Secrets of the Night Special Edition (104 page)

"You dared to defy me!”  Moloch hissed, a cloud of steam exiting his mouth.

"In this case, yes. Only listen to what I have to say.” Galan paced about the room, forcing the ancient vampire to follow his movements. He stopped beside the colorful tapestry, pretending to examine it as if it were an exquisite piece of Royal Doulton.

Moloch's gravelly voice echoed from behind him.” I don't have all night!”

Galan left the tapestry and faced Moloch again.” I fear she suffers from some illness, and I would help her before--"

"All humans suffer from some illness.” Moloch sneered. He tipped the goblet back and drained it, smacking his lips in satisfaction.

"The mortal woman is all that concerns me,” Galan said as he stared out the window at the pine trees that dotted the foothills, the snow-laden mountains that towered to the clouds. The wind tore through his hair, lifting the locks from his scalp, tossing them across his face. The frenzied howling of wolves broke his concentration, but only for a moment.” I want to see her again and ascertain her affliction.” He turned to give the fiend a sharp look.” With no interference from you.” 

"You son of a whore! You're giving me orders?” 

Galan held up a hand.” Hear me out. I want to help her, if possible. With that accomplished, I'll promise never to see her again.” He swallowed hard, conquering the lump wedged in his throat. Never see her again!” I shall remain content with my vampirism, only seeking to serve you.” God, how it hurt.

Moloch studied him, stroking his wrinkled chin.” How do I know you'll keep your promise?” 

Galan shrugged.” You don't. You'll have to accept my promise, as I'll have to accept yours . . . that is, if you agree. And one thing more--whenever you want to retire from your present position, I shall gladly assume your duties. I'll supervise the Society of the Undead, as you have so ably done for lo, these many years," he said, careful to keep the sarcasm from his voice.” After I've helped the mortal woman--if can--

I'm yours to command.” He strained to keep his voice and expression neutral. And forget about the elixir, he lamented, stifling the tears of rage and disappointment that threatened to spill.

For a tense moment of silence, Moloch's face remained impassive.” Very well,” he said with a nod. He pointed a long finger at him.” But if I find you've gone back on your word--"

"I intend to keep my promise.”

"--If I find you've broken your promise--and remember, I have my spies--I shall destroy you. Do I make myself clear?” 

"Very clear. And while we're expressing doubts, what assurance do I have that you'll keep your word?” 

A sly smile twisted his aged face.” None whatsoever.”

Anguish added a new dimension to Galan's inner turmoil.” Then I beg of you, as I have never asked you before--let me visit this woman. Let me discover the nature of her suffering and help her. Then I shall stay away from her forever. And you will have me, for all eternity.” His heart was breaking, but he'd lie beneath the midday sun before he'd let the fiend know his feelings.

Moloch nodded.” Agreed, you have my word on it.”

For whatever that's worth. Galan left him then, giving rein to the many doubts and anxieties that tormented him. He needed all his mental faculties to cure Stevie of her illness. But how?

* * *

A fierce night wind rattled the windows as Stevie sat at her tiny kitchen table, eating a late snack of an English muffin and strawberry yogurt. Showered and ready for bed, she dipped a spoon into the yogurt. She chewed on a sweet, crunchy strawberry, trying to forget the pain and fatigue that were her constant companions. Behind her, the CD player carried the taunting, sensual strains of Ravel's Bolero, the very kind of music Galan liked.

She sighed. How long since she'd last seen Galan? Weeks. She realized now--she loved him beyond reason, loved him so much it tore her in half to be parted from him. No matter who he was or what secrets lay hidden in his heart, she loved him and always would.

Awkwardly, she gripped a mug handle and sipped chamomile tea sweetened with honey. Her finger joints ached, but she drew comfort from the warmth of the mug, the spicy aroma of the tea. Setting the cup down, she took a deep breath. Had Galan found another woman? God, no! Dread sent a fresh shaft of pain through her body.

A knock on the front door startled her. Glancing at the microwave clock, she forced herself to rise. Nine thirty-four. Who could be visiting at this crazy hour? Please let it be Galan. She brushed crumbs from her fingers and wiped her mouth and hands on a paper napkin, then headed for the living room. First checking to see who it was, she opened the door, not even trying to hide her happiness.

"Galan!” Here, with her now. She stopped herself from pressing her hand to her thudding heart, afraid she'd give herself away.

He paused in the doorway.” I fear it's late, your bedtime no doubt,” he said, his eyes taking in her nightclothes.” I should have come sooner, but . . .” The sentence remained unfinished as he spread his hands in a helpless gesture. He wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her to drive them both insane, but caution restrained him. Surely she must think he'd neglected her, if she thought about him at all, since he'd erased the memory of the revenant from her mind.” You must tell me if I've come at an inopportune time.”

"Hey, it's okay. Come on in.”

She adjusted her bathrobe and tightened the sash, every movement endearing to him, to be remembered in the long, lonely centuries ahead. Too, he felt her pain, wincing as he noted her swollen knuckles.

As he stepped inside, a multitude of sounds and fragrances tantalized his senses, an enchanting medley that only deepened his despair . . . a reminder of what he must sacrifice until the end of time. The aroma of lilac soap predominated, mingling with traces of strawberries, honey, and chamomile. Tendrils of damp hair clung to her forehead and brushed across her shoulders, heightening her allure, prompting a fierce desire to touch her, hold her close.

"Wait until I turn the CD off.” She headed for the kitchen.” Please leave it on,” he called after her, knowing he would forever associate the sensual music with Stevie and this moment.” Bolero is one of my favorite pieces.”

"Mine, too.” She paused at the kitchen entrance.” Can I get you anything to drink?” 

"Nothing, thank you.” He wanted only her.

"Wait a minute while I get my tea.”

Never taking his gaze from her, Galan sank into the leather chair, his legs spread apart. Observing her painful steps to the kitchen and back, he searched his mind for the most tactful way to broach the subject of her health, finally deciding the direct approach was best, as usual.

"How have you been?” he asked as she settled herself on the sofa and positioned her mug on the end table.

She studied her crippled fingers, then folded her hands in her lap.” Um, a little tired lately. Nothing serious.” She reached for the mug.” A few aches and pains.”

If only he could help her.” What has made you so tired, I wonder--overwork?”  And why were they talking like strangers, when all he wanted was to take her in his arms and make love to her all night long? Dear God, how I love this woman.

"Not overwork, no.” After a long moment, she stretched her feet out. She wore fluffy pink slippers with rabbit ears and eyes and a black rabbit nose, another enchanting memory to add to his mental collection.” I . . . something's been giving me a lot of pain lately. . . .” She bit her lower lip.

"Tell me about it, Stevie.”

She twisted her fingers in her lap.” The doctor doesn't know! It's something like rheumatoid arthritis, only different . . . if that makes sense. A mutation, the doctor said.”

"And there is no cure?”  By all the saints, he would take her pain to himself, if he could.

"No cure.” She brushed her hand across her eyes, then reached for the mug again and took a slow sip.” The doctor prescribed some medicine for pain. Hasn't helped at all. Kinda hard to find a cure when he can't identify the illness.”

"Yes, of course.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. How in God's name could he help her? Playing for time, he kept her talking.” Have you tried other medicines, even simple aspirin?” 

"Ten aspirins at a time, for all the good they do me.”

"Take care, Stevie. Stomach trouble.”

"At this point, I don't give a darn.”

"Well, I care, for your sake. You don't want to add stomach or liver trouble to your other ailment.” A period of silence stretched between them as he desperately sought to console her, a hundred different inspirations crowding his mind.

Go to her, his heart commanded. Surely, she wouldn't spurn him. Surely she wanted his touch as much as he longed to hold her. He looked into her eyes and saw all he'd ever wanted in life, all he'd never have, from now throughout eternity.

Without a word, he rose from his chair to sit beside her and take her in his arms.” It grieves me to see you suffer," he murmured, cradling her head against his chest.” I would buy you all the medicines in the world, if I thought it would help.”

She looked up at him, her long hair brushing against his chest.” A lot of money, all those medicines. What did you say your last name was--Trump?” she asked with a teasing smile.

He returned the smile, kissing the top of her head.” Shall we say only that I want to help you, more than anything in the world?”  He raised her hand to his lips and kissed each swollen knuckle. Shamefaced, she eased her hand from his grasp.

"Please let me touch you. It's been so long, so very long.” He drew her closer, running his hand up and down her arm, reveling in her warmth and softness.” You have come to mean so much to me.

"Sweeting!” He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her as he'd wanted to all this time away from her, like years. He ran his hand through her hair, letting the strands fall between his fingers like warm satin. From the kitchen, the dramatic strains of Ravel's Bolero provided a passionate backdrop for their lovemaking.

Desire raged inside him, hot, compelling, more potent than anything he'd ever known, a longing to make this woman his, a dream that would forever remain unfulfilled. A fresh barrage of sensations besieged him, of sight and sound and taste, but especially of feeling. His kiss deepened as his fingers grazed her face, tracing a path from her cheek to the curve of her jaw and on to her neck.

She was so good, he thought as his lips tasted her sweetness. She was innocence and light, everything he'd ever wanted in a woman. Everything he could never have.

Inexorably drawn to her carotid artery, he heard the blood gushing through her body, like the raging waters of a river. Fingering her pale, delicate throat, he smelled her blood, more aromatic than the finest perfume. And her skin--softer than the finest cashmere. Hunger roared inside him, a burning, aching need, threatening to consume him. By St. Aidan, he must not do the very thing that would frighten her away. How easy it would be to drink of her sweet nectar, to join her body to his for all time, and make her one of the undead.

He struggled to dismiss his vampire yearnings, but oh! he wanted her beyond reason. His teeth grazed her neck, his tongue licking her exquisite skin, his body fighting this wild craving. With an inward sigh, he drew away from her neck and returned to her lips.

Easing her bathrobe open, he found her breast, tempting and warm. He caressed her, wanting her more than anything he'd craved for all these centuries, more than sustenance or even mortality. He needed to lie with her, bare skin to bare skin, warm womanhood against hard masculinity. Aching to bury himself in her soft, warm folds, he fought his burning attraction, his need to make love to her.

Instinctively, he knew she was a virgin, and he must not violate her chastity. Above all, he must not bind her to him when nothing but hopelessness stretched ahead.

* * *

Stevie forgot her pain, forgot everything but the passion that overwhelmed every part of her body. His lips, hard and demanding against hers, aroused heat and desire like nothing she'd ever known, like nothing she'd ever imagined. She pressed closer to him, wanting him, needing him, as she needed food and drink, air to breathe. Their tongues touched, probing, and he teased her mouth open, sending a fresh burst of pleasure from her head to her toes.

Galan, she silently cried. Her hands roamed his body, from hard-muscled arms to his broad back, then to the base of his neck, where she ran her fingers through the thick mass of dark curls.

She reveled in his faint scent of sandalwood, clean and masculine. She wanted him so much, wanted to--

"My dearest!” Breathing deeply, Galan eased away, a look of misery on his face.” I fear I must leave you, although I wish I could stay,” he said in a strangled voice, feathering kisses on her cheek.” No doubt you must arise early tomorrow.”

His words cut through her like a knife. She struggled to compose her features. Why had he stopped kissing her, as he had after they returned from the movies, so long ago? She shoved a loose lock of hair from her forehead. Galan, please don't leave me now. If only he would stay with her tonight. What if they made love, as she'd dreamed of doing with him for a long time? It would be the first time for her, but with Galan, it would be worth it. Somehow, she knew lovemaking would be wonderful with him.