Secrets of the Night Special Edition (9 page)

A disorientation dizzied her, and she almost lost her step, but Stilo tightened his hold on her to prevent her from falling. She glanced around, at first not sure where she was. Ah, she was dancing with Stilo and other men and women, here at the fair grounds. Of course! Bright lights shimmered in front of her eyes, and the music of a thousand violins played in her head. She felt a pull, a dislocation of her senses, then a warm languor washed over her. She was sinking, sinking, sinking into a maelstrom of desire, a longing that rendered her helpless to think of anyone but this man who never took his gaze from her. She teased and taunted him, giving him her most beguiling smile, certain she could lure him into her web of enthrallment.

A sexual yearning overwhelmed her, a longing not to be denied. Forget about Gaderian, she mused with a disdainful toss of her head. Before this night was over, she'd be lying in Stilo's arms and know the true meaning of love, the ultimate closeness between a man and a woman, that coupling she'd never experienced but could only imagine. And for the Goddess's sake, she chided herself, tell him your real name. Mustn't let him continue to call her Angharad if she would spend the rest of her life with him. When would he ask her to marry him? Tonight, she hoped. She couldn't wait to lie in his arms, to feel his lips on hers. The music and dancers, the fair goers faded in the background, so that nothing and no one existed but Stilo, this man who would claim her for his own.

As the tempo of the music increased, she swung her hips and thrust her breasts out, flashing him her most seductive smile, her hair flinging in wild disarray. The other dancers blurred in her vision, the rest of the world shut out. Perspiration beaded her forehead and dampened her clothes, whether from passion or the heat of the night, it didn't matter.

With a crescendo, the music stopped, the dancers flushed and breathing heavily as couples stopped, to catch their breath and talk among themselves. Then they left the dance grounds while the band started packing away their instruments. Overhead, millions of stars glittered in the sky, and a full moon silvered the land. A light breeze cooled her body and lifted her hair from her shoulders, her cotton skirt billowing around her ankles. Her knees shook, every thought on Stilo as he clasped her hand and led her back the way they had come. The fair grounds stood near empty now, most of the crowds gone home.

He looked her way, an expression of longing in his eyes. "Come with me. I want to have you alone."

Burning with desire, she leaned into his embrace. "Oh, yes!"

Chapter Seven

Haunted by thoughts of Fianna, Gaderian rushed from the cave and mounted his horse as soon as the sun sank in the east. Goddess! He'd be glad when his mansion was renovated and he could move in. Hoping Fianna would have the evening off for the fair, he headed in that direction, toward the meadow that bordered the
Nantosuelta
River
.

After stabling his horse, he dashed along the cobblestone streets and cursed himself for not asking Fianna to accompany him to the fair, but a journey to the
village
of
Sligo
had detained him for several days. Word had reached him that another vampire there was killing innocent mortals for food instead of feeding off criminals, this at a time when the vampires were already suspected throughout the
kingdom
of
Avador
. The undead must convince the mortals that they provided protection against the bandrega, then and now. Orrick, the leader of the undead, had remained in Moytura to enjoy the charms of his latest mistress, Goddess damn the bastard! With stern persuasion and threat of punishment, Gaderian had convinced the maverick vampire to halt his murder of the innocents.

The entire mission had taken too much time, too many days away from Fianna. He'd seen Stilo's gaze following Fianna in the tavern and feared Stilo's attention boded no good. What if Stilo had escorted Fianna to the fair? His insides clenched at the thought.

Hunger roared inside him. He had gone for days without sustenance, but food must wait. First, he had to find Fianna. Over the years–centuries!–he'd learned to hone his intuitive senses and to trust his instincts. Now he feared the worst.

Lacking the strength to make himself invisible and to transport himself, he hurried past shuttered stores and businesses, heading for
Aventina Way
and the meadow beyond. Others passed him along the way, everyone going to the fair. Every few minutes he stopped to rest, furious with himself for going so long without feeding.  His strength was failing him; he couldn't continue much longer.

Next to a sword shop, he heard the fair in the distance–the chatter of countless fairgoers, the laughter of children, a band playing farther on, close by the river. From where he stood, he saw thousands of men, women, and children. How in the name of the Goddess would he find Fianna among the multitudes? Oak branches along the wide avenue tossed in a light breeze, and far off, the Nantosuelta shone by the moonlight, its waters rippling like crystal. A beautiful night for lovers, if only he had Fianna by his side.

Gaderian stopped to rest again as hunger knifed through his belly like a red-hot dagger. Gritting his teeth, he doubled over and pressed his hand to his stomach. Sights and sounds blurred, a meaningless background to his anguish.

With dogged determination, he straightened and plodded on, each step an agony but his goal in sight. Crowds formed as he neared the entrance to the fair, where
Aventina Way
ended and the meadow began. The clamor of adults and the screeching of children assaulted his eardrums, another torture he must endure. The stench of mortal food tormented him, a reminder of his own hunger.  He took one more step and stopped by the oak tree that guarded the entrance to the glade. A good place to rest, if only for a few minutes. Sinking down on the warm grass, he leaned his head against the tree trunk, resolved to get up after a brief respite.

He closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to a time years ago when he had first met Stilo, before any enmity developed between them. It was a night such as this …

Alone, Gaderian had spent much of the evening at the Snow Leopard, nursing a mug of ale. From the corner of his eye, he had observed a solitary man several tables away, imbibing one mug of ale after another. Another vampire, he could tell, sensing at the same time something different about this fellow, a nebulous quality that set him apart from the rest of the undead. One thing was certain: The man didn't know when to stop drinking.

After another mug–Gaderian had lost count–the man tried to stand. Ignored by the other patrons, he fell backward, his chair the only thing that saved him. Finished with his own drink, Gaderian shoved his chair back and rushed over.

Gaderian grabbed his arm. "Hey, there, fellow, looks as if you need help."

The blond man gave him a long look, part defiant and part apologetic, and spoke in a slurred voice. "Just 'cause I lost my b-b-balance–"

"Just because you've had too many drinks," Gaderian countered. "Tell me where you live, and I'll take you home."

He waved him away. "Don't need your help."

By this time, everyone else in the tavern had stopped drinking, all eyes on him and the drunk.

Gaderian stood back and gestured toward the door. "Very well, then. My mistake. Have it your way."

The stranger took a step and fell across the table, knocking the mug to the floor. Gaderian raised him up. "That does it. Let's get you home. And tell me your name while we're at it."

He hiccoughed. "Stilo."

Tapping his chest, Gaderian gave his name. He slung his arm around Stilo's waist and they left the tavern together, stepping out to a balmy night, the sky sparkling with stars. Since Gaderian had recently fed, he had the strength of ten men.

"Now where?" Gaderian began.

Stilo pointed ahead, beyond
Tavern Avenue
. "Granno's Way, a f-f-few blocks ahead. M-my apartment's at the end."

"I know where Granno's Way is." He half-dragged, half-carried Stilo along the cobblestone streets, the man scarcely able to stand, much less walk.

Within a short while, they arrived at a stone apartment building in an affluent section of the city, where statues of gods and goddesses graced the landscape, and magnificent oaks trailed along the wide street. The air was heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and countless other flowers Gaderian couldn't identify.

Up several steps, they entered the apartment building, and Gaderian observed an elevator to his left. He'd seen this contraption in other buildings and knew it was operated by magic. Stilo would have to perform the spell, for Gaderian had never had reason to use it. Talmora's tits! What if he was too drunk to recall the spell?

Slumping against him, Stilo performed the incantation, making vague circles in the air and mouthing strange words. Gaderian glanced at Stilo's hand, seeing talons instead of fingers, afraid he must be hallucinating. The vision disappeared, Stilo's fingers normal again. Soon, the elevator raised from the ground floor and made its slow ascent, stopping at the fifth floor. Once they reached his apartment along a hallway to his left, Stilo stopped, his eyes closed, his head against the door.

At the sound of his snoring, Gaderian nudged him. "You need another spell to enter? Let's get on with it. I don't have all night."

Stilo roused and a simple wave of the hand opened the door. They stepped inside a huge room filled with elegant furnishings and draperies. Gaderian took it all in with just one look, too exasperated to linger. He helped Stilo stagger into the bedroom, where the man flopped down on the bed, asleep immediately.

Before leaving the apartment, Gaderian performed his own incantation, this time to ensure that Stilo forgot this encounter. When Stilo woke up, he might wonder how he came to be in bed fully clothed, but he would be none the wiser.

Then Gaderian left the apartment, this time making himself invisible and transporting himself to his own residence….

Too bad Stilo has forgotten the favor, Gaderian mused, now back in the present. He struggled to rise but fell back, weak and tormented by hunger. He had to feed–now! He glanced around and saw an inebriated vagrant trudging along a path that led away from the meadow. First making sure no one else was about, Gaderian pushed himself to his feet, close to fainting with the effort. He rushed over to the path and grabbed the tramp from behind.

"No!" The man struggled in his grip, but the noise from the fair drowned out his protests. Despite his debility, Gaderian held on and turned him around. He sank his teeth into the man's throat, guzzling the life-giving liquid, each drop granting him a revival of his potency.

Moments later, satiated and renewed, Gaderian released the vagrant after invoking a spell to make the man forget the experience. He slipped him to the ground, where the tramp fell asleep. When he awoke, he, too, would be none the wiser. 

With renewed vigor, he rushed on, back to the crowded meadow and the fairgrounds. He dashed from one booth to another, his head turning right and left. The mobs of men, women, and children obstructed him at every step. He could scarcely move! Tempted to scream at the noise, the crowds, the stench of human food, he worked his way through the crush of people. The music from the wooden platform blasted through the air, louder now as he neared the river. Hemmed in by all the laughing, chattering mortals, he craned his neck to see the dancers, but they flew past him in a blur of color. The music slowed, the dancers clapping and talking among themselves, then the band stopped. Before heading in that direction, Gaderian checked every booth and souvenir stand, his hands clenched as he realized the futility of his quest.

There! He saw an auburn-haired lady, her back to him among the mobs, strolling with another man, next to the juggler's booth. He rushed in that direction–and saw it wasn't Fianna. Fierce disappointment twisted inside him.

Desperate to reach the dancing area, Gaderian tried to make his way through the throngs of men, women, and children, impeded by the crowds headed in the opposite direction. If he could just reach the dancing platform–surely he would find Fianna there. With Stilo? Goddess, no! He was still too far from the dancing platform, and rushing against the thousands of people was like trying to restrain a flood.

Gaderian clenched his hands, cursing himself for his negligence. He should never have left Moytura. If Stilo had Fianna in his grasp, he had already headed back to the city, back to his apartment. He gritted his teeth as he turned around and rushed back to the city, to Stilo's apartment. Surely he would find Fianna there.

* * *

His arm around her waist, Stilo led Fianna away from the meadow and east toward the city, swept along with the other fairgoers also leaving the fairgrounds. They eased their way through the mob, the crowds pushing and shoving around them.

"Where are we going?" she asked in dreamy speculation. She wrapped her arm around his waist, unable to think of anything but having him all to herself. At the same time, she felt as if she were floating in the air, looking down at herself. A light breeze caressed her face and cooled her body, lifting wisps of hair away from her forehead.

"We're going to my apartment, where I'll have you all to myself." Stilo squeezed her waist, his fingers thick and blunt against her body, his musk scent stronger than ever, combined with an aroma she couldn't identify, a smell pungent and overpowering.