She was there. He had sensed her presence the moment she entered the forest. It had been the sweet musical rhythm of her heartbeat that had aroused him. He had lain there, his body heavy, unmoving, trapped in the death-like lethargy that possessed him by day, yet still aware of her nearness. She was forever bound to him by the blood he had taken; a bond that could not be broken, except by her demise, or his.
Her scent, as fresh and clean as the rain, was carried to him on a breath of air. Her skin was almost as cold as his own. The fear coursing through her was a palpable entity as the heavy iron door to his lair whispered shut behind her.
She was right to be afraid, he mused, for he was in desperate need of blood to heal his wounds, to satisfy the voracious hunger that was clawing through him, ravenous as a wild beast. Until his hellish thirst had been quenched, nothing living that crossed his path would be safe.
He fought back the need raging inside him, his senses probing the surrounding area. It was not yet sunset, but the heavy clouds hanging low in the sky gave the appearance of dusk. The woman was the only living creature in the vicinity. His presence had long ago frightened away the wildlife that had once inhabited this part of the estate.
He lifted a hand to his throat, his fingertips exploring the bite marks left by the other vampire. The wounds had not healed; even now they burned with fervent heat, the pain spreading downward, sending fingers of flame sizzling inside his heart and lungs, through his arms and legs, draining him of strength. Was his old enemy suffering the same agony? It had been a brief and bloody battle fought in near silence. If Rodrigo had known how badly he had wounded his opponent, he would not have fled the scene. Alesandro's last attack had been born of desperation and a deep-seated instinct to survive. And now he was paying the price.
Blood. He needed blood to regain his strength, to conquer the pain, and Analisa's called to him like no other, warm and sweet, virgin blood, so pure that it would take only a little to heal him. The urge to go to her was strong, yet fear for her safety held him back. Weak as he was, he doubted his ability to stop before he took too much, before he drank her dry and left nothing but an empty husk behind.
Yet even as he fought the hunger, he was rising, drawn by the pulsing beat of her heart, by the glow of her life's force. He moved swiftly up the narrow winding staircase to the top of the landing, silent as a dark shadow. A wave of his hand opened the thick stone doorway that was invisible from the other side. It was the only entrance to the lair below.
She whirled around at the faint whisper of stone sliding against stone. "Who's there?"
He saw her clearly though there was no light atall in the room; her face was pale, her eyes wide and scared. The pulse in her throat beat wildly as she peered into the darkness. Raindrops clung to her hair and skin.
He moved silentlyacross the cold stone floor until he stood directly behind her. For a moment, he basked in the glorious heat radiating from her body, letting her warmth banish the cold that was so much a part of him, a cold that emanated from deep within his being. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, his fangs lengthening in response to the scent of her blood, the promise of relief.
"Who's there?"
He heard the quiver in her voice, the terror she couldn't hide.
"Do not be afraid, Analisa."
He heard the catch in her breath as she recognized his voice. "Lord Alesandro, is that you?"
"Yes."
"What are you doing here?" she asked, relief evident in her tone. "What is this place?"
"What are youdoing here?"
"I was out walking and I got caught in the rain," she said. "I can't see you. Can we light a lamp?"
"There are no lamps here."
"Oh."
Unable to help himself, he placed his hand on her shoulder.
She flinched at his touch. "You're very cold, my lord."
Cold didn't begin to describe it, he thought, releasing her. He ran his tongue over his fangs. Relief was near, so very, very near. Relief from the cold that engulfed him, the seething hunger that clawed at every fiber of his being, relentless, insatiable. A four-hundred-year-old thirst that could be appeased but never quenched.
He groaned low in his throat, a primal, animal-like growl that made her shiver.
"Are you ill, my lord?" she asked tremulously.
"Yes." He ground the word out between clenched teeth.
She turned toward the sound of his voice. "Is there anything I can do?"
Would she willingly offer him what he craved, what he so desperately needed? In four hundred years, no one had done so. Dared he hope? Dared he ask? Pain twisted inside him like a hellish flame that threatened to burn away what was left of his self-control, urging him to take her, to drink and drink until the pain was gone.
"My lord?"
"I need..."
"My lord... Alesandro, are you in distress?"
The fingers of his right hand curled over her shoulder. "Yes."
"Let me help you."
"Analisa..." He took a deep breath, his left hand curling into a tight fist as he fought to control the beast that raged within him. "Analisa, go! Now!"
"Only tell me what to do, my lord, and..."
She gasped, the words dying in a throat gone dry. He turned his head away, but it was too late. In the blackness that surrounded them, shehad glimpsed the hunger that burned like twin flames in his eyes. He could hear her heart hammering in her breast as she backed away from him, only to be brought up short by his hand, still clutching her shoulder.
"Don't," she whispered. "No. Oh, no... please... don't..."
But it was too late to let her go. The pain of his wounds, his excruciating need for nourishment, her nearness, even her fear, beckoned to him, refusing to be denied.
With a low growl, he drew her up against him. Her body was hot against the chill of his own. His hand brushed her hair away from her neck, his tongue skimmed over the smooth skin beneath her ear, tasting rain, and then his fangs pierced her flesh and he drank... Ah, the sweetness, the purity. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her life's force flow through him, strengthening him, easing his pain. And mingled with the relief was disgust for what he was, for what he was doing.
Her thoughts drifted into his mind, borne to him on a flood of hot, sweet crimson. Sheer terror thrummed through her every vein, fear of what she had seen, fear of what he was doing. The fear of the unknown. Of death.
Ah, Analisa, there are worse things than death...
The demon within him fought for control, urging him to take it all, to savor every drop, to drink as he had not done since he was a newly made vampire. To drink until he was sated and nothing remained of his prey but a dry empty shell. And it was tempting. Far too tempting.
As his pain eased, he became aware of two things simultaneously: Her heartbeat was slow and faint, and her skin had grown cold. Alarmed by what he had almost done, he lifted his head. His tongue slid over the marks left by his fangs, and then, with a savage cry that was almost a howl, he thrust her away from him. A thought opened the cottage's outer door.
"Leave me," he said, his voice harsh.
She staggered toward the doorway, stepped out into the rain, stumbled and fell to her hands and knees in the mud. Head hanging, she didn't move, hardly seemed to be breathing.
With a curse, he was at her side. Sweeping her into his arms, he hurried back inside. Closed the door. And carried her down into the bowels of his lair.
The shivers that wracked her body had nothing to do with being wet and cold and everything to do with the stark terror that embraced her. If she lived to be a hundred, if she lived past this day, she would never forget the eerie, inhuman glow blazing in his eyes, never forget the sharp prick of his teeth at her throat. Never forget the almost sensual pleasure that had followed, pleasure that had been frightening in its intensity.
She had faced death in the hospital, but it had not been as terrifying as the look in this creature's eyes.
He carried her effortlessly across the room, his feet making no sound on the stone floor as he carried her down a long, winding flight of stairs. She was lost in a dark world, terrified beyond words. Her breath came out in short, shallow gasps. She tried to pray, but the words were trapped in her throat, caught in the web of her fear.
It took her a moment to realize he had stopped moving.
"A light." The words whispered past dry lips. "Can we not have a light? Please."
The words had barely been spoken when several candles sprang to life, filling the room with a soft amber glow. Afraid to look at him, she glanced at her surroundings. The floor was of smooth, dark earth, the walls were of pale gray stone. A large bed covered with a dark quilt stood in the center of the room. There was a single high-backed chair, a small square table made of rough-hewn mahogany. There were no windows, but then, they were far below the ground. Like being buried alive in a tomb made of stone, she thought, and shivered.
He carried her to the bed and placed her on it.
She immediately rolled to the far side and stood up, putting the bed between them. Only then did she risk a look at him. His eyes were no longer a hellish red. Had she imagined it?
"Who are you?" she asked tremulously. " Whatare you? What is this place?"
He bowed from the waist. "It is as I told you. I am Alesandro de Avallone, and this is my home. As for what I am, have you not guessed, my sweet Analisa? No?" He took a deep breath. "I am a vampire."
He watched her eyes widen as the words registered, saw the color drain from her face...
He caught her before she hit the ground.
She swam to consciousness through thick layers of cotton, fighting it all the way, not wanting to face what would be waiting for her when she awoke.
She kept her eyes closed as full consciousness returned, waiting, listening. She was lying on something soft. The bed? Where was he?
"I am here, Analisa." His voice broke the stillness, as deep and dark as death itself. "And I know you are awake."
She opened her eyes, afraid of what she would see. He was standing beside the bed, gazing down at her.
No monster now, but the man she knew. Or thought she knew.
She shook her head. "It can't be true."
"You know it is."
She shook her head again, not wanting to believe, yet knowing, in the deepest part of her, that it was true. Perhaps she had always known. "Are you..." She swallowed hard. "Are you going to kill me?"
"No, Analisa."
Her eyes widened. "You're not going to make me... what you are?"
"No."
She lifted a hand to her neck. "You..." A shudder of revulsion ran through her. "You drank my blood."
"Yes. I am sorry."
"Sorry?" She felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rise in her throat. "Sorry!"
"You should not have come here. What were you doing wandering around out in the rain?"
"I told you. I went for a walk." She sat up, her cheeks flushed with anger. "I didn't know it was going to rain!"
Surprised by her outburst, he felt himself grinning.
"Well, it's true!" she said, annoyed by his reaction.
"Ah, Analisa," he murmured. "You are so young. So very young."
She wanted to deny it, but couldn't summon the words. She felt young. Vulnerable. And afraid. So afraid. "What..." Her mouth was suddenly dry. "What are you going to do with me?"
He ran a hand through his hair, then shook his head. "I wish I knew."
"Please let me go. I won't tell anyone what you are. I won't tell anyone about this place, or what happened here today. I swear it." Who would she tell? she thought frantically. Who would believe her?
"Young," he murmured again. "So very young. There are many who would believe you." He looked past her, his thoughts turned inward. "Many who are searching for me, even now."
"People are looking for you?" She started to ask why, and then realized there was no need. If he was really a vampire, there were undoubtedly many people hunting for him. To destroy him. She remembered the night in the library, his words echoing in her mind.
There have always been tales of vampires, Analisa. Every civilization has its own legends and myths. The ekimmu ofSumeria, thechiang-shih ofChina , thevrykolakas ofGreece.
She had been so certain then that stories about vampires were only fables, tales told to frighten children. "But I thought... you said you were a doctor."
"I am."
"Who would go to a doctor who was a vampire?" she asked skeptically.
"Those who have been bitten. Those who are dying, without hope."
She lifted a hand to her throat. "You bit me in the hospital, didn't you?"
He nodded.
"And I got better. Dr. Martinson was amazed by my sudden recovery." She looked thoughtful, and then she frowned. "Why would your biting me make me better?"
He lifted one dark brow. "Why, indeed?" he said, and waited for her to make the obvious connection.
Her fingers plucked at the quilt that covered her and then stilled. "You gave me your blood," she said, her voice a whisper of disbelief. "You did, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"And it saved my life? You saved my life. Why? You didn't even know me then."
"I heard your voice calling for help the night I came to you."
"But I wasn't calling for you. And even if I had been, how could you have heard me? And why would you help a stranger who could not pay for your... your treatment?"
"But you did."
She touched her throat again. "You took my blood, in payment?"
"A life for a life, sweet Analisa."
The thought of his drinking her blood, of taking his in return, made her stomach clench.
"Would you rather be dead?" he asked quietly.
"Of course not. Why did you invite me to come here?"
He drew in a deep breath. "Because you had nowhere else to go."
"I don't believe you."
"It is the truth." Part of the truth, at any rate, he thought.
"You wanted my blood, didn't you?" she said, her voice filled with accusation. "A ready supply."
He did not deny it. How could he?
Her eyes widened with horror. "You gave me your blood. Am I... will I become" - she couldn't say the word - "what you are?"
He shook his head. "No. I did not give you enough to bring you across."
"Am I your prisoner, then?"
"Have you been treated like a prisoner?"
"No. You've been very kind. Very generous."
"A small price, for what you have given me."
She looked up at him. He stood there, unmoving, his gaze fixed on her face. He looked as he had when she first saw him, tall and dark and lean, shrouded in shades of mystery. Had his eyes truly burned with that hellish fire, or had it been her imagination?
She lifted her hand to her throat. "How often do you have to... ?" She paused. Did he call it eating or drinking? The whole idea suddenly seemed ludicrous, so why did she feel like crying?
"Do you really want to know?
She shook her head. "You said I'm not a prisoner?"
"Yes."
"Then I'm free to go?"
"Is that what you wish? To leave this place?" The words to leave mehung unspoken in the air between them.
"I... I don't know." She stared at him a moment, then frowned. "How have you managed to keep your secret from Mrs. Thornfield?"
"She knows."
"She knows!" Analisa exclaimed. "I don't believe it." Her eyes widened. "Is she a vampire, too? But, no, she couldn't be, could she?"
"No, my dear."
"Does everyone know what you are except me?"
"No. Only Mrs. Thornfield."
"And you trust her?"
He nodded. "With my life. The rest of the staff knows nothing." He stared at her, his gazefierce. "And you will not tell them."
"No, I won't. Were you ill before? You looked strange, and sounded... odd."
He blew out a breath that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, and then he sat down on the edge of the bed.
"I am a vampire, Analisa. Much of what people say of my kind is untrue. What is true is that I must have blood to survive. I cannot bear the light of the sun, and I am vulnerable during the hours of daylight. I am constantly at war with what I am, constantly struggling to survive. We are predators, hunters. Killers."
She clasped her hands to still their trembling. "Why are you telling me this?"
"I do not know. I have never told anyone else, save Mrs. Thornfield."
"How long have you been a... a vampire?"
"Just over four hundred years."
She stared at him. "Four hundred years!" She shook her head, unable to comprehend such a thing. "You must have had many wives in that time. And children."
"I have never married."
"Never? Why not?"
"I never found a woman I wished to marry when I was mortal, and now..." He shrugged. "What woman would marry a vampire?"
"But... but surely there's been someone in four hundred years."
"Of course. I am a vampire, not a monk."
"You found no one you wanted to marry in all that time?"
"None I dared trust with the truth."
She looked at him, startled by his admission. Startled and afraid. "And yet you've told me." Did he mean to kill her? Was that why he felt comfortable telling her the truth?
"Yes."
She swallowed hard. "Why?" she asked again, though she was afraid to hear the answer. "Why have you told me?"
He shook his head, then took her hands in his. "Perhaps because, after four hundred years, I have found the woman I have been searching for."
His expression was usually as impassive as stone; now it revealed the surprise that was surely etched on her face, as well.
"Me?" she asked, her voice hardly more than a squeak. "You don't mean me?"
He nodded. "Do you deny the attraction you feel for me? The yearning?"
She looked down at her hands, clasped in his. He had only to touch her, and her whole body came to life. She shook her head slowly. She couldn't deny what she felt for him any more than she could stop her heart from beating.
"It is very real, my sweet Analisa. Never doubt it. I could bend your will to mine if I wished, make you feel desire for me, but I have not. What you feel is true. As is what I feel for you."
She stared up at him, mute.
"And now, you must tell me what you want."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you wish to stay here, with me? If you do not wish to remain, Farleigh will take you wherever you wish to go." He squeezed her hands. "You do not have to decide now. The sun is down. I shall take you home."
She had thought he meant to walk her back to the manor. Instead, he picked her up in hisarms. A moment later, they were in her room. Dazed, she glanced around. "How did we get here?"
"A bit of vampire magic."
It was all too much. The loss of blood, combined with his confession of what he was, the miraculous way they had arrived in her bedchamber... too much, she thought. The room seemed to tilt and spin out of focus, carrying her down, down, into a whirlpool of oblivion...
She was floating in darkness. Suspended. Separated from the rest of the world by a crimson haze. Being consumed by a pair of blazing blue eyes.
"Drink." His voice was, low, mesmerizing, filled with power and authority.
In her dream, she had no control over her own actions, and she did as she was told.
"Isn't that too much?" Was that Mrs. Thornfield's voice sounding so worried and uncertain? So concerned?
And his voice, assuring the housekeeper that, after four hundred years, he knew what he was doing...