Secrets of the Night Special Edition (114 page)

* * *

For days, Galan had purposely stayed away from Stevie, missing her so much, aching to see her again. She was safe now, and he must let her go, but he had to see her one more time, if only to say goodbye. Goodbye. The word resounded in his brain like a death knell. While darkness hung over the city and a breeze lifted his lace curtains, he stalked his living room, every thought, every wish, every dream of her.

During this time away from her, he'd visited vampire friends and acquaintances throughout the world, trying to discover--in a devious way, of course--if any of them knew of an elixir that would restore one of the undead to mortality. And found nothing. Let Stevie go, then, and God forbid that she should feel duty-bound to stay with him out of gratitude. Best to convince her he'd found another woman to love, one of his own kind. He paused, gazing out the window, a knife twisting inside him.

He'd call her tonight and visit her. After that, he'd be out of her life forever.

* * *

"Funny, you've been to my place lots of times, but I've never seen yours.” Stevie sat next to Galan in her living room, breathless after his kisses, wanting only to stay in his arms but wondering if she could ever have a real, lasting relationship with him. On the edge of her consciousness, she thought about Mark. Could he ever replace Galan?

"You would like to see my house?” Galan said, drawing back in surprise.

"If it's no trouble.”

"No trouble, and I assure you,” he said with a wry smile, “I have no dead bodies in the closet.”

"Well, I never thought that!” Not true. Since learning he was a vampire, she'd filled her mind with questions and weird images about him. Most important, where did he sleep? In a coffin, no doubt.

Over five minutes later, they drove up to a two-story stucco house in an old, pleasant neighborhood with oaks, palms, and fichus trees lining both sides of the street. Stevie made a mental note of his address, glad that most
Miami
suburbs had an easy street identification system, numbering each street instead of naming them.

"My home,” he said as he helped her out of the car.” No ghosts, no monsters.”

A brick walk lined with variegated lariope led to the front door, a door he opened with just the wave of his hand.

She looked at him in shock.” You don't lock your door?” 

"It was locked, but I don't need a key to open it.” Galan smiled.” I have magical powers, remember? My part time housekeeper is the only person who has a key.” He indicated a pile of bricks at the side of the house.” Except for a spare key the previous owners gave me, which I keep under those bricks.”

Darkness enclosed the house as they entered, but a flick of the wall switch produced a mellow glow from a Tiffany stained glass table lamp. Stevie's gaze covered the large living room with its enormous beige sofa and two matching chairs, plus a long glass-covered coffee table and a couple of end tables with lamps on each.

Envy made her catch her breath. She wished she owned a place like this.

"I bought the house several years ago,” Galan explained by her side,” and the furnishings came with it.” He nodded toward a Monet.” The paintings are mine, all original.”

"Wow! They must be worth a fortune.”

"Indeed.”

Her gaze made another sweep of the room.” Very nice.” And it was. What had she expected--a haunted mansion with cobwebs in the corners and a decayed body in a rocking chair, a la Tony Perkins?

"Sit down, won't you. Can I get you something to drink? Wine?”

She sank onto the sofa, loving the deep cushions, its luxurious feel.” Beer?” 

"Tuborg. Only wait whilst I fetch it from the refrigerator, then I'll get my wine from the bar.” 

He returned a few minutes later with a mug of foaming beer and handed it to her, then headed toward his bar between the living room and dining room.

Wine glass in hand, he sat beside her.” Merlot,” he said, raising the glass.

Galan cleared his throat. He must lie to her now, tell her he no longer cared for her, that he'd found a vampiress to replace her. With no hope of mortality--for he knew finding the elixir was a lost cause--he must walk out of her life, never to see her again, to touch her, hold her in his arms, cover her face with kisses. His heart was breaking, but she must not see his sorrow.

With gentle fingers, he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and studied her face, storing each feature in his memory.” Stevie, I've been thinking about us, and--"

Her face lit up.” Oh?” 

He spoke in a rush of words.” I think it is best if we stay apart, only mingle with our own kind.”

"What are you saying?”  She slid back, wringing her hands.

Her pained expression tore at his insides, but he plunged ahead.” You know we could never achieve lasting happiness, never have children or a real marriage.”

She sat up straight, a look of hurt bewilderment on her face.” That's what you really want--never to see each other again?” 

"It's for the best. Besides, I should tell you I have found one of the undead to love, a vampiress I have known for several hundred years, and--"

"You what!” Her flushed face devastated him, and he knew this scene would torture him for the rest of his life.

"Let me finish. Does that give you some idea of the differences that separate us? I am almost one-thousand years old, and this woman is nearly as old as I. It is only recently that I came to appreciate her charms--"

"So all the time I was in
England
, out of your way, when you were supposedly hunting Rosalinda--"

"I was hunting Rosalinda, and my friend killed her, as I told you.” His stomach knotted, her agonized look tearing him to pieces.” But lately I renewed my relationship with this vampiress and realized how much she means to me.”

He gazed at her lovely face, hating himself for causing her such distress, hating himself for what he was.” So this is goodbye.”

The frosty morning air sent shivers along Stevie's arms and legs as she headed past her living room sofa, then on outside to get the Miami Herald. The grass was wet and cold beneath her slippered feet, and she shuddered, tightening her terrycloth robe around her. Her gaze drifted upward, where Orion glittered like a diamond bracelet in an amethyst sky, and a quarter moon hung low in the west. A strong wind rustled the leaves of the grapefruit tree and sent her orchid baskets swinging on the branches.

Thoughts of Galan brought a lump to her throat, an ache in her heart. What was he doing now? Sleeping with his newfound lover, no doubt. She wished it didn't hurt so much.

Never depend on anyone. When would she ever learn her lesson?

Back inside, she slipped the newspaper from its cellophane bag, glancing at the headlines as she padded toward an easy chair in her fluffy bedroom slippers.

MORE VAMPIRE MURDERS, the headline blared.

She flopped onto the chair and lowered her head to fight her dizziness, the room spinning around her. Her hands shook as she pressed them to her hot cheeks. Galan had said he didn't kill criminals, but how could she believe a word he said? For months, he'd deceived her, pretending to be mortal. Vampire. Like a curse, the word ricocheted in her brain, making her clutch the armrest until her fingers turned white.

Memories of Galan swamped her, his ebony eyes, his mysterious half-smile, but more than anything, his kisses and caresses, his love words. She'd never forget him, no matter how long she lived, even if she married another man.

* * *

After another lonely night of wandering the streets of
Miami
, Galan drove up to his house as the rising sun fired the eastern horizon. The Robellini palms thrashed in the wind, and a discarded paper cup scudded along his concrete driveway, resonating like cannon salvos to his extra sensitive hearing. Merde! He kicked the cup aside. Slovenly mortals! A neighbor's windchimes clanged in the wind, sounding as if all the cathedral bells of
Paris
were ringing at the same time, prompting him to cover his ears to shut out the horrendous noise.

Hours later, as darkness crept over the city, he descended the carpeted stairs to the living room, his steps slow and halting. Images of Stevie taunted him, like a moth that continually beats against a lampshade. Everything about her returned to torture him--her flowing blonde hair, those lustrous topaz eyes, her sweet yet husky voice, the beguiling touch of her hand that could make him forget everything but her.

From his bar, he fetched a bottle of Merlot and poured himself a glass, then returned to the living room. Trying to expel Stevie from his mind, he sat in a wing chair and opened the Herald. MORE VAMPIRE MURDERS. By all the saints, no! The newspaper fell to the floor, forgotten, as he sat forward with his elbows on his knees to rest his head in his hands.

Who was behind all these killings? No need to ask. Moloch, damn the son of a bitch! Galan clenched his hands at his side. By St. Aidan, he wanted to destroy the bastard! Now Stevie would think he, Galan, was killing these unfortunate men, and he wanted--no--needed her to have only pleasant memories of him. Anger pulsed inside him, like a thousand pounding drums, reaching an explosive crescendo. He gulped his wine, his fury fiercer with each passing second.

Damn it! He grabbed a book from an end table and hurled it across the room, where it hit a far wall and bounced back onto the floor with a hard thud. He waited countless seconds, then gulped the remainder of his wine as he tried to rein in his temper.

Empty wine glass in hand, he paced the floor, determined to assure her of his innocence, too well aware he was using a convenient excuse to see her again. By the blessed Virgin, he couldn't stay away from her, this woman who haunted his dreams, each night without her a torment. He'd visit her this night, counting the minutes until he'd see her again. See her again . . . and then spend eternity without her.

His mind made up, he drove to her apartment. An unfamiliar car in the driveway ignited a fresh rush of fury inside him. Possibly the family she rented from had a visitor, but every sense within him refuted that wish.

If it were a man, he'd kill him, rip into his subclavian vein and drain all the blood from the bastard's body. Inside the car, he gripped the steering wheel as his anger became a tangible entity, pounding inside his brain, urging him to kill, kill, kill!

He slid out of the car and slammed the door shut, then strode toward the apartment.

* * *

At the small kitchen table, Stevie set a piece of chocolate cake and a cup of coffee in front of Mark, then took a seat opposite him.

He sampled the cake, smiling in appreciation.” A great ending to a delicious meal. Did you bake this yourself?” 

She laughed.” From a mix. Does anyone bake a cake from scratch anymore?” 

"Well, it sure tastes good, no matter--"

A knock at the door stopped him in mid sentence. Her face set in a neutral mask, Stevie placed her linen napkin by her plate and slid her chair back.” Go ahead and eat. I'll be only a minute. Might be someone from church.” 

First checking through the peephole to see who it was, she gasped before opening the door.” Galan, what a surprise.” Of all times, why had he come now? What about the vampiress he professed to love? She stood back for him to enter, fixing a look of indifference on her face.

Without a word, he stepped inside, his mouth twisted in a grimace as his gaze lit on Mark.

She motioned toward the other man.” Mark, I'd like you to meet an acquaintance.” She stressed the last word.

Her gaze shifted from one to the other as Mark rose from the table and came forward, looking hesitant, as if unsure whether to greet the visitor or shove him out the door. She made the introductions, well aware each man sized the other up.

Mark winced as Galan shook his hand, making her wince. Damn Galan! What was he so mad about? His eyes radiated malice, a muscle jerking at his jaw. Raw anger and energy vibrated from him, like a tiger poised to pounce on its prey. He finally released Mark's hand, and a whoosh of relief escaped her mouth.

"Mark's a history professor at the
University
of
Miami
,” Stevie said, trying to relieve the tension.

Galan's expression was glacial.” I see.”

Stevie observed the look of shocked puzzlement on Mark's face and knew repercussions would result from this night's encounter.

With one last glare, Galan spun on his heel and strode toward the door.” I shall come at another, more opportune time.”

She glanced from one man to the other.” Oh, but don't think you have to--"

"I said, I shall come some other time.”

* * *

Which he did, the following night.