Secrets of the Night Special Edition (95 page)

And Galan.

Especially Galan.

Never mind that he was full of mystery. He was a man like no other she'd ever met, one who could captivate her with only a look.

During intermission, he bought her a wooden nutcracker, and with his prize-winning smile, he handed her the memento.” Something to remember me by.” 

"Thank you.” She turned it over in her hands, delighting in the painted face and uniform of the soldier.” That was so nice of you.” Something to remember me by. A wave of sadness washed over her, and she was at a loss to understand why. If he walked out of her life now, would it matter so much? Her heart answered for her. Yes, it would!

Once, her arm brushed his, and every sense came tinglingly to life, as if sight, sound, and smell had lain dormant until now, only waiting for one special person to resurrect them. Apparently, the contact aroused him, too. His gaze met hers, his look dazzling, hypnotizing her, as if she had no will of her own. He smiled at her, and with only his look, she knew she'd never really lived until she'd met him.

The performance ended with several minutes of loud applause and a bouquet for the lead ballerina. Soon they filed out of the Theater of the Performing Arts, and within minutes, reached an immense parking lot. A chilly wind swept the other patrons to their cars, and Stevie shivered in her white woolen jacket.

As they walked to Galan's car, her fatigue crept back, a debilitating weakness that slowed her steps and sent a jolt of alarm crashing through her. Funny how she'd forgotten about her tiredness during the ballet. Too bad she couldn't forget about it all the time, she thought, tightening her collar around her neck.

Galan tucked her arm through his. Clad in only a black suit, he looked as if the cold didn't faze him, yet the temperature must be in the low fifties.” Are you cold?” he asked with a worried look.

"A little,” she said, her teeth chattering.”
Miami
weather is so changeable, don't you think? Only a few days ago, the temperature was in the eighties, and now it's as cold as the iceberg that sank the Titanic.”

"I'll have you home soon,” he murmured in his low voice, “or would you like a drink first? I know of a quiet bar in the Beacon Hotel, although I suppose you'd like some place that's livelier,” he said with a faint smile.

"Galan, if it's okay with you, I'd just as soon go straight home.” She hesitated, then plunged ahead.” Don't know why, but I've felt kinda tired lately.”

"Tired?”  His face and voice registered alarm.” What do you mean--tired? Do you have any other symptoms?”

She waved her hand.” No big deal. Just working too hard, I guess, and I have had a lot on my mind. Haven't felt feverish or had a sore throat, any other cold symptoms. Probably be fine if I don't think about it. Maybe I'll start taking iron supplements.” Yeah, now that she thought about it, that might be a good idea.

He stopped on the street, frowning as he ran his finger down the side of her neck. The wind whipped his hair across his forehead, his eyes dark and penetrating, as if he could read her thoughts.

She grabbed his finger.” Hey, what are you doing? Think you have a medical degree or something?” 

"Only checking to see if you have an inflammation.” Sinfully rich, his voice teased her senses, making her forget her troubles.

Despite the cold, his touch sent a rush of warmth through her body. She spoke in a rush of words.” Like I said, I've been working hard lately, saving my money for college. So maybe my tiredness is just a bunch of things put together.” Even to her, the excuses sounded lame. Her activities shouldn't wear her out like this, and she'd always been healthy, rarely needing to see a doctor. Now, when she should have enjoyed every minute with Galan, she only wanted to go home to bed.

They reached his car, and Galan squeezed her hand.” Take care of yourself. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you.”

"That goes for me, too, but I'll be okay after the holidays.” This night had been special, full of magic. She still couldn't figure Galan out, but he seemed interested in her. Never can tell where this relationship might lead, she thought as he opened the car door for her. But wait a minute. Did she want this relationship to lead anywhere?

She shrugged. Unwilling to dwell on her friendship with Galan, she brought her mind back to her health. She had nothing to worry about.

If only she could believe that.

Shortly after arriving home from work, Stevie changed into jeans and a T-shirt, comfortable attire for the springlike weather, even though it was the end of December.

With an armful of dirty clothes, she headed for the cubbyhole off the kitchen and loaded jeans, shirts, and blouses into the washing machine. Her mind drifted as she leaned against the machine and poured soap into a cup. Was it only two days since Galan had taken her to see The Nutcracker? Vivid recollections of the ballet flitted through her mind--the dances, the costumes, the scenery, the exquisite music, images she'd remember for the rest of her life.

But especially, she thought about Galan with his solicitous manner and courtly ways, definitely a gentleman, a man whose gallantry made her feel more like a woman. Would she have enjoyed The Nutcracker as much with another man? Not a chance.

Humming The Little Drummer Boy, she closed the washer door when the phone's ringing drew her back to the living room.

"Hello.”

"I'd like to come see you,” Galan said in his low, sensuous voice.” Do you mind if I visit this evening?” 

Mind? Never!” Come on over,” she replied, plugging in the multi-colored lights on her miniature Christmas tree. She tucked the phone under her chin and adjusted the angel with a white flowing nylon gown and silver wings on top of the tree, straightening it so it wouldn't tip over.” How've you been?” 

"I have been well, and thinking of you. . . .”

Her heart raced as she hung up the receiver. What did she mean to him? Don't read anything into his visit, her head reminded her heart, and don't try to figure him out. After all the times she'd been with him, she still felt as if she hardly knew him, this puzzling man.

Minutes later, Galan arrived at the front door, his smile making her heart do somersaults. As he stepped into the living room in his confident manner, he raked his fingers through his windblown hair, giving her an ice-melting smile that sent all her resolutions flying out the window.

He handed her a gorgeous pink phalenopsis nestled in a wooden basket, tied with a pink and white bow.” Present for you. I know how you like orchids.”

"Thank you, it's beautiful.” Mindful of the other flowers he'd given her, she asked, “Where do you work, in a florist's shop?”  She smiled up at him as she set the orchid on the coffee table.

He grinned.” Let us say I like to buy you flowers.”

She shoved a strand of hair behind her ear.” How about tea or coffee, or maybe wine?” 

"Nothing, thank you.” He sank into the brown leather chair, his arms loose at his side, legs crossed at the knees. He leaned forward, his gaze focused on her throat.” I've been . . . concerned about you. How have you been feeling--still weak?” 

Stevie sat on the sofa, drawing her legs behind her.” Not weak, exactly, just a little tired. The holidays,” she said quickly, “lots to do--Christmas shopping, mailing packages, not to mention we've been extra busy at the bookstore.”

"Is there no way you can take a vacation?” 

"Too busy this time of year.” She took a deep breath.” After the holidays, I'll be good as new.” Right.

"Let us hope overwork and not illness is the reason for your malaise.” He tapped his long fingers on the chair arm.” Would you like to see a film with me this Saturday?” he asked in his rich-as-chocolate voice.” You may choose which one.”

"Cool! There's a new Brad Pitt movie I'm dying to see.” An idea raced through her mind.” Since the weather has been so nice lately, why don't we go on a picnic this Sunday? I know a place--"

"During the day?” 

"Well, I guess so,” she said, struggling to keep the sarcasm from her voice.” When else would you have a picnic?” 

"An evening picnic would be pleasant. We could have champagne. . . .”

"Have to work every evening at the bookstore, since one of the other workers is on maternity leave. How about Sunday afternoon?” 

"I can't.” He gave her a quick smile, as if to take the sting from his words.” There is still much to do on my manuscript. Please try to understand.”

"But really, you should get out in the sun more. Your skin is so pale. Don't you know you need--?” 

A noise erupted from his throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl.” I'm very busy during the day,” he said evenly.” My, uh, deadline, you see.”

She looked at him, wondering what thoughts were concealed behind his dark, unfathomable eyes. He couldn't spare a few hours on a Sunday afternoon? A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma; she'd heard that expression somewhere, a rendition that pretty well summed up Galan.

"Try to understand,” he repeated, a hint of a smile on his face. He shifted in his chair and uncrossed his legs, a movement that revealed the hard muscularity of his thighs, the trim fit of his pants.

"Okay, I'll try,” she replied without conviction.

Silence stretched between them, long moments which gave her a chance to study his features. With only the dim glow of a lamp, his face didn't appear so pale now, yet the dull light did little to soften his chiseled features.

"Stevie. . .” He shook his head but said no more.

Her look met his, then his gaze slid down to her throat. He clenched and unclenched his hands, as if struggling against an unseen force. His gaze flew to her face again, and a tremendous lassitude came over her, rendering her helpless. My God, what was happening to her? 

Yet this feeling aroused her like nothing she'd ever known. Had he cast a spell on her? Didn't she have a mind of her own anymore? She wanted him now, this minute, as she'd never wanted anyone. She wanted to taste his kisses, feel his arms around her. If only he would--

"No.” The single word fell from his lips, scattering her wishes to the winds. A fresh rush of heat flooded her face, prompting her to turn away from him, afraid he'd sense her confusion. Could he really read her mind?

"Best I leave now, although I realize this has been a short visit. I wanted only to ask you about the film, but I fear you must arise early tomorrow.” In one easy movement, he rose from his chair, as always a dominating presence whose face revealed perfect control.

Still enclosed in a cocoon of passion, Stevie stood too, wanting to go wherever he led her, do whatever he desired. She gave herself a mental kick. What had happened to all her resolutions to keep him at a distance? She sighed. Out the window. She tucked her T-shirt inside her jeans and smiled up at him, hoping to present an image of serenity, as if her whole body wasn't brimming with sensual excitement.

Galan came to stand beside her, giving her the full impact of his heart-stopping charm as he brushed a lock of hair from her face.

"Sweeting,” he whispered.

Sweeting? She'd heard that endearment before, but where? She thought hard, but caught in the lure of his old-world charm, she couldn't summon the answer.

He bent low to touch his lips to hers.” I'll call you later in the week.” After one last smile, he turned and left, opening and closing the door behind him.

She ran her hands across her breasts, down to her belly and past her hips as waves of soul-wrenching need flooded her. She sank into the chair he'd so recently vacated, inhaling his faint sandalwood scent and wishing he didn't rattle her so. And wishing she could drive him from her mind.

* * *

For days after his visit to Stevie, Galan cursed himself for not taking her in his arms and kissing her as he'd dreamed of for so long. Stymied by conflicting emotions, he brooded over her, his need a continual torment with no hope of satisfaction.

Moloch. By all the saints, he despised the fiend, hated him for the hideous transformation the wily vampire had performed on him. Hatred burned inside him, hotter than a flaming torch, more persistent than a raging inferno.

It struck him anew that from now until the end of the world, he was doomed to live only by night and never live a normal life, never know the true love of a woman, a woman like Stevie, one he desired above all else.

He slammed his fist against the bedroom wall, heedless of the flash of pain in his knuckles. There would be a day of reckoning. Moloch would pay for his sins.

* * *

At Schloss Omerau in late December, Moloch convened a meeting of all the vampire representatives scattered throughout the world. Presiding over the great hall, he counted more than one-hundred delegates, each representing his own bailiwick. Tall, short, fat--the delegates ran the gamut. Some wore silks, others denim, but none were dressed warmly, since the cold meant nothing to them, unlike the puny mortals, who suffered from every imaginable weakness. A stiff wind whistled through the open windows, tugging at Moloch's bushy hair and fluttering gowns, tunics, and robes, like laundry left hanging in a storm.