Everlasting Desire (14 page)

When she had no tears left, Megan dried her eyes. Admonishing herself to stop being a coward, she went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, then went back downstairs. She had to make sure Shirl was still alive. No, not alive. Undead.

Rhys looked up when she entered the room. He hadn't moved. As far as Megan could tell, neither had Shirl. She looked even paler than before. And she didn't seem to be breathing.

Megan met Rhys's gaze. “Is she all right?” she asked anxiously. “Is she…?”

“She'll be fine,” Rhys replied. “She'll sleep tonight and all day tomorrow.” He brushed a lock of hair from Shirl's cheek. It was an achingly tender touch. And then he looked at Megan. “When the sun goes down, she'll rise as a new vampire.”

Megan swallowed hard against the bile that burned the back of her throat.
A new vampire.
Shirl had always been fascinated with the Undead. Maybe this was what she had been searching for her whole life.

Rhys studied her, one brow raised. “You don't approve.” It wasn't a question.

“Of course not! You've turned my best friend into a…”

“Go on, say it,” he challenged. “I've turned her into a monster, like me.”

Megan took a step back, as if to distance herself from the truth. “I wasn't going to say that.”

“But you were thinking it.”

“Stay out of my head!”

“I wish I could.” He eased Shirl down onto the sofa, then rose, his eyes sparking with anger.

Power rolled off him in waves. That, combined with the barely suppressed fury in his eyes, frightened Megan to the depths of her being, but she refused to let him intimidate her. Clenching her hands at her sides, she glared up at him, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. What had happened to the man who had once made love to her so tenderly, she wondered, even as an annoying voice in the back of her mind whispered that Rhys Costain wasn't a man at all.

“Monster.” He spat the word at her. “It's what you see when you look at me now, isn't it?”

She wanted to deny it, but she couldn't force the words past her lips.

“Damn you!” Hissing the words, he closed the distance between them quicker than her eyes could follow and pulled her body up against his. “Damn you,” he repeated, but this time, it sounded like a caress.

He kissed her then, a low growl rising in his throat as his tongue plundered her mouth. There was no gentleness in him, no tenderness.

She reeled under the assault on her senses—the hard length of his body pressed intimately against hers, the heat of his tongue dueling with her own. His arm was like a band of solid steel holding her prisoner. She whimpered softly, barely able to breathe as his arm tightened around her, pulling her closer still.

She knew he wanted to hurt her, to prove, in some perverse way, that he was the monster his actions showed him to be. But, monster or not, she clung to him, her body quickly responding to the strength of his arms, the force of his kisses, the way his hand caressed her hair.

Rhys muttered something under his breath as he released her, and even though she didn't recognize the language, she knew he was swearing. Some words sounded the same no matter how you said them.

Turning away, Rhys scooped Shirl into his arms. “I'll take good care of her,” he said curtly, and with his gaze riveted on Megan, he vanished from her sight.

“Show-off,” Megan murmured, and burst into tears.

 

Rhys carried Shirl to his penthouse lair, settled her in his bed, then went out onto the balcony, his thoughts in turmoil. Why had he agreed to turn Megan's roommate? Had he hoped, in some distant part of his mind, that by saving Shirl he could regain Megan's affection?

He snorted with disgust at his own foolishness. If anything, he had caused Megan to hate him all the more. And now he had an unwanted fledgling on his hands.

The wind stirred, whispering through the trees, sending leaves and debris skittering along the sidewalk.

And on the freshening wind, Rhys caught the scent of an unfamiliar vampire. Cursing softly, he was about to vault over the railing to the street below when the vampire materialized beside him.

“What the hell!” Rhys hissed.

Looking faintly amused, the vampire bowed from the waist. “Tomás Villagrande,” he said. “And you are Rhys Costain, Master of the City, are you not?”

Rhys nodded. Tomás Villagrande was tall and lean, with dark brown hair and hooded brown eyes. He appeared to be in his late twenties.

“What brings you to my territory?” Rhys asked.

Villagrande shrugged. “I had a yearning to see the West Coast, to sail the waters of the Pacific.” His eyes turned hard. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Only if you hunt in my territory. You've left quite a trail of carnage in your wake. Don't bring it here.”

Villagrande drew himself up to his full height.

Though Rhys was several inches taller than Villagrande and outweighed him by a good thirty pounds, the other vampire's preternatural power was a force to be reckoned with. Rhys felt it like a heavy hand trying to crush his own strength, a ponderous weight pushing against his mind. He brought his own power to bear, infusing it with his anger, his frustration.

Villagrande grinned impudently. “You are strong,” he said, a hint of admiration in his voice. “And stubborn.” He jerked his chin toward the door of the penthouse. “The woman inside, is she yours?”

“Not in the way you mean.”

Villagrande grunted softly. “The young ones. You never know how they'll turn out.”

“She's under my protection, as are all the vampires in my territory. I will not take it kindly if harm comes to any of them.”

“I don't need you to tell me how to behave,” Villagrande said with asperity. “I could destroy you with a thought.”

“You could try.”

“Adrianna.” Villagrande spat her name. “I believe she's hiding somewhere in your territory.”

Rhys nodded. There was no point in denying it. “Is she why you're here?”

“Partly.”

“Still looking for retribution?”

Villagrande's eyes flickered with surprise. “She told you?”

Rhys shrugged. “I like to know what's going on with anyone who stays in my territory.”

“She took something that was mine.”

“It was a long time ago. Why not forget it?”

“This is between me and Adrianna. It doesn't concern you.”

“Anything that happens in my territory concerns me. I don't particularly like Adrianna, but that doesn't mean you can just waltz in here and take her out.”

“Do you think you can stop me?”

“I don't know. I hope I don't have to find out.”

“We'll see.”

“Don't leave any corpses in my city. I like it here, and I'm not looking to move any time soon.”

Villagrande inclined his head. “As you wish. For now.” And with that begrudging promise, he was gone.

Rhys muttered an oath. He had lost Megan. He had a fledgling sleeping in his lair. And now the most powerful vampire in the world was stalking the streets of his city. What was Villagrande really doing here? Hard to believe his only reasons for leaving the East were to avenge himself on Adrianna and sail the Pacific.

He raked his fingers through his hair. He should probably warn Adrianna that Villagrande was in town.

Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he punched in her number.

 

Lingering on the sidewalk beneath Costain's lair, Villagrande listened to the conversation between the Master of the West Coast Vampires and Adrianna.

Avenging himself on Adrianna was the first order of business. He could, as Costain had suggested, forget about seeking revenge. Hell, he couldn't even remember the face or the name of the long-deceased woman who had been the cause of their feud, but if he let Adrianna's lack of respect go unchallenged, others might see it as a sign of weakness.

And then there was the West Coast. He had forgotten the beauty of the Pacific Ocean, the mild climate, the long-legged, tanned California girls. Why visit for a short time when he could just take over the territory? Of course, it might prove a difficult task. Rhys Costain was a force to be reckoned with. He was strong and more powerful than expected, but that would only make the coming battle more challenging.

As for the woman in Costain's lair, she excited him, though Tomás was at a loss to explain why. He had never seen her. Didn't know her name. But her scent, the beat of her heart, they called to him in ways he didn't understand. And since she wasn't Costain's woman, taking her shouldn't be a problem.

Megan woke early after a night plagued with bad dreams. Rising, she pulled on her robe and tiptoed down the hall to Shirl's bedroom to assure herself that it had all been a nightmare. She would look in Shirl's room and find her friend asleep in her bed, the covers pulled over her head, her
Beauty and the Beast
night-light burning.

Taking a deep breath, Megan quietly opened the door. The room was dark. The bed was empty. So, it hadn't been a dream. Last night, Rhys had turned her roommate into a vampire. And now Shirl was in his lair, sleeping the sleep of the Undead, and when she woke…

Megan shuddered. She couldn't help wondering what her roommate would think when she woke tonight and discovered she was really and truly a vampire. Would she regret it, or would she still believe it had been the right decision? What would she think when she couldn't see her reflection in a mirror anymore? Shirl had always been a little vain about her looks, but then, who could blame her? She was gorgeous. How would she react to the reality of having to drink blood to survive? Granted, Shirl's former diet had been pretty restricted, but even celery had to be better than blood.

Megan had done a lot of research on the Undead in the last week or so. She wasn't sure how much of what she had read on the Web was fact and how much was fiction. But, thanks to Rhys, she knew the blood thing was real.

Megan shook her head. Her roommate barely weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. Megan simply couldn't imagine her petite friend prowling around in the dead of night looking for prey.

Her mind kept coming back to the fact that Shirl was sharing Rhys's lair. Was she also sharing his bed? Rhys was an attractive man. Shirl was a beautiful woman…. Megan pushed the troublesome thought from her mind. It was none of her business. She had no claim on Rhys. And Shirl…what was she going to do about Shirl? Was it safe to live with a vampire? Especially a new vampire?

 

Shirl woke slowly. She felt funny. Different. Not quite herself. She lifted a hand to her head. Was she dying? Was this what death was like, this sudden clarity of sight and sound? A reminder of the perfection of life before it was snatched away? The room was dark, yet she could see everything clearly—the faint crack in the ceiling overhead; each individual thread in the silk sheet that covered her; the tiny dent on the edge of the antique dresser across from the bed.

She sat up, feeling slightly disoriented. This wasn't her room. Where was she?

She jumped when the door opened and a light came on, then let out a sigh when she saw who it was.

“Rhys.” She blinked at him as everything that had happened the night before came rushing back. She frowned, and then she smiled. “It worked.”

“So it would seem.” He stepped farther into the room, his gaze moving over her. “How do you feel?”

She thought about it a moment, then said, “Wonderful! My head doesn't hurt anymore!” Leaping off the bed, she threw her arms around him. “Thank you!” she cried exuberantly, and kissed him.

She was beautiful, her body was pressed against his, and he did what any other man would do. He kissed her back, pretending, for a moment, that it was Megan in his arms. And then he gently pushed her away.

“No regrets?” he asked.

She laughed softly. “I don't think so, but it's a little early to tell.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I think I'm hungry.”

Rhys nodded. Her eyes had taken on a red hue. “Time for your first lesson.”

“Lesson?”

“Vampire hunting 101,” he explained. “Rule number one. I'm the Master of the West Coast Vampires. You're my fledgling. This is my territory. As long as you stay here, you do as I say. Got it?”

“Yes, master.”

“You're learning,” he said, ignoring the sarcasm in her voice. “Rule number two. I'm the only one who's allowed to hunt in this city, and I do it only rarely. Smart vampires don't hunt where they live.”

Shirl nodded. That made sense.

“Number three. For as long as you exist, there will be a blood connection between us. I'll always be able to find you, and if you bring trouble into my territory, I'll destroy you. Got it?”

“Y…yes.” She hesitated a moment, then asked, “Will you tell me something?”

“Depends on what you want to know.”

“How long have you been a vampire?”

“Five hundred and twelve years.”

She backed away from him and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Wow.”

“Are you ready to go?”

“Go where?” She glanced around the room, noting the heavy curtains across the window, the fact that there was no mirror over the dresser, the heavy lock on the door.

“You're hungry, aren't you?”

“Yes, but I thought…”

“What? That I'd feed you?”

“Well, yes, sort of.”

“As a rule, vampires don't feed off their own kind. A taste now and then is okay, but no more than that.”

“Oh.” She bit down on her lower lip. She had known she would have to drink blood, but she had assumed it would be something she could work up to gradually.

“So, are you ready?” He didn't wait for her reply.

Shirl gasped when he scooped her into his arms. A kind of dizziness engulfed her, and, when the world righted itself, they were outside a small tavern. She could hear waves in the distance, smell the salty tang of the ocean, hear the conversation coming from inside the bar. “Where are we? How did you do that?”

He shrugged as he set her on her feet. “Just another way of getting around when you're in a hurry. We're in Manhattan Beach. When we go into the bar, I want you to look around, find someone who appeals to you, and call him, or her, to you.”

“What? You mean, just call them? Out loud?”

“No, mentally.”

“I'm not psychic.”

“You're a vampire. You can pretty much do whatever you want. Come on.”

Shirl followed him into the tavern. It was nothing like what she was used to. The interior was shabby, the air was stale, heavy with the stink of smoke and sweat. Three young men were playing billiards in the far corner of the room. A woman Shirl realized was a hooker was discussing her price with a nervous-looking, middle-aged man. Several other men and women sat at the bar. A pair of young women stood in front of the jukebox, trying to decide what song to play.

Shirl pressed her hands over her ears, trying to shut out the cacophony of conversation and thoughts that bombarded her. And the smells! Perspiration, perfume, alcohol, cigarette smoke, soap, and deodorant. It was overpowering. But it was the beating of so many living hearts, the rush of blood through miles of veins, that overrode everything else. She groaned softly. She was hungry, so hungry.

She glanced at the men and women sitting at the bar. One of the men turned to look at her. He was young, in his midtwenties, with shaggy brown hair, blue eyes, and a mustache. He looked clean and didn't smell too bad. His name was Don, but people called him Sharkey.

Feeling a little foolish, she concentrated on sending him a mental summons. To her astonishment, he stood and walked toward her, his expression somewhat bemused, as if he couldn't believe what he was doing.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmured. “What's a gorgeous gal like you doing in a dump like this?”

Shirl licked her lips. “Would you come outside with me?”

“Sure, honey,” Sharkey said with a wink and a smile. “What did you have in mind?”

“I want to show you something.” Shirl looked at Rhys.
Am I doing this right?

At his nod, she took Sharkey's hand and led him outside and around the corner of the building into the shadows beyond.

When Sharkey noticed Rhys following them, he tried to pull out of her grasp. Shirl didn't know which of them was more surprised when he couldn't break her grip.

“Now what?” Shirl asked, looking to Rhys for help.

“Let's see what kind of vampire you are,” he said, grinning. “Just follow your instincts.”

“Vampire!” Sharkey exclaimed. “What the hell?” He tried again to jerk out of Shirl's grasp. “Dammit, let me go!”

Shirl gazed deeply into his eyes. “Be quiet and hold still!” she said angrily, and when he complied, she looked over at Rhys again, waiting for his approval.

“You're doing just fine.”

Shirl swallowed hard. Pain gnawed at her insides, a horrible twisting pain worse than anything she had ever known. Worse, even, than the headaches that had driven her to this. She took a deep breath, her gaze drawn to the pulse throbbing in the hollow of the man's throat. She could smell his fear. And his blood. And suddenly he wasn't a man anymore, he was prey. The hunger raged inside her. Desperate to end it, she pulled the man into her arms, felt an ache in her gums as her fangs extended.

Fangs.

Vampire.

Bending the man back over her arm, Shirl lowered her head to his neck.
You can do this.
She was surprised at how quickly and easily her fangs pierced his flesh. She had expected the act to be abhorrent, the taste disgusting. How could she have been so wrong? Nothing in all the world had ever tasted so wonderful or satisfied her so completely.

Rhys licked his lips as the scent of fresh, hot blood rose in the air. “Enough, Shirl,” he said quietly.

She lifted her head, her narrowed eyes as red as the blood on her lips.

“Enough,” he repeated.

Stop, now? Was he mad? She wanted more, and when she finished with this man, she wanted another. And another. She glared at Rhys, and then she lowered her head to the man's neck again.

“Enough, dammit!” Rhys said. “Any more, and you'll kill him!”

“I don't care!”

“Well, I do.” Before she realized what was happening, Rhys snatched the man from her grasp, and then slapped her across the face. “I said enough!”

Stricken, she stared at Rhys, horrified by what she had almost done. She didn't want to kill anyone. And yet she wanted more. She wanted it all.

“You will listen to what I say,” Rhys said angrily. “And you will do what I say, or I will destroy you. I warned you once. I'll have no killing in my territory.”

“I'm sorry,” she murmured contritely, and then she looked up at him. “How can you stop when they taste so good?” She licked the blood from her lips. “You didn't tell me it would taste so good.”

“If you want to be a monster, that's fine with me. But not in my town.”

“It won't happen again.”

He grunted softly. “You can control it if you want to. It won't be easy at first, but you can do it. Now, you need to lick the wounds in his neck to seal them, then tell him to go back to the bar and get something to drink. And, most importantly, you must always remember to wipe the memory of what's happened from his mind.”

“I can do that? Erase his memory? How?”

“Join your mind with his. You'll know what to do.”

Rhys watched Shirl carefully. He'd had his doubts about how well she would adapt to becoming a vampire, but she seemed to be one of those who accepted the Dark Gift without a qualm. Sometimes he wondered if some people were predestined to join the ranks of the Undead.

He watched Sharkey stagger around the corner. The man would never know it, but he'd had a close encounter with death that night.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when the scent of another vampire reached his nostrils, and Tomás Villagrande strolled into view.

“You!” Rhys hissed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Taking in the sea air,” Villagrande replied.

“Uh-huh. You followed us. Why?”

“I wanted to meet the newest member of our community,” Villagrande said, smiling at Shirl. “And one of the loveliest, I might add.”

Shirl smiled uncertainly before murmuring, “Thank you.” She took a step closer to Rhys. She didn't know who the stranger was, but she knew instinctively that he was an old vampire. Old and dangerous. His power washed over her.

Tomás reached for her hand. Bending over it in an old-world bow, he said, “Tomás Villagrande, at your service.”

Feeling totally out of her element, Shirl said, “I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Villagrande.”

“Please, my dear Shirley, call me Tomás.”

“Enough of your smooth talk, Villagrande,” Rhys said irritably. “I have a lot to teach her before the sun comes up.”

“Indeed?” Tomás smiled at Shirl again. “If you're going to learn how to be a vampire, why not learn from the oldest of our kind? I can teach you things he does not yet know.”

Shirl looked at Rhys.
What should I do?
Villagrande frightened her, yet she was drawn to him on some deep primal level that she didn't understand. Was it just the overwhelming sweep of his preternatural power? Or something more mundane, like the fact that he was quite remarkable-looking. Sort of the way she imagined a Barbary pirate might look.
Rhys, tell me what to do.

He shook his head, the movement almost imperceptible.
This is something you'll have to decide for yourself, but I would advise you not to go with him.

“Thank you for the offer,” Shirl said, “but I think I'll stay with Rhys.”

Irritation flashed in Villagrande's eyes. With an obvious effort, he reined in his anger. “I hope you don't regret it.”

Shirl flinched. Had he just threatened her? In an effort to placate him, she murmured, “Perhaps another time.”

But it was too late. He was already gone.

Shirl looked up at Rhys. “I think we could have handled that better,” she said, her expression pensive.

“You think?”

“He's old, isn't he? Older, even, than you are.”

“Yeah. No one knows just how old.”

“I could feel his power. It was…scary.” Scary, and exhilarating.

Rhys grunted softly. There wasn't much on this earth that scared him, but Tomás Villagrande was at the top of the list.