With the power of his mind, Gabriel willed Sara to sleep throughout the next day.
He rose with the onset of dusk. Changed his clothes. Left the catacombs, bound for the orphanage.
Dissolving into mist, he entered the building that had been Sara's home for the past thirteen years. In all that time, he had never ventured into any room but hers. The acrid smell of smoke hung over the house.
He moved down the hallway, peering into the kitchen, the parlor. A large room filled with books and toys, easels and paints, was located at the end of the hallway. Inside, two nuns watched over a dozen children engaged in a variety of activities.
Instinctively, he passed by the chapel, and the small rooms where the nuns slept.
The upstairs was mostly bedrooms. The room above Sara's was only a blackened shell. Part of the floor had burned away; he could see where the flames had burned their way down the wall behind Sara's bed. It was a miracle she had survived, that she hadn't been burned even worse than she was.
He found several of the nuns gathered together in a small upstairs room, quietly discussing the fire, and the condition of one of the children who had been badly burned. He heard Sara's name mentioned several times.
And then Sister Mary Josepha entered the room.
"I spoke to Father Andre," she said. "He thinks I imagined the whole thing. But I didn't! I know what I saw." Tears welled in the old nun's eyes. "He took Sara Jayne," she said, her voice filled with despair. "That monster took her."
"Perhaps we should notify the police," one of the nuns suggested.
"What could they do against such evil?" Sister Mary Josepha shook her head. "They probably wouldn't believe me any more than the good father did."
"We must do something," another nun said.
"But what?" Sister Mary Josepha shook her head again. "I was powerless against him." She clutched the cross that dangled from a braided rope around her waist. "I've never felt such evil. Oh, my poor Sara, to be at that fiend's mercy."
An hour later, he entered the monastery. He freed Sara's mind from sleep as he locked the door behind him.
She was yawning when he entered the room.
Sara smiled at him uncertainly. "Where have you been?" she asked as he removed his cloak.
"I went to the orphanage," Gabriel replied, dropping his cloak on the foot of the bed. "How do you feel?"
"All right." She glanced away, afraid to ask questions, afraid of the answers.
"None of the sisters was badly hurt," Gabriel said, answering the unspoken question in Sara's eyes. "One child was badly burned. One died."
"Who?"
"I didn't ask her name."
Sara closed her eyes, murmuring a silent prayer for the child's soul, giving thanks that no other lives had been lost.
"Sara?"
She looked up at him through eyes shiny with unshed tears, grateful that the nuns who had cared for her had been spared.
"Are you all right?"
She nodded, blinking back her tears. "Does Sister Mary Josepha know where I am?"
Gabriel shook his head. "No, I didn't have a chance to speak to her. I learned of the fire from someone else. No one seems to know how it started."
"Do you think I could send her a message and let her know I'm all right?"
"If you wish."
"You never told me why you brought me here."
"Does it matter?"
She blinked up at him, confused by the peculiar light in his eyes, by the sudden warmth that suffused her. Of course it didn't matter, she thought; she'd rather be here, with him, than anywhere else.
"No, but..." She plucked nervously at the bed-clothes. "I can't believe I slept the whole day."
"You needed the rest."
She made a soft sound of assent. "And now I need to... you know."
With a nod, he carried her into the monk's cell, waiting in the corridor while she relieved herself. It would be so easy, he thought, so easy to mold her mind to his way of thinking, to make her long to stay with him always. He could arrange it so she would be content to sleep days so that she might spend her nights with him. What bliss, to keep her by his side, to watch her blossom into womanhood, to be the one to teach her of the ways between a man and a woman. It would all be so easy, but so wicked, because he wasn't a man at all...
A startled cry drew him quickly to her side.
"What is it?" he asked, glancing around.
"My legs, they feel so strange."
Gabriel frowned. "Strange?"
"They tingle, like someone is poking me with pins and feathers."
Dropping to his knees, he lifted her gown and ran a hand along her right calf.
"That tickles! Gabriel, I've never had any feeling in my legs before. What's happening?"
He rocked back on his heels, then shook his head. "I'm not sure."
Frowning, he carried her back to his chamber. Was it possible that the power of his blood had healed her infirmity? There was, he thought, but one way to tell.
Gently, he stood her before him, her feet touching the ground. "I'm going to let you go, Sara."
"No!" she clasped his shoulders.
"Only for a moment. Trust me." He relented a little when he saw the fear in her eyes. "Here, hold my hand."
She stared at him, her eyes wide with apprehension, as he took her hand in his, and then let his other hand fall away from her waist. She swayed unsteadily, but didn't fall.
"Gabriel," she breathed. "I'm standing."
He took a step back, his hand still holding hers. "Come to me, Sara."
She shook her head, afraid to move for fear of falling.
His gaze held hers, dark and mesmerizing. "Come to me, Sara. Don't be afraid. I won't let you fall."
"I can't." But even as she spoke the words, she was moving, sliding her left foot forward, shifting her weight, sliding her right foot up. One step. Two, and then she stumbled and fell into his arms.
He lifted her easily, holding her close to his chest.
"I walked!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with wonder. "Gabriel, I walked."
He smiled down at her, his heart pounding with joy. His blood, his demon blood, had saved Sara's life, and now it seemed it had returned the strength to her legs. Even if his soul spent eternity in hell, he would ever be grateful for the Dark Gift that had brought such happiness to Sara's eyes.
"Put me down," she said, wriggling in his arms. "Put me down. I want to walk!"
And she did walk. With his help at first, and then, slowly, haltingly, she walked from one end of the room to the other on her own.
"Perhaps you should rest now," Gabriel suggested.
Sara shook her head. She could feel strength flowing through her, feel her legs growing stronger with each passing moment. "It's a miracle!" she said fervently. "Nothing less than a miracle."
A miracle, indeed, Gabriel mused. A little of his accursed blood had the power to restore her strength, but even as he watched her, he couldn't help but wonder if she would think the miracle worth the price if she knew how it had been wrought.
Holding her arms away from her sides, she twirled around, her gown billowing around her ankles.
"A miracle! Gabriel, I can walk. Do you know what that means? I can walk." She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. "If I can walk, I can run! If I can run, I can dance!"
With boundless energy, she twirled around the room, her eyes shining, her hair floating around her shoulders like a golden nimbus.
"I'm going to dance!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "I'm going to dance and dance and dance!"
She grabbed his hands and twirled him around, laughter bubbling in her throat. "Isn't it wonderful?"
"Aye, cara," he agreed, her happiness flooding his damned soul like sunshine. "It's wonderful."
Abruptly, she stopped twirling. "Dance with me, Gabriel."
With a slight nod, he took her in his arms and began to waltz her around the room.
Sara tilted her head back. "We need music. Won't you give us some?"
"If you wish," he murmured, and he began to sing a slow song from his youth, of love lost, of love found.
He had an incredible voice, deep and rich, filled with such passion and longing it brought tears to her eyes.
They danced together as if they had done so a thousand times before. The sound of his voice wrapped around her, adding to the magic of the night. She looked into his eyes and saw a tiny flame that grew and grew until she felt the heat of it envelop her.
And then he was kissing her, his lips warm, gentle, hungry. The heat of his hands seared her skin. The beat of his heart thundered in her ears. And she was drowning in sensation, smothering in a blanket of desire.
She kissed him back, shivering with delight, with fear. His tongue stroked her lower lip, and fingers of flame exploded within her. She pressed against him, yearning to be closer. His chest was hard and solid. She felt his arms tighten around her waist. His breath was warm against her face, labored, rasping.
"Gabriel..." Her voice sounded heavy, drugged.
" Cara..."
It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to put her away from him. The scent of her, the softness of her, stirred his desire, not only for her sweet body, but for the vital essence of her life. The hunger raged through him, urging him to take her, here, now, to satisfy the awful thirst only her blood could quench.
He heard her gasp and knew that the blood hunger was visible in his eyes.
With an oath, he turned away. He stared into the fire, and the flames exploded upward with a mighty roar.
"Gabriel!"
"Go to bed, Sara Jayne."
But...
"Go to bed, Sara!"
She didn't argue this time. Jumping into the bed, she pulled the covers up to her chin, her gaze focused on Gabriel's back. He was breathing heavily, his hands clenched at his sides.
"Good night, Sara," he said, his voice gruff.
"Good night."
He took a deep breath, and then, without looking back, he left the room.
She stared after him, confused by what had happened, by the unholy light that had burned in the depths of his eyes. But surely she had imagined that. A trick of the flames, perhaps. Yes, that was it.
With a sigh, she snuggled deeper into the covers, then wiggled her toes.
She could walk! Tomorrow she would explore the abbey. She would go outside and run barefoot through the grass. She would write the good sisters and tell them she was well, that she was more than well!
And tomorrow night, she would dance in the light of the moon. With Gabriel.
Murmuring a heartfelt prayer of gratitude for the miracle that had been bestowed upon her, she gazed at the thick black cloth that covered the window, wondering absently why Gabriel had put it there. Perhaps she would ask him tomorrow...
She dreamed of blood and death, of the darkness of eternal damnation, of the loneliness of hell.
She dreamed of demons with blood-red eyes and teeth as sharp as daggers.
And woven into the tapestry of her dreams, like a fine gold thread, she saw Gabriel, heard him singing to her, his eyes sad, filled with a haunting loneliness she couldn't comprehend.
Gabriel... she saw him lying in a dark place, surrounded by death...
With a cry, she sat up, the covers clutched to her breast. For a moment, she was tempted to get out of bed and search for Gabriel, but the thought of wandering through the dark abbey, alone, in the dead of night, was more frightening than the nightmare that had awakened her.
Murmuring a fervent prayer, she slid under the covers and closed her eyes.
There were no more bad dreams.
Cloaked in the shadows of a quiet street far from the abbey, Gabriel felt Sara's restlessness. Though he had not taken her blood, there was a bond between them, an unbreakable link that had been forged when the first drop of his blood had passed her lips.
There were some who believed that to taste the blood of a vampire was to condemn oneself to the same life of darkness, but he knew it was not true. In ancient times, people had believed there were other ways to become a vampire - dying in a state of sin, dying after being cursed by one's parents. Some thought death by drowning, or committing suicide, might turn a person into a creature of the night. Being the seventh born was said to be another way to receive the curse. Midwives said that children born between Christmas and Epiphany, or children born with teeth, or with a caul, were destined to become vampires. Children whose mothers failed to eat enough salt during pregnancy were also believed to be cursed.
Fables, he thought. Foolish fables told to frighten children. Had they been true, the world would have been overrun with vampires long ago.
There was only one way to become a vampire, and that was an exchange of blood. The victim must be drained of his lifeblood to the point of death, and then drink the blood of the vampire.
In all the years since he'd been made, he had never bequeathed the Dark Gift to another. He had offered it only once, to Rosalia, begging her to ease his loneliness, to share eternity with him, but the mere idea had filled her with revulsion. In her haste to get away from him, she had fallen to her death.
Since then, he had kept his secret to himself, mingling with mortals only when his own company was no longer enough, when he needed to hear the sound of laughter, to be in the midst of those who were vital and alive.
After centuries of reveling in being a vampire, he had come to curse the loneliness of his existence, the selfish need for blood, the smell of death that was ever present in his life, but now he felt only joy.
Sometimes he felt as though he were being ripped apart. He yearned for a normal life, yearned for the sunlight, for the chance to marry and have children, to love and be loved. And yet, he enjoyed the powers that came with being a vampire. He had seen centuries come and go. He could change his form. Most people believed bats were the vampire's animal of choice, but he found it most unpleasant to squeeze his essence into such a small shape, and much preferred to turn into a wolf, though these days he did it rarely.
He possessed the strength of twenty mortal men; he had the power to hypnotize others, to bend them to his will. He had control over animals, over the wind and the rain. He could climb walls with the agility of a spider. In the blink of an eye, he could change shape, or dissolve into a swirling gray mist. But the novelty of such tricks, amazing as they might be, had dimmed long ago, and now, for the first time in years, he yearned to be mortal again so that he might love Sara.
Sara... she was asleep again, protected from him by her youth, her innocence.
Fiend though he might be, he would not defile her.