He was waiting for her outside the theater the following night. Clad in evening clothes and a black cloak, he was quite the handsomest man she had ever seen, Sara thought. And he was waiting for her.
Cheeks flushed with anticipation, she ran to him, not caring who saw, or what anyone thought.
Gabriel crushed her close, as if he had been waiting his whole life for this moment, and then he placed her hand on his arm and led her away from the opera house.
"Your face looks ever so much better," Sara remarked, astonished at the miraculous improvement in his appearance. His skin, which had been badly discolored and puckered only the night before, showed little trace of the earlier damage.
"The burns were mostly superficial," Gabriel explained with a shrug.
"But..."
"We're here," he said, and guided her into a small restaurant that was dark and cozy. He asked for a table in the rear, away from the crowd, and smoothly steered their conversation to the night's performance.
Sara ordered something to eat, but Gabriel only asked for a glass of dry red wine.
"Don't you ever eat?" Sara asked.
"I dined earlier."
Sara studied him thoughtfully, then shrugged, too excited by his presence to fret over such a small thing.
Sara had finished eating, and they were discussing the company's upcoming production of Swan Lake when Maurice appeared at the table.
Sara looked up, startled. "Maurice, what are you doing here?"
"I wanted to meet your mysterious benefactor."
"Oh." She glanced at Gabriel. "Maurice, this is Gabriel..." She hesitated, realizing she didn't know Gabriel's last name. "Gabriel, this is Maurice Delacroix, a member of the company."
"Will you join us?" Gabriel asked.
"I'm sure Maurice has other plans," Sara said, pinning Maurice with a look that clearly said "go away."
"Not at all," Maurice replied. He slid into the booth beside Sara.
Gabriel ordered a glass of wine for Maurice and another for himself.
There was a moment of awkward silence as Gabriel stared at the younger man. Uncomfortable under Gabriel's probing gaze, Maurice quickly drained his glass.
"Sara tells me you've been most generous in your support," Maurice remarked. "Do you sponsor many dancers?"
"Just one."
"I see. Sara has told me very little about you. Have you always had a fondness for the ballet?"
"Yes," Gabriel replied, a small smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. "Always."
"How long will you be in Paris?"
"I'm not sure." Gabriel let his gaze move over Sara in a long, slow glance that could only be interpreted as possessive. "I've not been to Paris for many years. It's a beautiful city, don't you agree?"
Maurice glared at Gabriel, all too aware that the man wasn't talking about the city at all. "You seem a man of the world," he said, his voice harsh. "No doubt even a city as lovely as Paris will soon lose its appeal."
"Perhaps."
"I've asked Sara to marry me."
"It was my understanding she had refused your suit."
"For the moment, but I hope to change her mind. Perhaps she would be more willing to say yes if she knew she had your blessing."
Gabriel laughed softly. His blessing, indeed. "Sara doesn't need my permission to wed. I've already told her I will support whatever decision she makes."
Abruptly, Sara rose to her feet. "I'm tired of being discussed as if I weren't here," she declared. "I'm going home."
Maurice sprang to his feet. "I'll see you home."
"I brought Sara here," Gabriel said, rising, "and I will see her safely to her door."
He held out his hand and Sara took it without hesitation. "Good night, Maurice," she said softly.
"Sara..."
Gabriel fixed Maurice with a hard stare. "The lady said good night."
Maurice took a step backward, repelled by the coldness in the other man's eyes, by the sudden, unexpected sense of evil. With a last glance at Sara, he left the restaurant.
Sara smiled apologetically at Gabriel as they walked home a short time later. "I'm sorry he made a scene."
"He's smitten with you," Gabriel replied. "Anyone can see that."
Sara tilted her head back so she could see Gabriel's face. "And I'm smitten with you."
"Are you, cara?"
" I'vetold you so often enough. Don't you believe me?"
"I believe you."
They reached her apartment a short time later. Inside, he helped her off with her cloak, then shed his own as she lit the lamp, then turned to face him.
"Will you stay the night?" she asked.
"A bold question for a maiden," Gabriel mused with a wry grin. "Are you asking me to spend the night, or to make love to you?"
"Both," she answered, and knew she was blushing furiously.
"And if I refuse?"
The light went out of her eyes. Her shoulders sagged dispiritedly. "Are you going to refuse me again?"
"Sara..."
"Is it me?"
"No!"
"Then, is there something wrong with you? Some reason that you can't, or won't..." Her voice trailed off. She had no idea how to phrase her question delicately, and lacked the courage to ask it outright.
"There is noting wrong with me in the way you mean. It's only that you're so young."
"Are you going to bring that up again? Would you like me better if I were old and wrinkled? Shall I lock myself in a tower somewhere until you think I'm of the proper age?"
He laughed then, a deep masculine laugh filled with humor. She had never heard him laugh like that before, had rarely seen him smile. It transformed him, making him seem younger, more approachable.
Gabriel held out his arms. "Come to me, Sara."
She went to him without hesitation, burrowing into his embrace, her face pressed to his chest. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, surrounding herself with his scent, his touch. His lips moved in her hair as his hands gently stroked her back, her shoulders. And then, muttering an oath, he swung her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.
His hands, those large hands which could have easily torn her in two, trembled as he placed her on the bed and undressed her, but Sara hardly noticed, for she was trembling too, with trepidation, with anticipation. His eyes blazed with desire as he quickly shed his own clothing, then stretched out on the bed beside her and drew her into his arms.
"You must tell me if you want me to stop," he said, his voice husky. You must tell me if I hurt you, or frighten you."
"Frighten me?"
"I've wanted you since the day I watched you change from a wide-eyed little girl into a beautiful young woman," he confessed. "Wanted and waited. If my passion frightens you, you must tell me."
Sara nodded, though she didn't fully comprehend his meaning. She knew little of what went on between a man and a woman, only what she had read in books. Hardly an education, she thought, for the books always ended with a chaste kiss and happily ever after.
But there was nothing chaste about Gabriel's kisses. They roared through her like wildfire, burning out of control, igniting tiny flames wherever his mouth touched her flesh.
She clutched him to her, her nails raking his back and shoulders, fearful of the turbulent emotions that smoldered inside her, yearning for something that seemed just out of reach.
He whispered to her in French, in Italian, speaking words of love and quiet assurance as his hands added fuel to the fire.
Emboldened by his caresses, she let her hands wander over him, her fingertips restless, inquisitive, as they learned the texture of his skin, felt the powerful muscles that bunched and relaxed beneath her questing hands.
She felt him shudder at her touch, heard him gasp. With pleasure, she wondered, or pain? But she couldn't stop touching him. His skin was hot beneath her palms, his breathing erratic. And she was smothering in his heat, gasping for air.
She knew a moment of fear as he grabbed both her hands in one of his, imprisoning them above her head as he rose over her. She stared up at him, her heart pounding furiously.
In the dim light of the room, he seemed larger than life. His hair fell over his shoulders like a dark cloud; his eyes were turbulent, like the sky before a storm.
His eyes... surely it was a trick of the candlelight that caused his eyes to glow with that blood-red flame.
Gabriel saw the terror rise in her eyes, and knew that his own must be glowing with the hunger for blood. It took every ounce of his considerable self-control to keep from burying his fangs in her neck as he merged his flesh with hers.
Sara cried out, a low cry of pain, of fear, as their bodies came together. With a groan, he claimed her lips in a brutal kiss, and all thought fled her mind, swallowed up in the ecstasy that exploded deep within her, sending frissons of delight coursing through every inch of her body.
She was his now, she thought exultantly. Only his. He would never leave her, never send her away again.
"Sara, are you all right?" he asked, his voice muffled against her shoulder.
She uttered a languid moan of assent, a soft feminine sound that indicated she had been thoroughly pleasured.
Elation bubbled up inside Gabriel. He had claimed her body without damning her soul. For the first time in centuries, he felt like a man instead of a monster. It was a glorious feeling, but all too brief, for hard on the heels of exhilaration came a deep sense of regret, an aching sense of remorse because he knew deep in the empty recess of what had once been his heart that he had defiled something pure and clean.
She felt the change in him, the sudden sense of withdrawal. With a low cry, she wrapped her arms around him and held him close.
"Sara," he groaned, "what have I done?"
"I love you, Gabriel," she whispered fervently. "Please don't spoil this moment for me. Please don't say you're sorry for what happened."
A violent tremor racked his body. "Sara... hold me."
She heard the anguish in his voice, the threat of tears, and she clutched him to her. Holding him as tightly as she could, she wondered what darkness lurked in his past that could cause him such anguish. Sometimes it seemed he feared her touch as much as he craved it.
"Go to sleep, Gabriel," she murmured. "I'll keep your demons at bay."
"Ah, cara," he replied, his voice raw and edged with pain. "If only you could."
"Sleep, my angel," she crooned, and in moments she felt his body relax, heard the slow, even tenor of his breathing that told her he was, indeed, asleep.
He woke with a start, his flesh tingling with the awareness of dawn. Sara was lying beside him, her head pillowed on his shoulder.
She stirred as he slid out of bed and began to pull on his clothes.
"What are you doing?" she asked sleepily.
"I must go."
"Why?"
"No questions, cara, remember?"
He dropped a quick kiss on her brow and ran from the room, bolting down the stairs and out into the street. The sky was still gray, but even as he ran down the street, he could feel the promise of a new day, the faint heat of the sun.
The memory of the burns he had received the last time he faced the sun spurred him on. With preternatural speed, he traveled through the narrow streets until he reached the abandoned cottage.
He released a long sigh when he was safe inside. Panting heavily, he made his way to the basement, thoughts of Sara uppermost in his mind as he climbed into the narrow box where he slept away the daylight hours.
Sara thought about Gabriel as she rehearsed later that day, wondering why he had left so abruptly. Every time someone entered the room, she glanced up, hoping it would be Gabriel.
Later, back in her apartment, she kept expecting him to appear, but late afternoon faded to early evening, and he still didn't arrive.
Had she done something wrong?
She was a bundle of nerves when she arrived at the theater. Twice, during her warm-up, she forgot the steps, and for the first time ever, she didn't feel like dancing.
She took the stage reluctantly, knowing her performance would be less than perfect. And then she saw him, sitting in the front row, and it was as if she had suddenly grown wings.
As she had once before, she danced only for Gabriel, and when the performance was over, the audience gave her a standing ovation. But she heard only Gabriel's applause, and it was the sweetest sound she'd ever known.
Hurrying to her dressing room, she quickly changed into her street clothes. She was on her way out of the building when Maurice caught up with her.
"You were sensational tonight," Maurice said. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"
"Gabriel's waiting for me."
Maurice swore under his breath as he caught hold of her arm and dragged her to a halt. "I don't want you seeing that man anymore."
Carefully and deliberately, she pried his fingers from her arm. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"I will see who I want, when I want. And right now, I want to see Gabriel."
"There's something not right with that man," Maurice exclaimed.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not sure, but last night, when I looked into his eyes, I... I can't explain it except to say he's evil, Sara Jayne. Stay away from him."
"Evil! What are you talking about?" Sara demanded, yet even as she waited for his answer, an image appeared in her mind, an image of Gabriel's eyes glowing blood-red as he rose over her.
"Sara, listen to me..."
"No! I love Gabriel, and he loves me. Now leave me alone."
Maurice stared after Sara as she ran down the corridor toward the exit. Somehow, he had to save her from making the worst mistake of her life.