Everlasting Desire

Tears welled in Shirl’s eyes and dripped, unchecked, down her cheeks. “I’ve known for over a year. It’s what’s causing my headaches. I never should have gotten involved with Greg.”

Megan shook her head. “I don’t know what to say.”

Shirl squeezed her hand again. “I’m afraid, Meggie.”

“I know. I know. There must be something they can do.”

“It’s inoperable.” Shirl quickly dried her eyes on a corner of the sheet when Greg woke with a low groan.

Rising, he kissed her cheek. “Hey, beautiful, how are you feeling?”

“Better. I’m going home.”

“What? But, the tests…the doctor…”

Shirl glanced at Megan. “Could you leave us alone for a few minutes?”

“Sure.” Megan looked from Shirl to Greg. “I’ll be right outside.”

Megan paced the hospital corridor, her mind refusing to believe that Shirl was dying. How could her friend have kept such a secret from her? It wasn’t fair. Shirl was young and beautiful, at the top of her career, and in love for the first time in her life. Why had this happened to her?

When Megan reached the end of the corridor, she blinked away her tears, then started walking back toward Shirl’s room. She bit down on her lower lip when Greg stalked out of the room and headed for the elevators.

Heaving a sigh, she went to offer Shirl what comfort she could.

In spite of what everyone, including her doctor had to say, Shirl insisted on checking out of the hospital.

At home, Megan tucked Shirl into bed, made sure she was comfortable, and then went to her own room. After undressing, she went into the bathroom, stepped into the shower, and turned the water on full blast so Shirl wouldn’t hear her crying. Shirl was more than her roommate; she was the sister Megan had always wanted.

Megan stayed in the shower until she had no tears left. After drying off, she pulled on a pair of sweats and went downstairs to fix blueberry waffles for breakfast. She put the plates on a pretty tray and carried it upstairs, only to find that neither of them had any appetite.

Megan set her plate on top of Shirl’s on the nightstand. “Do your parents know?”

“Yes.”

Megan stared out the window, trying to imagine what it would be like to know your only child was dying. Was Shirl’s mother remembering what Shirl had been like as a little girl, regretting the fact that she hadn’t been a better mother, that they hadn’t spent more time together?

“I broke it off with Greg,” Shirl said, her voice barely audible. “He said it didn’t matter, that he wanted to stay with me, but it’s for the best.”

Megan nodded. What did you say to someone whose time was running out? Everything she thought of sounded trite or silly. Instead, she found herself remembering late night pillow fights and all the times they had shared confidences over a cup of hot chocolate. She was going to miss those times, Megan thought, blinking back her tears.

Silence hung heavy in the room for several minutes before Shirl said, “Meggie, will you do something for me?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Would you get in touch with Rhys?”

“Rhys? Whatever for?” Megan asked, and then, as comprehension dawned, she shook her head. “No, Shirl, don’t even think about it.”

“He’s the only one who can help me now.”

“Shirl…there has to be another option. Maybe another doctor would give you a better prognosis. At least get a second opinion.”

“I’ve gone to three different specialists, Meggie. They all say the same thing. It’s inoperable.”

Megan sighed. “You don’t want to be what he is, Shirl. Believe me, I’ve seen it. It’s not a pretty sight.” She shook her head. “I watched him attack a man. I saw him with his mask down, his eyes red and glowing, his fangs stained with blood….”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to die.”

“Think of what you’re saying, what you’ll be giving up…” Megan bit down on her lower lip as she realized the futility of that argument.

“I’m giving up death for a new life,” Shirl said. “My mind’s made up, Meggie. I’ve been thinking about it ever since you told me Rhys is a vampire.”

“I can’t.”

“If you won’t do it, I’ll just go to his club. I know what I’m doing.”

“It’s the reason you broke up with Greg, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Living with someone who’s dying is one thing. Asking him to share his life with a vampire…I couldn’t do that.”

“What are you going to tell your parents?”

“I don’t know. I’ll worry about it later. I wonder if it hurts—becoming a vampire, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Megan said. Being bitten didn’t hurt. In fact, it felt wonderful, but maybe it was different when you were being…what was the term? Turned?

“So, will you contact him for me?”

Megan nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

“I do.”

Even though she didn’t agree with Shirl’s decision, Megan couldn’t still the little shiver of excitement that curled in the pit of her stomach at the thought of seeing Rhys again.

Megan called Mr. Parker that afternoon to ask for the night off. He told her not to worry about it, asked how Shirl was feeling, said to be sure to let him know if there was anything he could do, and hung up.

Shirl slept most of the day, which left Megan with little to do except think about seeing Rhys again. She grew increasingly nervous as the hours went by, until, finally, it was time to get ready to go. She dressed with care, chiding herself for taking pains with her hair and makeup, but she couldn’t help it. This would probably be the last time she saw him, and she wanted him to remember her at her best.

Shortly after sundown, she drove to Rhys’s apartment, only to find that he wasn’t home. Returning to her car, she sat there a moment, her fingertips tapping nervously on the steering wheel. Where else would he be? The nightclub, of course.

Her heart was pounding wildly by the time she pulled into the parking lot of La Morte Rouge. She sat behind the wheel a moment, willing her pulse to stop racing. Was she nervous at going into the club alone, she wondered as she opened the car door, or afraid of seeing Rhys again? Probably both, she decided as she stepped out of the car and locked the door behind her.

She glanced around as she walked toward the front of the building. The parking lot was nearly empty.

She hesitated at the entrance. From out here, the place looked closed. What if Rhys wasn’t there? Only one way to find out, she thought, and knocked on the door.

It opened almost immediately, and she came face-to-face with the same man who had opened it when she’d come here with Rhys. If he recognized her, it didn’t show in his expression.

“I’m sorry, miss, the club doesn’t open for another hour.”

“I’d like to see Mr. Costain.”

He lifted one thick brow. “Is he expecting you?”

“No, but I think he’ll see me.”

The man looked her over a moment, then said, “Of course. Come in. Please wait here.”

Standing just inside the door, Megan glanced around. The room was empty save for a red-headed woman seated at the piano, her fingers moving languidly over the keyboard.

The man returned a few minutes later. “This way, Miss DeLacey.”

She wondered how he knew her name as she followed him across the floor and up a short flight of stairs. She hadn’t given it, and Rhys didn’t know she was coming.

Megan stared at the door in front of her, her heart pounding wildly with the sudden realization that The Red Death wasn’t a Goth club at all. It was a hangout for the Undead.

She jumped when the door opened.

“Are you coming in?” Rhys asked. “Or have you changed your mind?”

“How did you know I was out here?”

“I always know where you are.”

Well, that was disconcerting, to say the least.

He took a step back. “Come in.”

Feeling like Daniel going into the lion’s den, Megan followed him into the room, which turned out to be a large office.

He gestured at an overstuffed chair upholstered in dark red velvet. “Sit down.”

She sat, her gaze darting around the room. The walls were papered in a dark red and gold stripe, giving the room the look of an old-fashioned brothel. The floors were polished hardwood. A pair of antique oak filing cabinets stood against one wall. The chair behind the desk was black leather. There were no windows in the room. She thought the state-of-the-art computer and the chrome-and-glass desk looked out of place.

He sat in his chair, watching her, his face devoid of expression. She couldn’t help noticing he was wearing one of the navy-blue pinstriped shirts he had bought from her.

She clasped her hands tightly in her lap to keep them from shaking.

“So,” he asked, “why are you here?”

“Shirl wants to see you.”

Megan felt a little thrill of satisfaction. He hadn’t seen that coming.

“Indeed? What for?”

“She wants to be a vampire.”

Disbelief danced across his features, and then he laughed.

“It’s true,” Megan said. “She’s dying.”

His laughter stilled, and he leaned forward, his arms crossed on the desk. “You’re serious?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t make jokes about something like that.”

“No, I meant the part about her wanting to be a vampire.”

“She’s afraid to die.”

He grunted softly. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She has a tumor. In her brain. It’s inoperable.”

He leaned back in his chair, his elbows resting on the arms, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

Megan forced herself to look at him. Forced herself, she thought ruefully. What a lie that was. She couldn’t stop staring at him, couldn’t stop remembering the touch of his hands, his lips, the way his body felt against hers. Couldn’t stop wishing…She slammed the door on her thoughts. He was what he was, and there was no changing it, no wishing away the truth. She had lost him, just as surely as she was going to lose her best friend. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">