders like a golden nimbus.
"I'm going to dance!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "I'm going to dance and dance and dance!"
She grabbed his hands and twirled him around, laughter bubbling in her throat. "Isn't it wonderful?"
"Aye,
cara
," he agreed, her happiness flooding his damned soul like sunshine. "It's wonderful."
Abruptly, she stopped twirling. "Dance with me, Gabriel."
With a slight nod, he took her in his arms and began to waltz her around the room.
Sara tilted her head back. "We need music. Won't you give us some?"
"If you wish," he murmured, and he began to sing a slow song from his youth, of love lost, of love found.
He had an incredible voice, deep and rich, filled with such passion and longing it brought tears to her eyes.
They danced together as if they had done so a thousand times before. The sound of his voice wrapped around her, adding to the magic of the night. She looked into his eyes and saw a tiny flame that grew and grew until she felt the heat of it envelop her.
And then he was kissing her, his lips warm, gentle, hungry. The heat of his hands seared her skin. The beat of his heart thundered in her ears. And she was drowning in sensation, smothering in a blanket of desire.
She kissed him back, shivering with delight, with fear. His tongue stroked her lower lip, and fingers of flame exploded within her. She pressed against him, yearning to be closer. His chest was hard and solid. She felt his arms tighten around her waist. His breath was warm against her face, labored, rasping.
"Gabriel…" Her voice sounded heavy, drugged.
"
Cara
…"
It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to put her away from him. The scent of her, the softness of her, stirred his desire, not only for her sweet body, but for the vital essence of her life. The hunger raged through him, urging him to take her, here, now, to satisfy the awful thirst only her blood could quench.
He heard her gasp and knew that the blood hunger was visible in his eyes.
With an oath, he turned away. He stared into the fire, and the flames exploded upward with a mighty roar.
"Gabriel!"
"Go to bed, Sara Jayne."
But…
"Go to bed, Sara!"
She didn't argue this time. Jumping into the bed, she pulled the covers up to her chin, her gaze focused on Gabriel's back. He was breathing heavily, his hands clenched at his sides.
"Good night, Sara," he said, his voice gruff.
"Good night."
He took a deep breath, and then, without looking back, he left the room.
She stared after him, confused by what had happened, by the unholy light that had burned in the depths of his eyes. But surely she had imagined that. A trick of the flames, perhaps. Yes, that was it.
With a sigh, she snuggled deeper into the covers, then wiggled her toes.
She could walk! Tomorrow she would explore the abbey. She would go outside and run barefoot through the grass. She would write the good sisters and tell them she was well, that she was more than well!
And tomorrow night, she would dance in the light of the moon. With Gabriel.
Murmuring a heartfelt prayer of gratitude for the miracle that had been bestowed upon her, she gazed at the thick black cloth that covered the window, wondering absently why Gabriel had put it there. Perhaps she would ask him tomorrow…
She dreamed of blood and death, of the darkness of eternal damnation, of the loneliness of hell.
She dreamed of demons with blood-red eyes and teeth as sharp as daggers.
And woven into the tapestry of her dreams, like a fine gold thread, she saw Gabriel, heard him singing to her, his eyes sad, filled with a haunting loneliness she couldn't comprehend.
Gabriel… she saw him lying in a dark place, surrounded by death…
With a cry, she sat up, the covers clutched to her breast. For a moment, she was tempted to get out of bed and search for Gabriel, but the thought of wandering through the dark abbey, alone, in the dead of night, was more frightening than the nightmare that had awakened her.
Murmuring a fervent prayer, she slid under the covers and closed her eyes.
There were no more bad dreams.
Cloaked in the shadows of a quiet street far from the abbey, Gabriel felt Sara's restlessness. Though he had not taken her blood, there was a bond between them, an unbreakable link that had been forged when the first drop of his blood had passed her lips.
There were some who believed that to taste the blood of a vampire was to condemn oneself to the same life of darkness, but he knew it was not true. In ancient times, people had believed there were other ways to become a vampire—dying in a state of sin, dying after being cursed by one's parents. Some thought death by drowning, or committing suicide, might turn a person into a creature of the night. Being the seventh born was said to be another way to receive the curse. Midwives said that children born between Christmas and Epiphany, or children born with teeth, or with a caul, were destined to become vampires. Children whose mothers failed to eat enough salt during pregnancy were also believed to be cursed.
Fables, he thought. Foolish fables told to frighten children. Had they been true, the world would have been overrun with vampires long ago.
There was only one way to become a vampire, and that was an exchange of blood. The victim must be drained of his lifeblood to the point of death, and then drink the blood of the vampire.
In all the years since he'd been made, he had never bequeathed the Dark Gift to another. He had offered it only once, to Rosalia, begging her to ease his loneliness, to share eternity with him, but the mere idea had filled her with revulsion. In her haste to get away from him, she had fallen to her death.
Since then, he had kept his secret to himself, mingling with mortals only when his own company was no longer enough, when he needed to hear the sound of laughter, to be in the midst of those who were vital and alive.
After centuries of reveling in being a vampire, he had come to curse the loneliness of his existence, the selfish need for blood, the smell of death that was ever present in his life, but now he felt only joy.
Sometimes he felt as though he were being ripped apart. He yearned for a
normal life, yearned for the sunlight, for the chance to marry and have
children, to love and be loved. And yet, he enjoyed the powers that came with
being a vampire. He had seen centuries come and go. He could change his form.
Most people believed bats were the vampire's animal of choice, but he found it
most unpleasant to squeeze his essence into such a small shape, and much preferred to turn into a wolf, though these days he did it rarely.
He possessed the strength of twenty mortal men; he had the power to hypnotize others, to bend them to his will. He had control over animals, over the wind and the rain. He could climb walls with the agility of a spider. In the blink of an eye, he could change shape, or dissolve into a swirling gray mist. But the novelty of such tricks, amazing as they might be, had dimmed long ago, and now, for the first time in years, he yearned to be mortal again so that he might love Sara.
Sara… she was asleep again, protected from him by her youth, her innocence.
Fiend though he might be, he would not defile her.
Sara woke feeling wonderful. Jumping out of bed, she twirled round and round. It hadn't been a dream. She could walk!
She smiled when she saw an old wooden bathing tub in one corner of the room. A huge kettle filled with water hung from a tripod over a low fire. Bless Gabriel, he thought of everything.
She took a leisurely bath, her heart bubbling with joy as she propped her legs on the lip of the tub and wriggled her toes. She could walk!
Hunger drove her from the tub. She found some bread and cheese and a small bottle of wine in a basket. Wrapped in a blanket, she ate standing up, marveling that such a thing was possible. She could stand. She could walk, and suddenly a whole new world had opened before her eyes.
Sara glanced at the box of chocolates on the bedside table, at the room, though there was little to see—the bed she had slept in, the table, Gabriel's chair.
Several large boxes at the foot of the bed drew her eye, and she wondered why she hadn't noticed them before. She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to poke into them if they belonged to Gabriel, but her curiosity got the best of her.
A riot of color met her eyes as, one by one, she opened the boxes. She found delicate convent-made underwear: pantalets edged with lace, a camisole bedecked with a pale blue ribbon, a corset, a petticoat made of organdy, a pair of kidskin gloves, shoes with silver buckles, silk stockings.
Another box held a straw bonnet trimmed with a white feather and pink ribbons.
And dresses! Beautiful dresses fit for a queen. She draped them over the bed, her hands lingering over each one. The rose-pink silk was a study in simplicity with its scalloped neckline and long fitted sleeves. The blue challis was trimmed in yards and yards of delicate lace. There was a muted rose, green, and blue plaid taffeta, a floor-length gown of burgundy velvet.
In other boxes, she found a dressing gown of rose-colored velvet, a dark blue cloak trimmed in ermine. She'd never owned such costly clothing in her life. One box held dozens of ribbons in all the colors of the rainbow; another held a white feather fan. She opened the fan carefully; then, pretending she was a highborn lady bored with life, she fanned herself.
A highborn lady, indeed, Sara thought with a laugh, and closing the fan with a flourish, she stared at the bounty spread on the bed.
She stroked the ermine trim on the cloak as if it were still a living thing. The cost of the cloak alone would have put food on the table at the orphanage for a month. Why had Gabriel bought her such elegant things? Where would she ever wear them?
Where? Here and now, she thought, and hastily pulled on the undergarments, then reached for the dress of rose-pink silk. It felt like heaven and fit as if it had been made for her. She glanced around the room, hoping to find a looking glass, but there was none in evidence. She tried each dress on, fretting over the lack of a mirror.
Perhaps she'd find a looking glass in one of the other rooms, she thought, and made her way down the hall, peeking into the tiny cells where the monks had once lived as she passed by.
Barefoot, she padded silently from room to room, all thought of a looking glass forgotten as she explored the old abbey.
The chapel, long neglected, still retained a hint of its former beauty. Some of the stained-glass windows had been broken, but others were still intact. A shaft of sunlight streamed through the window over the altar, the colored glass tinting the sunbeams.
Sara knelt at the altar, her gaze fixed on the window. It depicted a small blue pool in the midst of a green meadow. The Christ figure stood beside the pool holding a tiny lamb in the crook of one arm. Other lambs and sheep were gathered at his feet.
Sara glanced to the left where another window depicted Christ's agony on the cross. It was so beautiful, so lifelike, that tears stung her eyes. She stared at the nails in His hands and feet, unable to imagine the pain He had suffered, or His willingness to shoulder the sins of the world, to suffer, bleed, and die as an atoning sacrifice for all mankind. She had never doubted His love for her. And now He had blessed her with a miracle.
She knelt there for a long time, enveloped in a sense of peace and love as she offered a quiet, heartfelt prayer of gratitude for the ability to walk.
Leaving the chapel, Sara peered into what looked like the infirmary. Four iron bedsteads lined one wall. The mattresses, made of straw, had long since disintegrated. A huge lacy spider web dangled from one corner.
She paused at the refectory door. Several long plank tables, covered with years of dust, were situated in neat rows, and she imagined the monks sitting there in the high-backed wooden chairs, eating in silence while one of the brothers read to them from the scriptures. She saw another spider web, and there was a nest of some kind in the massive stone fireplace.
She went from room to room, expecting to find Gabriel, or at least some sign of him, but there was nothing anywhere to indicate that he lived in the abbey. No food in the kitchens, no clothing in any of the rooms, nothing.
Toward the back of the monastery, she found a narrow door. Thinking it led outside, she opened it to find a long stone stairway. Darkness rose up to meet her; darkness and a dank, musty smell.