Secrets of the Night Special Edition (102 page)

But what if he told her what he truly was? A vampire. Would she believe him? He laughed without humor. If he revealed his true essence, she'd run from him as he would flee from a crucifix or holy water.

If only he could find out more about the elixir that would make him mortal again . . . Far better had he never heard of this potion, than to have this continual heartbreaking disappointment. But he'd never give up searching for it, even if he had to cover every corner of the earth.

By St. Aidan, if he were with Stevie now, he'd hold her close and beg her to tell him what painful affliction she suffered from. And if he could--oh, God! if only he could--he'd make her well again.

He glanced at his Rolex, counting the minutes until she arrived home from work. He'd call her then and make arrangements to see her. How could he bear the wait? 

No, he didn't dare! He'd only endanger her if he went near her. Why hadn't he thought this out? Ah, but he knew why. As usual with Stevie, he let his heart rule his head. Rosalinda no longer posed a threat, but only look at the army of slaves and revenants Moloch had to command. How could he forget? 

Galan gritted his teeth. May Moloch rot in hell.

* * *

Deep in sleep, Stevie was having a wonderful dream. Each sensory image flashed through her brain, as though she lived through this experience. She and Galan were dancing in the most gorgeous hotel ballroom she'd ever imagined. Potted palms lined the walls, and crystal chandeliers twinkled overhead, the entire scene a rich fantasy of the senses.

"It's been a long time since I danced like this,” she said, peering up at him.

"A slow dance?”  His voice penetrated her very essence, a song in her veins.

"Not since the high school prom. But with you, I could make a habit of it.”

He kissed the top of her head.” And I could make a habit of you, for always. You're a drug inside me,” he said, “stronger than cocaine, more potent than laudanum.”

"So you're hooked on me?” she asked with a smile.

"For life.”

She sighed against his hard shoulder.” Um, the feeling is mutual.”

Round tables accommodating hundreds of patrons occupied the space beyond the dance floor. Vaguely aware of her surroundings, Stevie glanced at the starched linen tablecloths, the crystal and china.

She heard the mumbled voices of men and women, smelled the rich aromas of food and wine. But sights and sounds blurred beside Galan. Other dancers shared the floor, but all she saw, all she felt, all she knew, was Galan. All she wanted.

She breathed in the faint scent of sandalwood as he drew her ever closer, their bodies moving as one.

In her slinky midnight blue gown of shimmering satin with its low neckline, Stevie caught Galan's dark gaze and roguish smile, his look plainly sensual. With his set jaw and firm lips, he reminded her of a medieval warrior, eager to slay dragons in his lady's defense. Fanciful? Maybe, but this was how she'd always think of him.

Dressed in a suit of the finest black wool, a white shirt, and burgundy tie, he looked every inch a man of fashion. No other man could ever compare with him.

She knew the time was the present, yet the group on the bandstand reminded her of the Big Bands from the '40s. Clarinets mingled with trumpets and tubas, drums, and a piano as the band entertained the customers with a love song she'd never heard, One More Tomorrow. Galan knew the words. Why should that surprise her? He eased her closer and softly sang the lyrics in her ear.

She leaned into his embrace, never wanting him out of her sight. A rush of desire raced from her fingertips to the pit of her stomach, where it lingered as a pleasant but urgent ache.

After the song ended, he held her closer and whispered in her ear, “Let’s go upstairs.”

Anticipation warmed her cheeks.” Thought you'd never ask.”

Her hand in his, Galan led her past the other dancers and they mounted the carpeted stairs, neither saying a word. Heat sizzled between them, so tangible she could reach out and catch the feeling in her hand, store it to savor another time. By the time they neared the top, she simmered with passion, ready to explode.

At their approach, the door to their bedroom swung open, but by some illusional trick, she found herself in an English meadow, her brown peasant dress discarded on the ground. The forest surrounded them, dark tunnels and sweeping arches of oaks. The warm spring air caressed her bare skin.

She and Galan lay under a spreading oak, the faint rays of sunlight filtering through the branches. The spring breeze whispered through the canopy and rustled the violets that blanketed the meadow. What a contrast to the passion that raged inside her.

Why, this must be the Middle Ages, she thought, fingering the rough material of her plain dress. How could that be?

With murmured endearments, he feathered kisses from her jaw to her breast as his hand roamed her body. He eased her legs apart, where his fingers found the core of her passion. Gently, he stroked her as he raised up to watch the emotions playing across her face.

An unbearable ache grew within her, surprising her with its intensity.” Take me now!”  she cried.” I've wanted you for so long.”

"No one else, for all time,” he murmured as he entered her.

And then, there was no need for words, only a desperate need to give and receive pleasure.

Which they did, in full. Whispers and moans and gasps of ecstasy were the only sounds to fill the air, their lovemaking all that mattered.

"Galan!”  she cried as a shattering force shook her whole body, hers and Galan's together.

"You're mine, Linette!” 

* * *

In his bedroom, Galan paused while he slipped his keys into his pants pocket. Pictures flashed through his mind, a cavalcade of visions that teased his senses. He stopped, clutching the edge of his chest of drawers. By all the saints, what was happening here? He saw himself with Stevie, leaving a dance floor, climbing carpeted stairs, hand-in-hand approaching a hotel bedroom.

But wait--where were they now? Not in a bedroom but in a meadow, its tall oaks and chestnuts reminding him of
England
, his home from so long ago.

Eyes closed, he watched as Stevie undressed, and he lay back on his bed and moaned. The flow of her golden hair down her back, her bare breasts and rose-tipped nipples, all her lovely charms carried him on a rich floodtide of emotion that flowed on and on.

"Stevie!” He grasped his blue bedspread, his fingers digging into the cotton, the images too real to ignore.

By St. Aidan, how long could he live without her?

* * *

The last traces of passion ebbed inside her as Stevie awoke in her dark bedroom, sighing in sleepy pleasure from the sensuous dream. The pain of arthritis forgotten for the moment, she stretched, every image of her dream still vivid. Linette, she puzzled, remembering another dream. Who was she? Why did that name crop up in her dreams, like a long-forgotten memory? Delving into her brain, she came up blank.

Her gaze covered all the familiar objects in the tiny room--the mirror above her chest of drawers, the end table with its mosaic crystal lamp and collection of porcelain rabbits grouped on a lace doily, a miniature straw hat with pink ribbons and masses of pink roses on a far wall. Another end table hugged a far corner, her computer occupying the entire space.

But something was wrong, terribly wrong.

A putrid odor wrenched her gaze to a far wall, several feet away. She jerked upright and stared at--oh, God, what was it? A monster? Couldn't be, couldn't be. She closed her eyes, then blinked them open again. This was no nightmare! This was real!

A long, dark robe covered the creature's stumpy body. The sleeves hung past his wrists, revealing long, clawlike nails. What was he going to do to her?

Her breath came in gasps. She swallowed convulsively and hugged her arms. Her pain returned, every muscle aching, throbbing. She glanced toward the corner again in one last, desperate hope that this sight, too, was part of her imagination.

Empty yet glowing eyes stared from a dull face with a flattened nose and sagging mouth. As if to taunt her with his presence, he stood immobile, reeking of rotten meat and stale urine. Long, tangled hair scraped his shoulders, strands of saliva dripping from his mouth. Who--what was he? Why was he here? God, please, this can't be happening.

Raw fear froze her stomach. Blood pounded in her ears, her temples, her cheeks. Tears filled her eyes. She forced her sleep-drugged brain to react. Flinging her bedcovers aside, she urged her painful limbs to move, move, move! She clutched her flannel nightgown and headed for the door. Socks on her feet made her slip and she bumped into the door, dazed with the impact. Don't stop! Get out of here!

The monster lurched, panting behind her. Terror clogged her throat; she couldn't even groan. She squeezed her hands so hard the nails dug into her palms. Fright drove the air from her lungs.

Run! Go outside!

She reached the front door and gripped the doorknob--not fast enough! He pulled her back, his long, sharp nails scratching her wrist as he tossed her to the floor. She landed on her left hip, a jolt of pain racing down her leg.

Galan, help me, please!

He grabbed for her. She rolled away, finding her voice at last.” Oh, God, no!” She scrambled to her feet and rushed to the sofa. Grasping the edge of it, she kept it between them. A stubby, hairy arm reached for her, but she jumped back. Every part of her body shook as they circled the sofa. Tears streamed down her face. She brushed her hand across her eyes to clear her vision.

Eyes now adjusted to the dark, she could see his jaw working furiously, his thick tongue flicking across his drooping mouth. Sharp incisors gnashed together, grinding like scissors, snapping up and down. Saliva streamed from his mouth like blood from a wound.

Her heart thudded hard and fast. Waves of dizziness washed over her. God, no, she couldn't faint, not now.

The police! If she could reach the phone, she could call for help, but she didn't have time.

A weapon, she needed a weapon. Perspiration streamed down her face and soaked her nightgown as she scanned the end table. A metallic glint caught her eye. She grabbed her letter opener just in time. Pushing sweaty locks of hair from her eyes, she thrust it at him.

"Damn you!”

Another thrust.” Damn you!”

The monster deflected each blow, like an enraged grizzly bear beating back a feather. He was toying with her! He could kill her whenever he wanted.

The freak grabbed her and squeezed her throat. His stubby fingers closed around her, tighter, tighter, tighter. His fetid breath fanned across her face like sewer fumes. Nauseated, she turned her head away.

She felt blood drain from her head. Stars burst in front of her eyes. Her ears rang as dizziness washed over her. Wobbly legs threatened to give out.

She would not die without a fight. She raised her tingling arms and pressed her fingers against his eyeballs. She bit down hard on her lower lip and tasted blood.

Screeching with shock and pain, he released her.

She tried to scream for help, but only a groan tore from her throat.

Galan, please help me!

Outside! Go outside! She raced for the cubbyhole off the kitchen, where a door led to the backyard. She gasped, one quick breath after another. Her flannel nightgown tangled between her legs. She yanked the fabric up and rushed for the door.

Behind her, he grabbed hold of her gown. Razor sharp nails slashed the material and scratched her thigh, but she broke loose. Stabbing, burning pain tortured every joint in her body. A hammer pounded relentlessly in her head.

The monster followed her, his clumsy footsteps shaking the apartment. A painting crashed to the floor.

Almost there! Out of breath, she grasped the doorknob, her hand slippery with sweat.

As the knob turned beneath her trembling fingers, he jerked her back and thrust her against the dryer. Snarling with fury, he raised his hands to her throat.

"How do we know Rosalinda is truly dead?”  Now back in the present, Octavius faced Lilith in the spacious bedroom of her luxurious
Paris
apartment. Outside, bright streetlights illuminated the city, like sparkling crystal scattered across black velvet. Having arrived only a second ago, Octavius aimed to catch the vampiress by surprise.

Which he did. She gasped as she swung away from her mahogany dressing table, frantically waving her hands. Long, auburn tresses flowed past her waist, glowing golden by the light of the ornate crystal lamp on her bedside table. With white, flawless skin and a generous mouth, she had the look of a seductress.

After long moments of charged silence, her sapphire gaze slid over him, cold and calculating. Cat's eyes. Adorned in a black silk gown with a revealing neckline and lace insets in the sleeves and hem, she looked quite the lady of the night . . . fit to kill, he thought on a note of wry humor.