Awakenings

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AWAKENINGS TASHA TEMPLE

Published in ebook format by TempleFiction Copyright © 2011 by TempleFiction www.templefiction.com All rights reserved. Cover design by TempleFiction

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Synopsis Lysander, an imprisoned vampire king, begins appearing in Abby Fenton’s dreams from his distant exile, disrupting her happy marriage with forgotten images of their dark and brutal passion. As Abby and her stockbroker husband, Nick, struggle to come to terms with Lysander’s disturbing influence over Abby, Nick is forced to reveal chilling secrets of his own that he has kept hidden from his wife for years. Abby must not only cope with these new revelations but resist the temptations of her former vampire lover. Nick and Abby travel to Egypt to find the vampire and try to free Abby from his torment. There, Abby is confronted with her own sinister, long-forgotten past which beckons to her as she comes closer to Lysander’s power. As Nick and Abby face the dark king’s evil, they hope that not only their marriage survives, but they do as well.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

The Making of a Queen The Love of a Vampire King Awakenings Sex, Lies and Therapy Hidden Secrets Seduction Cairo A Past Unveiled Desert Sands A Taste of Darkness Temptations of the Night The Turning of Martha Maynerd Inside the Pyramid Island Respite

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CHAPTER 1 The Making of a Queen Abby lifted her shoulder-length layered blonde hair from the back of neck, shaking her head to simulate a breeze on her skin. It made her feel slightly cooler, providing some relief from the hot sun overhead, beating down incessantly. She squinted across the sands, noticing for the first time a small shimmer on the horizon. It was growing larger, drawing closer, she supposed. It quickly materialized into a dust cloud and then into a man riding a gold horse. He drew up next to her, dismounted quickly and landed lightly on his feet. He murmured something to his horse that sent it off running. Abby looked at him curiously. He had white-blond hair, lighter even than the sands which seemed to stretch endlessly around her, which fell softly around his eyes. His skin was pale, very pale, but his eyes were a vivid blue, matching the brilliant expanse of sky. She watched as he walked smoothly toward her, almost gliding, and stopped a few feet away. “Abigalia,” he said, fondness in his eyes. He looked at her expectantly. She stared suspiciously. Who was this man? And her name was Abigail, not Abigalia. “Do I know you?” she asked warily. He took a step closer to her. He had a light dusting of sand over his loose white shirt and dark trousers. He brushed absently at his sleeves, watching her thoughtfully. “Perhaps not,” he said quietly, cocking his head. “Although I had rather hoped . . . .” He studied her for a few more moments and then held out his hand to her, palm up. It was rough, slightly calloused. “Take my hand and I will show you who I am. You will recall yourself. You will remember me . . . remember us.” He spoke affectionately, although there was some command in his voice. Abby thought for a moment. A desert? A handsome stranger? It seemed surreal. She tried to recall the last logical thought she had. She remembered a rather demanding day at work, having to revise several ad designs for a major client who had tried to save money by taking some of its business to a competitor. The company had botched the work and Abby had spent all day salvaging it. She had come home to her husband, Nick, had dinner, a bath and a glass of wine and had gone to bed early. “This is a dream,” Abby realized suddenly, drawing back a little. “I don’t know you. And anyway . . . I’m married.” The man’s eyes seemed to glitter. “Happily,” she added, although the intensity of his gaze was making her feel warmth which couldn’t be explained by the heat of the day.

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He held her eyes, considering. “If this is a dream, then you have nothing to fear from me. You will wake next to your – husband. But since this appears to be only fantasy, what harm could there be in exploring while you are here?” he said softly, gesturing around them. She followed his motions with her eyes, taking in the row of stunning pyramids marching away in the distance. She hadn’t noticed those before. Then she realized they were standing under a circle of palm trees. Where had those come from? A soft gurgling sound drifted up from near her feet and she looked down at a beautiful clear pool filled with floating white flowers. An oasis. “You are in a beautiful, exotic setting. Such a dream is rare – it should not be wasted,” he said provocatively. Abby met his eyes. He was strikingly attractive, but there was an aspect to him which she couldn’t quite identify. An undercurrent of danger, wickedness even. But this was a dream – after all, clearly it was a dream – so what harm could there be in accompanying him as he asked? “Before I ‘explore’ with you, I want to know your name,” she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes. He smiled, amused. “I am known by many names,” he said smoothly. “But you may call me Lysander.” “Lysander,” she repeated, almost entranced simply by speaking his name. He extended his hand again. This time, Abby smiled, stepped forward, and placed her small hand within his. He let it rest there for a moment and then lowered his head, raising his blue eyes to her amber ones, burning into them. He smiled seductively and closed his hand over hers. Instantly, Abby felt herself drawn into a whirling vortex, sights and sounds rushing past at dizzying speed, combining together in a sickening blur, and then she was suddenly spinning downward, plunging to the earth, she had lost her grip on Lysander and she found herself in a small, dim room, sitting before a fireplace. ***** This is how we met. Abby heard Lysander’s voice very distantly as if he were inside her thoughts, prowling the deep recesses of her mind. Before she could respond, she felt a wave of agony breaking over her, crushing her, drowning her. She had never felt so tormented, such a keening sense of loss, as she rocked herself, doubled over in a chair drawn before the dying embers in the hearth.

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It was too much to bear, too much pain. She dropped from the chair, falling to her knees, resting her forehead on them as sobs racked her body convulsively. She thought she had been cried out. She thought she had been empty, dry, a depleted shell with no more tears left to shed. But now they came again, unbidden, unwelcome, her eyes squeezed shut against them, powerless to stop their flow. She raised her head slightly, screaming “No!” to the air, but there was no one. No one to hear, no one to share her grief. She was alone. Forever alone. The idyllic life she and her family had made for themselves – gone. Abby’s sister had fallen in love with a man of a different social class and had become pregnant. It was forbidden that they wed, but they married in secret. When their deception was discovered, his family threatened to kill them both. They had all fled together. Abby’s parents, her grandmother, her sister and new husband, even Abby’s fiancé, Peter. They settled on the green skirts of the mountains far from any village or town. They had everything they needed to live unaided – some livestock, a few cultivated fields, wild berries, nut groves. After establishing themselves in the small valley, they were soon joined by Abby’s beautiful nephew, Andrew. He had grown to be two years old, a beaming, joyful child, happy and loved, looked after by the entire family. Yes, life had been idyllic. Not once had they left their homestead, carving their living from the bare earth, clearing fields, building their stone house from the ground up, independent, in need of nothing. But it had been more than two years and no one had come after them. They could let their guard down, just a little. They made plans to take the wagon to the nearest village to trade for a few winter luxuries – candles, spices for monotonous soups, writing paper. It was such a special treat, little Andrew had even been allowed to go. Abby had been stricken ill – nothing serious, but she was far too miserable to endure the cross-country trip by wagon and then the long, winding road, nearly a day’s journey to the village. After her family departed, Abby’s sickness passed rather quickly and she waited eagerly for them to return. They didn’t. Nor did they return the next day, nor the next, nor the next. Finally, wracked with worry, Abby had mounted the remaining horse, the other having pulled the wagon, and rode across the wild heather slopes until she reached the trail to the village. She found them halfway to town. They hadn’t stood a chance. The offending couple had been bound together, back to back, and run through with the same sword. It looked as if her parents and fiancé had tried to stop the attack on her sister and brother-in-law. Her parents had slashes on their arms and one of Peter’s hands was missing at the wrist. Whoever had been sent to right the wrong of marriage outside of social strata, had been far too overzealous. Abby’s grandmother looked to have died a quick death from a blow 7

to the head, but Andrew . . . little Andrew. The only thing Abby could hope is that they killed the child after his parents, and not before, allowing the couple to die with the belief that their son had survived them. She had returned here, devastated, broken, not caring whether she had been followed by her family’s murderers. It was unlikely anyway. They had all been dead for days when she found them. Besides, Abby didn’t care whether anyone came, found and killed her. Life meant nothing – nothing mattered to her anymore. She had no one. They were her entire family, extended and otherwise. She sobbed on the floor until she was drained again, her sides heaving slowly, her head resting in her hands. She had considered taking her own life but the grief was too fresh to even accomplish that. So she just sat and cried endlessly. The only thing raising her from her despondency was the need to retrieve wood as she burned through their winter stores day after day. It didn’t matter whether she needed the fire, she just wanted to stare miserably into its flames. And that is why, when there was a knock late that night on the door to the small stone hut, Abby was not surprised. The little homestead was located so far from any population center by rights no one should have been able to find it. The house itself was situated on the edge of a small grove of trees, not easily seen, and Abby had only a few embers burning in the hearth. There were no lights in the windows to draw attention to the fact that anyone was inside. She got up from the floor, feeling unsteady, her skin flushing cold. It had to be her family’s murderers come to finish her off. Who else would it be? The knock repeated itself. It was firm, insistent. Her heart hammered in her chest as her breathing quickened. She glanced around the room for something to use as a weapon, her eyes falling on a long stick she used to poke at wood in the fireplace. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Abby walked silently to the door, her fingers wrapped around the branch and stood staring at the handle, her pulse stuttering in her throat, her hands shaking. Then, she reached for the iron latch and pressed down on it, letting the door swing toward her, the stick gripped tightly in her hand. There was no one. Her eyes scanned the blackness outside and she stepped into the doorway to assure herself no one waited. But she had heard the knock, hadn’t she? Perhaps her ears were playing tricks on her in her grief. Yes, most likely that was it. She had imagined it. Possibly, she had even imagined it was them – her family. Yes, that was it – they had been waylaid and were just arriving a few days late, knocking at the door to surprise Abby, ready to burst through with warm smiles and laughter as they set a crackling fire ablaze and began cooking a savory stew in the kettlepot. If only . . . . She moved farther outside, trying to see anything in the darkness. There was a slight sliver of a moon and she could make out the outline of the fields and forest. She heard

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the soft grunting of the livestock in their pens, but saw and felt no one. She closed her eyes, exhaled and turned back to the house. A man was standing in the doorway behind her. Abby screamed, unable to stop herself, at the shock of seeing someone – anyone – around the hut, especially inside. He must have slipped behind her while she was peering through the night. “I am sorry, Abigail. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said apologetically, in a rich, deep voice. He swept his long, black robes aside and beckoned for her to enter. She stared dumbly at him, wondering if he planned to kill her, not wondering how he knew her name. Her hand tightened over the stick and then her grip relaxed. If he did kill her, it would be better than her miserable existence. She really was ready to end it, to get it over with. She looked bravely up at his silhouette in the dying firelight, flung the wood aside and walked past him, back inside. He closed the door quietly behind them and strode over to the hearth, holding his hands out and breathing something as the fire flared up and burned brightly. Abby only dimly registered this. He gestured politely for her to sit in one of the chairs and she did as if under a spell. Then, he took the chair next to her, drawing it up close. She sat listlessly, her eyes on the crackling blaze. “Abigail,” he breathed. She looked up at him. There was something about the way he said her name, like a caress that reached deep within her soul. “Are you here to kill me?” she asked vacantly. There was no unease, no fear, no reservation in her voice. It was only a question. He sat back in the chair, stroking his chin, watching the firelight play over her soft, gold hair and amber eyes. “No,” he said quietly. “I am here to offer you life.” Abby looked back at the fire, staring at it for a few moments. “You would do better to take my life,” she said indifferently. Before she knew it, he was next to her, very close. The chairs had disappeared and they were sitting on a red velvet sofa. She hadn’t seen him move to her and had no idea how the sofa had appeared. But if this were to be the object on which her death occurred, so be it. It didn’t matter. He brought his hand to Abby’s cheek, tracing her skin lightly with his fingertips.

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“Such a beautiful girl,” he breathed. “Why would you possibly prefer death?” She leaned into his touch, feeling warmed by it, strengthened. She looked up, studying him more closely. He had very pale hair, much lighter than hers, long and drawn back against the nape of his neck. And his skin was almost colorless. He was dressed in a purple and gold waistcoat, a cuffed shirt and a white cravat under his black cloak. He had a refined, aristocratic look, but there was something else that made him seem . . . approachable. Abby felt drawn to him, her lips parting slightly as his fingers brushed her jaw. He continued his gentle caresses, watching her sigh with pleasure as he circled the patches of red on her cheeks, mottled from crying. Then she recalled his question and turned from him, dropping her eyes. They began to fill with tears again. “Shhh. Don’t cry,” he said soothingly, stroking her hair softly, gently placing one arm around her shoulders. Abby hesitated and then willingly fell into his arms, pressing her head against his chest as if she were a little girl in need of reassurance. She felt him draw her into his arms. His embrace was strong and comforting. “Oh Abigail, you have suffered. Unspeakable, terrible torment. You have lost everyone you’ve ever cared about, everyone ever dear to you.” He held her, his fingers twirling in her hair. She sniffed at his declaration, trembling slightly. “What if I told you I could take away your pain?” he asked darkly, his arms tightening imperceptibly around her. “Set you free, free from your misery, free from the constraints of your anguish.” This was what she had been waiting for. She steadied herself, her eyes on his chest. “I am ready for that,” she told him, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “I no longer wish to live. There is nothing for me here.” He pulled back from her, his ice blue eyes raking hers. “And what if you could exact revenge on those responsible, Abigail?” She looked at him, her amber eyes shining like twin suns in the firelight. “I would kill them,” she said bitterly. “Everyone responsible.” She began to shake. Suddenly, he rose, his cloak billowing around him and drew Abby to her feet holding her by the hands mere inches from him. His hands felt cool against her skin, almost cold, but it was welcome relief to the heat she began to feel washing over her. “I will do that for you. That and more. Much more,” he said, his eyes smoldering into hers. “You will have both life and revenge.”

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She hardly dared to breath as her eyes fell on his mouth. It was red in contrast to his paleness, warm and inviting. She felt an irresistible urge to kiss him, to feel those sensuous lips against her own, Peter all but forgotten, as she swayed weakly. He did not fail to notice her responses as his own breathing started to quicken. He released her hands and swiftly brought his own hands up to her face, cupping her jaw, his blue eyes compelling. He bent slowly to her, watching her reaction, as he drew her lips in his own, softly moving against her mouth without intruding. Abby immediately felt a tingling sensation that seemed to spiral from his lips through hers, drifting deliciously through her body. His touch was so sweet, so gentle, it was like warm honey rolling over her. She felt warmth spreading through her belly, igniting flames of delight that licked gently at her spine, heat spilling over into her thighs as she began to push against him, opening her mouth to him, inviting, wanting more. Instead, he broke the kiss and pulled back, his hands still framing her face. She let out a small whimper, her eyes half-closed as she tried to follow his lips. Then she opened her eyes fully and trembled at the expression on his face. She saw his desire hardening into primal lust, a brazen hunger, an unmistakable carnality coloring his features. Her eyes widened, but she did not pull away. “And now Abigail,” he said, his voice resonant, “I will release you, as you have asked me to do, and you shall have your retribution.” He moved aside her softly curling gold locks, pushing them over her shoulder, and then tilted her neck to the side as she closed her eyes, welcoming his touch. “Wait,” she cried, her eyes flying open. He held her head firmly in place, angled back. He was bent to her, his lips near her throat. She could not see his eyes, but could feel his warm breath at her neck, sending thrills of electricity running through her. “You know my name,” she said, almost gasping. “What is yours?” He was silent for a moment as she waited breathlessly, helplessly for his response. “Lysander,” he replied silkily. “My name is Lysander. And you will be known as Abigalia. My Queen.” Then her world started spinning and Abby felt her breath compress as the room disappeared in a swirl of flame and suddenly she found herself standing on a dark plain.

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***** Let me show you what you grew to become over the centuries. It was Lysander’s voice again and the night was cold. Abby shivered, drawing her warm cloak around her. She looked across the vast expanse at the thousands of shapes shifting before her, forming even rows and orderly squares. There was no moon, but she could see everything clearly. The minions drew closer to her. Her minions. Abby watched them, a sense of pride and exhilaration welling within her. She stood imperiously on a large flat rock as they arranged themselves in organized groups. There were skeleton-like creatures, glowing phosphorescent, wielding large, sharp knives; hunched, disfigured humans with the wings of giant bats, their eyes whorling in slow red circles; horrible hounds with long bony hindlegs and short hairless forelegs, their black eyes glinting evilly; thick gray trolls carrying tree trunks as staves; and all manner of other dark and evil creatures. She raised her arms to the air, her black cloak falling gracefully from them. “My army!” she exclaimed. The possessive truth of her declaration rang out in the night, her delight reverberating through the air. Chills raced up and down Abby’s spine from the dark energy and power she felt flowing around her. The gathered masses thumped their weapons and stamped their feet against the ground, an exuberant rumbling cacophony. A slow smile spread across Abby’s face, as she stood reveling in the love her army showed her, their devotion, their loyalty. Pleasure coursed through her almost orgasmically. Then, she lowered her arms slowly and they fell silent. “Tonight we are going to right a great wrong,” she called out across the plain, her voice carrying strongly. “After centuries of oppression, the time has come for us to reclaim our rightful place in the world, to take our position as the rulers, rather than the ruled. We shall no longer be creatures of the night, of the dark. We will walk freely where we choose, do as we please, we shall crush, destroy and annihilate those who have been responsible for our persecution. None shall oppose or stand before us ever again.” She stopped, letting her words sink in. Her army stood motionless, patient, listening for her direction, waiting solely for her commands. They did not need to be buoyed, but Abby felt it must be inspiring all the same. “You serve me well,” she praised them, her eyes sweeping over the masses standing before her in shadow. Every eye was trained on her, each ghoulish head attentive, every bony, rubbery, taloned and grotesque hand twitching, ready to do her bidding.

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“Now serve me once again and we shall know victory!” she shouted. Then, she saw it on the indigo horizon, a bright, white light approaching in the distance, moving steadily toward her. She raised both arms before her and swept each outward in a wide parting motion as her minions obediently drew back to either side in response, cleaving their ranks evenly, leaving a swath of open ground before her. Abby watched, unmoving, as the gleam drew nearer, blindingly effulgent, almost too bright to gaze upon. She could hear the hisses and sibilant whispers from her army, distressed by the light, wrath building within them like a storm. She made out a rider approaching, a man mounted on an enormous gray horse holding a sword, bathed in a dazzling brilliance, leading an army of thousands more, riders on horseback, winged creatures of the light, flitting fairies bobbing behind. A little further, she thought. The lead rider began to draw abreast of the rock on which she stood. She put her hand up to shade her eyes but could not make out his features. No matter. “Now!” she screamed, a cry of rage and fury, all of her power, desire and hatred channeled into her command. Abby’s horrible legions of the macabre and ghastly swarmed forward, closing ranks, swallowing the warriors of the light and encasing them in darkness as she looked on in exhilaration and satisfaction, their annihilation complete, warmth and solace flooding through her. As the last bit of light extinguished, Abby felt herself swirling again, only this time she braced her stomach against the sensation and it wasn’t long before she looked up and found herself in a torchlit room.

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CHAPTER 2 The Love of a Vampire King And this . . . this is how I loved you and how you loved me in return. Abby shook off Lysander’s words and looked around, trying to get her bearings. She was in a large, stone chamber, obviously underground, lit only by torches around the perimeter. Deep red hangings lined the walls and an enormous round bed rested in the center draped in red satin. A filmy, gauzy material fell from a wide ceiling ring over the entire bed, motionless as there was no draft. There was a sharp, pungent smell in the air, something appealing and sweet. She took a step forward and realized she was wearing a dress. A tight-fitting red gown wrapped with gold sequins. The dress had a high collar which encircled her neck and then laid open to her bosom in the shape of a diamond. She lifted the hem slightly and marveled at the four-inch red heels she seemed to be wearing effortlessly. She had never been good in heels. Then she noticed movement in the back of the chamber. There was a dark opening she had not noticed. Probably a passageway of some sort. She drifted silently across the stone floor, easily in her heels, until she reached the opening and stood looking down at a low divan. Lysander was sprawled across it, wearing nothing but a pair of tight, black leather pants, held up by a wide leather belt. As Abby gazed upon the scene, she felt anger kindling within her, something instinctive and primal surging forward, and then she was suddenly enveloped and consumed by rage. “Why must you feed before coming to me?” she hissed. Lysander looked up at her, his blue eyes radiating heat. He licked his lips and then looked down at the young woman draped across him, her head thrown back, her neck smeared with blood. She wore a rose-colored dress, the top pulled down below her bosom, revealing her pale white breasts. They too were marred with streaks of red. He rose, lifting the limp woman in his arms, his eyes fixed to Abby, and then tossed the woman over the back of the daybed where she hit the wall of the chamber and crumpled to the floor. He did not watch to see where she landed. She had already been dead. “It gives me energy, my Queen. It is a pleasant way to pass the time. It in no way diminishes my . . . passion for you,” he said, stretching slightly and rolling his neck, showing off his musculature for her as he let his eyes drift over her delicious body wrapped in that red dress. Abby’s eyes flicked over his pale, ribbed chest, resting on the wide buckle on his belt. She watched it writhe as if alive, taking the form of a winged demon with shining red eyes. She raised her gold eyes to his.

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“I should provide all the energy you need,” she said contemptuously. “I’ll make it up to you, Abigalia,” he purred, moving closer, using her given name rather than her title. She tossed her waist-length blonde hair and turned her head from him, raising her chin arrogantly, as if annoyed by his advances. Lysander loved her like this. She was challenging him. She was the Queen, all powerful, and he was King only so long as could break her, dominate her, be stronger, in control. If he ceased being able to force her surrender, she would replace him. Fortunately for Lysander, he felt his position rather secure. So she wanted to be broken tonight. He could do that. In a flash, faster than the normal eye could see, he crossed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her savagely to him. The sequins on her dress felt rough against his skin as he ground himself hungrily into her curves. Abby resisted, pulling away, refusing to engage him. “You’ll have to do better than that,” she sneered, her eyes flashing defiantly. Lysander snarled, drawing back his lips to reveal his sharp eyeteeth as he tightened his strong grip over Abby’s narrow waist and jerked her again, harder. She let out a small gasp as he forced the air from her lungs. He dropped his hands to her buttocks, squeezing them tightly for a moment and then spreading them apart under her dress. He growled instinctively. He would return to that later. If she wanted to dominated, she would be . . . fully. He slid his hands up her back, wrapped them in her long, yellow hair and wrenched her body away from his. She hissed, writhing, held in place only by her hair, pain searing through her scalp as she strained against his merciless grip. Lysander held her cruelly, shaking her until he finally forced her to still. She stopped struggling, panting, eyeing him venomously, waiting for him to give her an opening. Abruptly, he stepped into her again and pulled her hair down viciously, forcing her head back. Her neck was covered by her high collar, but he bent her back so severely, her breasts pushed through the diamond in the front of her gown and he lowered his head to them, snaking his tongue into her cleavage, raking his teeth over them, still holding her head locked backwards. She whimpered a bit at the position, her neck starting to feel uncomfortable, but instead of letting her up, he shook her again and then drew one hand over her breasts, dragging his nails into them hard enough to leave small trails of blood. Enough of the dress, Lysander thought, as he ripped the fabric and in one fluid movement, shredded it open in front, tearing it away at her waist and tossing it aside. The collar separated from the

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gown. It was an interesting effect, he thought, admiring Abigalia naked from the waist up, the sequined red collar still around her throat. He released his grip on her hair, bringing his hand to the back of her neck, squeezing tightly and forcing her to look at him, his blue eyes searing into her gold ones. Her eyes were now shining with lust, an animalistic need within them, something he was more than willing to meet. He crushed his lips to hers, viciously, barbarically, their tongues battling each other, as he swallowed her down, scouring her palate, tonsils and throat, his kiss actually painful. He could feel their teeth scraping against each other as their mouths wrestled and then he clamped down hard on hers, driving his eyeteeth into the inside of her lips, tasting blood, not a steady flow on which to feed, but a punishment, trapping her, holding there as he let her warm fluid bathe his mouth. She whined in the back of her throat. He finally released his bite and pulled away from her slightly. Her eyes were angry, wrathful as she smarted from the pain. Lysander grinned, running his tongue slowly over his lips, sucking at the remnants of her blood, smacking his lips with obvious enjoyment. If Abigalia thought that was painful, she was in for a big surprise. He reached to her waist and ripped the rest of her dress from her body, leaving her in nothing but the red collar and her heels. His eyes blazed into hers, darkened with desire, as if he had suffered a famine and she was the feast on which he would slake his gluttony. Then he advanced, exuding dominance and power as he backed her up to the bed. She snarled a little, showing a hint of her eyeteeth, but her gold eyes were locked to his and she was mesmerized by the bestiality she saw in them. He stopped, reaching above her with his hand and swept aside the gossamer curtain before he picked her up and threw her hard on the circular bed, watching the red satin caress her pale flesh as she slid across it. Then he leapt at her, flying through the air, intent on landing on her body, ready to take her. He felt the cool smoothness of the sheets under his torso and then empty air. Abigalia was gone. Lysander growled, a real growl, gliding from the bed and standing up in one movement as if an illusion. He scanned the room. The minx. So she wanted him to chase her. Fine. “Abigalia,” he hissed. “I am coming. I will find you.” He swooped around the bed, seeing nothing and then slipped quickly behind the sofa, expecting to see her crouched there. Nothing but the young woman’s lifeless body. He was starting to grow impatient. “You are playing with fire,” he breathed, circling the room. He knew she hadn’t left the chamber. He could sense her here. “And that fire is me.” Suddenly, he knew where she was. He bent his knees slightly and then leaped into the air, landing lightly on the metal circle around which the filmy bedcurtains hung from the ceiling and looked into her startled gold eyes. She tried to fly off, but he caught her, plunging through the hoop and landing on the bed, throwing her under him. 16

“Too late,” he snarled, straddling her, bending low over her body. He unsheathed a small knife from his belt and brought it up to her face. Her eyes widened, a wild gilded look in them, as he twisted the blade so that it caught the torchlight, savoring the fear and respect he saw in her eyes. Then he brought it to her throat and ran it carefully up her collar, slitting the fabric before he pulled it from her neck and tossed it aside, re-sheathing the blade. Lysander rolled his head, his teeth fully extended, almost roaring with lust as he returned his eyes to her. That throat. He could see two small marks on one side. The marks of her turning would be there forever. But he could puncture her and feed. Sometimes she would let him. Those marks would heal. There was nothing sweeter, no indulgence greater, on earth, in heaven or hell, than the blood of a Queen. But not yet, Lysander thought as he straightened and removed his belt, holding Abby securely with his thighs and the weight of his body. He looked thoughtfully at it as he ran the supple leather slowly through his hands, and then tossed the belt next to him on the bed. Then he leaned forward, lifting his hips and removed his pants in a blur of motion, rising again to a sitting position, still astride her. “Look upon my cock, my Queen. It is all for you,” he said lustfully, lifting his hips slightly and thrusting his pelvis forward at her as his organ towered up like a massive, deadly dagger. Lysander’s cock was hugely erect, light and pale in color, like his visage, springing from a sea of dense platinum hair. Thick red veins pulsated along its length, the head crimson and throbbing, the foreskin fully retracted. It was magnificent, colossal, enhanced by his vampirism, no doubt much of the reason Abigalia kept him as her King. Looking down at the woman underneath him, it didn’t look as if he would possibly fit inside her. He sneered lasciviously. He knew better. Abby lay pinned under him, her hands pushing up against his tightly ribbed abdomen, snarling slightly, her eyes glazing with anticipation. She was naked now except for her heels, her perfect white breasts undulating in the florid light of the chamber, the small trails of blood left by Lysander now dried, the wounds already healed. She slid her hands down to his immense, throbbing shaft, encircling it with both hands as she began to stroke it carnally, wantonly, rolling her hips under him as Lysander groaned greedily, his eyes ablaze, piercing hers. He let her continue for a short time and then leaned forward and dropped his weight on her, pinning her hands still wrapped around his massive organ. “You’re mine, Abigalia,” Lysander snarled, his lips drawn up over his teeth. She let out a small rumbling noise against his declaration, something between a growl and a whimper, as she strained to move, trapped and helpless. He reached under her shoulders and locked her body down as he pulled his hips back and slammed into her without ceremony, plunging through her tight flesh until he hit bottom hard with his iron shaft and she screamed. Lysander withdrew, looking down at her, his eyes flickering, plundering her again, driving even farther this time as she bucked against 17

him and then he ripped the next scream from her throat as he fell to her ruthlessly, his strokes deep, violent and unrestrained. Abby threw her head back, a guttural growl escaping her throat, as Lysander ravaged her unrelenting, his hips an invisible blur, fucking her so hard and viciously her body began to vibrate with the speed of his possession. She cried out, gasping and pushing at him, trying to slow the ferocity of his assault, but he ignored her, tearing the breath from her body, sparing nothing as he raged into her with such power any mortal woman would have been ripped in half. “Say it Abigalia,” Lysander growled as he tore through her wet, sucking sheath, his blue eyes alight, battering her cervix at his blinding pace, surging harder against her, watching her body swing and jerk under him as he propelled her across the red satin, dragging broken shrieks from her. “Tell me I’m the only one who satisfies you this way,” he demanded, continuing his savage torture of her tight sleeve, a terrible, delicious torture Abby was all too willing to bear as her body pitched under his frenzied tempo, blistering in his fire, content to burn up under the blaze of his dominion. He stopped for a moment as her eyes fluttered open and then he rammed into her so hard, he felt her cervix shift and her glazed eyes cleared, momentary fear in them. “Tell . . . me,” he said, hard thrusts punctuating his words. “You . . . will . . . say . . . it.” “Lysander,” she cried, anguished. “You – you are the only one,” she gasped and then her eyes rolled back in her head as she went over the edge, her pussy clamping down hard over his shaft, her hips lifting from the bed as her nails scraped his forearms, leaving long streaks of blood trailing down them. Lysander winced at the pain from her fingernails, relishing the sting even as it enraged him, his blue eyes flaming as her walls tightened and shuddered over his cock, her tunnel rippling and pulsing with her release. “Yesss,” he hissed and then he pummeled into her even more fiercely, driving her hard across the bed until she reached the edge and plunged over it, her shoulders unsupported, her head bouncing freely, snapping continuously at the neck, her hands grasping uselessly at his forearms, as she weakly cried out still in the throes of bliss. Lysander was immune to her protests, his ice blue eyes hard, as he pistoned between her thighs, trying to drill a new hole through her, his cock a flaming pole of fire searing through her, singeing her flesh, setting her aflame with fiery, raw pleasure. “I own you,” he hissed. “You are mine and mine alone. Never forget it.” She tried to cry out her assent, but nothing but small wails and rasps in counterpoint to his penetration came out. Lysander let her thump brokenly over the edge of the bed for several minutes and then jerked her back, throwing her legs over his shoulders and pinning her hands as he savored the feel of her hot, wet envelope wrapping around his 18

thick shaft, relishing the openness of her core to him, digging even deeper with his tool, taking everything she could give and then demanding more. She looked up at him, her gold eyes glinting as she licked her lips slowly, letting her tongue run over her teeth suggestively. She ached, his possession powerful and stinging, but she was not so easily taken even under Lysander’s ceaseless violation of her body. He could feel Abby’s wrists resisting his grip where he held them hard to the bed. “So you are not lost to me yet?” he asked, his eyes hot. She was remarkable and could take so much. He never regretted for a single moment of any century making her his Queen. Shoving aside thoughts of affection, he abruptly released her wrists and grabbed her legs, crossing them in front of him, scissoring them over each other tightly as he thrust into her, groaning. This position was impossibly tight. Abigalia was always tight, but she felt almost unbearably exquisite as she took his length and girth, quivering around him, her pussy like a slender velvet fist gripping and squeezing his cock as he submerged himself in her heat. Lysander probed and prodded, pillaging Abby’s core as it thumped over his shaft, sustained by the sensation of her narrow tunnel, her friction caressing him, his cock rock hard. “You are such a temptress, Abigalia. Such a wanton, beautiful temptress. But still not enough for you?” he sneered, releasing her legs and pushing them forward, folding them until she was nearly doubled over, seizing the flesh of her thighs, holding her in place. Abby tried to inhale, but found it difficult to breathe now, her body locked down rigidly, only her torso shifting and buffeting as he stroked her ruthlessly. She felt completely open and vulnerable to his violation, unable to move as he rammed his thickness in her to the hilt, gasping at the pain of his pistoning descent as his loins bounced off of her thighs, laying claim to every soft, blissful bit of her flesh. She had no control over his depth, no way to stop him, he was too strong, too overpowering, she was defenseless, the position too much as he held her immobile. Abby vocalized her frustration and need, howling with what little air she had left in her diaphragm as she felt herself squeezing again around his pole, his repeated piercing overwhelming as she reached the plateau, the building of her climax muting the pain, suddenly surging upward out of control, before she came apart, screaming and begging for him to stop while gushing around him, whimpering as he refused, instead spinning his hips vengefully, scouring her as she cried out from the overload of sensation, her voice going hoarse. “Now you feel me, my Queen,” he breathed with vindication, staring down at Abby as he drove through her release. His eyes glittered as she quieted, gasping reflexively with each stroke, but not protesting, beginning to accept his strength, slowly becoming lost to his power. “Yesss,” he hissed, giving her several hard, battering strokes and then withdrawing. She clawed up at him, coming back to herself with his loss, hissing and writhing in displeasure. He looked at the marks on the underside of her thighs where he had gripped 19

the flesh so hard it was purpling, then pulled her legs back down, pushing them to the bed and settling over her pelvis. His organ stood up like a lance, hard as a diamond, almost bulging, almost completely red now from the flow of blood. She pushed up at him, trying to get more from him, and he brought his hand to the front of her neck and held it there, choking her slowly, applying pressure until she fell still and looked up at him submissively, surrendering again. Her eyes blazed, but she did not move even though she was panting with need. “You want to be broken, Abigalia. You want to know what it is to be my Queen. What it is that I am your King. That I claim you. I own you.” He brought his face very close to hers, his hand still over her throat. “I will show you,” he hissed, releasing her. He moved from his position astride her, reached under her, grabbed a thick handful of blonde hair and dragged her over onto her stomach. Still holding her hair, he said hoarsely. “Get up.” She did, rising to her hands and knees, her core dripping wet and hot, waiting for his continued ravishment. He grinned wickedly. Oh he would continue to ravish her, all right. He leaned down and wrapped his arm tightly around her belly. She would not be moving away from him. Then, he performed a skill he had developed and honed personally through pleasurable trial and error. He brushed her hair away, bent forward over her and punctured her throat from behind, drawing her blood into his mouth. She orgasmed again and he kept her locked under his grip, feeling her struggle helplessly in her rolls of ecstasy. But instead of drinking her blood, her drew it into his mouth until it was full and then moved away from her neck, dragging his mouth over her skin, watching the trail of blood as his lips traced her spine. When he reached her ass, Lysander grabbed her buttocks and forced them apart, bringing his mouth to her tight hole. Then he pursed his lips together and blew strongly. Abby felt the sensation of a warm, sticky fluid filling her rectum and began to fight under Lysander, bucking fiercely, trying to dislodge him. He squeezed up under her ribcage against her diaphragm, she almost blacked out, gasping as he slowly reduced his grip. “You wanted it,” he said shaking her. “You wanted to be possessed by me. Now you will know Queen, why I am your King,” he said drawing back and plunging his cock between her cheeks, groaning as he felt her tightness trap him. Abby screamed hoarsely at his intrusion. “It will be harder for you if you fight me,” he breathed, pushing in further.

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She arched, trying to shake him loose, but her ass was firmly impaled on his cock, her mind reeling, her subjugation consuming, as Abby realized through the haze of ache that Lysander truly deserved to be her King. She fought back the urge to resist him knowing it would only bring more pain and instead pushed back as he slid farther into her, forcing himself deeper until his balls rested firmly against her ass. “There, Abigalia. This is where you belong,” he said, pulling out and thrusting into her, beginning to ram his organ into her buttocks, quickening his strokes, his speed increasing as her muscles gripped and sucked at him, seizing her hips as he pulled her hungrily over his shaft. Abby shrieked as his huge pole split her again and again, the sensation painful and stabbing. He pulled back and plunged into her again, burying his cock as far as he could, hissing in pleasure as he held still for a moment, settling into her, and she moaned softly. Then, he began fucking her with abandon, enjoying her cries as he pummeled her, his hips rising high in the air before slamming against her, his loins thumping against her creamy buttocks, streaked with blood and coated with the juices of her climaxes, a pink stickiness spreading over their pale bodies, his blue eyes half lidded as she repeatedly sucked him into her tightness. Eventually, his eyes fell on the belt beside the bed and he smiled, reaching for it and doubling it over. Then he raised it and brought it down hard over her one buttock. She screamed as it colored, the stripe beginning to show. He did the same thing to the other cheek, even harder. Then he began to beat her mercilessly, alternating his blows from cheek to cheek as he pummeled her until she was sobbing silently, lost to pleasure and pain. He watched his glistening cock bury itself in her, his balls swinging against her jiggling red buttocks. “Say it. Admit that I own you,” he commanded. He hit her harder. Tears were falling from her eyes. “Say it,” he hissed. He hit her again and again and then stroked into her hard, her ass a mass of fiery pain inside and out. “You . . . own . . . me,” she gasped, her throat burning. He looked down at her. Her buttocks were bright red, welts forming on both sides. He tossed the belt aside, satisfied, and threw back his head, his eyes closed in pleasure as he as he pumped into her tight hole and rode her, grunting contentedly. She whimpered, her voice only a harsh whisper, weak protests all that were left, as Lysander defiled her, hammering at her mercilessly, his thick rod appearing and disappearing into the reddened, quivering globes of her ass, tearing through her for a long time, until she finally dropped to the bed, her head listless against the red sheets, her eyes closed and 21

hair tangled tightly as Lysander took and took from her, relentlessly moving toward his own staggering conclusion. Lysander gripped her hips tighter, squeezing her flesh in his fingers, driving into her deeply, groaning as his muscles tensed with his impending release, his cock impossibly hard, as his balls pulled in on themselves, heating up, the sensations multiplying a thousandfold, and then the unbearable tension shattered and he erupted with a terrible bellow, unleashing torrents of sperm deep into Abby’s rectum, grabbing her, pulling her to him, his hips heaving as he spewed jet after jet of hot, creamy thickness. Lysander’s powerful surge and vocalized lust, affirming his need for Abby, triggered something deep within her. As he disgorged himself, roaring her name, she melted under him again, crying weakly, bucking and humping as she spun up and outward, drawn up into her own bliss, shuddering as she was rocked by waves of ecstasy. Lysander did not withdraw immediately, his body folded over hers. Breathing heavily, he pulled her down on her side to the bed, deflating inside her, his arms around her, no longer brutal, but warm, even tender, as he whispered her name reverently. He pulled her damp, tangled mass of hair aside so that he could rest his lips against her skin, savoring the residual salty flavor of her perspiration and blood. Abby felt reclaimed, whole, reveling in the affection she sensed coursing from the gentle touch of his lips. He loved her. She knew it deeply in her soul.

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CHAPTER 3 Awakenings Abby tried to scream, but no sound came out as she worked her mouth frantically, her hands tearing at her throat, pushing at the arms of the man who was trying to pull her hands away. “No!” she screamed as she found her voice, her body shaking violently now, unable to resist the strong arms which now held her by the shoulders, pressing her into the bed as the man rolled on top of her trapping her body under his. “Abby!” She shook as if she was seizuring, shrieking, reaching for her neck, her amber eyes glazed beyond recognition at who was holding her. She clawed and scratched desperately, trying to free herself, sobbing with hysteria. “Abby! Wake up! It’s me . . . Nick!” Recollection began to enter her distraught consciousness and Abby slowly came to herself, choking back her cries, quieting, her trembling subsiding. She lay sweat-soaked looking up at her husband, small tremors still coursing through her. “Nick?” she whispered, her voice hardly audible. He released her shoulders and brushed the wisps of hair aside that were sticking to her forehead. He still lay on top of her, in a tangle of sheets, his naked body pressed to her short white gown, riding high on her hips from her struggles. “Yes, it’s me,” he said, rising to his forearms to relieve the weight from her body, his hand gently stroking her temple. Nick’s brown eyes washed over Abby with concern. “Are you all right?” he asked softly, looking down into her amber eyes. They were still distant. Abby’s pupils contracted as she began to focus on her husband. His face came into relief, attentive and worried. She smiled weakly and then closed her eyes. She was pale, still breathing heavily under him from exertion. “Oh, Nick,” she said, sighing. She brought up her arms and wrapped them around his neck, savoring the feel of his presence. He kissed her forehead lightly and lowered his body to hers again, holding her, embracing her. “Shhh. It’s all right now, Abby. You must have had a nightmare,” Nick said, his lips next to her ear. “A nightmare,” she repeated softly.

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He pulled back somewhat, studying her. They hadn’t closed the blinds when they went to bed and the room was bathed in a ruddy glow from the streetlights. Nick frowned, looking carefully at her throat which Abby had been trying to grasp. He watched the small pulse jumping rhythmically under her skin. Her head was turned and he could see one side of her neck clearly. There were two matching blemishes set apart from each other. They did not look any different than they way they always appeared and he could see no other marks. He tried to look at the other side of her neck, craning his head slightly. “What are you doing?” Abby asked, opening her eyes and turning to look at Nick. He tried to suppress a smile. “Examining you?” She felt a slight pulse of heat at the look in his brown eyes. He rolled from her as his eyes drifted over her body. Her nightgown was drenched and stuck to her breasts. He could see the dark outlines of her areolas and nipples clearly through the sheer fabric. Nick leaned over and kissed her again delicately, pulling away while her eyes were closed and taking a careful look at the other side of her neck. He was relieved to see nothing there. Abby groaned, slid to the edge of the bed and sat up. “I need to use the bathroom,” she said, staying still for a moment. Then she rose and walked through the doorway in the corner of their bedroom. Nick rolled to his back waiting for her, listening to the flush and then the faucet running for a long time. He wondered what her nightmare had been about. It had seemed awful. After a few minutes Abby returned, pulling her damp nightgown over her shoulders as she walked to the bed. She draped it over a chair and slipped next to him, naked. Nick shifted toward her, running his fingers lightly over her collarbone. He watched her breasts rise and fall slightly with her breathing, but intended his touch to be comforting, not sexual right now. He had good instincts. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. She stared at the ceiling, enjoying his soft touch. “It was just a strange dream. More than a dream really. A nightmare.” “You hardly ever have nightmares,” Nick commented, his eyes still on her neck. “Do you remember anything from it?” She turned her head toward him, taking in his rich, brown eyes and short, softly curling brown hair. “No. Not really.” She hesitated. “Except that some of it seemed . . . sexual.” Nick’s eyes darkened, his hands continuing to stroke her shoulders. “It must have been pretty sexual,” he said gently. “You were screaming and shuddering for several minutes. You wouldn’t respond to me. You hardly knew who I was.”

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Her eyes clouded. “I don’t really remember anything specific, just the general sense. There were other things in the dream – I’m not really sure. It seemed both frightening and sad. It wasn’t all sexual. I don’t remember waking up, only that you were suddenly there, over me, calling my name.” Nick brought his hand to her belly and rested it there lightly. “Do you remember where the dream took place?” Abby shook her head. “There were . . . different places. She closed her eyes tightly. “A desert maybe . . . then somewhere dark. The rest of it was dark.” She opened them again. “I don’t really remember, Nick. It’s late. Can we talk about it in the morning?” she asked softly. Nick suddenly recalled something. “Don’t you have an appointment with Dr. Rashid tomorrow?” Abby smiled. “I’d forgotten about that. That will help. Talking with him always helps. Thanks for helping me find such a great therapist. You always take care of me, Nick.” Nick’s eyes glinted at her. He was pleased she appreciated him. He didn’t think she had any reason to see a therapist, but everyone in America seemed to want one. It did seem to make her feel better and it met his own needs as well, so he was happy. Quite happy. “I’m sure he will help,” Nick replied, feeling relieved that Abby was going to talk to someone about the dream. He swallowed, looking at her breasts. Her nipples had hardened and were drawn up into little tight peaks. He glanced at the alarm clock across the bed. One thirty. “Well,” Nick said a bit huskily, “it’s late and uh . . . I’m sure you want to just go to back to sleep.” He reached reluctantly for the sheets entwining around their waists. Abby placed her hand on his forearm, feeling the soft brown hair over his hardened muscles. Her amber eyes were liquid. “I think I’ll probably be ok,” she said, her voice very low. She was ready to replace the memories from her dream. Nick looked at her, as if confirming the invitation in her eyes, and then felt himself swelling, the sensation almost painful as his organ began to lift from his thigh and throb against her skin. He had already been hard lying next to her, looking at her amazing nude body. But then again, Nick was perpetually hard around Abby. It was impossible not to be the way he loved her, as if she were the greatest gift he had ever received, a treasure to be valued above all others. Indeed that’s how he felt about her. She felt the movement of his cock and rolled toward him, drawing her fingers over his lean, muscled back. He watched one breast fall on the other, invitingly plump, as it rested on its twin, forming a delicious swell of cleavage.

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“Abby,” he groaned, unable to help himself, as he pulled her body closer, his hands sliding over her skin, down her soft back, the swell of her hips, her ass. He squeezed her buttocks gently and felt her stiffen slightly. He released them, instead caressing the soft mounds, dragging the back of his hand over them lightly, running his finger down the cleft, but not intruding, as he felt her relax and her body began to move against his. He brought his hands up to her shoulders, entwining his hands in her hair and kissed her, gently at first, and then more insistently, feeling heat beginning to radiate from her in waves. Nick’s kiss was so sensuous, Abby felt as if she were a musical instrument strummed by her husband, vibrations of pleasure resounding through her body, tongues of flame licking up the strings of sensation, played by his own desire as he possessed her mouth, his lips becoming more urgent as their kiss turned from soft to steamy to ravenous. Nick’s tongue met hers, tasting and engaging, before exploring, sucking and dipping deliciously into the folds of her mouth, letting his heat engulf her as she felt his ardor growing, his body pressing more insistently against her. He moved from her mouth to her jaw and she gasped as her lips lost contact with his. Nick licked her chin, nibbling at it and then brought his lips to the hollow in her throat, his eyes washing over her creamy neck. He found himself painfully aroused by Abby’s proximity and he growled deep in his throat. Abby heard Nick growl. He did that during sex sometimes, as if he was releasing something deep and primal. She had been a virgin when she met him and so had no one to compare him to, but talking to her girlfriends gave her an idea Nick was more than amorous in the bedroom. Especially talking to her married friends. She didn’t mind him growling at all. They lay side by side as Nick moved lower, nipping, sucking and dragging his lips to her cleavage. He brought his hands up to her breasts, cupping the tempting flesh as he pushed them even closer together, their salaciousness almost too much. He slid his mouth under one breast, sucking gently at the pooled skin as Abby gasped with pleasure, moaning at his touch, her hands stretching and pulling at the muscles on his back, desire thrumming through her, accepting and giving herself over to the flames crackling through her body. Nick watched her react, her body shuddering deliciously against his and he looked down at his pale, pulsing shaft, throbbing against her belly. The craving to have Abby was nearly overwhelming, but he couldn’t resist first tasting her nipples, swirling his tongue around one bud and then flicking the tip of his tongue lightly across it. Abby’s mouth fell slack, her breasts rising and falling with her increased breathing. He could see the need in her eyes as she watched him nip and kiss at her other breast, straying close to her nipple, but not touching it. “Ohhh . . . Nick. Do that again. Please,” she whispered, running her fingers through his hair.

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He obliged, giving her other nipple the same treatment, running his tongue up to the edge and then lashing it briefly. She stretched her body, tensing her muscles, pulling slightly at his hair. “More.” Nick bent to them fervently, lathing them with his tongue, drawing in the flesh surrounding the areola, filling his mouth, sucking firmly at the same time he caressed her nipple with his tongue, pinning it to the roof of his mouth, as she squealed and jerked, pushing at him. He drew his mouth back until only the darker circle was left and he clamped down on it, rolling the nipple over and over in his mouth, holding it between his lips, massaging it with his tongue, while his hand kneaded and caressed the other breast. Abby’s hands tightened reflexively over him, yelping as little electric jolts hit her, shocks flying through her body, lubrication gushing over her thighs. Nick switched and did the same to the other breast, Abby gyrating with delight. “Mmmm, Abby. You taste delicious,” he sighed, kissing her again, licking at her lips as if they were coated in honey. He fell back to her breasts, nibbling gently with his teeth around her areolas. He bit her nipple gently, but without warning, and she shrieked his name. “Stop . . . teasing . . . me,” she gasped, desire coursing through her. He rolled her to her back and climbed over her, pushing her thighs open with his. “So, you’re ready for me, then?” he asked, tracing the beautiful triangular patch of light blonde hair with his fingers as Abby lifted her hips and then fell back, bucking softly under him. She looked at him, his brown eyes dark and heated. He was staring at her in the shadowy light as if she might disappear and he only had this one night with her. Her eyes drifted over his body. Nick he had always been somewhat pale, but he was lean and strong, his abdomen, taut and ridged, a trail of soft brown hair leading to his lower belly where his beautiful, erect pulsating cock nestled in a thick dark nest. It was pale, like the rest of him, but strong and thick, the head lightly purpled, a tip of tantalizing pre-cum resting there. So beautiful. She counted herself a very, very lucky woman. “Yes,” she groaned. “So ready. I can hardly stand it. Please don’t make me wait any longer.” She arched up, open and willing. Nick slid his hands up her arms slowly, grasping her wrists and holding them down, pinning her to the bed as he bent down and captured her lips passionately, his unspoken need burning into her. Then he pulled back and looked at her again, tense with desire, his eyes ablaze with his arousal. “Fuck me now, Nick,” she insisted, humping her body up hungrily.

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Nick’s eyes narrowed and his breathing became harsh as he let out a deep, feral growl, pulled his hips back and slid his girth gently into her, squeezing through her tightness, slowly filling her, stretching her around his shaft until he came to rest squarely at her cervix. He held her there, still pinned, as his eyes closed in pleasure, enveloped by her, her inner warmth sweet and wet around him, feeling her spread inside to accommodate his size, throbbing around him as she looked up at him with wide, glowing amber eyes. He pulled out slightly and she gasped at the feeling of his withdrawal and then he began to make short, easy thrusts, grunting as she moved her hips in tandem. He took her this way for several minutes, slowly deepening his stroke, pumping strongly into her, finding a rhythm as their bodies slid and slapped against each other, their romance the only sound filling the room. Abby pressed her head back on the pillow, loving how he rode her, his grip tightening over her wrists as she moaned sexily. Nick looked down at the sight of their bodies merging and flowing together, his large, wide organ fusing into her willing orifice over and over, squishing through her juices with soft sucking sounds. Abby lifted her head to also watch their intimacy, captivated by the eroticism, breathless with the feel of Nick inside her, matching each of his thrusts with her own. They met each other’s eyes, hers like dark gold, flickering with little fires, his, dark, filled with hunger. Nick released Abby’s wrists and gathered her up in his arms, drawing her into him as he moved to his knees and pulled her thighs over him, whispering her name as he continued to surge into her body, delving into her softness with long, deep unbroken strokes, her sweet caress nearly unbearable as her juices bathed him in heat and slickness. He ran his hands over the soft flesh at her back and then rested his hands gently on her waist, lifting her so that she bounced over his pole, their bodies flush with perspiration and excitement, watching her breasts shake enticingly as they moved together. Abby felt Nick’s long, thick cock bumping lightly against her cervix, hitting bottom over and over, her breath hitching with each stroke, his possession gentle, yet thorough, fulfilling and delicious, her head pitching forward, her blonde hair damp, falling in loose wisps just over her shoulders. She held onto him, her hands now holding tightly to his biceps, loving the feeling of his thickness sliding inside her, moaning at the sensation as she rose up slightly and then dropped, his fullness invading her again, hot, stiff and throbbing, the friction making her shudder with pleasure. “You . . . are . . . amazing,” she whispered, her eyes glazing as she felt something stirring, beginning to grow and swell inside her. Nick pressed his loins tightly against her and held her still there for a moment, his cock fully submerged, groaning as she shifted her hips and rolled her pelvis, winding herself around his shaft. “If you think that’s amazing, Abby . . . .” he said, trailing off, his mouth next to her ear, his hot breath tickling the shell as he thrust upward and began to stroke into her again. He reached between their bodies and found her little bud, drawing it into his fingertips

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and twirling it, gently whirling and stimulating it as he felt the small nub grow hot and hard in his fingers, feeling it pulse with a life of its own. “Oh . . . god . . . Nick . . .” Abby stuttered, clutching at him, gasping, buckling under his touch, tensing as he all but began to drag her over the precipice. He continued lightly touching her and then added pressure, rubbing his thumb over the button gently but firmly, as he expertly manipulated it and coaxed her release from her. Abby suddenly threw back her head, crying out as she drew in on herself into a blinding point of light and then burst into a thousand tiny suns that seemed to hover motionless in the blackness of the universe for a moment before they fell like a shower of sparks slowly through space, flickering with electricity that continued to ripple through her. Her entire body was quivering, oscillating, her throat open and exposed as she gave herself to pleasure, her mind suspended in ecstasy. Nick’s eyes fell to her throat. He stiffened, slowing his thrusts as Abby shuddered with her release, oblivious to the change in him. He could not stop gazing at that white, creamy expanse that began at her ear where a wisp of hair clung to her skin and then swept down to her collarbone, standing out in contrast with her flesh as the position of her head caused the muscles in her neck to protrude in long, delicate lines. He tried to tear his eyes away, but they were drawn to her as if by powerful magnetism. He pulled slightly back from her, rocking her gently over his thick girth. He could see the small marks on her neck even better now, for all appearances moles, sunspots, two tiny twin imperfections, hardly noticeable. He bent his head lower as if entranced. He had been married to Abby for five years, they had been lovers for six, and he had never felt this way. What was happening? He began to make guttural sounds, choking back something more animalistic, pushing it down, trying to bury it in his mind. Suddenly, his stroke became harder, demanding, insistent as Nick gripped hard at Abby’s waist, forcing himself into her deeply, filling her over and over, her thighs slapping against him in a fierce cadence. Abby pulled her head forward and spun out of the afterglow, gasping at his increased lust as he plowed into her roughly, his eyes distant, alight with something terrifying, caught up in the thought that he could fuck the feeling away. And so he tried, thrusting into Abby, pulling her into him, laying fire to her, pounding against her cervix, pummeling her until she whimpered, tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes, unable to understand what had come over her husband. There was an ache, a small pain, as he drove in as far as he could, unrelenting, sweat pouring from his torso now coating where their bodies met and rolling over her thighs. Abby held onto his shoulders, biting her lip as he bounced her over his shaft, her hair lifting from her face with his blinding rhythm, pounding into her voraciously, his pelvis battering her thighs. His eyes were unfocused, something raw and bestial in their depths, lust and carnality driving his turbulent domination, his tool sliding through Abby’s abundant juices, wetness dripping from her opening, pulling her over his cock hungrily, adding power to his strokes

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Still he continued his stubborn possession and she felt him hit somewhere that made her scream with the intensity of the pleasure and sensation. But instead of pulling back and finding the spot again with her as Nick normally did, he just kept driving into the same spot until Abby shrieked and cried and screamed again and then came hard, her fluids rushing out of her, coating his cock, squishing around him and leaking down her thighs, mixing with his perspiration. Her orgasm was powerful, intense, but Nick did not wait for her to come down, continuing to beat into her strenuously, his eyes distant, remote, his jaw set as if he was focused on something far away, riveted, trying desperately to control something he could not. Abby was crying softly now. “Nick?” she said brokenly as he continued to batter her. He still felt good, but she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Her voice broke Nick out of his stupor. He looked into her troubled eyes, seeing passion, desire and love, but also uncertainty. Nick tried to slow his stroke, but could not check himself. Her throat was driving him to distraction. Finally, he pulled out with a grunt. “Turn over,” he hissed, his voice harsh and demanding. Abby looked at him, startled. She didn’t think she should be afraid of her husband, but he suddenly seemed so dark, so commanding. He appeared to be having some sort of terrible internal struggle. He looked at her intensely, his eyes hard, but also pleading. Abby took a deep breath. She loved Nick and trusted him. She would trust him now. She rolled over, rising to her hands and knees, spreading her thighs for him. Nick looked down at Abby, so open and willing, so devoted to him and suddenly his love for her washed over him in a great torrent. He entered her again, holding her hips lightly stroking her hard with his hot, thick cock, still roughly but not as bestially. This position was much better. Her hair covered most of her neck and it wasn’t nearly as distracting to him. But he kept himself upright on his knees, not allowing him to drape his body over her as he often liked. He didn’t want to get too close. Nick took a deep breath, relaxing. Yes, this was better. Much better. He ran his hand lightly over Abby’s back and then returned to her hips, holding her and pumping strongly, hitting bottom firmly, but not punishing her this time. He squished through her abundant juices, the soft sounds resounding through the room as his balls slapped her ass, his shaft poling into her repeatedly. Abby had no idea what had come over Nick, but god he felt so good, his strokes still more exacting, more rigorous, his pace more intense and fervent than she was used to. He was also less solicitous of her and her body’s responses, as if he was taking her, fucking her, using her solely for his pleasure. She pushed back against him, biting her

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lip, her need rising with his, a delicious ache forming with her, an unbridled longing to get closer to him, to match his tempo, to fuck him back. They continued for some time, each fully engrossed in the moment, absorbed in the physical act, meeting on a fleshly level, persisting in the connection and relief demanded by their bodies. Suddenly Abby began stuttering Nick’s name and he knew she was getting close. He was more than ready and sped up his stoke, keeping pace with her until her pussy began to clamp down on him strongly and he let her take him with her, falling over her waist, clutching Abby tightly as he released with a long, low roar, pushing himself as deep as he could get, his release so powerful he felt the backsplash as his thick spurts of cum hit her cervix and sloshed around his organ, as he continued to pulse, his hips jerking reflexively, filling her sweet, throbbing core with his seed. Finally sated, he pulled out and gently helped Abby to her side, laying down behind her and drawing her back against him, his heart thumping against his chest. He held her tightly as he quieted and began to calm, his face resting in her damp hair. Abby lay in his arms, stunned. Her eyes were open as she stared at the wall across from her, dimly lit by the glow from outside. Nick was always a strong lover, but this . . . this was beyond strong . . . it was . . . incredible. How was it she had awoken from a horrible, dark nightmare and then Nick decided to give her mind-blowing sex? He must have really wanted to comfort her. Maybe she would mention it to Dr. Rashid tomorrow. What a strange night it had been. She lay with her thoughts for awhile and then began to drift off. She thought Nick had already fallen asleep, but as she closed her eyes, she heard him whisper, “I love you, Abby. Always and forever.” His arms tightened around her as she snuggled against him, her heart tight with love for him and she fell asleep.

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CHAPTER 4 Sex, Lies and Therapy Nick pulled his silk tie through the loop, tightened it and adjusted the knot at the collar of his tailored shirt as Abby slipped up behind him, wrapping her arms around him. They had both overslept and were slightly rushed, trying to get dressed and go to work. “So, I’ll see you around five then?” Abby murmured, admiring her husband in the large oval mirror hanging in their bedroom. She flushed, thinking of their night together. She wore a long skirt with a bright floral print, a bold patterned tank top and comfortable sandals. As a graphic designer, she fit right in with her company’s relaxed and upbeat atmosphere. Nick turned suddenly, dropping his lips to hers and giving her a sexy kiss as he caressed her shoulders. “I might be a little late tonight.” Abby didn’t know what to make of this. He worked for an investment firm where everyone worked long hours, except Nick. He never worked later than five and never on the weekends. Ever. He was usually home between five or five thirty. For whatever reason, Nick’s company was supportive and understanding of his preferences. He said he would rather spend the time with her. And despite his partiality to life at home, Nick wasn’t clingy. He encouraged Abby’s independence and supported her in developing her own circle of friends. But he never stayed late. “You . . . you have a client meeting?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light. “I have something I need to do,” he replied obliquely, adjusting the cuffs on his shirt. Her heart jumped just for a second. But no, it wouldn’t be anything she needed to worry about. He had never done anything to make her feel insecure or jealous. Still, she didn’t like secrecy. He read her thoughts. “I promise to tell you after I’m home. It’s kind of a surprise,” he said purring at her. She cocked her head. A surprise? She could live with that. “All right, I won’t push you for any more details.” She kissed him softly. “But will you be home for dinner?” “Have something light when you get home. I’ll bring a late dinner home with me, all right?” “All right,” she agreed, kissing him again.

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***** As Abby drove to work, she couldn’t help feeling that her life was just a tiny bit different than usual. First, she had a nightmare. Not just any nightmare, but wow. She tried to push that recollection from her mind. She had already decided not to think about it until she met with Dr. Rashid later that afternoon. There was also the sex with Nick last night. Sex had always been good with Nick. Not just good . . . great. But again, wow. And now Nick was going to work late? Abby told herself that each of those events had no relation to each other. It was pure coincidence, no connection, she thought convincingly. Just one of those interesting periods in life. At work, Abby found herself especially productive. She and Nick had woken up so late, they had both skipped breakfast. She only had time to grab a cappuccino from the street stand on her way up to her office. Maybe it was the caffeine, she thought. She normally didn’t have espresso drinks. She felt alive and supercharged, all of her nerves and senses vibrant and tingling. As it neared time for her afternoon session with Dr. Rashid, she decided that it might be better to stay at work. “Go,” urged Jasmine, her beautiful, drop-dead gorgeous boss who was sixty-four years old. She crossed her long legs, her four-inch gold heels resting on her desk and leaned back in her chair. “Therapy is good for all of us, Abby,” she said, waving her hand in the air. “You’re on a roll today . . . you’ll be on a roll tomorrow.” “But I had no idea I could finish the GreenEarth account today. I’m almost done. I don’t want to lose my momentum,” Abby protested. “And I don’t want to lose my most talented designer because she gets her personal thoughts mucked up in her professional life.” Jasmine pulled a magazine to her and began flipping pages. She looked up at Abby who hadn’t moved. “As your boss, I order you to go,” she said, fixing Abby with a hooded look and then returning to her almost bored perusal of the designs on her desk. Sighing, Abby left Jasmine’s office. She’d have just enough time to grab a late lunch and make it to Dr. Rashid’s. Even though she had felt very creative at work, Abby had to admit she was a little on edge. Dr. Rashid could always calm her. She made it with ten minutes to spare, parking in the small lot in front of the nondescript single-story house. As she opened the front door and stepped into the living room remodeled to serve as a lobby, she saw that Dr. Rashid’s receptionist, Myrtle, was on the phone. Myrtle waved at Abby and mouthed the words, “Go on in,” nodding down the hall encouragingly at her as she cradled the phone to her ear.

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“Mmm hmm. I’m sorry to hear that. No, Dr. Rashid doesn’t usually handle emergencies. Mmm hmm. No, I’m afraid his patients are usually long-term. You might try your physician’s office for a referral.” Abby smiled and gave her a little wave as she walked past, Myrtle’s voice fading as she reached the end of another long hallway and knocked on a heavy wooden door. “Oh do come in,” she heard as she pulled open the door and entered, letting it close softly behind her. The room was familiar, worn on the inside, the paint slightly chipped and peeling. “Abby, how delightful to see you as always,” Dr. Rashid exclaimed, his dark eyes twinkling. He was a man of some bulk, in his mid seventies with a fringe of a beard and he wore round glasses. He was dressed in his customary khaki pants and argyle vest. Abby took the hand he proffered. “Dr. Rashid,” she said. “It’s nice to see you too.” She took off her sweater and folded it on a chair, setting her purse down on top of it. Then she walked to the low sofa in the corner and lay down, relaxing with her head on the armrest. If there was one thing Dr. Rashid was, it was traditional. A round table and wooden chair rested near and slightly behind the sofa. Dr. Rashid dragged his large chair across the wood floor closer to Abby and drew a thick chart across the table to him. He opened it and flipped through a few pages. He studied it for a few moments and then picked up a pad of paper and a pen, settling back a bit in his chair. “It’s been a week since our last session. How are things going, Abby?” he asked warmly. “Good,” Abby replied sincerely, adjusting her head on the low armrest, getting herself more comfortable. She brushed her blonde hair away from her face, relaxing. “Things have been going really well.” Abby recounted the week’s events for Dr. Rashid, day-to-day frustrations, minor annoyances in checkout lines, a few client hassles. She felt as if Dr. Rashid drew each event from her psyche, held it aloft in his hands while he probed and examined it, and then released it like a magician flourishing a handkerchief, her distress transmuting into golden snowflakes which scattered and floated gently through the air, evaporating. With each release, she felt more whole, peaceful. She was glad she had come. “And how have you been sleeping?” Dr. Rashid asked her, shifting slightly in his chair. Abby hesitated, her pulse increasing. Here was the crux of her visit. She never had anything significant which she needed to discuss with Dr. Rashid. Her life was good, comfortable, happy. It wasn’t usually marred by events that actually required . . . therapy. This was the first time Abby felt anxious bringing up a topic. She wiped her hands nervously on her skirt, somewhat dismayed to find that her palms were slightly sweaty.

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“I’ve been sleeping well most nights. The usual,” she replied, thinking that Nick waking her up in the middle of the night for a second round of sex once or twice a week didn’t count as not sleeping well. Besides, that always happened. “Except . . . well, I did have a dream last night. A long, very vivid dream.” She turned her head looking at him over the armrest. “I don’t usually remember my dreams,” she offered. Dr. Rashid continued writing on his pad, looking up after a few moments, meeting her eyes. He smiled pleasantly, watching her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. She sighed and turned her head back so that her eyes rested on the ceiling. Dr. Rashid had affixed paintings to the ceiling, soothing scenes to calm his patients. She had never really paid attention to them before, simply content to let her mind roam as her eyes absently took them in. But one in particular captured her interest this time. It looked to be an oil depicting a scene in a vast desert, possibly Egypt. Rows of pyramids marched away in the distance and a lovely stand of palm trees clustered around a rippling pool where white flowers floated lazily. “Abby?” called a gentle voice. She started, tearing her eyes from the painting. “Um, oh yes, sorry. I had this – it was just a very strange dream last night.” Her eyes drifted back to the painting, an unnerving feeling washing over her again. She thought it best to focus on something else so settled on a watercolor landscape of a meadow. “Nick woke me up. I guess I was screaming, crying – he said I was shaking.” “Do you remember anything about the dream?” Abby wavered. She hadn’t told Nick the complete truth when he asked her what the dream had been about. She had told him that she didn’t remember it in detail. In all her years of marriage, she could not recall ever keeping a secret from him. “Yes,” she whispered. “I remember everything about the dream.” Abby told him what Lysander had purported to show her, punctuated by Dr. Rashid’s noncommittal ‘mmm hmms’ and ‘uh huhs’ as he jotted down notes. He was so warm and nonjudgmental and although hesitant at first, Abby soon felt that this had been a very good idea. Besides, by sharing and letting things out, she was sure it made it less likely that anything like the dream would ever reoccur. She did tone down the sex a little when describing what had happened. Abby wasn’t a prude, but it was too much to even tell Dr. Rashid. “So,” asked Dr. Rashid thoughtfully, “how did Nick react to your nightmare?” She flushed. But she had already discussed sex before with Dr. Rashid in prior sessions. He was her therapist after all.

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“He, um, we were well, um intimate.” “Mmm hmm.” “But there was something different. He became well . . . more passionate at one point.” God that sounded lame. “Uh huh.” “It was almost as if Nick wasn’t able to control himself for a short time.” She swallowed. “It wasn’t all bad though” she added, flushing again. It had been a little scary, but also a turn-on, to see how demanding and urgent Nick’s needs had become. Then when he had told her to turn over, he had calmed a little, but still took her hard, harder than usual. “I suppose he was only worried about me and demonstrated it by . . . well . . . .” she reflected. Abby’s eyes flicked back to the desert painting again. She almost didn’t mention the other disturbing incident about last night to Dr. Rashid. But if she didn’t mention it, she would dwell on it until next week’s session. “There’s something else that was a little . . . odd.” She hesitated. It was actually more than odd, probably the most remarkable thing about the entire night, dream and all. Dr. Rashid put down his pen and pad and took off his glasses, holding them in one hand as he looked at her carefully. “And what is that, Abby?” She stared into space. “While we were . . . having sex, when Nick seemed at the height of er . . . not being able to control himself, he called me something. A name. Not my name. Well, not exactly anyway. I don’t even think he knows he did it,” she added. He had only said it once. It could have been Nick tripping over the pronunciation in the heat of passion, but she knew differently. He had said it clearly. She had not imagined it. “What name? What did he call you?” Dr. Rashid asked softly, holding his breath. “He called me Abigalia,” she replied. “The name from my dream.” ***** Nick swiveled in his chair as he tucked the phone to his shoulder and typed a few strokes onto his keyboard. “I’m sorry, Nicholas. You need to come right away.” Nick looked at the tall ornate clock resting on a mahogany side table in his office. Four o’clock. Good thing he told Abby he would be late tonight. 36

“Fine,” he said, picking the receiver back up and holding it loosely in his fingers as he rested his elbows on his desk. “It will take me thirty minutes to get across town. I have to make one stop. I’ll leave right away.” “Very good. Oh, and Nicholas?” There was a short silence. “Yes?” “It will be all right, my boy. Don’t worry.” Nick bit back a retort. That’s just what a therapist would say. Sometimes, Nick thought, Hassir took his job way too seriously. “Thank you,” he said tersely. He hung up, tapped a few more keys and swept several papers into his leather satchel, watching his monitor as the programs closed themselves and his screen winked to black. Then he swiveled in his chair, got up and walked slowly to his wide office window, taking in the expansive view of the city. He touched the glass with both hands feeling the coolness against his fingertips. Despite the urgency of the phone call, Nick wanted to spend one more minute savoring the normalcy that was his life. A normalcy he knew, with a sickening feeling in his stomach, was about to come to a crashing halt. Sighing, he turned and walked to the door, retrieving the case from his desk and plucking his jacket from the back of a chair along the way. He opened the door and stepped into the wide foyer, closing it behind him without looking back. “I’m taking a vacation,” Nick said quietly as he walked up to his secretary and stopped next to her desk. Gina watched Nick as he stood there absently, loosening his tie at the end of the day. He looked distracted. He wasn’t the CEO of the company but she knew he had some position of power or authority very high up. There were rumors he even owned the company, but for whatever reason, simply kept an office as a broker, preferring not to be acknowledged in that capacity. Gina also knew he was the only stockbroker who never worked late. That meant two things. One, he had a lot of pull somewhere with someone. This wasn’t the type of job where you worked nine to five. And two, he had something very nice waiting for him at home. Gina had met Abby at a few company parties. She was cute with that wispy blonde hair, but she didn’t see how she could rock Nick’s world to that level, so much so that he even had no interest in any extracurricular activities. And there was a lot of that here. It was almost expected in the company culture. Most of the stockbrokers were hot, but Nick was the hottest, gorgeous, well-built, with eyes that could peer inside a woman’s soul. Gina shuddered. She had been working for Nick for two years and everything had been above-board and professional. Initially she hoped and expected he would indulge her although her colleagues told her she was dreaming – Nick didn’t do that. But Gina

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couldn’t possibly see how a man could be that committed to a woman, especially his wife. Besides, Gina was attractive, she didn’t wear too much make-up, kept her brown hair styled nicely and had shapely long legs. She knew how to dress provocatively, showing just enough of her assets, but not like a whore. It was exactly what they wanted in a secretary. She shrugged to herself. Nick treated her enormously well, giving her generous bonuses, flexible time when she needed it, and allowed her to leave early many days. No, she couldn’t complain about Nick as a boss. And even though she wasn’t the personal secretary of other stockbrokers, she was able to indulge herself quite freely with them. Nick ran his hands through his hair, his tie loose and the first button on his shirt now undone. God, he looked good. She clamped her thighs together, composed herself, and looked up at him. “A vacation? Certainly Mr. Fenton. What are the dates?” Gina turned to her terminal, drew up her keyboard and began pulling up his calendar, making mental notes about appointments, voicemail, accounts, meetings. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow.” She continued typing for a few more seconds and then faltered. She looked up at him again, her mouth slightly parted. “I’m sorry Mr. Fenton. Did you say tomorrow?” She desperately hoped she didn’t sound rude, but needed to confirm. “Yes,” he said, still distracted, his eyes sweeping over the impeccably dressed people waiting in the ornate foyer for appointments. He nodded politely as he met the eyes of a woman with her white hair drawn up in a perfectly coiffed bun. Gina turned back to the screen. “All right, Mr. Fenton. How long will you be gone?” “I don’t know,” Nick replied. “Why don’t you block out a month for me.” Gina tried very hard to keep calm and cool. It was a good thing Nick had a very high position in the company. No one else could pull this off. She forced a pleasant smile over her features that she imagined looked quite natural. “And where will you be staying?” she asked, her fingers poised over the keyboard. Nick seemed to come out of his trance and looked down at her. His eyes drifted over the frosted glass around her desk, etched with simple designs. “Abby and I are going to Egypt,” he responded. “We’ll be . . . traveling. We won’t be staying anywhere we can be reached.” She turned to look at him, her mouth open, all pretense falling from her face. “Remote connection? Internet? Email? Cell?” she asked, her voice fading with each question.

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Nick shook his head. “No, Gina. I need you to cover everything for me. I trust you.” She nodded. She was very good at what she did. Her confidence began to grow. Yes, she could manage this absence for Mr. Fenton just fine. “But no cell?” she repeated. “Not even an emergency contact number?” she asked weakly. Nick considered. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small black leather case. He snapped it open, selected a business card, and replaced the case in his pocket. He handed the card to Gina. She took it, looking at it. “Your therapist?” she asked, more to herself. “Abby’s therapist,” he said sharply. Gina paled. “I’m sorry, sir. Of course. I’ll put his number into the computer right away” Why had she said something stupid like that? “No, Gina. Keep it out of the computer. Only if there is an extreme emergency are you, and you alone, to contact him. He’s a close friend of Abby’s and will know where to find us.” She nodded, sliding the card into her top desk drawer, thrilled that Nick trusted her with something that should be kept out of the company database. She wouldn’t abuse his discretion. “I don’t think there will be any emergencies, Mr. Fenton,” Gina said to him. “I’ll do my best to keep things running very smoothly for you.” He thought she would handle things fine. There wouldn’t be any emergencies here. Now if only things would run as smoothly in Egypt. Nick smiled. “Thank you, Gina.” God he was beautiful when he smiled. “You’re welcome, sir.” Nick left the building, thinking he had only one more stop to make before heading to Hassir’s office. He pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. ***** “Ah, Nick,” Jasmine said warmly, rising from her desk chair and walking toward him. “Do come in.” Her voice was throaty and husky. She embraced him lightly giving him a kiss on both cheeks. She looked him up and down, eyeing his expensive white shirt open at the top and the cuffs of his sleeves which Nick had unbuttoned and rolled up on the way to her office.

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“My, but don’t you look good enough to eat,” she said appreciatively, turning and walking slowly to the front of her desk, an exaggerated sway to her hips. She stopped and turned gracefully, leaning against the front of her desk, one leg bent at the knee. She wore a sheath of a dress that wrapped around her long legs with a slit running up to mid thigh. Despite her age, she moved flawlessly in treacherously high heels. Jasmine tossed her red-blonde hair over her shoulders and gave him a sultry look. “I take it you didn’t come here to discuss us,” she said suggestively, sliding her foot slightly up her calf. Behind the sultriness, there was an extreme shrewdness. Jasmine was the head of the entire design agency. She had worked her way to where she was by manipulation and cleverness, never by sleeping her way up the corporate ladder unless she wanted to. She was extremely astute. Nick smiled. Jasmine was something else. He appreciated her sharp wit and skillfulness. He had brought his company’s accounts to her soon after Abby started working for her. She had done an outstanding job with them. He had no complaints. “I came to talk about Abby.” Jasmine pretended to look disappointed. “Oh, all right then,” she said breathily. “Let’s talk about your genius of a wife.” Nick told her why he had come. Jasmine waved his hand at him dismissively. “It’s no problem, Nick. We’ll miss our girl wonder for a month, but she works so hard when she’s here, it’s like getting double or triple quality from every hour. She deserves the time off.” Then she gave him a heated little look. “Especially with you . . . in Egypt of all places. Under the hot, hot sun. Oh, you probably won’t want to wear too many clothes.” She ran her fingers dramatically over her collarbone and then fanned herself. “Thank you for understanding, Jasmine,” Nick said, his eyes amused. She pushed herself up from the desk and sauntered to the window where she stood looking out, her back to him. Her dress dipped dangerously low in the back. Unlike Nick’s window which faced an open view of the city, hers looked out on the heart of downtown, office buildings, glitters of glass and metal. “It’s not because we have your accounts, Nick. I didn’t even know what you did for a living when I gave Abby the job. She’s brilliant at design. Simply brilliant. The girl’s a natural.” She turned, spinning, her stance evocative again. “But that’s not to say we don’t appreciate your accounts,” she breathed, batting her lashes at him.

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“You do a wonderful job with them, Jasmine,” Nick replied. “I can’t imagine having them anywhere else.” Her eyes narrowed for a moment. You know, you really are one-of-a-kind,” she said appraisingly, looking at him sharply with her hazel eyes. “Thank you,” he said, inclining his head slightly. Nick shifted. “Jasmine, I wish I could stay longer, but I have another appointment.” “Yes,” she mused, walking forward from the window and stopping before him. “I imagine you do. You know,” she said, running a long finger, her nail painted a bright red, over his shoulder and down his arm, “Abby didn’t mention anything about this today. In fact, she was rather reluctant to leave work at her normal hour. Something about her husband staying late and she might as well too. I might have let her stay if you hadn’t called me.” Nick said nothing, but thought Abby would have been shocked to see him turn up in Jasmine’s office. They walked to the door together and then stopped in the doorway. Jasmine turned to him. “Go plan your surprise trip to Egypt, loverboy,” she said, kissing him lightly on the lips before he could protest. In her heels, she was almost as tall as he was. “Everything will be here for Abby, just as it is, when she gets back.” “Thank you, Jasmine.” Nick just hoped Abby would be the same when she got back. Jasmine watched him leave, her eyes lingering on his ass as he walked away. She puckered her lips, blew a kiss to his back and then strutted through the open door into her office.

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CHAPTER 5 Hidden Secrets Abby had eaten something light when she arrived home, thinking she would save her appetite for whatever Nick was bringing for dinner. He sometimes cooked dinner and they often went out together, but he never worked late and brought something home. She wondered what it would be? Chinese takeout, maybe? It was supposed to be bad for you, but Nick loved it, the greasier the better. But it was after eight and she was getting hungry again. Why hadn’t he called? Abby had tried very hard to not call Nick’s cell and so far had been able to resist. She refused to start down the path of negative thinking. Nick had promised it was some sort of surprise so she would trust him that the surprise wasn’t leaving her alone for the entire evening. She was still in her clothes from work. She thought the outfit was cute and might be nice to have on when Nick came home. She smiled to herself. Cute could often lead to other things. But she was just about ready to change into a comfortable pair of sweats and a t-shirt if Nick didn’t arrive soon. She turned on the television, tossed the remote on the sofa and walked into the kitchen. Her stomach was growling and she had to eat something. She opened the refrigerator and scanned the contents. There, that should do it. She closed the door with her hip and returned to the living room balancing a plastic tray of vegetables and a container of dip which she placed on the coffee table. Then she dropped onto the sofa, picked up the remote again and idly flipped through the channels. Abby never watched television, but maybe it would be a good distraction until Nick finally got home. ***** Nick parked on a side street and walked around to the back of the small, single-story house. The streets were empty and the surrounding yards deserted. He walked to a small rear door, looked around and then whispered something, turning the knob as he did so. It opened and he went inside, closing the door behind him. “I’ll be right down Nicholas,” a warm, deep voice called as soon as he entered. It came from behind a door at the top of a small set of stairs. Nick waited, looking around. He was standing in a sparse alcove, a split level of sorts, with a half-flight of stairs leading up to the door from where the voice came and another half-flight leading down to another door. After a few minutes, the voice called again. “Why don’t you just go on down? I’ll be a few more minutes and then I’ll join you.” “All right,” Nick called back. Nick walked down the lower flight of stairs, his heart heavy. He had hoped not to enter this room for at least seventy more years. He rested his hand on the knob for a few seconds and then turned it and went inside. 42

The room was small and plain. A low table occupied the center of the room, resting on a worn, dark rug fringed with gold. A large chest sat in one corner and various shelves lined the walls, stacked high with a disorderly collection of dusty wooden boxes. The room was lit by crystal glass lamps inset in the walls which sparked as Nick entered and began to glow softly. It was below ground and there were no windows. Everything looked exactly as it did six years ago when Nick was last here. Nick thought he had steeled himself but was not prepared for the emotions the room held, breaking over him like a powerful wave, leaving him with the feeling he had been hit, blindsided, in the gut. He left the door open and walked around to the opposite side of the table, lowering himself to the rug, trying to regain some sense of calm. His eyes fell on the table as he traced his fingertips over the patterns set into the ancient wood. He remembered when Abby had done the same; she had openly marveled at their intricacy. When Hassir entered, he saw Nick sitting quietly at the table facing the door. He could feel the controlled fury radiating from the man, as well as a mixture of frustration and also guilt. Hassir may not have been classically trained as a therapist but his ability to perceive the moods of others made him well-suited for the profession. Nick met his eyes, but said nothing. Hassir closed the door quietly behind him and walked to the far corner of the room, standing over the wooden chest. A large, intricate bronze lock was inlaid near the top. Hassir held his hands over the catch a few moments, closing his eyes, and murmured a few words. The clasp seemed to glow from within and then snapped open. Hassir opened his eyes, lifted the lid of the trunk, and bent forward, searching carefully through the contents. He removed two items and regarded them for a moment. Then he carefully closed the lid, re-secured the latch and returned to the table, placing the items on the edge. Despite his apparent age, he dropped easily to the floor and crossed his legs, facing Nick. He took off his round glasses, wiped them on his shirt and set them on the table. He didn’t need them. Nick looked evenly into Hassir’s dark eyes. He did not even glance at what was on the table. “He’s not going to get away with this.” “No, he’s not,” the older man agreed. Nick was silent for a few moments and Hassir sat quietly, waiting for him to speak again. “These last six years with Abby have been the best years of my entire life . . . my existence, whatever you want to call it. She wanted this. I didn’t want to do it. But she begged me,” he said, looking at Hassir almost imploringly. “She told me it was what she wanted more than anything.”

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Nick’s hand rested on the table. He squeezed his fist together, his knuckles whitening. “I traded Abby’s eternal life to release her from Lysander, knowing I would lose her forever when she died at the end of a natural lifetime.” His voice was embittered. “You did it for Abby, Nicholas. You know what Lysander did to her, how he treated her. Did you want to consign her to a fate she abhorred for all eternity?” “I imprisoned Lysander,” he said angrily, avoiding the question. “He was supposed to remain insentient until Abby’s death so that we would live unmolested. How is it he is back, invading my wife’s dreams?” Nick demanded “It’s not your fault, Nicholas,” said Hassir, shaking his head. “Something must have happened.” Nick drew his own hand over his eyes and then looked up at Hassir sharply. “Something . . . or someone. He could not have freed himself on his own, I am sure of it.” He inhaled slowly; his eyes distant as he ran through the possibilities. Finally, he looked back at Hassir. “Tell me about Abby. How much does she know?” Hassir shifted as he eyed Nick, rubbing one hand back and forth over his beard. “She doesn’t know everything,” he said carefully. “But she remembered everything that Lysander showed her in the dream.” Nick showed no response to this although the muscles in his cheek twitched. Abby had claimed not to remember when he had asked her. “What did he show her?” he asked tightly. Hassir sighed and then told Nick what had happened during Abby’s therapy session. Nick listened quietly, the pit of anger churning in his stomach, hardening like a stone. Hassir cleared his throat. “Nicholas . . . there’s something else.” “What?” he asked, his voice iron. “Abby mentioned you became more ‘lustful,’ shall we say, during your last encounter. Do you remember calling her anything other than Abby?” Nick stared at him, his brown eyes almost black with emotion. “No.” “Well, she er . . . she seems to think you called her Abigalia,” Hassir said uncomfortably. Nick groaned. He supposed it was possible. “I don’t want to be personal, my boy, but did anything feel differently to you last night?”

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Nick thought about how he had reacted during sex, but that could have been an impulsive response to Abby’s actions. She had been clutching desperately at her throat when she woke up. He had been worried and concerned for her. And she had told him she had dreamt about a desert. Perhaps he just got carried away based on scraps from his past. Hassir removed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed at his brow. “Nicholas, I think we might draw a conjecture based on what has happened. It’s quite possible that you are regaining some of your vampiric nature. Lysander may be triggering the change, based on your need to protect Abby.” “That’s impossible. I gave up everything except my immortality to grow old with Abby. And I would have given that up if I could,” Nick said, his voice low. “Impossible or not, I think you might consider being careful around her,” Hassir remarked. He drew one of the two objects on the edge of the table to him. It was a rectangular box, black, with small silver hinges. He flipped the latches and opened the case, folding the lid back so that it rested against the table. Inside was a gleaming, gold dagger, its hilt inlaid with a single blood-red ruby. Serpents entwined the handle, the gaping mouth of one coming to rest over the ruby, as if to swallow it. Hassir slid the case across to Nick. “Although you can’t kill him, if he is sentient, you’ll need this to perform the imprisonment again.” Nick couldn’t believe he might have to go through all of this again. After a terrible battle where the two vampires had faced off against each other, he had taken Lysander’s conscious mind using the dagger and together with Abby’s mortal blood, it had rendered him powerless for her lifetime. Even if he was successful again, what was to stop Lysander from waking up again in another six years. What was going on? He was going to find out. “Thank you for safeguarding this, old man,” Nick said, closing the case and latching it. “Just take care of Lysander, Nicholas, so that it is I who can call you ‘old man.’ I’m rather looking forward to you being older than me,” Hassir responded, chuckling. Nick almost smiled . . . almost. Then, he asked, “What is that?” indicating the small, red pouch at the table’s edge. Hassir solemnly reached over and drew it closer. He pulled the drawstrings apart and poured the contents into his hand. Two glass vials fell out, one a dark brown and one gold. He placed them upright on the table. “Where did you get those?” Nick asked, his eyes narrowing.

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“Before you get upset – I created them to help you and Abby. I wanted to be prepared for any contingency, any scenario.” “I’d never – she’d never . . .” Nick broke off as he realized what they were, looking at the elixirs that would transform him and Abby if consumed – back into their original states, back into full vampires. “We both know that Lysander wants Abby to return as his Queen first and foremost. But if he wasn’t able to have her – who knows what he might do in his rage – he could harm her or even take her life. This could be Abby’s best protection.” Nick’s eyes hardened. “If Abby turned back, she would still be bound to Lysander for eternity. The bond between them can never be broken.” Hassir wiped at his temples with his handkerchief. “I know, Nicholas,” he said sympathetically. They sat in silence for a few moments and then Hassir spoke again, trying to broach the next subject delicately. “Nicholas, you are also in a weakened state. I know you cannot be killed, but your form is – shall say we say – less than up to par, less than normal in this semi-mortal state you’ve adopted.” Nick bristled. Adopted? Hassir made it sound like he had been acting on a whim, giving mortality a whirl for a lifespan. He was going to lose the woman he loved forever at the end of that lifespan. That made his ‘adoption’ of it less than stellar. “You might need to turn back yourself to protect Abby,” Hassir pressed. Nick thought bitterly about the possibility. Yes, he would definitely benefit from his full range of abilities. But if he turned back, he wasn’t sure whether could maintain a relationship with Abby while she remained mortal. He might be too much for her, not to mention he would not age as she grew old. What a cruel twist of fate that would be. Hassir reached down, scooped the two vials back into the velvet pouch and secured the ties. He held it out to Nick. “Take it,” he insisted gently. “Abby’s life could depend on it.” Nick took the small pouch reluctantly and placed it in his breast pocket. Then Hassir held his hands in the air for a moment extended toward the closed black case in front of Nick. “There. Charmed for non-discovery.” Nick eyed him, bemused. “What?” asked Hassir. “You’d have a hard time explaining that to airline security. And the vials are charmed with an indestructible protection. The glass cannot be broken.”

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As he spoke, Hassir reached inside his jacket and withdrew a small folder of papers which he slid across to Nick. “Passports, tickets, lodging, everything, all arranged.“ Nick took the papers, absently shuffling through them. Then he set the folder on the black case, and picked them both up, getting to his feet. Hassir joined him. Nick looked at the tall, slightly rotund man across from him. Despite how angry he was with the situation, he really was grateful to Hassir. He had known the man for centuries and Hassir had insisted moving with them to America to spend time helping Abby. “Hassir . . . thank you,” Nick said slowly, genuinely. “Especially . . . for helping Abby through the last six years. I really didn’t understand the concept of this – therapy, but it seems to have been extremely beneficial for her. Even though Abby doesn’t remember being a vampire, I think her transition to a modern, mortal life would have been much harder without you.” “Not at all, my boy. I rather enjoy being a therapist,” Hassir responded, looking at Nick quite jovially. “In fact, I think I’ve found myself a new profession.” Nick gave him a pained smile and then walked around the table to the door. He opened it, hesitating just for a moment, and then climbed the steps to the landing, followed by Hassir. They both stopped in the small entry. “Good luck in Egypt, Nicholas. Alim will meet you in Cairo.” Nick nodded, gripping the older man’s outstretched hand firmly. Then he turned and exited the plain door, closing it behind him as he headed to his car. It was already dark. He had no idea he had spent so much time with Hassir. He glanced at his watch. Eight o’clock. He needed to pick up dinner before he could go home and see Abby. He knew he had his work cut out for him, trying to convince her to get on a plane tomorrow morning. He had a sudden thought about what he might bring home to help him.

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CHAPTER 6 Seduction Abby reclined comfortably on the enormous pile of plush, velvety pillows. She savored the softness of the light, gauzy scarves that seemed to be all around her. They felt delightful on her skin, caressing her flesh, soothing where they touched her, and she enjoyed playing with them, tossing them into the air and watching them flutter back down. “So, have you decided yet?” She looked up, alarmed at the sound of Lysander’s voice. Her eyes widened and then narrowed slightly. “This is a dream,” she said, accusingly. She looked around, taking in the opulent gold room, the vaulted, domed ceiling, the Egyptian paintings inset into patterns around the walls, and then back up at Lysander. “Why are you in my dreams again?” she demanded. Her eyes drifted over his outfit. He looked like a sheikh, with loose, puffy, royal blue pants, held up by ropes of gold around his waist and drawn together at his ankles. He was barefoot and still not wearing a shirt. She tried to tear her eyes from his upper body, his perfectly defined musculature flexing slightly as he shifted. She wished he would at least cover himself in her visions. “Why do I keep dreaming about you?” Abby asked again, somewhat plaintively this time. His blue eyes were smoky with desire as he looked down at her. She wore a beaded gold bra and a gold waistband which dipped low, beneath her navel. Sheer scarves of turquoise, rose and violet draped from her waistband and fringed her breasts. Gold rings encircled her upper arms and more scarves fell gently from them. Her curly golden hair was piled high on top of her head. She was barefoot and her belly was enticingly bare. He could just see the outline of her thighs through the sheer fabric. Lysander glided forward and lay down next to Abby on the pillows, but not too close. He rested comfortably on one elbow. He reached for one of her long scarves and twisted the end of it gently, running his fingers over the small sliver beads sewn into the fabric. She watched him, turning slightly to face him. “You are dreaming about me because we are meant to be together, Abigalia,” he said simply, raising his piercing blue eyes to hers. She did not look away. “These dreams . . . feel so real. It’s as if . . . as if you’re almost – alive.” “I am alive.” He smiled and then shrugged. “In a sense, anyway.” Abby looked at him for a few moments.

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“I’m not going to fuck you. Even in a dream,” she said firmly. “Who said anything about fucking?” Lysander pulled on the scarf, drawing himself hand over hand, working his way closer to Abby over the pillows, until he was close enough to touch her. This time his white-blond hair hung loosely in waves to his chin, falling forward as he moved. He propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes searing, magnetic, coming to rest on her mouth. Abby closed her eyes, willing herself not to look at him, not to feel his nearness, the waves of heat rising from him, washing over her. Oh god, now he was touching her, drawing the back of his hand down her throat, over her shoulder, trailing across the swell of her breasts, his touch so soft and yet so arousing, leaving a swath of fire in its wake. She whimpered a little with her eyes still closed. Abby felt his arms lightly encircle her waist as Lysander pulled her against his body. Her eyes fluttered open and a dark look flashed across her face as she stiffened against him. He cocked his head at her, brushing aside a few curls that had escaped from the golden combs in her hair. “I am not all about brutal violence, Abigalia,” he said softly, divining her thoughts. “I can be what you need . . . for now,” he said, silk in his voice. “Gentle . . . soothing . . . . satisfying,” he breathed, running his hand up her flesh, leaning closer. “Very satisfying. I will show you.” His mouth was near hers now and Abby prayed desperately to stop herself, but she parted her lips in invitation, panting, the small pool of desire that had gathered within her, overflowing now, spilling to her thighs, welling up her spine, flowing through her limbs, filling her mind with need. When Lysander simply looked at her, smiling suggestively, Abby became impatient and arched up to meet his lips. He accepted, taking her mouth in his, rolling her lips gently, parting them with his tongue, swirling and tasting her, licking and lapping at her sensually. She felt his eyeteeth scrape her and panic welled in her for a moment, but then his tender scouring possession drove the feeling away. His lips were so soft, his mouth wet and full of heat. His hands were now moving over her body, brushing aside the scarves, his pale hands sliding over her belly, pausing to circle her navel with his fingertips. Abby began to move against his body, touching his back first tentatively and then more bravely, her small hands running along his spine, clutching lightly at his flesh, her fingertips moving over his flexing muscles. Then Lysander pulled away from her mouth and followed the touch of his hands with his lips, drawing them over her jaw and kissing her underneath the chin. He carefully avoided her throat, although he paused for a moment, hovering closely, a contorted expression over his features. He couldn’t do anything to Abby in the dream, but it would be better not to scare her, especially when they weren’t reliving a memory. This was a new impression they were creating and Abby was undeniably human, apparently no recollection of her vampire self except what he had previously shown her. Lysander 49

composed himself and lifted his mouth, moving lower, dipping his tongue into her cleavage and then skipping over her gold encrusted bra, sliding the scarves aside and kissing his way to her waist. Abby sighed with pleasure as his firm hands and soft mouth moved over her body. Each kiss felt like a small blaze of fire, a searing brand that flamed hotly even after Lysander moved on. She was burning up under his touch and shifted her hips, parting her thighs, reaching for his silky locks and entwining her fingers in them. He reached under the scarves and lifted her hips slightly, cupping and caressing the globes of her ass as he fluidly rolled himself over so that he was positioned between her thighs, pushing them slightly wider. She wriggled against the plush pillows, feeling their delicious shift and slide under her skin as she looked down at him, entranced, her eyes clouded with pleasure and drew her knees up, opening herself fully to him. Her eyes were amber, beautiful, but not the true gold they should be, the gold they would become. “Lysander,” she moaned. He could smell her arousal and he licked his eyeteeth as he slid one hand under the scarves draped from her waistband. It was as he expected, she wore nothing under it. He drew his fingers through her soft patch of golden hair, running them over her labia and then cupping her core. Abby gasped in shock and need, arching her body against him as Lysander inserted one finger just slightly into her moist opening, Abby panting and pushing for more. Lysander hesitated. How he would love to just tear into her, drive her senseless, hear her beg him to rape her, rip her voice from her with uncontrollable screams of pain and passion. But he was patient. He had eternity, after all. He knew that this . . . mild, mortal-like contact, was what she needed now, to sow the seeds of longing again, rekindle her love for him. She couldn’t take much in her current form. But once he had her back, once she was again his rightful Queen, there would be no more gentleness, no more kindness, no more pleasure unless it was incidental to his own. For now, this would do. It was a very small price to pay. “You are so beautiful,” he said, kissing her belly, dipping his tongue into her navel, reaching up to caress her breasts through her bra without removing it, his soft hair falling over her body, tantalizing her as she arched her pelvis, the scent of her excitement filling the air. “Lysander, please,” she whispered, her amber eyes burning. “Touch me,” she groaned. He bent down and blew softly over her pussy, his tongue circling her opening, two fingers inserted now, gently probing her. He brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked gently on them, savoring her taste, watching her reaction. Her eyes glowed as she watched him taste her.

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“Touch you?” he asked without expression, tracing the inside of her thighs with his fingertips. “Touch you where?” She lifted her head higher, looking down at him, her eyes hard. “You know where. Touch me,” she said again, this time insistently, her head arching back slightly. Lysander smirked. He bent down and sucked on her clit lightly, drawing it in his lips and pulling back, releasing it with a soft snap. “On your clit, Abigalia? Is that where you want me to touch you?” She cursed him, a tiny spark of her former self, Lysander thought. Oh, the obscenities that could come out of her mouth when she was whole. “Very well, if that is what you need,” he replied. He drew her thighs up even further and then pinned them to the pillows next to her waist, his hands just below her knees. She tried to move just a little, but his grip was incredibly strong. She felt immobile, like a trapped animal, weak, vulnerable, but so wanting. He watched as a burst of wetness slid from her simply from being held this way. His nostrils flared at the sight. Yes, Abigalia in her human state seemed to be innately the same as Abigalia as a vampire. Just on a much smaller scale. His blue eyes met hers once more, and then he licked his lips and lowered his head, taking a long taste of her, before dragging his tongue up through her labia until he reached the source of her world. Abby squealed and bucked against him as his tongue began to lash her button, applying pressure while he stimulated her and then he wrapped his lips around her, suckling, pulling, and rolling her nub inside his mouth. Little gasps and shrieks came from her, the pleasure from his talented ministrations sending shocks of electric pleasure all the way to the tips of her toes, her body twitching helplessly at the thrills rippling and pulsating through her quivering flesh. Lysander could feel her bud hot, pulsing, throbbing and he felt she might come if he touched her once more. So he let go, lowering his head and plunging his tongue into her core instead. She gasped at the unexpected feeling as he continued to thrust, his tongue a miniature stroking, lusty penis, making her go wild, twisting and curling inside her, bringing to even higher heights of almost unbearable pleasure, tremors of delight streaming through her body, her hands wrapped in her scarves, her legs locked, her torso flailing, unintelligible words falling from her lips. She was dripping with fluids and he lapped at it. It wasn’t like blood, but still sweet. Abby let out a squeak as he swirled his tongue around her leaking juices, tensing her buttocks, moaning. Then, he returned to her clit, Abby panting, whimpering and mewing as if the center of her entire universe was at the tip of his muscle, jerking and hissing as he licked, sucked, twirled, wriggled and pushed on the little bud, using his tongue and lips.

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Abby felt herself drawing in on herself, a sweetness growing, tightening, a knot forming in her lower belly, quivering as Lysander pressed harder, manipulating her more quickly. Her hands clutched harder, pulling at the scarves, as if she could somehow slow the upsurge in the staggering, building, pleasure threatening to overwhelm her by wringing the fabric. It wasn’t as if a man’s tongue had never brought her to a complete meltdown before. Nick was very experienced and amorous and it pleased him to bring her to climax that way. Oh my god. She began to panic, realizing it wasn’t Nick bringing her to these heights, even if it was a dream. ”Stop!” Abby gasped at Lysander, her back arching hard. “You’re not Nick – I won’t let you – no! Stop, please!” She tried to push at his sleek platinum head. “No, Abigalia,” Lysander said, an edge to his voice he held her possessively and continued lashing. “No, I will not stop. You . . . belong . . . to . . . me.” She cried out, pushing urgently at Lysander’s hands around her thighs, but she couldn’t shift his grip. Her hands fell back weakly. The explosive shocks building within her were becoming too much. She felt herself nearing, trying desperately to pull back from the edge, her hips bucking slightly, rhythmically. “No!” she sobbed, more to herself than to Lysander, trying hopelessly not to orgasm at his hands, or more precisely, his mouth. Abby screamed again as the sensations built within her, moaning and crying with her protests and the swelling ecstasy, Lysander’s heat making her bubble, boil and finally spill over. She shrieked and came, hot, thick wetness pouring from her as she arched into the air, sweat pouring from her belly, quivering and shuddering, shattering into shards of euphoria, scattering through the chamber and beyond into a quiet abyss where she rested gently, floating, unknown to her body or her self, as a wake of pleasure lapped at her. Lysander watched, whispering things quietly to her as she climaxed, embedding himself in her awareness while she was so far gone, her mind open and receptive. Then just at the right moment, he reached down, grabbed her swollen, throbbing clit, tender and almost painful from her orgasm and pulled on it again, intentionally scraping his eyeteeth against her labia, but not breaking the skin. The combination was too much and Abby screamed, coming a second time, an explosion of bliss followed by waves of quaking, trembling pleasure, as she gushed like a fountain, babbling, whirling back out to the void, completely lost. Lysander released her thighs and sat back slightly, looking at her with a smug expression, watching her recover, her eyes closed, her body heaving slightly. She was glistening with perspiration, her heart pounding as the delicious pulsing of both orgasms shook her again and again. He was prepared that she would be angry with him when she finally came back to herself. He smiled to himself. But she would remember this clearly when she awoke. Would she share her experience with Nicholas? His eyes clouded with hate for a moment. He hoped so. If not, he would tell Nicholas personally before he turned Abby back into his

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Queen. It wouldn’t be long – he could sense it. ”You liked that Abigalia,” he said softly, moving up closer to her. Abby’s amber eyes opened and met his glittering blue ones. She looked almost blooddrunk, and he savored her expression. “Why do you keep calling me Abigalia?” she murmured, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and release. “It is your name, my Queen. Your vampire name.” Abby suddenly tensed, her eyes clearing. “My what?” she asked, her skin prickling with chills. She leaned back in the pillows, putting distance between them, trying to regain control of her racing heart. Instinctively, she brought her hand up to her neck, covering the two matching marks that had always been there. “I am not a vampire,” she whispered hoarsely. “No,” he said softly, the bitterness evident in his voice. She saw something frightening flash in his eyes and then they became guarded again. “But you were a vampire, my love. And you are still meant to be one. I will turn you back. You are bound to me for all eternity.” Abby saw the conviction in his eyes. She rolled from the pillows and stood up, watching Lysander nervously. She expected him to chase after her but he remained where he was, calmly observing her. Lysander could have moved to Abby before she could blink. But he could not turn her or harm her in the dream – he could do nothing permanent physically – only tempt her. “Stay out of my dreams!” Abby cried, looking down at the handsome man sprawled casually over the colorful array of silk pillows. Lysander looked up at her for a few moments, contemplatively, and then said, “I will stay out of your dreams – for the time being. You will be with me in the flesh soon enough. Nicholas will bring you to me. Then Abigalia, what you and I have will be real again. I will be patient. I can wait.” She was flustered. “Nicholas?” Lysander’s image was fading. “Wait! How do you know about Nick? Nick isn’t involved in this. No! Nick!”

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CHAPTER 7 Cairo Nick looked over at Abby. She was staring out of the window as she had been doing for hours. She hadn’t said a word to him since they boarded the plane bound for Cairo. He had walked into the living room as Abby lay screaming his name on the sofa. The television was on and vegetables were scattered over the sofa. There was an overturned carton of dip on the carpet. It had taken him a long time to calm her, holding her, stroking her hair. He cursed himself for coming home late but hadn’t expected her to fall asleep waiting for him. Nick had brought home an entire chocolate cheesecake and a bottle of wine, thinking it might be humorous to have only dessert for dinner. Abby loved cheesecake and he thought after sharing some wine, they might end up eating their dessert in unusual places, for example on each other. He also hoped that the wine would appease Abby so that he could somehow tactfully propose that they leave for Egypt in the morning. Their fifth anniversary was in only a few days and if she protested, he thought he might suggest it was a surprise vacation. He would eventually have to explain the purpose of the trip, but didn’t want to have that conversation with Abby yet. The entire plan had miserably backfired. Abby was already upset that Nick was late and hadn’t called her. Then she had fallen asleep and had another nightmare which seemed to affect her greatly. She would not divulge even one tiny detail of the dream, but Nick knew without a doubt who she had dreamt about. Then Abby had flatly refused to go to Egypt, appalled at his nerve. The list of Nick’s sins seemed to be growing, including approaching Abby’s boss without her knowledge, failing to include her in the planning of a so-called anniversary trip to the other side of the world, and springing it on her at the last minute. The very last minute. Finally, Nick had broken down, literally begging her to come with him. He had no backup plan if she rejected him. He couldn’t leave her here in America – Lysander, or whoever was helping him, would eventually find her or send someone to retrieve her. Nick needed to be in Egypt because he couldn’t do anything to Lysander unless he was physically in the same place. Abby just had to agree. And finally she did, although Nick wasn’t sure now at what price. This was the only major disagreement they had had in their six years together since Abby had resumed her mortality. Their first fight and Lysander was the cause of it. Nick’s jaw twitched, the muscles in his fingers tightening reflexively. He had plans for Lysander when they met again. Nick looked up at the flight attendant who stood patiently in the aisle. “Thank you,” he said, accepting both glasses, one of whiskey and the other of Chardonnay. He placed them on the center console. Abby had been less than thrilled they were traveling first class. Nick was just relieved Hassir hadn’t arranged a private jet. He didn’t think he would have been able to convince

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Abby to get onto it for all the groveling in the world. He lived comfortably with Abby with no hint of the massive family wealth he had accumulated over centuries. Before they started over, Abby had made it clear they should work their way up. But Nick had to have some way to oversee his fortune so he arranged work as a stockbroker in one of his own companies, the perfect cover. Abby had no memory of Nick’s wealth, or her own, but as long as life wasn’t flashy, she was happy. He supposed Hassir had some insight, being Abby’s therapist. Nick snorted to himself. Hassir was one of the most interesting vampires he had ever known. “I ordered you some wine,” Nick said softly to Abby. “In case you wanted some.” She didn’t respond, but her eyes darted to the glass for a moment. Nick reached forward, picking up his glass of whiskey, and then settled back, swirling it idly, wishing Abby would at least look at him. He hated this. He would do anything in the world for her. After a few minutes, Abby spoke quietly. “Nick –” He lowered his drink and looked over at her, his heart leaping into his throat for a moment. She was still looking out the window. “I – I’m sorry for the things I said to you last night. And the things I did.” Her voice was trembling. He returned his eyes to his glass. “Abby, I deserved everything and more.” She turned in her seat toward him, her head resting against the back of the seat, feeling the cool leather against her cheek. “No, no you didn’t.” Her heart swelled as she watched him stare miserably into his drink. She sighed, hardly able believe she was on a plane with Nick flying to Egypt. The last two days had been filled with utter craziness in her otherwise normal life. The dream last night had been overwhelming. In the first dream, Abby felt as if she was experiencing a memory that belonged to someone else, someone like her, but someone she was not, even though she felt everything intensely. It had been wild, exciting, terrifying and sad but also distant and unreal. Despite how dark the first dream had been, the second dream had troubled her more because she felt as she had been herself. Logically, she knew it wasn’t real, but it had felt real, her emotions and actions, and when she awoke . . . she knew she had actually climaxed – her underwear and upper thighs were thoroughly soaked. She had awoken to Nick kneeling over her. He was worried; she was embarrassed and confused. She wondered whether he could smell her – did he suspect she had orgasmed in a dream at the hands of another? Why would she do that anyway? Nick was an

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amazing lover, she never felt wanting, always satisfied and fulfilled. Wracked with guilt, Abby had refused to eat any of the cheesecake, throwing the entire plate across the room where it landed on the carpet with the remainder of her earlier dinner. Neither Nick nor Abby had ever thrown anything. Ever. Then she had said horrible things to Nick, some because she was truly upset with him, but most because she was ashamed of the way she had acted in the dream. She had finally let Nick hold her. He had wrapped his arms around her, stroked her hair and whispered reassurances until she finally fell asleep in his arms. But she would not, could not be intimate with him. It seemed Lysander had now placed himself squarely in their marriage bed. She hadn’t even agreed to go Egypt until this morning, when Nick fell on his knees, beseeching her. In all their years together, he had never given her one reason not to trust him, she had never had one shred of doubt, he had shown her nothing but deep, abiding love. And she loved him too, not just affectionately, but as if he was her soulmate, as if they shared some deeper connection that transcended time. Not that she believed in that, but if there was such a thing, she and Nick would share it. And so in a last, desperate act of trust, Abby abandoned her work and life for an entire month, finding herself on a plane halfway across the world, not believing for an instant this was a romantic getaway. Nick had promised to explain everything to her when they landed and were alone. He had better. She noticed Nick was still staring morosely at the small glass. This was crazy, everything was crazy, but Nick was her world and she had to set things right. “I’m still angry about the trip to Egypt,” Abby said honestly, reaching over and placing her hand lightly on his arm. “But I said and did a lot of things last night that I didn’t mean. I hurt you, Nick. And I’m sorry.” He replaced his drink on the console and took her hand in his, stroking the back of it gently. “Abby, I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am. I’m sorry for being home so late . . . for negotiating time off with your boss without your knowledge . . . for springing this trip on you at the last minute . . . and most of all sorry for not being completely truthful with you.” He looked across at her, his brown eyes intense. “But thank you for coming with me to Egypt.” There was such relief in his voice that Abby was suddenly very glad she had agreed to come. “I promise there will be no more secrets between us, Abby. There is something very important I need to explain to when we arrive that I wish I didn’t have to, but I swear to you I will keep nothing further from you. I’ll answer any question you ask of me.” Abby saw the sincerity in his eyes. As disturbed as she was about the fact that Nick had kept something from her, she knew she was guilty of the same thing. She had never 56

thought she would keep secrets from Nick. A passing thought about an attractive man in the gym here and there – that was nothing. Neither of them was concerned about that. But this seemed far different. Should she share her secret? Was it a good idea to tell your husband that you dreamed of being turned into a vampire, controlling an army of dark creatures, a vampire king brutally fucking you, and then meeting the same vampire the next night for a rousing bit of oral sex complete with two orgasms which you actually had? She guessed she would have to think about it. “Thank you, Nick.” She smiled tentatively. “Would you like some wine Mrs. Fenton?” he asked in a contrived voice, reaching for the stem of her wine glass. Abby couldn’t help a small burst of laughter which went a long way in dissolving the tension. That was the same question a flight attendant had asked her on their honeymoon flight, while handing her a glass. It was first time anyone had called her Mrs. Fenton and she had spluttered a protest before realizing it was now her name. She reached for the glass and said softly, looking into Nick’s deep brown eyes. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Fenton.” As Abby’s fingers closed around the stem, Nick held it for a moment, not releasing it. Confused, she looked up at him and he leaned over and gave her a slow sensual kiss, filled with his desire and passion for her. Abby felt a tingling need in her belly and a growing sweetness as his lips sent liquid fire breaking over her. Nick broke the kiss, enjoying the heated look in her amber eyes. The world was righting itself, at least for now. After that kiss, Abby was about to suggest they renew their membership in the “mile high” club, but decided she could wait until they arrived in Egypt. It would be better to reconnect with her husband tonight in a comfortable bed, rather than a cramped bathroom. Had she known what awaited, she might have pushed for the bathroom. ***** Several hours later, the plane dipped noticeably and Abby pulled in her recliner and sat up, sorting out her belongings for landing. Nick was relieved she had been able to sleep some. She would need as much rest as possible for the next several days. He leaned back in his seat, running his finger around his collar, feeling a bit anxious. This had to work. They had to succeed. “Abby,” he suddenly said to her. “Mmm?” she replied, unzipping her purse and rifling through it, checking to make sure she had all of her documents in order. “Some of the things in Cairo may seem . . . unusual to you.”

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She looked up at him, her passport held loosely in her fingers. He straightened in his seat and looked at her. “Please, trust me. I promise to tell you everything – absolutely everything – tonight.” She replaced her passport and re-zipped her purse without looking away from him. “Nick – it’s ok. I can wait. I do trust you,” she said trying to reassure him. Then she asked, “What am I going to see?” Nick sighed, running his hand through his hair. “We aren’t staying at a hotel.” She blinked. “Ok,” she said, meeting his brown eyes. “We’ll be staying with . . . a friend. A friend of mine,” Nick said carefully. Abby looked at him for a long moment. “You have friends in Egypt, Nick?” she asked softly. Her mouth felt dry. Her tone was not lost on Nick. Shit, he thought. He was going to send Lysander back to demon spawn hell when he found him. “Yes,” he answered tightly. She turned from him and looked out the window, watching the great expanse of the city loom closer. Then she closed her eyes. “Am I going to find out you’ve been leading a double life? That you have another wife? A family? That you aren’t who I thought you were?” Abby wondered how this could be possible, but she still had to ask. Nick spent practically all of his time with her. He never had mysterious absences. Nick thought he saw a trace of dampness under her lashes. He decided to answer two of her questions. “Abby,” he said sharply. “Look at me.” She slowly turned toward him and opened her eyes. They were wet. He reached his hand to her and gently held her chin, looking into her eyes. “I vow to you now and always, that there is only you. You are my entire life and my love, Abby. I have been faithful to you and I want no other.” She nodded, giving him a very small smile. She believed him. They were quiet for a few moments, listening to the instructions for landing from the flight attendant. Then Abby asked, “Are you a spy?” She tightened her seatbelt, adjusting it around her. “An assassin?”

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Nick blinked. He hadn’t expected such questions. He groaned to himself. The truth was so much worse. “No,” he replied. ***** “There he is!” Abby looked through the sea of people in the airport, her eyes falling on a boy with light brown skin of about sixteen holding a handwritten sign that read “The Fentons.” Nick navigated the crowds and walked swiftly up to the boy. He had a tight grip on Abby’s hand and she had to jog to keep up with him. “As-salam alaykum,” Nick said, bowing his head slightly. He had not seen Alim in centuries. “It is good to see you again, Alim.” “Wa alaykum e-salam,” Alim replied, shaking Nick’s hand. His wide dark eyes were fixed on Abby. “Alim, this is . . . Abby.” He hesitated just slightly before he said her name. “Hi,” Abby said, letting go of Nick’s hand and holding out her own. The boy seemed to almost tremble as he took it, holding it reverently. Abby gave him a warm half-smile, although her eyes flitted to Nick questioningly. “Is everything ready?” asked Nick. Alim nodded. “Yes.” “Then let’s go. Quickly.” Alim tossed the sign into the nearest trash bin and they followed him through the gleaming mass of metal and silver, outside into the warm air and across several expanses of grass and landscaped palms until they came to two yellow motorcycles parked at a curb. A helmet rested on one of the machines. “Abby,” Nick said, squeezing her hand. “Trust me, remember?” She stared. “We’re riding on those?” she asked weakly. They were dusty and scratched, but they looked very fast. Nick looked at the bikes and then back at Abby. “Yes,” he answered. “They’re easier to maneuver. We’re going deep in the city where the streets are very narrow.” “And our things?” She didn’t take her eyes from the motorcycles.

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“Someone is collecting our luggage. It will meet us there.” “And you’re not a spy, Nick?” Nick almost laughed, but wisely did not. “No,” he said quietly, drawing Abby into him and kissing her on the forehead. “No, I’m not. I promise.” The ride was terrifying, but Abby had to admit, exhilarating. While Alim, who rode ahead of them, seemed to be more daring and had several close calls, Nick drove carefully. Fast, but carefully. Abby never felt that they were actually in danger of crashing or running into a car, bicycle, cart, pedestrian, livestock or whatever else appeared on the streets as they wove their way farther and deeper into the heart of Cairo. Finally, they slowed and turned down a narrow street. Alim parked before a tall, older building and Nick pulled up behind him. Nick dismounted and then helped Abby off the bike. She removed her helmet, shook out her hair, and then placed it on the seat. Abby looked around. The cramped street was lined with ancient-looking buildings, mostly tan in color. Brightly colored awnings hung from several of the structures and there were a few merchants, their wares piled on small tables. Wooden chairs lined the alley, one or two in front of almost every doorway. The street was busy, but not overly so. There seemed to be no tourists of any sort. A few people passed by on bicycles, including one with an enormous platter of baked bread balanced on his head. It was hot. It felt surreal to be in Egypt. Nick and Alim were talking together and Abby walked up to them. Nick drew her in under his arm as he continued speaking. She moved into him, comforted by his strong hand around her shoulder as she peered up at the strange markings and elaborate architecture of the buildings around her. Then, it hit her. “Nick,” she gasped, looking at him. “Are you speaking Arabic?” He stopped and turned to her. She looked as if she might faint. Nick shifted his hand so that it was under her arm, giving her more support. With his other hand, he gently brushed at the fine wisps of her hair on her forehead, tucking one strand behind her ear. “Yes,” he admitted. “But Abby, I need to talk with Alim about a few more details.” His eyes shifted to the building next to them. There was a short path with a few steps leading down to a green door. “We’re staying there,” he nodded to the door. “Would you like to go inside while we talk? There’s a beautiful garden that I promise is relaxing and beautiful, as well as a place for you to freshen up. You’re welcome to stay outside with us if you prefer.”

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Abby stared at Nick. She had promised to trust him, but Arabic? Tears started to well up in her eyes again. Nick pulled her against his chest and held her there, one hand resting lightly on the back of her neck. “I swear to you, Abby, I will tell you everything – absolutely everything – as soon as I’m done speaking with Alim. Can you wait just a little longer?” She did not move for a few seconds and then nodded against his chest. Freshening up did sound good. And the garden too. But how did Nick know so much about what was inside the building? “I think I’d like to go inside, Nick.” He exhaled, trying not to show his relief that she hadn’t taken him to task for speaking another language. “Good. Turn left as soon as you enter. The door at the end of the hallway opens onto the garden. Our room is directly off the courtyard – the one with the blue awning. Our luggage is already inside. I promise it won’t take longer than a few minutes,” he explained. Abby pulled back and looked into his beautiful brown eyes. Then she kissed him sadly. “I’ll see you inside,” she said. She did not want to know how their luggage made it here before they did. “Remember to turn left and not right,” Alim called. Abby turned and smiled. “Left. Got it.” Nick and Alim watched her go. She did not look back at them. Nick leaned against the motorcycle and sighed heavily. “That is her? Abigalia?” Alim asked, his voice awed. Nick looked over at the boy. “Yes,” he said curtly. “Surely you were briefed –” Alim waved his hand. “Yes, yes, I was briefed. It’s just that she was so . . . so powerful. The ruler of all things dark.” His eyes rested on the door where Abby had entered. “And she is so beautiful. I can’t believe I am seeing her. And out here.” He raised his eyes skyward. “In the light.” “Yes, well now she’s my wife,” Nick snapped. “And very human.” Alim looked at Nick. “Don’t worry. We will treat her well and do everything we can to help you. It is not simply because we do not want Abigalia to rise to power again. We believe in you Nicholas . . . and now having seen her,” he said, his voice lowering, “I believe in your decision.”

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“Thank you, Alim. But most of what we have to do against Lysander, we must do alone.” “Alone? Why?” “The binding spell can only be performed by a mortal.” “But you’re not a mortal.” “No, but I think I’m close enough. I gave up my powers before imprisoning him. It worked last time.” Well mostly, thought Nick. He knew that Abby was truly a mortal now, but he didn’t want to her to have to face Lysander directly. “I forget, you don’t have many of your abilities do you, Nicholas?” “No,” Nick acknowledged. “Not during Abby’s lifetime, anyway.” “Is it worth it? Giving up all of your powers?” asked Alim. His black eyes were curious. Nick’s eyes shifted back to the door. “More than worth it,” he replied. Suddenly, a loud scream came from inside the building. Nick froze. “That’s Abby!” he exclaimed taking off at a run for the door, Alim following at his heels. He and Alim blinked as they entered the darkened building. They met a blank passageway that led only left and right with a door at either end. The door on the right was open. They both sprinted down the corridor toward it. It opened onto a drab, empty courtyard separating the building from which they had just emerged from its neighboring building. Nick and Alim scanned the courtyard and saw nothing. Then the sounds of a scuffle carried from the next building through the open windows of the second story. “Abby!” Nick cried, racing for the door to the other building. The door was stuck and he kicked it hard, slamming it against the wall as it opened and he ran inside. To his left he saw a narrow flight of crumbling stairs and ran up it. He felt a rush of air sweep by him as he took the short steps three at a time, a presence moving faster than any mortal could manage. It was Alim. Nick found himself in a hallway lined with doors on both sides. He heard muffled shouts and cries father down the hallway and sprinted to the second door on the right which he found ajar. Pushing it open further, he saw two men inside dressed entirely in loosefitting sand-colored clothes, fabric from their turbans wrapped around their faces, leaving only their eyes showing. One had his arm wrapped around Abby’s throat and held a long, thin saber in the other hand. He was backing her up toward the window. Abby struggled against his grip, but her air supply was compromised and her face was paling. The other man had a slightly curved saber drawn as well. Hassassins, Nick thought.

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CHAPTER 8 A Past Unveiled Alim stood in the center of the room, watching both of the hassassins, not making any move. Nick took a step closer to Alim, his eyes on Abby. She was resisting the hassassin pulling her to the window, straining against his chokehold. She met Nick’s gaze, terror and pleading in her amber eyes. The other hassassin took in the sudden appearance of Alim and now Nick, his weapon trained on first one then the other. Suddenly, he charged Alim, swinging his sword in a wide cutting swathe. Alim was weaponless. He stood perfectly still and then seemed to almost disappear. Nick saw the shimmer as Alim stepped quickly around the approaching man, turning to one side and plucking the saber from his hands. The hassassin whirled as he reached the end of the room, his black eyes shifting rapidly as he took in Alim standing in the center of the room holding his saber and his own empty hands. He was trained, however, for surprises and rather than become flustered reached in the loose folds around his waist and withdrew a curved dagger. Nick’s eyes snapped to the hassassin holding Abby. He had dragged her to the open window and was attaching something to the sill. He sheathed his sword over his back quickly and then leapt lightly to the ledge, lifting Abby from the ground, taking her with him. He gave the room one last sweeping glance and then jumped from the shelf with Abby, one hand at a small braking mechanism attached to the cable at his waist. “Shit! Abby! No!” Nick called, starting to run across the room between Alim and the remaining hassassin facing off. Alim’s eyes darted to the window as the top of the hassassin’s turban dipped from sight. He tossed the saber at Nick who caught it and then in another blur, Alim disappeared through the window. Before Nick could reach the sill, the other hassassin sped across the remaining distance and stood before the window, blocking Nick’s approach, his dagger held threateningly before him. Nick ran forward at a crouch impatiently, the saber held back at an angle. He needed to take the man out quickly and get to Abby. His eyes blazed with anger. The expression in the hassassin’s eyes was unchanged. As Nick approached, the hassassin leaped lightly aside, thrusting his dagger at Nick’s abdomen. Nick saw the assault coming just as it occurred and feinted but not before the blade sliced through the side of his white shirt carving an inch into his flesh. Blood poured from the wound turning Nick’s shirt and trousers scarlet. He put his hand to his abdomen and touched the warm, stickiness, his fingers coming away drenched in blood. Nick’s back was at the window and he twisted his torso slightly, trying to look down at the street below, wincing at the pain in his side. His eyes darted between the hassassin and the view through the window. The man took advantage of Nick’s distraction and whipped out six-pointed metal stars which he began throwing. Nick wheeled, taking in this new assault and brought up the thin saber hastily, deflecting the shuriken as soon as

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they reached him, wielding the sword with lightning-fast ability. The ring of the metal against metal reverberated as the hassassin continued throwing and Nick focused on meeting each attack with a quick strike. Getting nowhere, the hassassin stopped. Nick took a few quick breaths. He didn’t have Alim’s quickness, but apparently had some residual powers as Hassir had suggested. He was grateful for some advantage. Nick considered briefly. Hmmm. If he had a slight increase in speed, perhaps a trace of his other vampiric abilities would manifest . . . . The hassassin drew back slightly and then began hurtling small, silver knives at Nick, pulling them from the folds of his garments as fast as he could throw them. The knives were harder to deflect than the stars because they had a smaller surface area on which the long, thin saber could catch. But Nick found his rhythm and began swinging the sword in a dizzying pattern, blocking and sending each knife flying through the air and skittering across the floor, the ting of metal on metal almost melodic. Again the hassassin stopped and this time withdrew two black sai which he held smoothly, one in each hand, his fingers resting in the curved prongs projecting from the handle, the sharp, dagger-shaped blades pointed at Nick. Then, he ran toward the wall next to Nick, using his momentum to leap as he neared so that his feet ran along the wall, his arms extended, intent on driving down on Nick from above. ***** The hassassin holding Abby reached the street with her and in one swift motion, disengaged the cable from the window and began dragging her to one of two waiting brown motorcycles. She was dizzy with the sudden drop from the second story window and the pressure of the chokehold around her neck, but as she saw that the strangelydressed man was intent on abducting her, she screamed loudly. The man’s dark eyes narrowed for a moment as he thought about crushing her senseless. His orders were to bring her in alive and unharmed and he didn’t know whether unconscious would qualify. Alive, yes, but unharmed, he wasn’t sure. He was being paid a lot for this and didn’t want to botch it. So he quickly withdrew a section of cloth from the folds at his waist and wrapped it around Abby’s mouth, gagging her. Tears sprang to her eyes as she made muffled sounds, realizing she was now far worse off. The man lifted Abby onto the motorcycle, mounting behind her. He released the chokehold, forced her arms behind her and quickly secured her wrists behind her back with a wire which he attached to his harness at his waist. He reached around Abby, pulled the clutch and put the bike into gear, twisting the throttle and revving the engine, preparing to leave. He had just begun to push off when a boy of about sixteen appeared between his handlebars, sitting calmly over the instrument panel, his legs drawn up. “Going somewhere?” Alim grinned. The hassassin’s eyes widened in surprise at the sudden appearance of the youth and then he recovered, releasing the throttle and reaching for the dagger at his waist. Before he 64

could thrust the weapon, Alim’s hand shot out and grabbed the man’s wrist, pulling it forward and squeezing painfully until his fingers fell open uselessly and the dagger clattered to the street. Then Alim pushed up the man’s loose tan sleeve, exposed his arm and bit down hard, inhaling sharply with pleasure as the man’s blood flowed freely into his mouth. Alim had a difficult time pulling away. He didn’t do this often and understood why it was disfavored. It was very difficult to stop once started. But despite his youthful appearance, Alim was a very disciplined vampire. He pulled back just as the hassassin swooned, becoming faint, and released the anti-coagulant simultaneously. The bleeding stopped, only two small holes remaining. Abby had slumped forward; she had fainted as soon as she saw Alim appear. He reached behind her and unsnapped the wire from the hassassin’s belt, lifting her from the man’s weakened grasp. He sat her down on the street, untied the gag, and then pulled apart the wires binding her wrists, laying her gently on her back. Then, he turned and eyed the man slouching over the bike. Alim still held the cloth that had been used to gag Abby in his hand. With a wicked gleam in his eye, he wheeled the bike into the center of the street and aligned it. Then, he put it into gear and tied the hassassin’s right hand to the accelerator. He blocked the throttle almost wide open, revved it, released the clutch and stepped back. Alim wiped the residual blood from his mouth with the back of his hand as he watched the motorcycle take off in a screech of rubber. Several pedestrians jumped out of the way. If the hassassin made it through the intersection alive, the street ended at a brick wall a block away. Alim had taken just enough blood so that that the man could not regain control of the bike, but was not so weak that he would pass out before hitting the wall. He thought it would be a fitting end for the hassassin to watch his own upcoming demise. Alim liked fitting ends. Then he turned back to Abby. She was lying in a heap on the edge of the street and he gathered her into his arms. ***** Through the open window Nick heard Abby scream and then the revving sound of a motorcycle engine. He threw a quick glance through the window and saw the hassassin mounted on the machine with Abby in front of him. Urgency boiled in his veins and he threw aside the saber, ran toward the rushing hassassin and leapt lightly into the corner where the two walls met just as his attacker arrived at the same place. The hassassin tried to alter his momentum as Nick leaped onto the wall, but Nick climbed higher until he straddled the corner, looking down at the still-charging man. He grabbed the empty sheath on the hassassin’s back and hoisted him into the air, the assailant’s arms and legs moving comically as Nick climbed higher until he reached the ceiling. Nick felt unsteady, shaky, as if he was about to fall, especially holding the flailing, writhing assassin. He certainly did not have all of his abilities, but it should be just . . .

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enough . . . he thought, as he flipped the hassassin upside down and then let the man drop heavily, falling with him as they landed together, the hassassin’s head first, his neck snapping with a horrible crunch as the combined weight of their bodies hit the floor. Nick jumped lightly to his feet, looking down without emotion at the dead man, his tongue, purple and engorged, lolling out, his head at an impossibly grotesque angle. Then, he ran to the window. It crossed his mind briefly that the bleeding in his own side had stopped and there was no longer any pain although blood still soaked his clothes. He had heard the motorcycle race off while he was falling through the air with the hassassin. Now a fleeting look showed no one there. His heart clutched at the thought Abby might be gone. He considered jumping from the sill for a moment, but decided against it. He didn’t think he had the ability to do that, even in his terrible fear and desperation. Instead, he ran from the room, down the short section of hall, tore down the steep flight of stairs and raced through the exit door which was still open. He ran across the small open courtyard and pulled open the door which led into Alim’s building. He was skidding around the corner to the small green door leading up to the street when he almost ran into Alim, carrying Abby in his arms. “Alim!” Nick cried. “Abby! Oh gods! Abby – is she – ?” “She’s fine. She just fainted,” Alim said reassuringly, handing Nick’s wife to him. Nick lifted her higher in his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder, drawing her closer, holding her securely as he pressed his lips to her temple and stroked her hair, whispering words of love and affection. Alim clapped Nick on the back and then moved past them down the hallway, holding the door open, waiting for Nick to step inside carrying Abby. ***** Nick leaned back in the comfortable upholstered chair, the glass of whiskey almost forgotten in his hands. The gentle sounds of water flowing came from a stone fountain in the open courtyard. All manner of plants, trees and flowers graced the area, an oasis in the heart of the city. The afternoon was deepening into evening. “She’s been asleep for four hours now,” said Alim, looking over at Abby. Abby was resting on a long, low sofa tucked under one of the eaves that overhung the edges of the open garden. She hadn’t even awoken when Nick bathed and dressed her, except to open her eyes briefly and murmur incoherent words before falling back into a deep sleep. Nick had assured himself that she wasn’t injured and her breathing was strong and consistent. It was likely the trauma that kept her from waking up. Nick sighed, looking at the amber liquid in his glass. He had bathed and dressed also, throwing away his ruined clothing. The wound from the hassassin’s knife had already healed completely.

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“It’s a good schedule to keep,” Nick responded. “When we get out in the open desert, we’ll need to sleep during the day and travel at night.” Nick tilted his head back and drained his entire glass, rasping slightly at the end. Then, he looked at Alim. “Thank you, Alim. You saved Abby’s life.” Alim waved his hand by his face as if it was nothing, although he was pleased with Nick’s praise. “She is lovely. I am very glad I could help.” He bowed his head slightly. Alim rose, walked to a cabinet at the edge of the courtyard and retrieved a large glass decanter. He walked back to Nick and took the empty glass from him, refilling it with three fingers. “So, Lysander obviously knows you and Abigalia are here. In Egypt,” he said, handing the glass back to Nick. Nick nodded. “He obviously doesn’t want to wait for me to show up at the temple. If he can kidnap Abby and turn her, it’s over.” Nick looked up as a small cacophony of birds erupted in the leafy branches overhead before he continued. “But he knows that Abby is mortal now. I suspect that’s why he sent common hassassins to abduct her. He couldn’t trust any vampire within a mile of her. The temptation to feed on her would be too great. Without a King turning her, under a common minion, she’d die.” “Lysander is very vengeful,” Alim remarked, walking back to the cabinet where he replaced the decanter. He returned to his seat, picked up the cup of black tea from the table next to his chair and took a sip. “He is also very covetous. There’s likely nothing he won’t do to get Abigalia back.” “About that, Alim . . . Abby’s name. I plan to explain everything to her when she wakes up, but she still won’t have her memories. It might be a little . . . disconcerting for her to have you call her Abigalia.” Alim smiled. “Abby is a beautiful name,” he said. Nick nodded gratefully. Alim shifted, taking a long drink of his tea, and then looked at Nick with interest. “So, if for some reason Lysander did get to Abby and . . . and turned her . . . could you simply go through the ritual again, Nicholas? Turn Abby from vampire back to mortal and start all over living your lives together?” Nick’s expression darkened. He swirled his glass watching the transparent gold shimmer in the fading evening light. It reminded him of the color of Abby’s eyes.

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“No,” he said quietly. “To complete the transformation I used every trace of mortality that remained in Abby from her initial turning. That is why we – you and I – cannot become mortal. As Originals, we have no shreds of mortality. If Abby were to turn back, she would be immortal forever and bound to Lysander. To do what I did weakened her genetically. I’m not even sure whether she would even have the same strength if she were turned again. I doubt even Lysander knows that.” Alim shuddered. “Even with partial strength, she would be terrifying. She was such a vicious and brutal leader . . . so dark, powerful, unyielding. She never showed any quarter, no mercy . . . it was as if she was heartless . . . .” He broke off, mortified at the look on Nick’s face. “Except . . . until . . . after you came along,” he stammered, his skin coloring. Nick’s jaw ticked. “Everyone has demons in their past and vampires seem to have more than their fair share.” Alim agreed. He couldn’t believe he had just spoken those things about Nicholas’ wife. Nicholas had gone through so much to release Abigalia, to give her mortality, to eventually let go of the woman he loved as she grew old and died. Their story was legendary. And he had sullied it. “Nicholas . . . I –” Nick held up his hand. “It’s all right. I know you didn’t mean anything by it, Alim.” What he had said was all true. But Abby had grown to despise the things she did at the same time she grew to love him. Nick took another sip of whiskey, looking over the rim of his glass. He saw that the boy was staring wide-eyed, with a shocked expression, but not at him. He followed Alim’s gaze and saw Abby, propped up against the pillows of the sofa, watching them silently. He made a strangled swallow, set the glass down on a small table, and rose quickly. How much had she overheard? “I’m going to – I’m going to – uh, I’ll uh – be inside – if you need anything,” Alim said, scrambling to his feet and backing up as he practically ran from the courtyard. There was a heavy, overhanging silence in the air. Nick walked slowly over to the sofa, feeling as if he were crossing a great chasm that loomed between him and his wife. The settee was covered in brown leather, one side high-backed, against which large pillows were piled. Abby reclined against them, the long sleeveless tan dress he had dressed her in draped over her ankles, her bare feet resting on the leather. Nick’s heart pounded at how beautiful she looked. He sat down near Abby’s feet as she brought herself up to a sitting position, drawing her knees to her, pulling her dress over her calves and hugging them. Her amber eyes rested on Nick’s face, part of it in shadow. It was nearly dark now and soft, solar lights lit the courtyard. It was still warm.

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They both stared at each other for a long time, each unsure where to start. Finally, Nick rose and moved closer to Abby, sitting down next to her, tracing her arm lightly. “I was so worried about you, Abby,” he said softy. He wanted to kiss her, to draw her into his arms, to fall on her body and drive into her sweetness until they both lost all sense of themselves. But he didn’t see receptiveness in her eyes. She continued to look at him and finally pulled away slightly from his touch. “Is this some kind of joke, Nick? An elaborate prank for our anniversary? Your idea of romance and adventure?” The thought of everything being a hoax made Abby both distraught and hopeful at the same time. Nick’s heart sank at her accusation. “No. I promised to be honest with you, Abby, and everything I say to you, I swear, is the truth.” She was quiet for a moment. “You’re a vampire?” He sighed. “Yes.” “Prove it.” Nick looked startled. He hadn’t expected that response. He thought quickly, running his hand through his hair. By taking the elixir and allowing himself to grow old with Abby, he had given up every power he had, except immortality. At her death, he would revert back to his youthened state with all of his abilities. But now, he had none. Or so he thought. Then he remembered. In the past few days he had realized he could move just slightly faster than normal, he could run up to the ceiling for a few seconds, and Abby’s neck excited him. He ran his tongue over his teeth, concentrating. He could not bring his eyeteeth to descend. How lame was this? Was he going to run around in circles, jumping off the wall, telling Abby how much he lusted after her throat? As if that would work. As much as he had prepared himself for this conversation, he could never have imagined it going in this direction. Nick shook his head. “Abby, I can’t actually prove it to you. Not right now anyway.” His voice was strained. Then, he thought of something. “I could ask Alim to come out. He could definitely prove it.” “Alim’s a vampire too?” Nick cringed at Abby’s raised eyebrows and her patronizing tone. “Uh . . . yes. But I’d rather not have him demonstrate until we’ve talked. Please?” he asked plaintively.

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She didn’t respond so he took one of her hands in his, gently pulling it away from where it was wrapped tightly around her knees. “Abby, I know what you dreamt about two nights ago.” He pressed past the shocked look in her eyes. “You dreamt about a man . . . a vampire . . . named Lysander. He showed you things . . . things which seemed to be from your past. Your turning, your control over an army, and your . . . your relationship with him. Abby – those were actual events.” He sat back and waited, studying her. There, he had started the dialogue. He would see how she responded and then help her to understand. “And you know this because?” Nick shuddered. Her eyes were cold, colder than he had ever seen them. “Because Hassir, er . . . Dr. Rashid . . . told me.” She jerked her hand out of his, her breathing becoming deep and measured. Nick was taken aback by her expression. “You . . . you went to my therapist?” she sputtered. “And you . . . you asked him to tell you what I shared with him. In my private session? And he did?” Her face was dark. “And then you . . . attempt to manipulate me based on one crazy dream I had? Is that what this is about? Manipulating me? Why? You make me sick!” she exclaimed furiously. “Abby, Hassir is an old friend of mine . . . .” “Really? Something you also hid from me. And . . . and because he’s an old friend that makes it somehow better that he told you? Oh, wait,” she said, rising. “I suppose Dr. Rashid is a vampire also.” The derision in her voice made Nick want to melt into the floor. Nick swallowed. He had promised to be honest with her. “Yes, he is.” “Get out! Get out of my life, Nick! I thought I knew you, but I don’t know you at all! I know nothing about you!” she screamed, starting to choke on her sobs. She backed up from him, looking around. Then, she narrowed her eyes. “I was attacked and almost kidnapped by some assassin-looking man today. Did you set that up, too? What kind of games are you playing with me?”

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“Oh gods no, Abby! I love you! I would never harm you. How can you think . . . ? I would do anything for you.” Nick moved toward her almost desperately, trying to reach out to her. “I don’t know you! Get away! Go away!” she cried, cringing at his touch, almost ready to break down. Nick looked at her angry, tear-streaked face, at a loss. He couldn’t let her leave because it was too dangerous, but if he didn’t leave as she was asking him to, she might go herself. Suddenly, there was a rustling and Abby looked up, startled, to see Alim standing before her. Alim looked over his shoulder at Nick, winked, and then turned back to Abby. He drew up her hand quickly and kissed the back of it lightly. She blinked at him, still crying. “Abby,” Alim said. “Nick loves you and is telling the truth. Let me help you see it.” She stared at him and then – he was gone. She sniffed and looked around, avoiding Nick’s gaze. “Here I am,” Alim said softly from behind her. Abby turned, shocked. “How did you –?” she asked slowly. “As a vampire, I have many abilities. I did not disappear and reappear even though it seemed that way. I simply moved so quickly you could not see me with your human eye. Look up.” Abby did. “Do you see that large branch up there?” Alim asked. It was dark, but the courtyard lights illuminated its outline. She nodded. “Watch,” he said and then appeared on it, waving down at her. He jumped down, standing before her again. “You still look unconvinced,” Alim observed. “You were out in the daylight earlier,” she said simply. Alim grinned at her. “The vampires of our particular strain – defensor lucem – don’t mind a bit of sun,” he said slyly. “Possibly because we are quite literally – defenders of light. We defy most conventional wisdom about vampires. We are immune to daylight, stakes through the heart, crosses, holy water, garlic, the usual.” Alim ticked off his fingers as he talked. ”We don’t sleep in coffins, frequent graveyards or feed on blood to survive – although it tastes heavenly,” he added, licking his lips subconsciously. “Our

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skin is also a bit paler than normal owing to our ancestors who were subject to these . . . tortures.” Alim looked over Abby’s shoulder at Nick, unsure as to whether he should continue. Nick nodded so he went on. “Centuries ago, there was a great rift in our kind. There were not very many of us then. We were all Originals. But a disagreement of epic proportions erupted . . . a fundamental divergence between good and evil, light and darkness,” Alim said, sweeping his arms out demonstratively. Nick rolled his eyes, thinking Alim was being a little dramatic. “Some of the vampires, the noctis monstra – monsters of the night – decided to rule the darkness, already obsessed with all manner of dank and foul creatures.” Alim crouched a bit as if imitating something evil and then straightened. “And others of us . . . stayed. Over time, the darker vampires decided that they needed more followers, more vampires, more than the foul monsters which they already controlled. Those are the common vampires about whom stories are written. Their constant preying on mortals led humans to develop effective ways to repel . . . or even kill them. But the Originals are immortal forever.” Alim puffed out his chest slightly. “So you’re the good ones,” Abby said to him, dispassionately. “An oversimplification, but yes.” “Do you have teeth?” Alim understood and grinned at her so that she could see his full set of human teeth. Then he closed his mouth and his eyes also, for effect, and then roared a guttural growl, opening his eyes and throwing his mouth wide open, exposing a perfect set of gleaming, wickedly-sharp elongated eyeteeth. Abby screamed, stumbling backwards into Nick as Alim snapped his mouth shut, horrified, grabbing for her. Abby fell still in Nick’s embrace, her breathing rapid, and then looked curiously up at Alim. Alim started to make an apology when she asked, “May I touch them?” Alim’s eyes widened. He hesitated and then nodded slightly. He had not yet retracted the teeth so he edged closer to her and stretched out his neck tentatively. He opened his mouth just barely, without any theatrics this time, and Abby reached out, running her finger down the surface of the enamel. It felt like a real tooth. She slid her finger underneath and then cried out and withdrew it. The end of the tooth was razor sharp and there was a small prick of blood on her finger. She pressed it against her thumb and then looked up at Alim. Alim's eyes were rolling up in his head and he was making smacking sounds. A low growl came from his throat. Abby looked alarmed. She recognized that type of growl – it was similar to what Nick did during sex.

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“Abby go back over to the sofa,” Nick said hoarsely, pushing her behind him. She did as Nick faced the boy. Alim’s face had darkened and his expression appeared more animalistic. Nick knew what had happened. He had tasted blood. Queen blood. Human or not, Abby’s blood was very, very powerful. He shouldn’t have allowed it, but Abby was just so damn curious. And he wanted to indulge her so she would understand. He didn’t think she would stab herself. “Alim. Go back inside, right now,” Nick snarled at him. A ghastly expression crossed Alim’s face, he shuddered, and then his polite, happy facade returned. “I’m leaving now, Nicholas,” he said quietly. He looked over at Abby. “I’m sorry to scare you . . . but my, you do taste sweet.” He winked at Abby were she stood under the eaves, her arms wrapped around her. She returned a weak smile. Alim gave them both a small bow and then walked toward the main corridor, exiting the courtyard. Nick took a breath, relieved to see Alim leave. Then he looked over at Abby, his heart racing at bit. He was unsure whether to approach her. The last time she had spoken to him, she had been screaming at him to go away. “Nick,” she said, unspoken need for him in her voice. It was all she had to say, her amber eyes suddenly filled with sorrow, not caused by him, but by the realization of their situation. He crossed the distance to her and drew her into his arms. He could feel her trembling as he caressed her back. Abby closed her eyes, letting Nick’s warmth and comfort wash over her. Then she pulled back from him slightly, sat down on the sofa and looked up at him expectantly, her amber eyes shining in the low light. Nick bent down and kissed her first, then sat next to her. “All right, start at the beginning Nick,” she said softly, reaching for his hand. Nick drew in a deep breath and then started with the dream Abby had first experienced. He explained how Lysander had portrayed Abby’s life accurately, but incompletely. Nick filled in the gaps, starting with her turning when Lysander made her his Queen, and how she and Lysander ruled together, amassing a massive army of malevolent, wicked creatures, working toward the goal of dark vampires ruling the world. The segment on the plain at night had appeared to be the moment of Abby’s triumph, but was actually the event of her downfall. Her minions had a momentary advantage over the forces of light, but the warriors had surged back from near defeat, slaying almost her entire army and driving Abby and Lysander into hiding. Nick did not tell her who led the army that defeated her.

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The dream fragment portraying the relationship between Abby and Lysander was truthful to an extent, but did not show the degree of violence to which Lysander was capable or the discontent and despair Abby felt as she fell into a monotonous, miserable underground existence, day after day, century after century. “It was then, Abby, that you approached me with your plan – to temporarily imprison Lysander and release you to your mortality,” he said gently. “And so we were lovers then?” she asked tentatively. Nick grimaced. “We had been lovers for several centuries.” Abby took this in, a little stunned. “But why couldn’t I just leave with you, Nick?” Nick sighed. “Abby, you were a dark vampire, noctis monstra, constrained to live in the obscurity of the night, subject to many of the terrible, traditional torments.” He cringed a little, speaking about her like this. But there was more to say. “And . . . you were bound to Lysander since he was the one to turn you.” He looked into her eyes. Abby saw pain in them. “You still are,” he said softly. “You can be bound to no other.” “What?” she cried. “I’m not bound to him. I can’t. I couldn’t be. I love you,” she said, reaching out and touching his lips. “And I you, Abby. We devised a plan to render Lysander insentient, unaware, as if he had lost all conscious thought, but it could only occur during your mortal lifetime. You asked me to deliver you mortality. We imprisoned him together. Without this, you would have had to go to him constantly.” Nick quieted. “That’s what our relationship was like, wasn’t it, Nick? We discovered we loved each other, but I . . . I couldn’t leave Lysander.” She looked at him, her eyes wet. Nick couldn’t answer. Whenever Lysander would find out Abby had been to see Nick, he would beat her mercilessly, wreaking terrible sexual vengeance on her. What he had shown her in the dream was nothing compared to his wrath when he discovered their relationship. For centuries, Abby did not tell Nick about Lysander’s punishments and Nick had had no idea for many years what had been happening to her as he continued to see her and love her. It hurt to think about it even now. “So, I asked you to give me my mortality back, something that – you could do –” Nick nodded, “knowing that I’d be free of Lysander, but also knowing . . . that I would grow old and die and leave you forever?” Abby asked.

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Now it was Nick’s turn for his eyes to turn liquid. She looked at him tenderly. “You did that for me?” she asked softly. “Realizing you would have to give me up?” Nick looked at her for a moment before he could speak. “Yes, Abby. And I gave up what I could of my vampirism so that I could grow old along with you. I didn’t want to stay young while you aged. We wanted to experience a full mortal lifetime together. I would have given up my immortality completely if I could, but that’s . . . impossible for me. I would have given anything, done anything for you. As it was, all I had to give you was what you wanted.” “But it wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want to lose me.” “I wanted you free, Abby. Your life with Lysander was filled with pain and torment. I tried to leave you once, but you were even more miserable. I wanted us to be free to love each other. I just wish there had been some other way.” She covered his hand with hers. “I can see now why I asked you to do it. I would ask you to do it again. I have no regrets. The last six years with you have been the happiest years of my life, especially if the dreams are any indication of my past existence.” Nick was thinking the same thing. They sat in silence for a few moments. “So, Dr. Rashid –?” “I’m sorry to betray your trust there,” Nick broke in. “It’s just – it’s rare that a vampire becomes mortal again and Hassir wanted to watch over your mental state. He’s been a very good friend of mine for centuries. Yours too,” he added. “You actually asked him to do it – to be your therapist. And you authorized him to tell me everything.” “I what?” said Abby, surprised. Then she thought about it. “Yes, I can see that. It makes sense,” she said slowly. “If it helps, the dream you had was the first time he ever shared anything with me from your sessions.” “Really?” “Really.” Abby leaned into him, somewhat comforted by this. “Will you tell me how we first met?” “It is a beautiful and exciting story, one that deserves more time to tell than we have now. After this is settled,” Nick promised. 75

CHAPTER 9 Desert Sands When dawn broke the next day, Nick and Abby helped Alim set a table in the courtyard with breakfast – dates, figs, a variety of breads, palm and nut spreads, and a large pot of black tea with three small glasses. Nick watched Alim carefully, making sure there was no residual attraction to Abby other than Alim’s normal fawning demeanor. They each pulled up chairs informally to the table and helped themselves. “Mmmm. So delicious. Thank you, Alim” said Abby as she bit down on a piece of bread smeared with the palm spread, a look of pure bliss on her face. Alim beamed, his eyes glowing at Abby. She swallowed the bread and then asked him “How long will it take to get to Lysander?” Alim looked over at Nick who was sipping his tea thoughtfully. “Lysander is confined in a pyramid two days’ ride from here,” he told her. “At least we think that’s where he is. That’s where you and Nick left him anyway.” “A pyramid? Is that where I used to live?” Abby asked. Alim choked, almost spitting out his tea. Nick put down his tea, coming to Alim’s rescue. “The pyramid is the source of ancient magic which we drew upon for Lysander’s confinement. You actually lived in a series of . . . catacombs.” “Catacombs,” repeated Abby curiously, tearing off another piece of bread. Alim’s dark eyes shifted between Abby and Nick at the callous way in which she spoke of the dark maze of tangled passageways, home to all nature of rank and unpleasant creatures, which she had inhabited. He still could not believe Abigalia – Abby – did not remember. “So, when do we leave for the pyramid?” she asked Alim. Alim set down his tea on the small table, the black liquid sloshing in the small glass cup. Although he had only known of Abby by reputation in the past, it was still quite an adjustment getting used to her as a mortal, her innocent forthrightness, her inquisitive personality. He liked her very much though. “I think we leave tonight, right Nicholas?” “Yes,” Nick agreed. “We must travel by night when we can remain awake and vigilant. We’ll rest during the heat of the day.”

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“You two can get some sleep today and I will organize the camels and supplies for the camps,” Alim suggested. “We will have two camps – one halfway and one at the base of the pyramid. I will also arrange for the horses. We can leave at sunset.” “What about you, Alim? When will you sleep?” Abby asked him. “He doesn’t need to sleep,” Nick said. She turned her head to Alim, incredulous, as he smiled his youthful smile back at her. Then she looked suspiciously at Nick. “What?” he said in mock surprise. “I need to sleep. Really, Abby.” Abby believed him, but couldn’t help wondering if the reason he woke her up so much for sex in the middle of the night was a residual attribute from his full vampirism. Alim rose, motioning for Abby and Nick to stay seated and finish eating. “I will go now. Remember,” he said, looking around the square, “this house is protected by ancient power, but not the buildings or courtyards around it.” Abby nodded, slightly embarrassed. Yesterday Alim had clearly reminded her to turn left once inside the front door, but she had gone right instead, investigating the sounds of a kitten that seemed to be crying in pain. As soon as she stepped outside of the building, she had been set upon by the hassassins who had imitated the sounds. She would be much more careful now. Nick and Abby retired to their bedroom off the courtyard, a sliding door opening directly from the garden. They left the door open with the screen drawn. It was beautiful and peaceful, lying on the large bed in the dark Egyptian frame, listening to the morning twitters of birds and the distant burble of the fountain. Neither had felt the time was right to be intimate last night. And despite her newfound knowledge of her relationship with Lysander, Abby still hadn’t shared the contents of her second dream with Nick, something that weighed heavily on her. ***** Abby stood on the outskirts of Cairo in the setting sun, waiting for her horse to be saddled, both nervous and excited. She knew that it could be a matter of life and death for her, but was ready to face Lysander, ready to eliminate all threats to her future with Nick. The Giza pyramids were clearly visible, the trio in purple relief against the hot, thick air. Nick had told her they were heading for a very ancient, seven-step pyramid located in the shifting sands southwest of Cairo. Nick had explained that step pyramids were the earliest of Egyptian pyramids, built centuries before became the smooth-sided temples became popular. They were imbued with age-old, primordial power. Power that Nick and Abby had harnessed to imprison Lysander. Finally, the party was almost ready to ride. Nick walked over to Abby, standing before her dark brown mount. He drew her to him, holding her as the sun slid down the humid

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sky. She felt the belt and hard sheath at his waist. Each of the riders wore a long sword charmed, from what Abby understood, against dark forces. Nick kissed her hair, her head still tucked under his chin, his embrace so strong she felt he was almost crushing her. “We’ve placed you in the middle, Abby,” he said over her head. “There are seven of us and we’ll ride in formation around you. The first night should be the easiest. We’re closer to Cairo and farther from . . . Lysander’s army.” Abby could tell from the slight hesitation that he had almost said ‘your’ army. “We’ll sleep and rest tomorrow and then make the final ride to the temple.” “And all of the riders,” Abby looked around at the horsemen in varying stages of readiness, “are . . . are vampires?” she asked a bit nervously. “Yes, but of the defensor lucem variety, warriors of the light. You have nothing to fear. Alim sent camels and supplies on ahead. The tents will be ready for us by dawn. The camp attendants are ordinary men.” She nodded into him. “Are you ready to ride, my love?” She looked up into his beautiful dark brown eyes, sensuous, flickering between affection, passion, and deadly focus. “Yes,” she said, her voice strong. “I’m ready.” The ride did go well as Nick had predicted. The night was completely moonless and once away from the lights of Cairo, the stars descended as if heaven itself had sent a glittering blanket to flutter directly over their heads. They seemed to ride in some type of trench through the sands, low dark walls rising around them. The ground was hard and the horses made good time. Abby could feel and see the sands beyond the walls undulate as they rode through the darkness. She saw ripples of movement, flashes of bodies, heard lingering whispers on the air. Abby knew they felt her. She could sense some of her former self coming back. They knew that their Queen rode among them, even if the Queen was in a decidedly weaker state. Her blood was still their blood, her power, their power. They wanted to reclaim her, to make her want to reclaim them. Whenever the pull of her former minions became too strong, Abby sensed a brightness growing around her that momentarily blotted out the stars. She knew the seven vampires that rode with her were protecting her, somehow limiting her effect on the dark creatures and their effect on her. Well, six vampires and one semi-vampire. Her lover. Her love. Abby thought about what Nick had shared with her last night in the courtyard. He had told her she had wanted to expunge her memories when starting over, mortal. It made

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perfect sense – after all, who could do graphic design work for Jasmine while reminiscing about controlling a skeletal army. But on the other hand, knowing what she knew now, she was second guessing herself. She had no recollection of how horribly Lysander had treated her, of how her body responded to him, even as her mind rebelled. She wondered how things could have been so bad that she would willingly give up an eternity of clandestine love with Nick for a tiny sliver of mortality. Mortal life was good, she wasn’t so jaded that she couldn’t see that. And she knew Nick was happy, happier than he had ever been, having some sense of normalcy after living as an ageless immortal for so many centuries. But he would return to his life at her death. The magic would break and he would be immediately youthened, restored to all his former glory, power, and abilities. And he would have lost her forever. Is that what he wanted? Had they really considered all of the possibilities before they had embarked on such drastic measures? Abby wondered if it had been difficult to plot a way to release her binding to Lysander while she and Nick only had a few stolen moments together. But now? While she was human? If they managed to defeat Lysander, perhaps she and Nick . . . and Dr. Rashid, could sit down together and come up with another option. Abby was lost in thought when her horse slowed of its own accord. She looked around. The desert was no longer a deep, beautiful indigo in shades of blues and blacks. Instead, monochromatic gold flooded the landscape as the sun rose. Ahead, she could see a cluster of tents and a small group of palm trees, welcome relief against the dry landscape. Abby suddenly realized she was tired. Exhausted actually. They had stopped only once for food and to relieve themselves. As they entered camp, Nick rode up next to Abby and dismounted as the other six riders circled the perimeter, enchanting the camp with ancient protections. Nick helped her down and walked with her to their tent. “You look tired Abby,” he said, his arm around her. “Are you hungry?” She was about to decline and look for the nearest bed, mat or pile of pillows when the most delectable of aromas drifted from the tent as Nick held back the flap and she stepped inside. The tent was beautiful, rich varied colors over the walls and ceiling and a Syrian cedar pole in the center and which also formed the end support for a low, very large bed, covered with intricately designed sheets and a pile of soft pillows. Rugs covered every inch of the ground. Abby looked appreciatively at the appealing softness of the bed, but instead drifted to a low table resting in the opposite end of the tent. She stared, hardly able to believe the array of food – rice-stuffed vegetables, grape leaves filled with lamb, nuts and spices, light breads layered with beans and falafel, assorted fruits, baklava. A steaming pitcher of Egyptian black tea sat at one end of the table, complete with two small glass cups. She sat down as if in a trance on a soft mat before the table and began to pile food on a ceramic plate. She didn’t see any utensils, but none of the foods appeared to need them. She looked up at Nick, still standing, almost painfully waiting for him to sit down so that she could start eating.

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He smiled at her, affection radiating from every pore of his body. “I’m going to change my clothes first” he said, gesturing to a trunk in the corner of the tent. “Oh,” Abby mouthed, wondering why she had not thought to do this. His eyes twinkled. “Please, start eating, Abby. I’ll join you soon.” She nodded gratefully. Nick watched her begin wolfing down her food as he changed. The ride had done wonders for her appetite. He always thought it was rather interesting to watch Abby eat, since dark vampires rarely consumed anything other than blood. He had dinner with Abby a few times as a vampire and knew she would eat – mostly rare, bloody meat – but he never ceased to marvel at her consumption of normal food. And this, this was extraordinary, as she blissfully consumed all manner of Egyptian delicacies. Nick would have to thank Alim for his thoughtful hiring of the camp cooks. Maybe he would make her some Egyptian food when they returned to America. They would return, of course, he thought fiercely. Nick joined her about halfway through, but Abby hardly noticed until she was finally full and poured herself a cup of tea. “You know, Abby, tea can be enjoyed before or with a meal, not always after one has scarfed down the entire table.” She smiled at him. But it was a tired smile. Nick finished quickly and stepped outside the tent for a few moments to talk with Alim, making sure all of the preparations had been completed to protect the camp and the guards posted. Satisfied, Nick returned to find Abby asleep on top of the bed in her riding gear. She was dusty and sandy, but he didn’t mind. He gently removed her boots and then lay down next to her, on top of the sheets, draping his arm around her as she snuggled into his embrace and he drifted off even faster than she had. ***** When Abby awoke, Nick was already up and gone. She rolled over sleepily and realized with a hint of disgust that she was still in her clothes from the ride last night. She was hungry again, but lifted the flap of the tent, looking out. It was much hotter outside the tent. From the position of the sun, Abby guessed it was early afternoon. Suddenly, a small, dark-skinned woman about Abby’s age appeared before her. The woman asked her something in Arabic that Abby did not understand. She gestured to the tent and Abby smiled and let her inside. The woman walked over to Abby’s trunk and removed some clean clothes and a towel. She replaced the clothes on the top of the trunk and smiled at Abby, gesturing to the tent flap, holding the towel. Abby wondered briefly whether the woman was a vampire, but she wasn’t one of the seven riders, so she was likely only part of the local help hired by Alim. She followed the young woman out of the tent to a small pool, discretely hidden by trees.

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An hour later, Abby reclined on the bed softly chewing on a date as Nick opened the flap and came inside. He caught his breath, looking at Abby, wearing a blue and gold patterned halter top bra with a short matching skirt, lying on top of newly clean sheets, her damp hair splayed over the pillows. She looked over at him, sucking on her fingers sensuously as she finished the fruit. Nick seemed to have lost all his powers of speech as he continued to stare at her, his mouth open, forgetting that he had come in to tell her they would be having a communal meal in a few hours before they rode again. He had thought he might even have to wake her up. Good gods, she was sexy. She continued to watch him, aware that he was not saying anything. Her eyes drank in his trousers, boots and puffy white shirt. He looked like an archaeologist. A stockbroker turned archaeologist. God, Nick was so hot. “Hi Nick,” she finally said softly. He walked stiffly over and sat on the bed next to her. “Abby,” he breathed. “You look . . . lovely.” “Fortunately, Alim also hired women to help around the camp and I found a nice pool for bathing,” she explained. “Alim is very valuable,” Nick said rather hoarsely. “Yes,” Abby agreed. She thought for a moment, thinking of the boy, and then asked, “Why does Alim look at me the way he does?” Nick regarded her. “Because you are beautiful and were once the most powerful vampire on earth.” Abby was quiet. “When you say powerful . . . you mean, awful. Was I really that horrible?” Nick looked at her. The last thing on earth he wanted to discuss right now was how frightening Abby used to be as a dark vampire ruler. “You had a reputation for being . . . authoritative,” he said carefully. Abby considered this. She could sense Nick’s reluctance to continue the topic any further. But she had another question. “What happened that night in the courtyard – when Alim changed – when he was looking at me so . . . hungrily?” “You mean when you felt up his tooth and pricked yourself on it?”

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“Yes,” she frowned at him. “Consuming your blood caused a reaction in Alim that made you irresistible to him, so much so that he almost lost all sense of himself.” She looked at him quizzically. “How would my blood make me more appealing to him?” Nick sighed, giving in, and explaining. “A Queen does not share her blood . . . willingly with anyone. I am sure that Alim has never had a taste – most vampires of the light have not. But as you saw, even one drop of your blood makes quite an impression.” “She does not share it with anyone? Not even other night vampires?” “No one except the Queen’s King.” Nick responded. “A Queen is the most powerful of all night vampires, once turned by a King. A Queen does not need to feed on human blood to stay whole, but a King requires a near constant supply, weakening if it is unavailable. A Queen holds all of the power and a King must fight to stay her consort or she will replace him. Once a Queen shares her blood freely with another male who is strong enough, that male becomes the King.” Abby looked at him. “With another dark vampire, I mean,” he amended. “Unfortunately, a vampire such as myself, cannot replace a King. I am a vampire of the light . . . we do not have Queens and Kings. There are no rulers, only leaders. Our blood is different. Dark vampires paid a great price to consort with the diabolical creatures of the sub-earth, consigning themselves to living in gloom and isolation and cementing a reliance on human blood. It is not in my nature to be a part of that.” “Did I ever . . . share my blood with you . . . let you drink it?” Nick shuddered at the memory, trying not to come in his trousers. Abby had let him after they had been lovers for a long time. He had climaxed at the taste and Abby had also as soon as he had bitten her. It was the singular best experience in his entire existence. It was so good, they decided it should be rare, not something they engaged in regularly. It usually inspired almost brutal passion in both of them and, despite the allure, he wasn’t sure he was willing to indulge himself now even though Abby’s blood was human. “I did, didn’t I?” Abby said softly, watching him react to his thoughts. She looked reflective. Even a prick of her human blood had sent Alim into a tailspin. “Would you like to . . . do it . . . now?” She lifted her hair softly from the base of neck. Nick’s face reddened and he dropped his hands to his knees, shaking so hard, Abby thought he might be seizuring. Alarmed, she released her hair, rapidly pulling it over her neck as far as it would go. “Oh god, Nick. I’m so sorry. I –”

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Nick slowly straightened on the bed. He was instantly erect and hard. Very, very hard. He looked at her, trying not to betray the depth of the passion she had just aroused in him. He clung to one thought to keep him sane – that he did not have the ability to descend his eyeteeth – and then that comfort was wrenched away from him as he unexpectedly felt them with the tip of his tongue. He had regained the ability. Shit. “What you are offering, Abby . . . . Already I’ve been less in control around you. It might be . . . the threat of Lysander bringing out my true nature, but . . . if you must know, I was not as gentle a vampire as I am in this state of semi-vampirism sharing your life.” He was panting, his voice very raw. Abby smiled reassuringly. “I can take a bit of roughness. I saw what Lysander did to me in the first dream. And I remember the way you were after I awoke. Sex with you has always been great, Nick. But the way you took me that night –” “I was never as brutal as Lysander, but sometimes, when we were together . . . .” Nick’s eyes became distant. Abby couldn’t possibly tolerate their unbridled vampire passion. But he wasn’t a full vampire right now. He could control himself. He hoped. He had seen a bit of Abby’s self waking back up also. Possibly it was triggered by Lysander’s proximity and his awareness. Or the dreams. Nick didn’t dare think it was triggered by him. But perhaps it was. “I don’t know, Abby.” He looked at her pleadingly, torn between taking her on the spot and running as fast as could for the Nile River to cool himself off. Suddenly her eyes clouded. “Nick, there’s something I need to tell you first. After I tell you – you might – you might change your mind.” Her lower lip quivered a little. “What?” he asked, alarmed at the change in her. She dropped her eyes and twisted her hands in her lap. “The night before we left for Egypt, when you came home late . . . and I – I had another dream – a nightmare . . . .” “It was about Lysander. I know, Abby.” Her eyes flicked up to his. “You don’t understand. It was . . . sexual,” she whispered, her face reddening. “I – I –” She didn’t know how she was going to continue. Anger flashed across Nick’s face but it wasn’t directed at Abby. He was livid at Lysander for continuing to torment Abby in her mortality. “Abby,” Nick said, his jaw set tightly, “I don’t care what the dream was about. It was only that. A dream. What we have is real. It’s the only thing that matters right now . . . and forever.” “But . . . it wasn’t a memory . . . it was –”

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“Do you think that didn’t happen for centuries? We were lovers then and you were bound to return to him over and over. I hated it Abby, but we didn’t let it come between us. Tomorrow we are going to stop his torture of you once and for all. No more talk of it now,” he snapped. Nick’s eyes flashed pure hatred, a dark and deadly loathing, which Abby had never before seen. But he was right. She could not allow Lysander to estrange them, especially not today of all days. She drew in a deep breath, smoothing out her hair. “Do you know what day it is?” Abby asked him. Nick knew. But he was so focused on what they needed to accomplish tomorrow, he had thought a quick whispered remembrance and a more fitting celebration later would be in order. Abby slowly reached up behind her bra and unfastened it, pulling it over her head and tossing it to the floor. “Happy Anniversary,” she said, smiling as her breasts tumbled out.

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CHAPTER 10 A Taste of Darkness Nick was speechless as he inhaled the sight of his mostly naked beautiful wife who loved him, who would sacrifice anything for him, even her life. His breath quickened as he stared at her for a few moments and then leaned over and consumed her mouth without hesitation, as if in a trance. Their lips met in a blinding flash of lust, passion and love, binding them together, as they tasted and suckled each other, their tongues interweaving, mingling, heat and fire flowing freely between them, as they found themselves enveloped in a blissful warmth of craving and desire. Abby fell back against the pillows as she received Nick, pulling him down against her, wanting more of him, feeling as she would never be whole again without his touch, his life, his heat. They kissed ardently, indulging in the flesh and heat of the other and then Nick slowly withdrew from her mouth, pulling on her lower lip gently as he released her, his eyes drifting to her breasts as he swallowed and rose from the bed and began unfastening the cuffs of his shirt. Abby watched him, bringing her hand to her breasts and pushing them together, massaging them and running her fingers over the peaks of her nipples as she smiled seductively up at Nick, her amber eyes glazed and steamy. “Abby . . . “ he said somewhat brokenly. “You are too much,” he said, finishing his cuffs and starting on the buttons at his collar. “I haven’t even started yet Nick,” she said, rising gracefully from the bed, dressed only in her skirt which fell to mid-thigh. “Let me help you,” she breathed, reaching up and taking over as she slowly and sensuously freed each button, bringing her mouth inside his shirt and licking at his torso, tracing small circles on his flesh. Nick closed his eyes, enjoying her gentle touch, her willingness to please him, her desire to engage him. Abby finished and opened Nick’s shirt wide, exposing his chest. He started to shrug out of it and she stopped him. “No,” she said, in a sultry voice. “Not yet.” She parted his shirt, running her hands over his abdomen, his pectorals, sliding up over his shoulders which she massaged deeply. Then she kissed his nipple, swirling her tongue around it, before biting it gently between her front teeth. He tensed for a moment and she wondered if she had done anything to him like this when she had eyeteeth. Well, she didn’t have vampire teeth, but human teeth would have to do, she thought, as she licked and sucked at his other nipple and then bit it gently also. He played with her hair, sighing with pleasure at her ministrations. “Nick, I want you to let me pleasure you without trying to control me. Will you let me?” Nick was normally a very gentle lover, except where oral sex was concerned. Then, as long as she could remember, he had had a tendency to ‘encourage’ her.

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He looked down at her, her eyes bright and eager, her bare breasts heaving slightly with her excitement. Right now, he would agree to just about anything. He nodded. “Yes.” She smiled and then stopped and moved around to the bed. Nick started to follow her. “Stop,” she directed. “Stay where you are. I’ll be right back.” Nick was surprised at her tone. Abby was a wonderful sex partner as a mortal, but usually more . . . passive. Had she just ordered him to do something? Abby bent far over the bed, reaching for a large pillow, her skirt lifting deliciously high, as Nick turned to watch her, admiring the view. She turned back holding the pillow, flushing as she saw the look in his eyes. She shuddered. It looked like Nick just wanted to . . . devour her. She dropped the pillow to the floor, gave him a vixenish smile and then settled to her knees, reaching for his belt. Nick’s cock swelled painfully as he realized what Abby was about to do. She was going to blow him here in a tent in the middle of Egypt on their way to attack Lysander. A shudder of anticipation rippled through him. Abby unbuckled Nick’s belt, unfastened his trousers and unzipped them, pushing them down to his ankles over his boots. He went to step out of them and she stopped him, wrapping one hand around his muscled calf, holding it in place. She shook her head. Another order from her. He smirked, remaining in place. Well, he would let her have her power now, but it would soon be payback time. Abby smiled sexily and then reached up and slid down his silk boxers tugging them down with his pants. His cock sprang out stiffly, swollen, thick and beautiful, engorged with blood, ready for this, for her. She wondered for a moment how female vampires sucked off males, but the thought frightened her. She didn’t want to alarm Nick and didn’t have sharp eyeteeth anyway so let the thought drift away. “You didn’t give me time to get you an anniversary present,” Abby said, rising to her knees so that her mouth was level with his organ, her lips inches away. She ran her tongue over her lips slowly as she tilted her head to look at his pale, straining shaft. Nick groaned at her idea of playful torture. He wanted to wrap his hands in her hair and shove his cock in her beautiful, warm, wet mouth, but he resisted. He was really going to pay her back for this. “I had to come with you to Egypt with no notice at all, no chance to even get you a card.” She looked up at him. He could see her full breasts under his swollen organ, like plump white pillows. If she didn’t get to it, he might just ‘ruin’ her idea of a present. Thankfully she said softly, “So this will have to do,” as she opened her mouth and wrapped it securely around his cock embedding his shaft in her deep, moist heat. Nick gurgled at the sensation as she began to move, her lips draped sensuously over him, applying pressure as she sipped gently at first and then with more suction, moving faster, bringing her hands up lightly to his shaft as she thrust him repeatedly through the folds of her wetness, fucking him passionately with her mouth. 86

Nick growled with lust, Abby’s love for him corkscrewing through him, pleasure racing up and down his spine, her worship of his organ, thrilling, erotic, earthy. He reached down and ran his fingers lightly through her hair, trying not to grab at her. She slid her lips from him, sucking hard as she did so and looked up at him smiling, her mouth slightly parted, her eyes hazy, shining with affection for him. “I love you, Nick,” she breathed and then applied herself again, this time bringing her hands up, running them up and down the base of his cock, spitting into them and then spreading pre-cum and saliva over his sensitive skin, the lubrication increasing his responsiveness She fell to him again, rhythmically bobbing, plunging, thrusting him into her, keeping a tempo, as she adjusted her hands to pace of her mouth. Nick began to thrust his hips involuntarily, the delight thrumming through him almost unbearable. Abby cupped his balls lightly, rolling and caressing them gently and then tickled his perineum, causing Nick to buckle as her mouth continued to hungrily pitch over him. Suddenly, Abby stopped. “Lie on the bed,” she said. Another order, Nick mentally noted. “All right,” he agreed huskily as he shuffled to the bed, his pants still around his ankles. Abby gently pushed him against the pillows and he adjusted himself, scooting backwards, watching as she climbed below him, her perfect breasts swinging freely. She helped him out of his shirt, removed his boots, socks and then pulled his trousers and boxers free and tossed them on the floor. Then she crawled up between his legs and looked at him, a hungry, predatory expression on her face. Nick’s cock still ached for her, it was so hard and she was so hot. Take it back in your mouth, he thought, but instead Abby leaned forward and pressed her breasts to the base of his cock. “Aaaaagggh,” Nick stuttered as he looked down and saw his enormous tool poking erect from the plump cushions of his wife’s soft breasts. He closed his eyes, counting backwards from fifty. Abby sensed how arousing a sight she was to her husband and reached for the head of Nick’s cock, feeling the jumping pulse signaling impending orgasm and squeezed very gently until she felt it slow, giving him relief. Then, she drew down again and placed his throbbing pole between her breasts and started to move, plunging him through the blissfulness of her cleavage as Nick groaned and clutched at the pillows. “Gods, Abby,” he said with his head thrown back. “This is the best anniversary present I could ever think of.” “Mmm,” she agreed, licking his shaft and bobbing on it, sucking for a few strokes and then spitting into her cleavage to lubricate her breasts more as she returned his organ to her bosom and began fucking him again, her hands pushing them together, the friction delicious, causing Nick to plunge his hips up, suddenly grabbing for her hair, calling her name almost torturously.

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This time, Abby was going to take him over and she fell to his cock hungrily with her mouth, sucking at his rod fervently, aggressively, cupping and tickling his balls softly, stroking the lower part of his shaft where she couldn’t reach with her mouth as she suddenly took him in farther, dipping him as far back into her throat as she could. Nick growled, his face contorted, almost agonized with the miraculous sensations spinning through him. “Let me release you,” Abby said compassionately as she drew him into her throat again and then stroked him with her lips and tongue, licking and sucking vigorously. Those simple, sweet words triggered an impending explosion in Nick, an unbearable tension, as if his balls were being squeezed and pulled downward erotically, his cock filling to the bursting point with a soothing liquid fire, and then he exploded like a volcano within Abby’s mouth, a staggering eruption of sweet, soft, sticky lava pouring down her throat as she opened for him, receiving him, swallowing quickly as Nick coursed and coursed again. He lifted himself from the bed, reaching for her, gasping as at the intensity, as Abby lapped and suckled gently until she had swallowed every drop and let his soft rod slide from her mouth as she kissed the foreskin falling back over his semi-erect organ. Abby brought her lips to the soft brown hair marching over his lower belly, his navel and then his abdomen, before she laid her cheek over his chest, listening to the heavy thumping of his heart. He reached around and held her head to him, too spent for words, trying to regain his breath as he lay satisfied and exhausted, his fingers playing lightly over her hair, shoulders and back. They lay quietly together for several minutes. Then Nick spoke. “I enjoyed your present very much, Abby. I hope you enjoy mine equally.” Abby raised her head at his statement. There was something about the way he spoke, a hint of something different. “Are you ready?” he asked her. “Lie back.” Her belly flipped over. His tone sounded so much like it had the night of her first dream. She was facing him and leaned back, her head toward the back of the bed. “Very good,” Nick said appreciatively, watching her breasts jiggle a bit as she shifted slightly. “Move back until you can reach the pole with your hands.” “What?” asked Abby incredulously. “You heard me. Just do it,” he repeated, a little hoarsely. Her belly turned over again, letting loose a swarm of butterflies. Abby didn’t want to ask what would happened if she didn’t so she obediently scooted backwards until she could

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reach it and then put her arms over her head, encircling it with her hands. The frame was underneath so there was nothing other than the pole at the end of the bed. Nick knelt forward on his knees, smiling as he looked at her holding the pole securely, her knees drawn up slightly, the look of hesitation and uncertainty in her eyes mixed with excitement and desire. “I thought that pole had to be good for something,” he remarked thoughtfully. Abby looked up at him, her eyes bright, entranced, thinking the position kinky, but still not understanding. He reached to her waist and drew her skirt down over her hips, tossing it aside. Now she was completely naked. Beautiful. “Now I’ll give you my reciprocal gift. But just as you asked that I receive yours with no interference, I desire no less from you. Wrap your hands tightly around the pole. If you let go, even once, I will spank you Abby.” Her eyes flew open as a tremendous burst of wetness slid from her core. Did he just say he would spank her? But then she began to protest, thinking of her dream. Nick saw the fear flash briefly in her eyes and soothed her, running his hand lightly over her breasts, brushing her belly with the back of his hand. “With my hand only, Abby. Lightly,” he reassured her. He didn’t her want to be afraid based on what Lysander did to her, but he wasn’t going to let Lysander in his bed either. He wanted to do this for Abby and he would. Besides, turnabout was fair play. If she obeyed him there would be no spanking. Abby thought about it. He promised not to use anything other than his hand. How bad could that be? She almost groaned out loud thinking about it, her body stretching and tensing of it own accord as she felt more fluids bathing her. It was kinky, but it sounded so good. Damn her husband was hot. “All right,” she agreed. Besides, if she simply held on there would be no repercussions. Nick leaned forward and blew softly over the apex at her thighs as Abby shuddered but held onto the pole. He kissed her belly and then moved to the light patch of hair trimmed in a neat triangle. He licked the inside of her thighs and Abby squealed, giggling. “Nick, that’s not fair,” she gasped. He nibbled at the inside of her thigh and then gently bit it, knowing how sensitive she was there. He knew it was unfair, but simply felt the need to collect his due after being ordered about. As soon as his teeth connected, Abby shrieked and brought her hands to her thighs, pushing him away and massaging the skin gently. Her belly tightened at the look in Nick’s eyes. She brought her hands back up quickly.

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“Uh . . . sorry. It was just a reaction, Nick. I didn’t really mean . . . “ “Grab the pole and hang on.” “What?” “You heard me, Abby.” This game was hot. Too hot. Abby thought she would have the bed drenched by the time they were done as she tightened her grip. Nick brought her ankles together and lifted her legs into the air, bending them over her body just slightly as he moved next to her kneeling. Then, he released her ankles and held her thighs in place with one arm, bringing his hand across one buttock with a hard swat. Abby cried out but did not let go of the pole. It hurt a little, but not too much. It actually felt heady and . . . dare she admit it, good. Nick ran his palm lightly over her buttock, soothing the sting and then drew back and brought his hand down hard over the other cheek. Abby jerked and made a small noise in the back of the throat but did not cry out Nick gave her four more and then lowered her legs gently. “A lesson. Or a warm up,” he said to her softly. “That depends on you.” Abby thought she was going to faint from the steaminess. “Spread your legs.” Abby did as he asked, opening her thighs to him, shifting her legs farther apart so that he had access to her core. He stared at the beautiful folds of flesh, a delicate blossom, flower petals. Abby’s skin was pinker, rosier, more flushed as a mortal than as vampire. He had thought her beautiful as a vampire and always would, but the added color was exquisite. “So beautiful,” he breathed, watching the tiny beads of the juices of her arousal pearl and gather on the lips of her labia, leaking down the crack of her buttocks before they dripped onto the colorful sheets. Slowly, he bent to her, first wrapping his hands gently around her thighs and then bringing his mouth down, taking her beautiful pink, pulsing rosebud into his mouth laving it with his tongue. Abby gasped, arching, singing with pleasure, vocalizing her delight, ripples of bliss coursing through her. His touch was staggering as he worshipped her, sucking gently, caressing her with his tongue and then dipping directly into her heat, lapping and tasting her fluids, sucking and swallowing her creaminess. Nick groaned with her sweetness as she gushed further around him. He exhaled hotly over her and then teased up through her labia circling her nub, but not touching it, kissing and nipping around her as she bucked her hips, crying out and then demanding insistently that he take her, relieve her.

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Nick stopped, looking up at her chuckling. “You are doing very well with the pole, Abby. Your cheeks may not stay too rosy tonight. Too bad I didn’t include ordering me around as a spankable offense.” Her eyes flashed at him. “Nick, stop teasing me. Please.” “You know, you’ve always called me a tease, Abby. Yet, I’ve never failed to satisfy you. Why do you think I’m a tease? Perhaps you’re just impatient.” “Stop talking Nick.” “More orders? All right, let’s see if you can obey mine, then.” Nick fell to her clit, sucking and stimulating her, flicking it with his tongue then reaching up and rolling it in his fingertips, igniting and stoking a crackling, flaming blaze in her as Abby wailed with pleasure, the sweet sting, ache, pressure and delight merging under his touch as she squeezed her eyes shut, the sensations almost overpowering, holding onto the pole for dear life, ready to plunge over the abyss, when he scraped lightly at her clit with his teeth. She gasped and pushed at him lightly before realizing her mistake and quickly bringing her hands back to the pole. “Too late,” Nick said softly, twirling her clit skillfully in his fingers and flinging her far into space, oblivion, paradise, somewhere awe-inspiring, and as she flew from herself she distantly felt Nick’s blows raining on her buttocks, the slight pain adding to the staggering pleasure of her release, total bliss combining as her body became one hovering orb of sensation and nerves. Nick stopped as Abby’s climax peaked and she began to float back to herself, moving up and gently unwrapping Abby’s hands from the pole where she seemed glued to it, kissing her as she returned, although she still hardly knew herself, the climax having been almost unimaginably breathtaking. Nick caressed her hands and then gently pushed aside her damp, wisping hair, catching the beads of perspiration rolling sweetly from Abby’s forehead with his fingers. He laid with her, much as she had with him, feeling content, his heart swelling as he basked in her glow and euphoria. Finally, she turned to him, her eyes glowing. “Thank you for the anniversary present, Nick.” “Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “That was just the appetizer. Time for the main course.” Nick held Abby, kissing her warmly, his hand sliding lightly over her body until she had recovered and then he whispered, “Stand up and come with me, Abby.” She looked at him, slight trepidation in her eyes, but her body quivering again, receptive, longing. Her eyes drifted to his cock. He was fully erect, even larger than he had been earlier, if that was possible. She couldn’t help herself and bent over and licked at the tiny drop of fluid at the tip as he hissed and then took her hand, pulling her to her feet

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roughly. Her legs were still slightly wobbly, but she strengthened as she looked into his dark eyes. They were heated and aroused. He walked her around to the end of the bed, stopping to whirl her into a searing kiss, his flesh pressed to hers, hardness against softness, his touch heating her up, stoking her arousal and fueling her appetite as she began to be caught up again in need. She was ready, so ready to be possessed by her husband, to receive him, beginning to absolutely burn with lust. He spun her away from him so that she was facing the bed, her back to him. “Grab the pole again, Abby,” Nick said. “I just knew it would come in handy.” She looked back at him questioningly, and he gave her buttock a sharp slap. She immediately bent to the pole, wrapping her hands around it, sliding low to the bed for support. Nick pushed up under her belly, brining her ass up higher, then gently spreading her legs apart until she stood at an angle, her head bent forward, her pussy higher, parted and ready. Gods she was so beautiful and amazing. He thought he might explode if he didn’t bury himself inside her so strode behind her, bent forward, positioning himself at her welcoming pink gates. “Happy anniversary, love,” he said as he entered her swiftly, not waiting for an adjustment to his size, simply sliding fully, rapidly, plunging in and holding her by the hips as he eased into a fast, smooth, pounding rhythm, pulling her over and against him, his eyes closed as he pistoned and thumped into her, growling as her heated tunnel massaged and caressed him, Abby’s hips thrusting back to meet his. They fucked for a long time silently, the only sound the slapping of his loins against her thighs, bouncing off her buttocks and their soft grunts and cries of pleasure punctuating their ardor and then Nick let go of Abby’s hips, jerking into her freehanded as she balanced on the pole, his stroke loose, hard as he watched the delicious shift and slide of her glove around him, reaching down from time to time to brush at the tiny rivulets of perspiration running over her back. Finally, Nick grabbed Abby’s hips and stepped back, pulling her hard against him, teasing her free from the pole and then he lowered himself to the floor, Abby still impaled on him, his hips thrusting gently as he laid back on the soft rugs spread over the sand, stretching out his legs, letting Abby settle over his cock as she began to take over. “Let’s see some reverse cowgirl action,” he said suggestively. Abby was already humping over him, thrusting and she slowed. “Nick, how do you even know those terms, being a vampire?” she asked over her shoulder. “I’ve been around a long time,” he chuckled.

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Abby rested her hands on his hard thighs and began to fuck him earnestly, her breathing quickening as she found a strenuous pace and rode him, immersed in her own world, pleasure coursing through her, bouncing over his filling pole. Nick thrust lightly into her, plunging through her orifice as it pulsed around him, but let her control the tempo, her sweetness funneling over him, her soft flesh sliding around him, watching the sheen on Abby’s back as if her body had been oiled. Her buttocks were still a delicious light pink from where he had spanked them, her globes wriggling deliciously over his abdomen as she continued to claim him. He heard her voice began to rise, her pitch fevering and he grabbed her hips, pulling her into his stroke, taking over as he penetrated her relentlessly, captivated by her wetness wrapping around him like a soft glove. Abby gave herself to him, wanting his fierceness as he sped up, reaching further, breaking through to her cervix, pummeling her harder as she began to keen and then finding and hitting that sweet spot, thrusting into it again and again and again, until Abby shrieked shrilly, gasping and falling backward, her eyelids fluttering as blackness rolled in. She was drawn from her body, a great vacuum sucking her skyward where she hovered for a moment on the edge of unbearable ecstasy and then broke apart like a shower of fireworks, drawing and pulsing in on themselves as they fell softly to earth until, after what seemed like a very long time, they coalesced into her body and she fell into herself, gasping, as if drawing her first breath. Nick bounced her gently while she quaked with release, feeling her creaminess sliding around his cock. Abby fell back against his chest, still impaled as he stroked softly, his hand over her breasts, kneading and massaging while she lay panting, moaning with the new stimulation, wriggling a bit as climax and craving merged again, need simmering as Nick fed the fires of her passion. “It’s time to move to the bed,” he said throatily, plucking her from him, lifting her and turning her into the air to face him as he got to his feet. Abby wrapped her legs around him, throwing her arms over his neck as he kissed her slowly and passionately as he walked to the bed. He laid her down gently following her with his body, adjusting her as he knelt between her thighs. He stopped for a moment, simply looking down on her perfect nude body as she watched him with hooded eyes. Then, without saying anything, he slipped into her welcoming sheath again, merging with her, their bodies flowing and undulating, coiled around each other like entwined twin serpents. Abby brought her hands up to his chest, spreading her fingers over his pectoral muscles, watching them pulse against her hands. She looked into his brown eyes and whispered, “I haven’t forgotten what I offered you, Nick.” She saw his eyes darken as they flashed with something bestial and carnal. He said nothing, still poling into her fluidly, his hands on the bed next to her shoulders. “I still want you to, Nick,” she said softly. “I want to you taste me, I want my blood to be part of you, to merge with you.”

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He closed his eyes, trying to keep the raging fire within him from exploding and erupting, incinerating her, reducing her to ashes. She saw him trying to hold back. “Don’t hold back, Nick.” “Abby,” he rasped. “I have to hold back. I could kill you . . . or turn you . . . .” He felt his eye teeth descending involuntarily. He could not make them go back up. “Only with intent, Nick,” she replied, as her body buffeted harder under him, his stroke turning fiercer. “You won’t turn me . . . and you won’t kill me. Just taste me. I trust you. I trust you with my life.” She wrapped her arms around him, trying to push up to a sitting position, but instead he drove her forward until she lay against the pillows semi-reclining, not missing a stroke, fucking her severely and sensuously. She shook her hair back and bent her neck, opening her throat to him as saw his eyes glaze with unspeakable desire. Abby trembled, her body gently fluctuating under his, her neck vulnerable, open, exposed, her eyes closed, not knowing what to expect. She felt him before he bit her, his heat raging over her like a forest fire, his breath against her neck hot and searing, her entire body aflame, tingling with anticipation as she felt his lips graze against her and then . . . a pain so sweet it eclipsed all sensation, her world, until she was nothing but the recipient, the vessel for Nick’s craving, sheets of fire, lust, and passion deluging her, torrents of desire and need electrifying her, falling through a deep trench of eroticism as she felt the blood pour from her. In the distance somewhere, Abby heard a primal, beastly roar, deafening, as Nick sunk his teeth into her receptive creamy flesh, his eyes instantly rolling back into his head, his entire body tense, every muscle a freeway of tingling shocks of and pulses of divine ecstasy. They both orgasmed together, simultaneously, raw, carnal waves breaking over them, sweeping them into a sea of bliss, drowning them in pleasure, an ocean of paradise as Nick roared again, sweet, hot, mortal-Queen blood rushing into his veins bursting through the network of his body, filing each vessel, pooling in his heart and then racing through his arteries until his entire body pulsed with her signature, alive, hungry, scalding and primal. Abby was lost to Nick. She would have willingly died in his arms right there. He felt her go limp. It was from submission and love, relinquishment of herself to him, but suddenly worried he might have consumed too much, he released her, collapsing over her as they continued to rock together on the shores of their startling, blistering release, melting into each other, shuddering with aftershocks, feeling the truth of their rightness for each other transcend mortality and immortality, as they shared themselves in the age-old manner. They lay together for a long time, each lost in their thoughts about the other, their past, present and future.

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CHAPTER 11 Temptations of the Night “Nicholas? Abby?” “Shit! We fell asleep!” Nick said, shifting in the bed. “Well it couldn’t have been for very long,” Abby murmured sleepily, pulling a tasseled pillow over her head. Nick pulled the pillow away, leaning over and giving her a kiss on her temple. He brushed her hair to the side, checking the marks he had made on her neck. They were small and fading already. Good. “Get dressed. For riding,” he whispered to her as he rolled from the bed. “Supper. And then we ride,” called Alim from the outside of the tent. Alim headed back to the communal table, shaking his head. If any two people on earth deserved a break, it was Nicholas and Abby. But he had been hard pressed to stop the workers from running off with the camels after the sounds that came from their tent this afternoon. The vampires understood, but the workers were convinced a rampaging lion was on the loose. They were already a little jumpy due to the darkness that could be felt from the sands and the evil next to the step pyramid would be even more palpable. Alim was glad to have hired a different crew for their next camp, but hoped Nicholas and Abby did not intend to indulge themselves tomorrow or they would have no help left at all. Abby enjoyed dinner even more than breakfast, delighting in the lamb kababs, mahshi hamam (which she learned was roast pigeon), rices, soups, keshk pudding, and other savory delicacies. She had intended to eat lightly, but found herself consuming large quantities of food, almost viscerally as Nick watched. It was a change from her days of vegetable platters. “The sun is setting. It is time to ride.” Abby looked up to see Alim standing over them, dressed in loose-fitting riding clothes. “It’s a good thing you’re here, Alim, or I don’t think we could figure out anything on our own,” Nick said bad-naturedly. Abby elbowed him. “Thanks, Alim. We’ll be right there.” Alim did not move. “Nicholas, I need to talk with you. It will only take a minute.” Nick looked up at him, squinting into last rays of sunlight. Alim did not look happy. “Fine,” he said, rising and walking with Alim to the edge of camp. When they reached the horses, Alim stopped and turned to him.

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“You know that Abby is drawn by the darkness here. Why did you do that?” “Do what?” Nick countered. “You fed on her,” Alim hissed angrily. “And she let you. The darkness in her blood will affect you. Don’t you see that you need every shred of light to make it to the temple and fight Lysander? It is your only real weapon against him.” Nick didn’t respond. He didn’t really feed on Abby. Besides, he wasn’t sure whether light was the answer. Perhaps they both just needed to change back. “You need to clear your mind, to focus on defeating Lysander and keeping Abby safe. That was an incredibly stupid thing to do.” “You’re just jealous,” retorted Nick. “She only gave you a taste.” “Listen to you!” Alim declared vehemently. “Me? Jealous of Abigalia? Yes, her blood is intoxicating, but I don’t love her. I don’t want to share power with her. I don’t want to share humanity with her.” His eyes narrowed and then there was a blur and a flash. “What did you do?” Nick spluttered angrily, looking at his arm where the folds of his shirt were pulled up. There were two small marks. He looked across at Alim who stood before him. “You bit me!” he said accusingly, his eyes hard. “Yes,” Alim responded, unrepentant. “But I didn’t take your blood, I injected some of my own. A bit of the light to clear the darkness.” “How did you –?” But Nick felt it now, a soothing, calming sensation, as if reason were returning, flooding through him. He threw his head back as the sensation washed over his body and his head began to clear. He looked back at Alim appraisingly. “It seems you are a vampire of many talents.” Alim nodded. “I wish I could do the same for Abby, but I cannot mix my blood with hers.” Nick was quiet for a moment, reflecting on Alim’s words, and then Abby walked up to them. “Are you ready?” Alim asked her, smiling. “Yes,” she said. “Let’s do this.” ***** Darkness fell quickly as they rode through the desert in formation once again, Nick in the lead. Again, Abby could feel the excited murmurs surrounding her. They were calling to her, imploring her, beseeching their Queen. And then, she could see them. It was as if the 96

dark sands themselves were billowing, bubbling, alive with something roiling just at the surface. The light surrounding her grew stronger and she peered through it, trying to make sense of glimpses of red orbs, blackened hands, glints of metal, tips of gnarled wings. Come back to us our Queen. Rule over us again. How we have missed you. The new one is not like you. She is not all-powerful. She will never be you. Abby started, her hands tensing on the reins to her horse. New one? She had been replaced? She suddenly felt a powerful surge of rage. How could Lysander have replaced her? A new Queen? He hadn’t mentioned that in his dream. Of course. That was how he had been awakened. Abby’s eyes began shifting, looking for chinks in the circle of light surrounding the running horses. “Nicholas!” Alim called over the sound of hoofbeats. He was riding in second position behind Nick on his left flank. “The darkness is becoming stronger for Abby!” Nick looked back over his shoulder. Abby’s expression was ordinary, but her head was moving this way and that, as if she was searching for something. Then, he felt what Alim had noticed, a sense of longing, of need and purpose radiating from her. Nick suddenly felt that Abby was about to break ranks. He leapt from the back of his horse and landed on her mount behind her, without thinking about whether he could physically accomplish such a feat. Abby stiffened immediately, looking back at him, surprised. He wrapped his arms lightly about her waist. He is weak, not dark like you need. He is not your King. Come back to the darkness. Come back to your destiny. Rule us. Nick felt the tension building in Abby and noticed her gathering the reins, ready to make a move. He reached for the reins and took them from her, while wrapping one arm more tightly around her waist. She struggled a little. “Nick, what are you doing? Release me!” she shouted indignantly over her shoulder. Instead, he bent forward until his cheek rested against hers, and whispered his love to her, letting his light wash over her. Abby felt it and leaned back against him, allowing him to

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keep her afloat in the sea of darkness. They passed the entire night riding this way, even as the tiered pyramid began to rise from the horizon bathed from within by an eerie yellow-green light. Nick did not relax his hold on Abby until the sun broke and the last wisps of darkness faded. The seven of them could not have fought back the dark army if it had been raised, but Abby couldn’t command them in her state and Lysander apparently had not broken entirely free his imprisonment or he would have directed them to retrieve Abby. This boded somewhat well, Nick thought. He looked up at the temple looming over the sands. Only four of the steps were visible, the fifth even with the sands and the remaining two buried. Each level was built rather high, causing the pyramid to look more like a tower. It was small by Egyptian standards and remote which made it conveniently less interesting to explorers. A good place to confine a vampire. The riders pulled up to the camp. Nick dismounted and helped Abby from her horse. “Do you feel better?” he asked her, hoping the daylight would have brought her some relief. She was focused on the pyramid. It looked less ominous in the daylight, but a sense of evil radiated from the place. Lysander was in there somewhere. “Yes,” she said, tearing her eyes from the temple and looking up into Nick’s worried brown eyes. She placed her hand gently on his cheek. “I’m better.” Nick kissed her softly and then they found their tent. They entered and found breakfast waiting at a similar low table. This time, Abby took the time to change out of her riding clothes before sitting down on the thick rugs to eat. Nick sat down across from her. She poured two cups of black tea and slid one to Nick. He took it, holding it between his hands and took a sip. “We need to rest and sleep after our ride, Abby. Then, we’ll eat and enter the temple at sunset.” “Why at sunset?” “We need to confront Lysander while he is at his strongest, during the night. If we reimprison him during the day when his powers are slightly weaker, he might break free as night renews them. The confinement must be able to resist his greatest strength.” Nick was silent for a moment, considering. “We also need to find out how Lysander’s awareness returned.” Abby looked thoughtful, thinking she had some idea of what had happened. She asked more questions about the process of imprisonment and what they had gone through six years ago. Nick answered her questions while eating his breakfast and then took one last

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sip of his tea. He rose and walked to the appealing bed, stretching out on it, placing his hands under his head and looking up at the dark, swirling patterns in the ceiling. “Abby, I’m not a full-fledged vampire anymore. I was telling you the truth when I said I needed to sleep. Come and lay down with me. Let’s rest and then we’ll talk more before tonight.” His eyelids felt heavy and he closed them. Abby put down the half-finished date she was eating. She wasn’t as hungry today as she had been last night. She rose, walking over to the bed, looking down at her husband, drinking him in, memorizing his face, his body, his soul. Nick felt her gaze and opened one eye. “You don’t need to look at me as if this the last time you’ll ever see me, Abby.” She didn’t respond. He opened both eyes and extended his arms, inviting her to the bed. She looked at him for another moment and then gently eased in next to him, moving closer until she lay against his body, her head resting on his chest. He drew her closer, wrapping his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “Sleep now. We are going to figure out what happened and stop him. Don’t worry . . . Abby. It will work out.” He had almost slipped and called her Abigalia. She caught his hesitation, but didn’t say anything. “What if there was a way to unbind myself from Lysander?” she asked, playing with the buttons on his shirt. She felt Nick’s breathing slow and become rhythmic. She thought he might have fallen asleep before he could answer her question. Then he said quietly, “It is an ancient law, from the beginning of time. A King and Queen are bound for eternity.” “But you said a Queen can replace a King, right?” she pressed. Nick sighed, gently stroking her shoulders. “Yes, but only with another dark vampire. And only if the current King can’t . . . dominate the Queen. And even then, the King to be replaced has a chance to fight his potential replacement.” Abby fell silent. She had had a taste of this in the first dream. Even if she could resist Lysander, she would have to replace him with another, likely more brutal male. But there must be some other way. “Maybe we didn’t consider all of the possibilities when we were all vampires. Maybe being human has some advantages – some insight I didn’t have when I was Queen and immersed in the darkness.”

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Nick stroked her arm and then squeezed her gently. “Perhaps,” he said sleepily. “Let’s first confine Lysander and then we’ll get that creative human brain of yours to work on the problem.” Abby smiled and kissed his chest. “All right,” she said, snuggling closer as they lapsed into sleep together. ***** “Nicholas! Abby!” Alim called from outside the tent. “I don’t mean to . . . er, disturb you again, but we need to eat before sunset.” Alim squinted at the sun sliding down the crimson-tinged sky. They still had an hour, but it was getting close. He really hoped he wasn’t interrupting anything. They had a legendary, passionate love, but still . . . it was a little disconcerting to be privy to just how passionate. A shouted expletive-filled stream suddenly filled the inside of the tent. Alarmed, Alim threw back the flap and stepped inside the colorful shelter, his eyes adjusting to the darker setting. Nick whirled to face him. His face was ashen. “She’s gone. Abby’s gone.” Cursing, Nick stalked to his trunk and threw the lid open. He rifled through it, tossing aside clothes and flinging them across the tent. He reached into the bottom of the chest and removed a plain brown package, examining it briefly, noting that its tape was unbroken. He pulled a small scabbard from the trunk and set the package and the scabbard behind him on the low table. Then he rummaged further in the trunk until he found another smaller package. He held it up, looking at it carefully. The tape had been slit. Cursing again, he tossed it beside the other two items. He stalked over to the table and sat down. Alim, who had watched Nick storm through his belongings, walked to the other side of the table and sat down facing him, speechless. First, Nick opened the larger package, pulling a black case with silver latches from the brown wrapping. Alim watched curiously as Nick flipped the buckles, opened the lid and removed a long, gold dagger. He balanced his fingers under the blade and hilt for a moment and then sheathed it, donning the belt quickly. “The Blade of Antiqua,” Alim breathed. Nick nodded tersely. “It cannot kill an Original, but it can be used to extract blood for ancient spells. Such as confinement,” Alim said in a hushed voice, understanding dawning on him.

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Nick said nothing as he replaced the black box in the wrapper. He pulled the smaller package to him, staring at it. He knew he had little time to waste, but was overcome with emotion looking at the small slit across the tape – anger, panic, frustration, fear. Mostly fear. Fear of what he might find – or not find – in the package that had already been opened. Bracing himself, he ran his finger around the edge of the wrapping and shook out a small red pouch onto the table. He pulled the drawstring open and emptied the contents into his palm. There was a single brown vial. Nick slammed his fist on the table and then shoved the vial back into the bag, closed it, and pulled it over his head. Then he stood up quickly. Alim rose too, uncertain as to the significance of what he had just witnessed. Nick looked at Alim. “You’re certain Abby’s not in camp?” Alim nodded. He had looked carefully. If he could have avoided calling into their tent, he would have done so at any cost. “Then she must be at the temple. Is a horse missing?” “No,” Alim said, shaking his head. “The pyramid is about an hour’s walk from camp,” he offered. “I’ll ride now. Alone.” Nick pulled the remainder of his clothes from the trunk and finished dressing, tucking the pouch inside his shirt as he buttoned it. “I wish you’d reconsider doing this alone,” said Alim. “Abby and I didn’t bring anyone with us last time. It gave us . . . the element of surprise. Lysander could easily sense your presence,” Nick said tensely. “Yes, but Lysander is not unsuspecting this time. Surely he knows you are here and exactly what you hope to accomplish,” Alim replied, pointing out the flaw in Nick’s logic. Nick frowned. He couldn’t identify why he wanted to do this alone, but it seemed important. Maybe it was to prove his love for Abby. If so, that was a stupid reason. He shouldn’t let pride interfere with any chance he had to protect her. Still, he felt that the presence of additional vampires of the light might upset some type of balance in the temple. “The six of us are all Originals, Nicholas. We are very powerful and willing to help.” Alim did not want to state his obvious objection – that Nick was a shell of his former self, at least vampire-wise, and may not have the ability to face Lysander alone this time. “Give me two hours,” Nick said in compromise. “Then you may ride in and assist as you can.”

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Alim nodded soberly, then reached out and clasped Nick’s shoulder. “Good luck, my friend.” ***** Nick left the camp at a blistering pace and reached the pyramid in less than ten minutes, having no idea how long of a head start Abby had. He wondered if she had slipped something in his food or spelled him somehow so that he slept through her leaving. Or maybe he just had been that tired. Either way, his heart was sick with the thought that Abby was apparently hoping to face Lysander without him. Did she think to martyr herself? He had no idea what her plan was. He half-hoped, half-expected to find her outside the pyramid, running her hands over the stone, trying to find her way in. He had personally set wards and curses over the entrance to make it impenetrable. He was sure Abby did not know all of the countermeasures. His heart sank as he rode up and saw no one. He dismounted, pulled a torch from the saddlebag and whispered at the horse to remain in place. The animal whinnied, unnerved by the evil pouring from the place, but could not move. Nick climbed the small hill to access to the temple, unable to make out any footprints in the loose sands He reached the top and saw the outline of the small entrance clearly. There were small footprints that disappeared through the entrance leading to the depths of the temple. Abby had gone inside. Nick walked forward, feeling for the protective curses he had placed around the entrance. He sensed they were gone. How? Had Abby removed them? He marveled, stopping at the doorway, feeling the edges of the stone door that had slid into the sandstone. Normally, the door was not visible, appearing to be nothing more than a part of the pyramid wall. Who had opened it? Nick shifted the unlit torch in his hand. He knew better than to use a flashlight. Vampires could sense subtle changes in electromagnetism including the signature given off by batteries. He needed every advantage to pass unnoticed. He was just about to light the torch when he noticed a glow coming from within the structure, the gleam more apparent in the deepening darkness as the sun slipped below the horizon. Nick was unhappy with this development. It meant that Lysander, or whoever was assisting him, had taken up residence. But he tossed the unlit torch to the ground. If he could get away without using light, so much the better. Besides, his night vision seemed to be enhanced, not to the extent of his former ability, but subtly better. He headed down the sloping passageway, moving stealthily, almost vampire-like, as he wound his way around the step-sided structure toward the main chamber at its base where he hoped Lysander was still imprisoned. Lit torches were spaced at long intervals which threw the narrow corridor into extended periods of shadow. Nick passed several open doors. He had no interest in exploring the many secrets he was sure the pyramid held. He had only one objective tonight. 102

After descending what felt like several levels, Nick felt he must be nearing the floor of the pyramid, far beneath the sands covering much of the ancient temple. He turned a corner and light suddenly flared in a room ahead off the right side of the passage. Nick stopped abruptly, wondering whether the room was occupied. He glided forward, trying to move noiselessly, thinking he might be able to edge past the doorway unobserved by whoever had flared the torches when a woman abruptly drifted into the corridor blocking his descent. She had long dark hair that fell to her waist and alluring brown eyes. She was shorter and more slender than Abby and lacked Abby’s confident manner. Nick stared at what she was wearing. Open heeled sandals with gold metal that twined around her ankles, continued up her calves and wrapped to mid thigh in the shape of twin serpents. His gaze drifted upward over a very short leather skirt and a bra which looked to be nothing more than a few strips of leather crisscrossed over each other. Nick thought if he looked closely he would be able to see the woman’s nipples. He tried not to look at them. “You must be Nicholas,” she said airily, lifting her chin to him. Her lips were blood-red and he had to admit, she was beautiful. He also had to admit, she was a vampire. “Won’t you come in?” she said, gesturing to the open doorway leading to the lit room. Nick appraised her. It was starting to make sense. This woman was in some way responsible for Lysander awakening. He needed to find out how. “After you,” he said, making a gesture of his own toward the room. She gave him a flirtatious smile and turned, slinking into the room. He walked to the doorway and looked through. It was a small room with only a divan, a fireplace, two armchairs, a small table and a cabinet. He hesitated for a moment. He had not thought to meet a second vampire in the pyramid and an unfamiliar one at that. He had never seen the woman before. It might be a trap. The woman walked slowly to the one of the armchairs and leaned against it. “Come on in. I don’t bite,” she purred brazenly, “unless you want me to.”

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CHAPTER 12 The Turning of Martha Maynerd Nick entered the small room, walked to one the armchairs and sat down. The brunette looked at him for a few moments then pushed off from the chair and walked enticingly to the cabinet. Nick looked over at her as she dropped something and bent to pick it up, leaving her bottom straight up in the air and wiggling it. She had nothing on under that skirt. He turned back to the fire, very aware of her as she returned, stopping behind him to reach over his shoulder and offer him a glass. He took it, receiving an eyeful of her breasts as she leaned low. Nick took a sip of the amber liquid. Scarab mead. Centuries old. Extraordinary. “What is your name?” he asked, turning to look at her. “Maritha,” she replied, as she returned to the other armchair and sat down, crossing her legs, the entwined serpents catching the light of the flames. She held her own glass of scarab mead. “You already know my name. Do you know who I am?” he asked her. She hesitated. “Yes,” she said, making an effort to sound self-assured. “Lysander told me that you might accompany . . . Abigalia.” Nick tried not to show any emotion at the obvious hatred in Maritha’s voice when she spoke Abby’s name. “And how is that you know Lysander?” he asked, turning fully to face her, thinking he might use the woman’s uncertainty against her. She was playing the temptress too hard, pouring it on too thick. She was a newly-turned vampire. “I am his Queen,” she said proudly. Nick said nothing for a moment, many things becoming clearer to him. He swirled the liquid in his glass and held it up, looking at it through the firelight and then took a slow sip. “His Queen?” he said, raising one eyebrow as he looked at her thoughtfully. He placed just the right amount of disbelief in his voice. “Yes,” she replied defensively. “He chose me. He said I was the one for him.” “Did he,” Nick said in response, although it was more of a statement than a question.

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Maritha squirmed slightly in her seat, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs. The golden bands wrapped around her legs shimmered. She shook her brown hair back, looking at Nick impatiently. “May I see?” asked Nick. He used to have the ability to sift through memories, as all vampires do. He wondered whether he still had that ability. He thought it would work, especially since it was only one very recent memory and Maritha should share the ability, even if she was unskilled at using it. “See what?” she asked, taking a swallow of scarab mead for something to do. “Your turning. It sounds . . . exciting.” Maritha’s eyes glittered. It had been exciting. And this vampire wanted to see it. She could sense something was different about him – he wasn’t as dark as Lysander and seemed somehow weaker, but also stronger at the same time. He was definitely an enigma. A very handsome enigma. Yes, she would show him. She nodded. Nick sat his glass down on the small table between them, leaned forward and held out his hand to her. “Take my hand,” he said. “Take my hand and relive your turning for me, Maritha.” She held her breath, thinking that Nick holding out his hand to her in front of the fireplace was one of the sexiest things she had ever seen. She raised the glass to her red lips, knocked it back without tearing an eye, and then sat her empty glass down next to Nick’s. Then she leaned forward so that her breasts almost fell out of her scant bra and placed her hand in his. ***** Nick felt himself swirling gently down in front of the pyramid in which they were now. He had been through enough memories that he never became sick from the experience. He looked around. It was midday judging from the position of the sun. He stood on top of the small hill before the entrance door. It was closed, indistinguishable from the remaining stone, but Maritha stood in front of it, talking to herself, a book in her hands. Nick looked down across the sands and saw a small camp with two tents and several camels close to the base. He turned his attention back to Maritha and walked closer until he stood behind her, looking over her shoulder at the book. It was filled with symbols, runes and scribbled handwritten notes. She tucked the book in her jacket pocket, walked to the door and began sliding her hands over the stone. Something looked different about her. Nick stepped next to her, his back to the stone wall so that he could see her better. She was the same size, slender and small, but she

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wore glasses and her hair was wrapped tightly to her head. Her clothes were very modest. She did wear shorts, but they were wide and came down to her knees. The best he could say was that she looked . . . mousy. And she gave off an aura of timidness. But there was nothing timid about what she was doing, alone in the middle of the desert, trying to break a vampire’s wards and steal inside an ancient pyramid. Maritha muttered a few words and pushed at the side of the temple, frowning as nothing happened. She retrieved the book from her pocket and flipped through the pages until it fell open to a series of hieroglyphs. She studied them for a while and then Nick saw her break into a wide smile, her expression telltale. It spelled success. She replaced the book and said a few simple phrases in an ancient language, running her fingers gently until she found a catch in the wall. As she repeated the phrase, a small slit began to glow where her fingers rested and she pushed in and then drew the door easily to the side as it slid into the temple wall. Nick watched, astonished, and then realized what Maritha had done. She had somehow deciphered the ancient tongue and used the builders’ phrase to gain entry rather than the passwords given to the pharaohs. Every archeologist thought only to use the elaborate catchphrases and rituals devised for rulers who wanted to feel that their access was special and imbued with ceremony. But the person responsible for construction needed a simple way to get into the temples, one not so flashy. Nick had warded the pyramid against vampires and access through pharaoh secrets, but had not thought to ward it against the ancient Egyptian builders. She was clever. Very clever. She walked to a backpack leaning against a small mound of sand. Nick hadn’t noticed that before. Maritha withdrew a large flashlight attached to the outside of the pack and entered the dark doorway without hesitating. She might look timid, but the woman had balls. He gained a whole new respect for her, despite her almost childlike attempts at seduction. He followed her inside, walking behind her around the perimeter of the pyramid until they reached the base. After a few false starts, Maritha found the entrance to the chamber in which Nick had left Lysander. She walked in and played her light over the enormously high ceiling, her beam disappearing in the blackness above and finally coming to rest on the low stepped pedestal in the center of the room. She climbed up the steps carefully, holding the flashlight in one hand, using the other for balance on the crumbling stone. She reached the final landing and her light swept over the image of the naked man imprisoned there, manacles attached to both wrists and ankles. Nick drew in his breath sharply upon seeing Lysander again. His eyes were closed, his body still, looking exactly as Nick and Abby had left him six years ago. Maritha turned quickly, looking behind her as she swept her beam through where Nick was standing. Seeing nothing, she turned back to Lysander. Nick decided he had better control his

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emotions. It was apparent Maritha either heard or sensed his intake of breath. His feelings must be strong to carry through to her memory. Maritha crept closer. She was flushed with excitement. Had she found a mummy? If so, he was exquisitely preserved. Almost too well-preserved. Perhaps he was a statue or a carving. But how lifelike. She rested one hand on his bicep. She withdrew her hand quickly. It was cool, but not cold. Almost as if . . . . Suddenly, the chamber was suffused with a soft blue light. Maritha looked around but could not determine its source. She walked farther up the man’s body, stopping above Lysander’s head. He opened his eyes and smiled at her. Any ordinary woman . . . or man . . . would have screamed and run as far and fast as they could, perhaps returning later, much later, with reinforcements. But Maritha had worked too hard for this, developing her own ciphers when was told she would fail, selecting this pyramid on her own, scraping together her own funds as others scoffed at its small size and unlikely chance to return any noteworthy archeological treasures. If she had found a man . . . or a monster . . . or a living mummy, it didn’t matter. She had found it. It was hers. “You are beautiful,” were the first words Lysander uttered to her as she stood looking down at him, almost upside down. “Move around so that I can see you better.” She did, self-consciously adjusting her glasses as she stood by his waist. He lifted his head slightly from the stone so that he could see her. “What is your name?” “Martha,” she replied quietly. “Martha Maynerd.” So Maritha was her vampire name, thought Nick. Nice. “Take off your glasses for me, Martha,” Lysander said confidently. She knelt, setting the flashlight down on the stone floor and then straightened, slowly pulling away her glasses. “I can’t see well without them,” she said, embarrassed. “I can fix that for you,” replied Lysander. “Let down your hair.” Maritha could find no reason not to do such a thing, so she placed her glasses in the pocket of her shorts, unpinned her hair and let it fall over her back, smoothing it out awkwardly. “Exquisite,” he breathed. No one had ever said anything like that to her and now a seraphic man, nude and chained out in a pyramid, was coming on to her?

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“Are you a pharaoh?” she asked, emboldened by his responses to her. “Yes,” Lysander lied unremorsefully. “Who did this to you?” she asked, her eyes sweeping his body, a mixture of pity and outrage in them. “My enemies,” he answered. “I tried to bring peace to the land and they would not stand for it. They chained me here for eternity.” “Oh. That’s horrible,” Maritha responded, trying not to let her eyes tear up. She wanted to act bravely for the pharaoh. Then she asked, “Can I do anything to help you?” “Will you take your jacket off for me?” Lysander asked, carefully playing at her sympathies, requesting rather than demanding. She shrugged out of it without a second thought. She was wearing a tank top underneath that did make her look quite nice. Nicer than under the shapeless jacket. Lysander laid back his head on the stone. “You tempt me too much, Martha,” he said painfully. “I don’t mean to tempt you,” she said contritely. “Perhaps I could figure out a way to free you,” she suggested. “I’m quite good at breaking curses and wards. I got in here.” Lysander considered this, looking up at the high blackness of the temple. She had to be good to come in here. She must have broken through Nick’s wards and perhaps even Abby’s. Hmmm. She could be very useful. Very useful, indeed. “Of course, I’d have to study you, possibly go back to my university library, read up on some things. But I’m confident I could do it eventually,” she continued. He actually doubted she could break the imprisonment spell meant to last Abby’s mortal lifetime, no matter how good she was. But even if she could, once she left she might not come back. Or she would come back with others. That could get ugly even if he could manage enough power to raise Abby’s army and bind it to him. He could feel that he had some control, but it was weak. He couldn’t afford to let Martha get away. “No,” Lysander said forcefully, his voice echoing throughout the chamber. She looked at him, almost stunned at his declaration. “All . . . all right then,” she stammered. “There is one thing you could do for me.” “Anything. Tell me.” “A kiss. Just a small kiss.” 108

Martha’s heart began to pound and her skin flushed. A kiss? She had hardly ever had a kiss in her life. And from someone like the man before her? Then she saw something that made her eyes widen and her jaw drop. Lysander’s cock was swelling to erectness. She gasped. Were all men built that way? Lysander could feel her flushing and sensed her increased pulse. “Are you a virgin?” he asked, his voice low and husky, so direct and undissembled. She felt compelled to answer him. “Yes,” she whispered, still not taking her eyes from his shaft. It expanded and bounced noticeably at her response. It was so big, but god it was about time she did this. She had thought she might die a virgin, a spinster, unwanted and unloved. She was so going for this. Lysander was very pleased. It had been a long time since he had taken a virgin and even longer since he had turned one into a Queen. Since Abby. Despite being engaged to Peter, Abby had been a virgin when he had turned her. He would never forget her deflowerment, plucking the delicate petals of her rose for the first time and nurturing the thorns. He pulled his thoughts back to the young woman before him. “Would you like not to be?” he asked. “Yessss,” she breathed. “Climb on the pedestal and straddle my abdomen,” he instructed her. “There is no need to remove your clothes, yet.” But Martha had already removed her shorts and tank top and stood only in her cotton bra and panties, unaffected by the coolness of the chamber. She climbed up over him and looked down at his handsome features, his pale, blond hair spread gently around his head. God, he looked good. And he wanted her? King Tut’s tits, she thought. “First,” Lysander said. “The kiss.” She bent down to him and he kissed her sensuously and thoroughly, his lips finally falling to her jawline and nibbling down her neck as she tilted her head to allow him better access. It was everything she thought it would be and more. He stopped and she looked down at him. “Martha, I feel your passion. You have been . . . sorely underestimated in your life. You have so much more potential – so much more to offer the world than what anyone has recognized.” Martha nodded, his words stinging, but so true. He seemed to really understand her.

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“Would you like me to free you so that you can live an eternity of excitement and adventure? This would just be the first of many. Would you like to . . . join me?” To accomplish what Lysander had planned, she needed to be willing, her intent melding with his own. She could hardly breathe, looking into his blue eyes, even bluer in the soft light of the chamber. There was only one answer. “Yes.” “Then bring your head down to me and we will unite together.” Lysander was powerless to control Martha’s movements physically, but he whispered at her, “Just a little higher. Yes. Tilt your head that way. Yes, that’s right. I want to taste you, taste your skin, taste your blood . . . .” And before Martha could react to this statement, he sunk his teeth into her fully and held her securely, drinking from her, but not with the normal abandon he showed when he fed, instead with calm intent to turn her. More, with intent to turn her to a Queen, which caused the release of certain hormones to seep from tiny holes in his eyeteeth and mingle with her blood. He finally released her and she remained where she was, spasming with delight, her body splayed over him. He whispered in her ear. “You will be my Queen, Maritha. That is your name now and forever, Maritha.” She could not move, so caught up in bliss, but registered his words. Then he spoke again. “There is another. Another who stands in your way. She was my first Queen. She is the one who confined me here. I am bound to her unless I can bring her to this chamber and release myself from her. When I do, I will be free from these manacles and free to love you. But she must be brought here unharmed. Until she comes to this chamber, you cannot be my real Queen.” Maritha lifted herself partially from Lysander, her brown eyes whirling viciously. “Tell me what to do and I shall do it, my love. I will be your only Queen.” Nick spun out of the image, Maritha’s fiery eyes fading to flames in the hearth. She looked smugly at him. She had not meant for him to see how vulnerable and awfullooking she used to be, but was satisfied that Nicholas had seen Lysander’s commitment to her for himself. Nick studied her thoughtfully before he spoke. “Now, I have something of my own to share with you,” he said quietly. “Take my hand again,” he said, extending it.

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Maritha did and felt herself swirling into Nick’s memories, startled as she looked upon Lysander and Abigalia.

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CHAPTER 13 Inside the Pyramid Abby walked slowly down the last few feet of the corridor leading to the base of the pyramid. She stopped, seeing that the passage ended abruptly ahead, an open doorway on her left. Taking a deep breath she entered it, ignoring doors to several rooms and minor hallways as she walked forward, finally coming to a large stone archway that opened to the center of the temple. She looked around with awe. The room was fully lit. Torches burned brightly in their sconces. The top of the chamber was still dark, too high to be reached by torchlight, but the flickering light cast dancing shadows high up on the limestone walls. Carved niches and ledges sat eerily empty. A small set of steps spiraled around the outside of the chamber, disappearing into blackness. Ahead of her a low stone table rested on a raised dais. The silhouette of a man lying on the table was visible from her vantage point. She knew who it was. At least he was still here. Abby had the sense that she and Lysander were not alone, but saw nothing else in the chamber. She climbed steadily up the steep steps, approaching the dais from the side, finally ascending the platform at Lysander’s feet. He lay prone, naked and spread-eagled, silver manacles locked to both wrists and ankles. He looked helpless and vulnerable. She stared for a few moments, taking in the instrument of torture of her body, mind, soul, and life, as well as the unwanted object of her continuing desires. Then, she felt, rather than heard, him speak. Into her mind. “Abigalia.” It was a declaration of love, a caress, an invitation, a cry of passion, a soulwrenching anguished plea for mercy, all that and more, wrapped into a single word – her name. She did not see his lips move, but knew what he said to her, as well as she knew her own thoughts. “You came . . . . I knew you would come to me.” Abby had braced herself for his words, but not for the emotions that whirled through her. She had come alone, intending to disarm Lysander by force, threats or reason. She had no plan but hoped something would come to her once she saw Lysander for herself. But instead she found herself drawn into the depths of his devotion, his affection, his obsession with her. And she found herself saddened by his condition, his obvious suffering. Still, she could not be deceived by him, she could not let him sway her. She tried to stay in control of herself, of her mind, and forced herself to think of Nick. “Yes, Lysander. I came.” At her words, he opened his blue eyes. He raised his head, taking her in, his face contorted as if it was almost too painful to look upon her. His eyes were haunted, a look of misery in them, as he lowered his head.

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“You imprisoned me, Abigalia. You threw away your power, rejected your immortality, abandoned us . . . our passion . . . our devotion to each other. I loved you, Abigalia. I love you still. Why?” His words tore at her heart. Maybe it had not been such a good idea to come by herself. She looked at him for a long moment. “You should never have fallen in love with me, Lysander. You knew I could replace you at any time.” Both of them knew it was not that simple, but the sentiment remained. “A King is covetous of his Queen. And yes, you could replace me. But for us, it went . . . much further than covetousness, Abigalia. You know you meant more to me than a way for me to rule, to hold power . . . . My love for you is not contrived.” “You may have loved me, Lysander – I believe you do love me . . . but you love me equally with what I can give you. You would not give up your power, your rule . . . your immortality . . . your very life, for me.” Lysander was quiet for a few moments. “No,” he agreed, “I would not. I would not choose death. But that does not make Nicholas better than I simply because he would give up those things. That I want and will have it all makes me stronger, superior, the better mate.” Lysander’s cock was swollen and throbbing. It had been ever since Abby had spoken a single syllable. He moaned a bit, uncomfortable in his chains. “Don’t leave me like this until you die, Abby, and I am finally released,” he groaned. “What life will I have then without you? It will be meaningless, empty, if you abandon me. You are strong, powerful, extraordinary. Why give up such a beautiful life? Come back to me. Let me turn you again. Live and rule by my side. I treated you well. It’s true, I was harsh with you when you betrayed me with Nicholas. I did not deny your indulgences as you did not deny mine, but Nicholas was different. You deserved punishment for going to him. Stay with me, Abby. Love me. Bed who you choose, as long as you do not love them, and I will worship you for eternity. Together, we are formidable. Together, we can rule the world.” “Together we did not rule the world,” Abby said softly. “We were defeated.” “A minor setback,” Lysander replied. “Give us time, more time, to amass and train a replacement army. We have forever, after all.” Abby moved around to Lysander’s waist, facing the entranceway. “I hear you have replaced me,” she said quietly. Now it was Lysander’s turn to fall silent. How had she known? His muscles tightened and his body tensed. She could see his cock even stiffen.

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“I found someone to help bring you to me.” “A Queen?” “A subordinate Queen. She is a secondary. You know there can only be one Queen. That is you.” “I would never have allowed a secondary when I was your Queen, Lysander.” “I know. And once you are again my rightful Queen, you may kill her. Or give her to your minions to play with. Or set up her up with a minor domain somewhere. Or have a threesome with me. I don’t care. She means nothing to me. Nothing.” “It was she who ordered the assassins to abduct me and bring me here,” Abby said, with understanding. “Yes. I have some power, but am unable to accomplish many things thanks to the effects of the imprisonment you and your boyfriend caused.” He fell silent again and then called out. “Release me,” he implored her, drawing out the words. “And your new . . . secondary Queen – she is content with this . . . arrangement?” Abby pushed, ignoring his plea. “Of course not,” said Lysander, exasperated, raising his head again to look at Abby. “She knows nothing of it. Do you think I would tell her of my plans?” he snapped. “She is but a girl, newly-turned, she is not a woman, a Queen, a warrior, a leader, my equal . . . like you. I have used her only for my own ends. You.” Abby suddenly looked down, sensing movement in the darkness near the archway. “Nicholas was right. How dare you?” a low, dangerous voice came from the shadows. Abby watched a young woman with long, flowing dark hair dressed in a very alluring outfit walk forward and stop at the bottom of the steps. She looked very put out. Lysander dropped his head back to the table and groaned. Then he lifted himself from the stone table, straining against his bonds, his musculature magnificent, his wrath obvious. “Let . . . me . . . go,” he hissed angrily at Abby. “Let you go?” echoed the other woman climbing up the steps now. Abby realized this must be the secondary Queen Lysander had turned. She stepped back instinctively. She could sense dislike emanating from the woman and Abby was no longer an alpha Queen in her mortal condition. “Let you go?’ Maritha repeated scornfully as she reached the dais, standing near Lysander’s shoulder across from Abby. 114

Maritha bent closer to Lysander and licked his shoulder, drawing her long tongue up over his neck, ending at his ear. He shuddered, closing his eyes. “So you can be with me, Lysander? Is that it?” she whispered to him. “Because surely, I didn’t overhear you telling Abigalia that you loved her over me.” She spoke Abby’s name with a sneer. “Bring her to me, then Maritha,” he hissed, his blue eyes snapping open, boring into her brown ones. “Bring Abigalia to me and I will kill her. But I must do it. Then you will be my Queen.” Maritha looked taken aback for a moment. Then her eyes slid to Abby, narrowing. Abby’s hand quickly went to a pouch hanging at her throat and withdrew a gold vial. She uncapped it and held it aloft. “Don’t come any closer, Maritha, or I’ll drink this. The elixir will change me back into a vampire. I will own Lysander. And I will own you.” Maritha noted that Abby said it with conviction. She believed that would happen if Abby drank it. She just didn’t believe Abby would drink it. “Yes, Abigalia,” urged Lysander. “Drink it. Turn back to your rightful self.” Damn. He had no idea she had such an option. A vial that would turn her back into a vampire. Perfect. Maritha’s eyes flashed as they returned to Lysander. “I thought you said you wanted her to die,” she spat angrily. She drew one long nail over his cheek, pressing hard enough to leave a trench of blood. “You desire Abigalia to turn back. To usurp me.” Shit, thought Lysander, grimacing. Women always complicated matters. “I have a solution for you, Lysander. For us,” Maritha said, her voice deceptively soft. “You are bound to Abigalia until her death. But at her death, you are free to consort with any Queen. You have already chosen me. And so . . . ” she trailed off, slowly circling Lysander’s dais, advancing on Abby. “I will kill her myself.” Abby kept Lysander between her and Maritha, but she knew Maritha had vampire powers. It was only a matter of time before she remembered to jump through the air at her with lightning speed. “I don’t believe Abigalia has it in her to drink the vial,” Maritha sneered. “Despite your little case of lovesickness, Lysander, I don’t think Abigalia wants to be bound by you. I think she might actually prefer death.” The two women continued circling, having exchanged positions, Abby’s back now to the entrance archway. “The problem, Abigalia,” Maritha said, panting exaggeratedly now, “is that your death can’t come soon enough for me. I want Lysander. He said he would have me and he has me now. You . . . come . . . between us.”

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She cocked her head and smiled wickedly. “And so, now – I will kill you.” Abby noticed Maritha gathering for a spring and wondered for a split second whether to run, drink the vial or throw herself at Lysander for protection when a blinding brightness surged behind her, bathing the entire chamber in a white light. Abby spun, looking down at the six Originals, holding long gleaming blades that blazed luminously. Alim was in front and winked at her. Maritha hissed unpleasantly, looking upward. She raised her arms and spoke to the empty dark air of the chamber. “You are not bound to me yet, but you are bound to protect Lysander. These defensor lucem mean harm to him. I command you to attack them.” Dark shapes began to materialize in the empty outcroppings and recesses running upward the height of the chamber. Abby caught glimpses of gleaming eyes, red and black, grotesque faces, taloned claws, mottled skin. She shuddered. In an instant, the chamber erupted in confusion, dark shapes swooping low to the floor in an onslaught against the six vampires as they fanned out, swinging their blades, flashes of light cutting through the darkness, gruesome heads and limbs soaring through the air beginning to litter the temple floor, black blood spilling over the sandstone. A gargoyle dipped low over Abby’s head and she screamed, ducking down and losing her balance, the amber vial falling out of her hands and rolling down the stairs. “No!” Abby cried as she watched the gold liquid drain from the vial, flowing over the steps, the bottle bouncing and rolling until it came to rest in the archway. Abby had no time to reflect on its loss as she looked up and Maritha stood over her, her eyeteeth extended in a macabre grin, a horrible, murderous look on her face. The six vampires were overwhelmed with activity on the floor, fighting and dodging all manner of flying, flapping and crawling creatures, but Alim saw what was about to happen and threw a beam of dazzling light from his sword toward the dais. It flashed into Maritha’s eyes who stumbled and stepped back from Abby, momentarily blinded. Abby took the opportunity to run around the dais, stopping at Lysander’s head. “She means to kill me,” she breathed to him. “Abigalia, let me turn you,” he whispered plaintively. “Lysander, if you love me, set me free.” Abby crouched, dodging what looked like a very ugly bat with the head of pig. She straightened slightly, placing her hand on Lysander’s arm.

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“Enough” he said vehemently at her touch, raising his head, his blue eyes glittering at her. “Come to me! Now, Abigalia!” he commanded. She looked at him, suddenly captivated by him, mesmerized by his gaze. The flicker of light and dark shapes circling her seemed surreal, as if she and Lysander were the only ones in the chamber sharing a celestial dream. Yes, she thought. It makes the most sense. If she didn’t do this, Maritha would kill her and she would never see Nick again. But if Lysander turned her, she would be immortal again. She would be bound to him, but could still see Nick and possibly even work on a solution to eventually free herself. She moved toward him hypnotized. Besides, he was so beautiful lying there, his hair so light, so soft, his body so enticing. She slid her hand up from his belly to his chest as he hissed and stretched at her contact. “Yes! Abigalia, come to me!” She moved nearer, leaning closer to him then kissed him lightly on his chest. Lysander thought he would explode with need and die, she was so close to him. He could smell her, her hair, her skin, her arousal, her blood. The top of her head was near his mouth and now her forehead. He let out a primal growl as Abby kissed his throat, a fanatical cry of passion and urgency. She was almost there. Suddenly, a small pale face popped up between them. “Plans you two?” Maritha asked, looking from one to the other, as she shoved Abby violently, causing her to fly back to the edge of the dais. “Wrong move, my King,” Maritha said to Lysander dangerously and then turned to Abby who was struggling to get to her feet. Abruptly, Abby felt herself being wrenched up from behind and held immobile in a strong grasp. Someone gathered the hair at the base of her neck tightly and forced her head back, exposing her neck. “One step closer, Maritha,” hissed a voice back, “and I’ll turn her myself.” Abby almost went limp. Nick was holding her. But it wasn’t pleasantly. He seemed to mean what he said. She tried to protest but he shushed her darkly and shook her by the hair a little. She whimpered, finally leaning into him, letting him control the scenario. Nick was breathing heavily. After viewing Nick’s memories, Maritha had disappeared, furious at Lysander for his deception, and had moved down the temple in a flash. Nick hadn’t counted on that. As he ran down the corridors as fast as he could, he had felt Alim and the others streaking past him. Cursing his slowness, it had still taken him several more minutes to reach the chamber. Thank the gods, he arrived when he did.

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Light and dark flashed through the chamber, a strange mixture of blaze and shadow in motion. But the four of them were oblivious to the battle raging around them. “Let us go, Maritha, and you have only seventy-five years, give or take, until Lysander is yours for eternity. Press me and Abby will be Lysander’s forever. You will be subordinate to both of them or worse.” Maritha studied Nick. She had already spent some time with him and could sense he was telling the truth. Of course he would rather turn Abby than see her die. She sighed to herself. Nicholas was right. Seventy-five years wasn’t so long compared to eternity. In fact it was hardly a blink of the eye. Her eyes flitted to Lysander. And she would have him . . . her King in waiting . . . to service her until Abby’s timely death. Mmm, her mind whirled with the possibilities. Yes, she could see it. It would be a good trade. “Finis!” Maritha cried, flinging her arms in the air halting the attack of Lysander’s minions, gargoyles and bats breaking off mid-dive, demons and serpents recoiling, lesser vampires, troglodytes, and goblins shrinking into the shadows. They flitted to their ledges, retreated into the alcoves, the only evidence of their attendance blinking red eyes and shifting black shapes stretching as high as the pyramid itself. “You think me weak,” Maritha called to the creatures, raising her head and addressing the open space of the structure. “You are wrong. I am inexperienced, but I am not weak. You will wait for my rule,” she said commandingly. There were murmurs and whispers of assent as she looked on approvingly. “You will all wait for my rule,” she repeated, dropping her eyes and looking at Lysander meaningfully. Maritha reached down and retrieved a splinter of leather that had fallen to the platform in the fray. She leaned over Lysander. “You won’t pine for Abigalia for long,” she hissed, snapping the leather in her palm as Lysander’s blue eyes went wide. Then she turned to Nick and Abby. Nick still held Abby by the hair, his lips low to her throat. He was not leaving anything to chance. “Go now. Leave this pyramid. Leave Egypt. You will not be harmed unless you attempt to harm me or those under my control. I give you my word.” Nick nodded, pulling Abby down the stairs with him. He still kept his possessive grip around her. The word of a dark vampire was not the most sought after of prizes. Alim and the other vampires had backed to the entranceway, still holding their swords defensively. “Return to the surface! Now!” Nick ordered as their shimmers sped up the passage. A trembling rippled through the entire structure and then the pyramid began to shake violently. Nick realized what was happening. Maritha was cleverer than he in that respect. She meant to destroy the temple so that it was not even a remote object of curiosity. He had only cursed and warded the entrance. Nick released Abby and grabbed

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her hand, pulling her out of the main temple as bits of stone began to rain down on them. He grumbled. Maritha could have at least waited until they made it out. “Run!” he urged as they ran down the hallway and tried to enter the corridor that would take them back up. A huge chunk of sandstone fell before them, blocking the entrance. They looked at each other desperately. That was their only way out. “Nick – the inner steps!” Abby called over the chaos, pulling on Nick’s hand, trying to drag him back the way they came. Nick understood, but didn’t like the idea. A steep, narrow set of steps, almost like scaffolding, wound around the main room. They were precipitous and open on one side to the chamber, a sheer drop to the floor. It would be unreasonably dangerous to attempt to climb them while the temple was falling down around them. Still, it appeared they had no choice. Nick groaned, taking over, pulling Abby with him back into the chamber. Fragments of rock rained unseen from the heights of the temple, outcroppings tumbled from the walls, loose sand and dust swirled around them. They ran along the outer wall and found the winding, crumbling staircase leading up into the blackness. The entire pyramid rocked and swayed, torches falling from their sconces. They glimpsed Maritha straddling Lysander in the fading light. “The steps go all the way up, but we only have to make it up three levels,” Abby shouted optimistically as they hesitated at the base. “Let’s go!” Nick called back, pulling Abby with him, as they started climbing, pressing against the inside wall for balance as the temple shook, the stone almost rippling. A blur slipped past them. It was Alim. “How will you make it?” he called as he jogged backwards up the narrow stairs ahead of them. “It’s so far. If I could carry Abby, I would,” he said. Nick knew that the vampire ability to move quickly did not extend to traveling with nonvampires. Abby was the slowest link. “Shut up, Alim,” Nick growled, dragging Abby back from the abyss as part of the stone steps crumbled and gave way. As they climbed higher, the danger of a fall increased. Any misstep now would be clearly fatal. “Unless you have any bright ideas, get out of our way,” Nick shouted, continuing to move as quickly as possible. He ducked against the wall, pulling Abby against him, as a huge chunk of rock fell where they had just been standing. Then another large fragment fell ahead of them, crushing the upper steps as they disintegrated and toppled to the floor, the impact shaking the staircase so violently they momentarily fell to their knees. Nick helped Abby to her feet and peered upward. There was now a large uphill gap between where they stood and the next portion of steps. It was too far to jump.

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Nick looked back at Abby, her hand held tightly in his. Her hair was wild, tousled, out of place, as she stood breathlessly watching the large portion of the stairs fall away into blackness. The remaining torches were sputtering and the great chamber was plunging quickly into darkness. Nick ripped the small brown pouch from his neck with one hand. He had a solution to escape from the chamber. He didn’t like it but he would do it, rather than have Abby die. Nick released her hand, tearing open the string of the pouch and shaking the brown vial into his palm. He held it up in the semi-darkness, hesitating a moment before committing himself to the irreversible. He would bite Abby after he drank it. Lysander’s imprisonment would immediately break, she would have to return to him, but she would be alive. “No!” Abby cried. But she had lost her vial and there was no other way. Nick uncorked the vial and threw the cap into the abyss, holding the open container between his fingers, his stomach tightening. “Nick, wait! Please!” He looked at her. “Alim!” Abby suddenly called to the boy standing on the steps high above them. “Abigalia! What?” he responded, calling her by her common name in the excitement. “The hassassins,” she cried. “That’s how we’ll get out of this!” Alim’s eyes lit up. “Of course,” he said, his gaze enraptured. Then he was gone. Nick looked at her, mystified. The hassassins? Another chunk of stone blasted away the lower part of the steps on which they were balanced. They were now isolated on a slivered tower with no way to proceed up or down. Nick grabbed Abby, crushing her to him tightly and then pulled her back by the shoulders, looking into her eyes. “No matter what happens after we turn back, know that I love you. Now and forever, Abby. Keep that in your heart always.” “Give Alim a chance,” she implored him. A stone fragment crashed against the wall, narrowly missing Nick’s shoulder. “Just another minute, please!” Another minute for what, Nick thought, as he looked at Abby, perplexed, holding the vial in one hand. But as quickly as he wondered, there was a sudden shimmer and Alim appeared, leaping from the ruins of the stairs high above them. He swiftly attached a doubled rope to a protrusion in the stone wall and wasted no time wrapping a length of webbing around Abby’s waist and thighs, linking her to a makeshift pulley.

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Alim placed his hand on the rope, testing it for tautness. “These steps wrap around the chamber. The exit from the pyramid is almost directly across from and above us. You will have to cross the entire open chamber on the rope,” he said looking up into the cavernous expanse. Then he looked back at Abby. “But don’t worry, it will be quick.” Abby nodded. Then, Alim whistled and Abby whooshed into the shadowy air, flying quickly through the blackness across the huge open area of the temple, losing her vow not to scream at the spine-tingling ride, as the other vampires pulled her to the upper reaches of the third step. Alim looked at Nick and grinned. “The hassassins,” he said, shrugging. “Abby’s idea.” Nick shook his head in amazement. Alim offered him a swami belt, but Nick felt strong enough to simply hang from the pulley. When it flew back down the rope, Nick hesitated, and then flung the open brown vial into the darkness. He gripped the improvised pulley and was quickly whisked to safety, ducking dust and rock particles as he soared through the empty space. Alim joined them momentarily in a materializing blur and they all ran for the exit, the walls and ceiling crumbling behind them. They continued running as they left the temple, sliding down the small sand hill, Nick holding Abby’s hand, and then wading through the sand, until they finally collapsed with exhaustion, turning and feeling the ground rumbling terribly. They watched as the pyramid shook, imploded, and collapsed on itself, sealing the entrance forever. Better than any ward he could have put up, Nick thought. By now it was dawn, pinkness tingeing the sands, the desert flat and empty, only a long, low rise where the temple had been. Eventually the sands would shift and the site would appear nothing more than a random swell, a routine inconsistency in the ever-changing landscape. Nick had no doubt Maritha and her minions were already at work, creating dank habitable passages and living areas deep in the rubble. Abby was breathless as she leaned against Nick, his strong arms wrapped around her, still reeling from their narrow escape. “Let’s go back,” he whispered to her. She nodded, her eyes still on the mound of sand. The eight riders headed back to Cairo, stopping to rest very little. True to Maritha’s word, they were unmolested by the night forces in the sands.

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CHAPTER 14 Island Respite “Aren’t you glad I asked for a month off for both of us?” Nick asked, rolling over in the sand to look at Abby. She snorted. “You could have said two weeks. It took less than a week to take care of Lysander.” “I had no idea how long it would take,” Nick protested. Or what shape we’d be in when we finished, he thought, but did not say it aloud. “You know . . . I thought I had my fill of sand and palm trees for one lifetime, but this is something I can appreciate,” Abby mused, looking up at the lush green foliage lining the white sand beach. They lay partially in the shade of an overhanging palm, the warm ocean lapping near their feet. “You heard Maritha. She ordered us out of Egypt. Indonesia should be far enough away for her.” Abby turned to look at her husband. He was propped up one elbow, shirtless, looking down at her with those deep, brown eyes that so spellbound her. There was heat in them. “Yes,” she said softly. “Indonesia is very nice.” He brought his hand up and ran it lightly over her belly before tracing the fabric of the little checkered bikini she wore. “Nick?” “Yes?” he asked, dipping his fingers into her waistband as she batted his hand away. “How do you think Maritha brought Lysander back to consciousness?” “Hassir can tell us more, but I think it was the touch of an innocent – a virgin that could awaken him, but not break the imprisonment spell. We must have skipped over that part in our planning. But even if we had considered it, I doubt we would have ever believed a virgin would break our wards and find her way in to Lysander.” Abby considered this. “I wonder how he will handle the next seventy-five years with her.” If what he had seen in the temple had been any indication, Nick didn’t think Lysander was going to take it very well. But personally, he thought any time Lysander spent at the mercy of Maritha might actually make up for some of the torture he caused Abby. “I think Maritha is more than Lysander’s match.”

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Abby was thinking the same thing, but couldn’t help feeling a small, very small, twinge in her heart. They lay in silence for a few minutes while Nick caressed her skin and then Abby spoke. “Maybe we can go back a little bit early. I’d like to see if we could find a way to reverse my binding to Lysander. Just work on it anyway. Maybe Dr. Rashid – Hassir – could help us.” She looked up at him speculatively. Nick stared at his amazing wife. If Maritha hadn’t broken Lysander free, Abby would never have known her true nature and wouldn’t have considered working on such a project. But then again, if they had left Abby her memories, she would have had to relive the tortures Lysander put her through. “And I want to help you. Maritha is going to be very powerful someday. I want to be by your side when you need to face her,” Abby said. “I am so lucky to have you, Abby. Whether it is for seventy-five years or forever.” “Let’s try to make it forever, Nick.” “Let’s,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers. They took their time, enjoying their possession of each other, free again, free to love without the specter of unwanted dreams, assassins, gruesome creatures trying to become Abby’s groupies, or dark vampires. They used their freedom to try to slake their appetite for each other, finding it never-ending, impossible to quench their desire, always wanting more of each other, even as they visited paradise repeatedly. Nick took Abby in the sands, trying to get as deep and close as any two people could to each other, merging with her, flowing into her, becoming one with her. They needed practice of course, and indulged themselves several times in the water, on the beach, at the edge of the jungle, Nick even finding creative uses for the low hanging palm tree. Finally, they ended up partially in the waves, saltwater lapping at their ankles, oblivious to everything but each other, exhilarated and spent from their mutual climax, Abby’s head resting on Nick’s chest as he held her tiredly. “What was that?” Abby asked suddenly, sitting up, looking around for the top and bottom to her bikini. “I thought you said we sailed to an uninhabited island.” “We did,” Nick said, lying on the sand, exhausted. “It was probably a bird.” Abby wasn’t so sure. She saw Nick’s trunks lying in a heap in the distance. Her bikini bottoms were close by. Her eyes scanned the sand and then fell on the top to her swimsuit caught on a branch at the edge of the jungle. She froze, her eyes widening. “Uh . . . Nick. Turn around and look behind us. Very slowly.” He opened his eyes, concerned by the tone of her voice. “What is it?”

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“Just look,” she whispered. He rolled over and sat back on his heels, looking up the small hill at the line where the sand met the thick green vegetation. Eight pairs of gold eyes watched them. They were set into eight very large black panthers standing just inside the lush jungle foliage. “They must have heard you growl,” she said softly. “You were rather loud this time.” “Stand up slowly and back into the water,” Nick said. “Should we get our bathing suits first?” “Ah no. We should get the hell out of here as fast as possible.” They both rose and waded naked, backwards into the warm ocean. “Keep backing up. Swim to the raft,” Nick said. Their sailboat was anchored several hundred yards away in the water, but the small raft they had used to get to the deserted beach was only a short distance down the cove. Nick waited until Abby began swimming for the raft and then followed her, keeping himself between her and the cats on shore. He knew panthers could swim. She reached the raft and climbed in as Nick walked carefully to the beach, his eyes on the animals, and pulled up the sand anchor. As he returned to the raft, one of the large cats broke from cover and padded to the edge of the beach, transforming as it walked into a tall, strongly-built dark-skinned man, completely naked except for a small, black furry loincloth. “Shapeshifters!” Abby gasped. Nick calmly climbed into the raft and shoved off from shore, picking up a paddle and starting to turn it toward their boat. The man held out his broad hands, addressing them. “This is our territory, vampire. Your kind is not welcome here. Return at your own peril,” he intoned powerfully from the beach. “We’re going,” Abby called back to him. “We won’t be back to your, uh . . . island.” “Abby,” Nick hissed. “What are you doing?” “Answering him,” she hissed back. Abby gave the man a small wave as he stood glaring at them. “You’re going to anger them. Or annoy them at least.”

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She frowned at Nick. “No, I’m not. I’m reassuring them.” Nick was relieved when they reached the sailboat and climbed aboard as he secured the raft. Abby went below and retrieved a wrap to cover herself, tucking it between her breasts as she returned to help Nick with the sails. Nick stayed nude and Abby turned hot again, watching him move confidently around the boat. “I wonder if he meant we should leave Indonesia or just that island,” Abby said as they left the small cove. “This could be the second country where we’ve worn out our welcome.” “We haven’t worn out our welcome, here. I’ll have a go at them if you stay on the boat.” “No way,” said Abby. “You’re kidding, right?” Nick smirked, not answering. She raised her hand to shield the sun from her eyes, looking at him. “It doesn’t have anything to do with the shapeshifters, but we have been in Indonesia over a week. Maybe we should just go home. We’d have two more weeks before we had to go back to work. We could work with Hassir on the unbinding. Just think what we could accomplish with all that time,” Abby said. Nick didn’t say anything but he thought that sounded fine. Besides, he could find some very creative things to do with Abby in the bedroom during those two weeks. He sat down lightly on the edge of the boat, still without clothes. Abby sat down next to him, watching the cove recede as the refreshing sea breeze blew over them. “I still can’t believe the shapeshifters would treat us that way,” Abby said. Nick shrugged. “Discrimination.” “Discrimination?” she repeated skeptically. “Sure, vampires obviously don’t have any rights here.” “Well then,” Abby said pointedly, “We’ll both have to find a way to deal with that after I’m free. Solidarity.” He grinned at her. “I’d like that very much,” he said, toppling her backwards in the boat, pulling her wrap off and nipping at her neck playfully.

THE END

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Tasha began writing when she was a child, completing her first screenplay when she was just seven years old. She continued to write profusely throughout her childhood and into her adult years. Spending time in Alaska, Tasha received her bachelor’s degree and went on to obtain a law degree, graduating at the top of her class. While in law school, Tasha continued to develop her writing skills as an editor of the law review and by assisting her professors who sought her writing expertise for their published textbooks. After a successful legal career, Tasha moved to Maui and turned her complete attention to her true love of writing fiction. Tasha now writes solely from her home on Maui and routinely draws inspiration from the beautiful Hawaiian scenery. She lives on Maui’s North Shore with her husband and son. www.templefiction.com

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ALSO BY TASHA TEMPLE

INTERPLANETARY SLAVE: Arcada of Ecryon Synopsis In the star system Ecryon, women are kept as slaves as a way of life. Terenth, heir to the Ecryon throne, punishes his own slave, Arcada, by sending her to distant planets to fight for her life whenever she displeases him. Arcada is forced to travel to Earth where she finds herself bound to serve the whims of a demanding prince who insists she take on a dangerous mission. But when it is decreed that Terenth must marry another before Arcada returns, Terenth, realizing his profound love for his slave, travels to Earth to try to convince her to marry him first. To stay together, Arcada must survive her task and Terenth must do more than exert his ownership over her, he must give her his heart.

INTERPLANETARY SLAVE: Arcada of Balinth Synopsis Terenth, heir to the Ecryon realm, attends an auction with his childhood friend, Jaxx, to acquire his very first slave without his father’s help. This is a short (1900 word) introduction of how Terenth and Arcada first met and the circumstances of the very beginning of her ownership.

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WARLORD Synopsis Sara’s life is boring and predictable. It’s also about to change. A startling use of cruel, inhuman power places Sara in extreme peril giving her only one way to escape. Sara must overcome her deepest fears and resist her most powerful desires to stay alive. In the struggle to conquer herself, Sara encounters a god of a man from a distant land who brings her to the heights of pleasure, beyond what she had ever imagined possible. The fiery passion between Sara and the warlord, Arystan, is the material of legends. As their souls collide and lock in tangle of lust and ardor will Sara resist her deepest yearnings and give up everything so that they can remain together forever? Can she break through Arystan’s battle-hardened defenses and reach his heart while helping him defeat the cruel enemy of his past on the battlefield? This steamy novel of love, battle and passion will leave you on the edge of your seat with suspense.

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