Things That Go Bump In The Night Ii

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THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT II

MARGARET CARTER, LANI AAMES, MARYJANCE DAVIDSON MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-285-7 Mobipocket (PRC) ISBN # 1-84360-286-5 Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned): Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), & HTML (c) CopyrightMargaret Carter, 2002. (c) CopyrightLani Aames, 2002. (c) CopyrightMaryJanice Davidson, 2002.

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave. Ellora's Cave, Inc. USA Ellora's Cave Ltd, UK

This e-book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by email forwarding, copying, fax, or any other mode of communication without author permission.

Edited byJennifer Martin & Martha Punches Cover Art byTina Engler

Warning:

The following material contains strong sexual content meant for mature readers. THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT II has been rated HARD R, erotic, by three individual reviewers. We strongly suggest storing this electronic file in a place where young readers not meant to

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view this ebook are unlikely to happen upon it. That said, enjoy…

Tall, Dark, and Deadly ©Margaret L. Carter, 2002

Chapter One The air hummed with rapt attention from dozens of human minds, most of them female. "Oh, lady bright! Can it be right—This window open to the night?" Claude paused in his recitation to savor the shallow breaths and rapid heartbeats of his audience, inaudible to human ears but plain to his. He had performed this reading of Poe's "The Sleeper" so often that it required only a fraction of his attention. He knew just what phrases to linger over to coax the most intense emotions from the listeners. Their fascination perfumed the air like a cloud of incense. He could almost taste it, a delicious appetizer for the more substantial feast he anticipated enjoying later that night. For the black-clad young women he half-affectionately thought of as "vampire groupies," he knew his hypnotic delivery transformed the drab hotel function room into a boudoir "beneath the mystic moon" with an "opiate vapour, dewy, dim". While he didn't believe Poe had written "The Sleeper" with a vampire's nocturnal visit in mind, doubtless the "window open to the night" conjured up just that image for most of the audience, a reaction that suited Claude very well. His eyes swept over the group while he intoned, "Oh, lady, dear, hast thou no fear? Why and what art thou dreaming here?" Locking glances briefly with each female in the first couple of rows, he savored the way a blush blossomed on each one's face at the fantasy that he addressed the lines to her alone. About midway to the back of the room though, he captured the eyes of one person who watched him with peculiar intensity, a woman of about thirty, with mahogany hair pulled back in a braid. From her he sensed a hunger that answered his own with a more complicated need than the yearning for a fantasy vampire's bite. Pleasantly rounded, from what he could see of her, though not enough to violate the current standards for female beauty, she had what people used to call a "peaches and cream" complexion. Claude approved of her apparent refusal to either diet herself into emaciation or bake her skin under cancer-inducing rays. She would make an excellent dessert. The image made his jaws ache. He mentally shook himself. He already had plans for tonight. Still, it wouldn't hurt to make contact with her and keep her in reserve, so to speak. Winding up the poem, he smiled at the memory of a lapel pin he'd seen on one of the fans earlier that day: "Cthulhu Saves—He Might Get Hungry Later." He stood up with a flourish of his cape to signal the end of the session. Instantly, the audience mobbed the front of the room, convention programs and pens in hand. Teeth clenched in the closest thing to a

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smile he could manage, he scribbled his name as requested, watching the back of the delectable woman's head vanish into the corridor. With all the people blocking his view, he hadn't even managed a glimpse of her name tag. Finally, dry-mouthed with thirst from exposure to his fans' body heat, pulse sounds, and keyed-up emotions, he broke away and headed for his room. Though he lived only a few blocks away, his need for a refuge in the middle of the convention made renting a hotel room worthwhile. He craved a few hours of sleep before that evening's awards banquet. When he unlocked the door, he noticed an unfamiliar scent. His nostrils flared. Not human, but acrid and quasi-metallic, like one of his own kind. Something rustled under his feet as the door closed behind him. A large manila envelope. Tossing the cape onto the bed, he took the envelope to the desk and opened it. Two newspaper clippings fell out. Both, he saw, came from a San Francisco paper. The first headline read, "Human Remains Discovered Under Church Parking Lot." About a month earlier, archeologists had begun excavating that parking lot in downtown San Francisco in preparation for expansion of St. Anthony's parish hall. Inside the buried ruins of the original church building, destroyed in the 1906 earthquake, searchers had found two bodies. Oddly, one, a woman's, had been reduced to a skeleton, yet the other was remarkably preserved, as lifelike as the famous Inca maiden sacrifices. That mummified corpse was a man's. Claude's heart raced. He had to concentrate to force it under control. He was annoyed to discover his hand shaking as he picked up the second clipping. "Earthquake Mummy Vanishes." The bodies had been turned over to the anthropology department at the University of California, Berkeley. Two days after being transported there—more like two nights, Claude suspected—the man's corpse had vanished. Claude knew the "corpse" had never been truly lifeless though, and he wasn't surprised to read of the security guard found dead in the hallway outside the storage vault. So Philip was alive. Not only alive, but here in Los Angeles at this very hotel. He had obviously shoved the envelope under the door of Claude's room within the past couple of hours.He's after me. Wonder what the devil he wants? Revenge, no doubt, but what kind? He flashed on a memory of the ground shaking and the church roof caving in, while Philip howled in anguish over the maimed body of his woman. Picking up the phone, Claude dialed the Prime Elder's number. If the Council didn't already know about Philip's resurrection, they needed to. Claude heaved an exasperated sigh at the vanished prospect for a decent afternoon's sleep.

***** Panting from her run to the elevator, Eloise Kern dashed into her hotel room and flung herself onto the bed. She'd meant to introduce herself to Claude Darvell after the poetry reading, but her reaction to his resonant voice and penetrating gaze had embarrassed her so much she couldn't face him. Especially after that moment when she'd imagined his eyes had lingered on her a bit longer than on anyone else. Oh, stop thinking like a ditzy fan!she scolded herself. Every female in that room had doubtless imagined

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the same thing. She hadn't come here to indulge in fantasies about her favorite horror movie star. She'd wheedled her friend on the con committee into seating Claude next to her at the awards banquet so she could conduct business, not drool over his ebony hair and violet-gray eyes. Keeping her mind on screenplay contracts would have been a lot easier if he'd looked less ravishing in person than on film, instead of more so. For weeks since receiving his latest letter, she'd had to read it over and over to confirm she hadn't imagined it. She'd even packed it in her overnight bag for reassurance. By now she knew the relevant passages by heart, from "Dear Ms. Kern" to "I look forward to discussing your proposed adaptation of Varney the Vampyre in person at ConCatastrophe." She peeled off her clothes and stepped under a hot shower, lost in visions of Claude—"tall, dark, and deadly," as a tabloid reporter had labeled him—emoting the lines from her own script. She visualized him in the opening scene taken directly from the novel, climbing through a window on a moonlit night, like the one in the poem, to plunge his fangs into the heroine's delicate throat. Eloise's nipples puckered at the image. Throwing her head back, with her eyes closed, she let the warm water flow over her own neck, imagining his lips fastened there.There you go again, like a teenybopper with a crush, she mocked herself. Better to wallow in that daydream than to brood over the other letter, the one she'd stuffed in her purse right before leaving home. The home she might not have much longer. The management of her townhouse complex had spent the past few months planning a conversion from rentals to a condominium regime. Eloise had started saving toward the down payment and closing costs, a slow process between her mother's nursing home fees and the uncertainty of a writer's income, but she hadn't expected the shift from rental to condo for another couple of years. Suddenly the schedule had accelerated. She had six months to dredge up the money or get out. Guild minimum for a screenplay would make the difference between home ownership and homelessness. Wrenching the shower to the "off" position, she toweled dry with impatient roughness, threw on a robe, and sat at the dresser to brush her hair and redo the French braid. Why was she imagining herself as a bag lady? Multi-published authors with doctorates in English Lit didn't end up on the street. She gave her hair a last, firm twist and looped a scrunchy around the end. Enough negative vibes! She had to project confidence when she met Claude at the banquet. What actor would want to produce or star in a movie scripted by a writer with the stalwart firmness of a bowl of Jell-O? Chapter Two

He wasn't coming. The place next to Eloise at the award recipients' table, with "Claude Darvell" on the name card, sat empty. He must have been stricken with a sudden illness or called away on some emergency. Blinking in the atmospheric candlelight, she considered eating his chocolate mousse. Anxiety always made her feel like nibbling, and all the rolls were gone. Sure, she didn't have to meet him in person to negotiate the projected movie deal. But she felt she'd have a much better chance if they could discuss the script face to face. Lost in worry, she clapped automatically after each presentation and almost missed her own name. Recovering, she scurried up to the podium to receive her award for the con committee's pick as author of the year's best paranormal romance. She read her brief acceptance speech off an index card, her own voice echoing hollowly in her ears as if it were somebody else's. Glad to make it back to the table without tripping over her high heels, she didn't register at first that the seat beside her was no longer

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vacant. In a black, crimson-lined cape that seemed to add inches to his already imposing height, Claude Darvell stood up to give her a half-bow of greeting. "Eloise? I'm Claude." "Yes, I know." She cringed internally at the inane remark. "Congratulations on your award." He clasped her hand briefly. His skin, she noticed, felt cool. A delightful shiver ran up her arm. "Forgive my lateness. I'm afraid I overslept." She stomped firmly on a fantasy of his dark, wavy hair tousled from the pillow. In person he looked even more like an updated Lord Byron than he did onscreen. "You missed dinner." Gathering the cape over one arm, he sat down. "I didn't come here for the food." His violet-gray eyes prowled over her before turning toward the speaker on the podium. "I'd like a glass of wine, though." He waved at the half-finished bottle of burgundy, which she passed to him. "There go my illusions," she whispered. "What happened to the 'I never drink wine' bit?" "After a day at a convention, I'll drink anything," he whispered back, leaning close so that his breath ruffled her hair. A sensation like the caress of invisible fingers tickled down her back. She sipped her own wine and forced her attention to the next presentation. Minutes later, Claude got up to accept his award for best male lead in a horror film. Eloise watched his panther-like stride with growing appreciation. As far as she could tell with the cape and tux, he had the build of a greyhound, sleek and thin. Far from an illusion of makeup and camera angles, his demon lover persona proved even more captivating face to face. She still had trouble believing her luck, that he had taken the time to write an appreciative letter about her article analyzing his "Count Orloff" vampire movies in theJournal of Popular Culture . Still more incredibly, her note of thanks in reply had elicited another message from him, and they'd become regular correspondents. When she had mentioned her half-finished script based on that sprawling Victorian penny-dreadful novel,Varney the Vampyre , Claude had expressed his own long-standing desire to film the novel. So here they were, sharing a bottle of burgundy and the hopes of making a movie together. When the master of ceremonies finished his concluding remarks, Claude turned to her. "Did you bring any of yourVarney material with you?" Of course she had, though she wouldn't have committed the faux pas of pressing it on him without an invitation. "Yes, I've got a proposal and a partial script." Thanks to her past dealings with producers who had optioned a few of her books, she had enough familiarity with the workings of Hollywood to prepare such things in the proper format. "I'd love to take a look at them." Pulling out her chair, he lightly clasped her wrist, as if taking her pulse. Bracing herself against the prickle of sensation that danced along the inside of her arm, she told herself he wasn't doing that at all. Or if he was, the gesture was only part of the vampire pose he assumed for the entertainment of his fans. "Great, let's go up to my room," she said, hoping the invitation didn't sound like a come-on. Not that she would have minded if he'd taken the words as an opening for seduction, but if she wanted to deal with him on a business level, she'd better not mix her signals.

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On the way to the elevator, Claude's hand rested on her back at her waistline. When they'd touched before, she'd thought his skin felt cool. How could it burn her through the satin of her evening gown? By the time the elevator started ascending to her floor, she already felt lightheaded.I'm just nervous about the script, she thought. That was the only reason for her rapid pulse. Sure. "I noticed you at the reading earlier," he said as they walked down the sixth-floor corridor. "I didn't want to try to introduce myself in the middle of that crowd," she fibbed. To her annoyance, her hand shook when she tried to insert the key. Inside, she switched on the foyer light and one of the reading lamps. "That's plenty," he said before she could turn on any others. He stepped over to the window and gazed at the sparkling skyline, with the famous illuminated "Hollywood" sign on a distant hillside. "It's a beautiful night. As beautiful as downtown Los Angeles ever gets, anyhow." He punctuated the remark with a wry smile. "Yeah, I haven't seen a night this smog-free in ages." Eloise took the treatment and script out of her briefcase and handed them to Claude. "Oh, yes, you live nearby." "Pasadena. But I'd rather pay for a room than drive home after midnight two nights in a row." "I share your sentiments," he said, leafing through the printout she'd given him. "I have a penthouse just a few blocks away on Wilshire." He set the pages on the desk and drew her to the window with a casual touch at her waist. "I'll read all this later. Right now, I'd rather hear the highlights straight from you." "Sure." She froze, half wishing he wouldn't touch her, so that she could keep her mind on Victorian vampires, and half wishing he'd make that touch more than casual. Her nipples peaked, creating friction with the lining of her bra, and her stomach fluttered. "I'm sorry I don't have anything to drink I can offer you." "Don't worry about that. I'm not thirsty—right now." His hand drifted from her waist to her neck, skimming the bare skin above the low-cut dress on the way. His fingers insinuated under the braid and gently rubbed the roots of her hair. "Are you planning to have me commit suicide in Mount Vesuvius, the way the book ends?" "Sure. Think of the cool special effects." She tried to focus on a vampire diving into a volcano, instead of the heat that swirled around her scalp and down her spine. He chuckled. "More hot than cool,n'est-ce pas ?" "Ha, ha. Don't most vampires attack with fangs, not puns?" "I suppose we can't do without fangs. Audiences expect them. Speaking of attacks, we'll start the film with Varney invading Flora's bedroom?" "Of course. The first scene of the book is too good to waste. Hail, thunder, wind, lightning, and a demon of the night feasting on a half-naked girl. Starting and ending will be the easy part. The hard part is deciding what to do with the other 800 pages in between." She tilted her head, the better to enjoy his gentle rubbing. She felt like a cat having its ears scratched.

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"I'm sure you'll work it out. I do look forward to playing jolly old blood-and-thunder Varney, as long as we don't make him one of those undead twits who constantly whines about the terrible curse he’s under." "Perish the thought." She caught herself leaning back against the hard length of Claude's torso. His massage, moving from her hairline to her shoulder blades, made her want to purr.I really should make him stop that. "Handled properly," he said, "Varney could be a new twist on the tragic vampire. New to the box office public, anyway, since nobody reads the book except specialists like you. I have a couple of financial backers in mind. Once I've got a general idea of the plot outline, I'll contact them and set up the deal." The conversation was progressing faster than Eloise had dared hope. She knew Claude, even though his official biography said he was independently wealthy, wouldn't put up the funding himself. No sensible actor/producer would violate Hollywood's "OPM" rule—use Other People's Money. The fact that he'd already considered the financing issue showed he was serious. She murmured a wordless sound of agreement. Why did she feel so fuzzy around the edges? She hadn't consumed that much wine at dinner. Why did Claude's touch seem to scorch right through her clothes? She'd never responded to a man so intensely, not even one who embodied her deepest fantasies. "Very well, I break into Flora's chamber in the middle of a storm. What's my motivation? Other than my appetite for her nubile flesh and sweet blood, of course?" His breath ruffled Eloise's hair. Her pulse pounded in her temples, and she felt her face flush. "The house," she said, trying to catch her breath. "He left England in the seventeenth century, when he turned into a vampire after Cromwell's men killed him. Now he's back, and the Bannerworths are living in his mansion. He's tired of wandering and thinks he can find peace in his ancestral home. He wants to scare them into selling it." "Is Flora frightened of him?" Claude's hands moved to her upper arms and stroked up and down, making the bare skin prickle with heat. He seemed to savor the sensual motion as much as she did. "At first. Who wouldn't be, with a man crashing in through her window? Not to mention a man with fangs and claws and glittering, silver eyes." "Hold on, the book says his eyes look like polished tin." "Never mind that," Eloise said, her breath coming shallow and fast. "It's my script, and I don't think polished tin sounds very romantic." "Oh, so you want a romantic vampire?" A hint of soft laughter underlay the remark. She blushed still hotter. "You've read my stuff. You know what kind of vampire I like." She'd sent him autographed copies of a couple of her novels, and his reply had made it plain that he'd done more with the books than glance at the title pages. "Will this film have an R rating? Where will Varney pierce Flora's tender skin? Here?" To Eloise's surprise, he bent to kiss the side of her neck with a butterfly-wing flicker of his tongue. "Or here?" One fingertip traced a line from the hollow of her throat to the swell of her right breast above the V of her gown.

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Her heart raced. A melting sensation flowed from the spot where his touch lingered to the hollow between her legs. She forced a deep breath and said, "I think you'd better leave." He flung off the cloak and draped it over a chair, then removed his bow tie and tossed it on the desk. "I'll leave when I'm good and ready," he said in a tone of genial firmness. "And I'm nowhere near ready." Chapter Three

Eloise knew she ought to lash out indignantly at that arrogant pronouncement. Instead, when he put an arm around her waist and steered her towards the bed, she found herself following him without a moment's hesitation. Somehow she was sitting beside him on the edge of the mattress rather than shoving him into the hall.Weird, she thought. Not only her own behavior, but his.I've heard of the casting couch for actresses, but never for writers! "I'm thirsty now," he said. "For your lips." He nibbled the edge of her mouth, darted his tongue in and out, then withdrew to gaze into her eyes. What a hokey B-movie line,she thought. Yet "thirsty" seemed a perfectly apt word for her own dry-mouthed, head-whirling excitement. Or possibly "fever". "We shouldn't—" she began. "You desire this as much as I do. I wouldn't touch you, otherwise." His hand rested between her breasts. "I feel it in the beating of your heart." She opened her mouth, whether to confess or deny, she wasn't sure. He cut off her answer with a deeper kiss. A taste and scent like hot metal flooded her senses. His tongue and lips seared hers, while his hand on the curve of her breast sent electric currents through her, switching every erogenous zone to "on". The flutter in the pit of her stomach migrated lower and became a full-fledged throb of need. Good thing he couldn't read her mind. He couldn't know how her nipples strained against her bra, begging for a caress, or how her clit tickled maddeningly and wetness pooled between her thighs. She crossed her legs and squeezed. With his fingers creeping under the V of her dress, the pressure didn't bring any relief. As if he did read her mind, he abandoned that tactic and instead cupped her right breast through the satin. Rubbing in slow circles, he coaxed the nipple to a hard peak. The other one ached for the same attention. Instantly, Claude draped his free arm around her shoulder to reach her left breast and fondle both in the same rhythm. Meanwhile, his tongue continued to probe her mouth. She fought to keep from squirming. Without her conscious will, she unfastened the top buttons of his shirt and ran her fingers over his chest. No undershirt, just cool skin and velvety hair. With the fog of lust clouding her brain, she gave no more than a fleeting thought to the difference from the usual texture of male body hair. "You'll be more comfortable lying down," he murmured, nuzzling her neck. She felt him grope behind her to unzip her dress. This would be the proper moment to cut the encounter short. Never in her life had she fallen into bed with a man on first meeting. Claude's erotic expertise and her crush on him shouldn't matter. Contaminating business with sex, losing her self-respect, and, for all she knew, risking some ghastly disease would be far worse than a few minutes of frustration. Besides, she could remedy that frustration by herself as soon as he left.

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Before she realized she had moved, though, she lay on her back, with Claude reclining on one elbow next to her. He captured her mouth for another long kiss while he slid the dress off her shoulders. His practiced skill at undoing the front clasp of her bra stung her with a pang of jealousy. How many women did he seduce per year? Probably one at every convention. She forgot that question the moment his tongue traced a path to one breast and spiraled inward to the peak. After slipping off her bra, he licked that nipple while teasing the other with thumb and forefinger. Somehow he knew just the pressure and speed to send ripples of pleasure through every nerve. Involuntarily, she clutched his shoulders and eased her thighs apart. One of his legs covered hers with tantalizing pressureagainst her slit through her skirt. Already she trembled on the edge of orgasm.He abandoned the nipple for a brief, hard kiss on her mouth. "You taste as delicious as I expected." Passion roughened his voice, lending the words a tone of sincerity she hadn't anticipated. He probably uses that line on all his victims.By now it didn't matter, though. Her clit and her vagina ached for relief. And hearing the same need in his voice, she couldn't deny him. She arched her hips, trying to press her swollen clit against his leg. He moved aside, drawing a hiss of protest from her. Removing her shoes and reaching under her skirt, he swept his palm up the inside of her calf and thigh. On this summer evening, she hadn’t worn pantyhose. Her bare skin tingled, making her tremble with impatience for him to reach her hot, wet center. He cupped her mound through the bikini panties, silencing her moan of pleasure with a kiss. Fumbling inside his shirt, she dug her nails into his chest. He growled and nibbled a path from her mouth to her neck. At the same time, he stretched the elastic of the panties to part her petals and caress the throbbing bud. Her clit started to twitch the instant he touched it. The frenzied licking of his tongue at her throat matched the rapid strokes of his fingers. When the throbbing began deep inside, he plunged two fingers into her slit, while his thumb kept rubbing the spot that ached most desperately. She erupted like that volcano they had mentioned earlier, pumping her hips in time with his finger-thrusts. When she hit the peak and began to spiral down, he nipped her neck and flicked her clit in some magical way that sent her even higher. At last, soaring to a height so rarefied it sucked the breath from her lungs, she fell off the precipice into oblivion. Chapter Four

When she opened her eyes, a rosy mist clouded her vision, and her throat felt dry. After dragging herself to a sitting position, she rubbed her face and looked around.Oh, Lord, I can't believe I acted that way! How can I ever face Claude again? Come to think of it, where was he? His cape still hung over the chair, but he was nowhere to be seen, and she didn't hear any sounds from the bathroom. No way could she look him in the eye, at least not until she'd put some distance between herself and her humiliating cat-in-heat behavior. Maybe he'd be gentleman enough, next time they met, to pretend the encounter had never happened. Meanwhile, she had to get out before he reappeared. When he saw her gone, with luck he would return to his own room and leave her alone.

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Standing up, she had to grab the bedpost until a surge of dizziness faded. Noticing how loosely the bodice of her dress hung, she reached behind and pulled up the zipper.Muzzy-headed, she staggered out the door and along the hall to the elevator, one hand on the wall for balance. By the time she'd ridden to the ground floor, the danger of toppling over at every step had passed. Her brain still felt like oatmeal, though. She drifted through the lobby to the main doors, with a vague idea of letting the night air clear her head. She shoved through the double glass doors and meandered to the corner of Wilshire Boulevard.

***** Claude came back from his foray to the vending machines with a full ice bucket and a can of Coke. After her involuntary donation, Eloise would feel dehydrated. Even before unlocking the room door, he sensed her absence. What the devil had got into the woman? He hadn't expected her to wake so quickly, but what had possessed her to run off the moment she did? And without her shoes, he noticed. Or her key, which he'd taken with him. While these thoughts ran through his mind, he was already heading for the stairs. He could dash to street level on his own power faster than the elevator could arrive and carry him down. If Eloise hadn't gone all the way to the first floor, he could search the hotel at leisure. The first priority was intercepting her if she was indeed wandering around the lobby barefoot and half-conscious. Damn, this was the last thing he wanted to be doing after the mutually satisfying "dessert" they'd sampled. Hurrying from the stairwell into the lobby, he scanned the area. Just in time, he caught a glimpse of Eloise disappearing out the main entrance. He strode after her as fast as possible without breaking into a trot. She paused at the corner. As he walked toward her, he noticed the dreamy vagueness of her gaze. She stepped off the curb with no sign of noticing the red stoplight. Claude darted into the stream of traffic, wrapped his arms around her, and flashed back to the sidewalk too fast for human eyes to follow. Clinging to him, she shook her head in obvious bewilderment. "Claude—?" He sensed the fog lifting from her brain. In a second she would start complaining about the way he'd chased and grabbed her. He also sensed eyes boring into him. Not just the curious glances of people who wondered how a man in a tuxedo and a barefoot woman in a formal gown had suddenly appeared on the sidewalk. Hostile eyes that felt not quite human. He wasted no time processing this impression. Choosing action over analysis, he draped himself in a psychic veil that repelled vision. He projected a "you don't see me" aura that amounted to invisibility. With Eloise held close to him, she fell under the same curtain. Casual passers-by would blink at their "disappearance," then instantly forget about them. As for the watcher who troubled Claude the most, if he, she, or it existed at all, the illusion might provide enough time for an unseen retreat to the shelter of Eloise's room. Claude carried her, murmuring confused protests, up the stairs to that refuge. "What the blazes is wrong with you?" he said as he plopped her on the bed. "Where did you think you were going?" And why did his own heart hammer with alarm at her narrow escape? He tabled that question for the moment. "Out, if it's any of your business." Her flushed cheeks stirred his appetite, even though he'd just feasted

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on her. "It's my business when you nearly get yourself killed. What the devil did you want to run away for? Surely I didn't do anything to frighten you, did I?" He smoothed the hair straggling out of her braid. She jerked her head away from his hand. "Of course not. I just wanted to be alone." "Really?" He captured her eyes with his. "If you must know, I was embarrassed." She gasped at her own frankness. He knew she must feel baffled by the way the truth had popped out. Maintaining the gentle pressure of his mind on hers, he prompted, "Why in the world would you be embarrassed?" "Humiliated. The way I acted when you, you know, touched me." The heat radiating from her skin made him want to absorb every drop of her essence. "I enjoyed every minute of it. And so did you, didn't you?" He stroked her head, and this time she didn't resist. His hypnotic gaze and touch already had her partly tamed. "Here, you're thirsty," he said. He held the cold soda can to her mouth. She drank half of it and licked her lips in a maddeningly sensual way. He held her close and crooned a wordless song of languid pleasure until she went limp in his arms. "Don't worry about it. Lie down and rest. Everything is all right now." He lowered her head onto the pillow and turned her on her side to unzip her dress. After peeling it off, he folded back the covers and tucked her in with the sheet up to her waist. He knew he ought to leave now, but her half-closed eyes watched him with drowsy lust that sparked a burning in the pit of his stomach. Damn, I want her again! I can't remember the last time I was this hungry for a donor!If he couldn't remember, he told himself with an ironic smile, maybe the answer was "never". In any case, resisting temptation had never been his forte. Earlier, he could have satisfied his thirst without bringing her to climax. Her arousal alone would have spiced her blood. Her eagerness, though, had inflamed him past caution. Now the sight of her bare breasts, flushed with passion, and the aroma of her female musk, tinged with traces of soap and bath powder, overcame the remnants of his scruples. After all, what harm would another sip do? Turning down the sheet, he scanned her aura, rose-tinted with desire. The blood humming just below the surface of her skin radiated heat, denser at her lips, the tips of her breasts, and the triangle between her legs. He kissed her while his fingers skimmed over her breast and abdomen, to the center from which the fragrance of her arousal emanated. With splayed hands he swept down her body, up again, over and over. Her excitement coursed along the path of his caresses to thicken and pool at her core. Rainbows of scarlet, magenta, and gold whirled in her aura. He stretched the elastic of her panties to probe her wetness. Her wiggle of pleasure almost goaded him into biting her at once. Clamping down on the impulse, he paused to slip off her panties. Sighing, she wrapped her arms around his neck. His jaws ached, the roots of his teeth tingled, and saliva flooded his mouth. At the same time, her emotions and sensations swirled around him. He felt the mild confusion underlying her excitement and smoothed her forehead to erase that perplexity, before suckling her nipples and stroking the damp curls on her mound to stir her appetite afresh. Her legs eased apart, and she murmured wordless sounds of impatience. Licking the curve of her neck to prepare it for his

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teeth, he tasted salt and talcum. He felt the taut straining of her breast in his hand, the peak tantalizing the sensitive hairs in his palm. He felt the growing heat and tension spread from that point to the apex of her thighs. The air that enveloped them thrummed with the echo of her heartbeat. He couldn't wait any longer. He nipped her throat with the razor-edge of his incisors, drawing a hot, tangy-sweet trickle of blood. The frenzied lapping of his tongue made her groan aloud, clutching his shoulders and pressing her heels into the mattress. Her urgency hammered at his consciousness. Exploring her secret places until he felt her excitement reach its highest pitch, he invaded her slit and simultaneously strummed the tight bud nestled in the curls. A keening cry burst from her. Her sheath clenched around his fingers. Flavored with her ecstasy, her blood rushed to his head like sparkling wine. More than food, more than a sweet, intoxicating liqueur, her elixir ignited a miniature starburst in every cell of his body. He sometimes felt sorry for his prey, who experienced fulfillment only as a brief, localized spasm in the genitals. When he shared Eloise's climax, it flooded his entire being and went on and on, as long as his need demanded. He goaded her to convulsions of delirium again and again. Finally, when both of them trembled with exhaustion, he blotted the tiny incision with a tissue until it stopped bleeding. "Sleep now," he murmured, stroking her hair. She relaxed onto the pillow with a long sigh, her eyes closing. "The wound will heal quickly. You won't even notice it. Forget the details of this night. Just remember that we shared pleasure. I'll see you soon." He kissed her forehead. Soon.Their next meeting couldn't happen soon enough for him. If she responded this passionately in a mesmerized trance, how would she react if he took her in full awareness?That way lies madness, old thing. Plenty of women relished the fantasy of a vampire's kiss. More often than not, forcing them to accept the fantasy as real meant disaster. Chapter Five

Eloise awoke dizzy and dry-mouthed, with sunlight beating on her eyes. Why hadn't she closed the curtains the night before? Come to think of it, she didn't exactly remember going to bed. What was the last thing she remembered? Staggering to the bathroom sometime in the wee hours. Okay, not very useful information.Before that? Blinking as her eyes adjusted to daylight, she flipped back the covers. She was naked.Oh, Lord, did Claude undress me and put me to bed? Why couldn't she recall any details? Only a muddled impression of lips and hands exploring her most tender places, followed by multiple explosions in a spot that tingled at the mere thought. Yet she knew no penetration had occurred. In fact, from what few images she could retrieve, Claude hadn't even taken his pants off. So what did he get out of reducing her to a puddle of molten lava? She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow with a groan. And this was the man she expected to work with on the project that would save her from losing her home? She'd probably swoon the moment she met his eyes, like one of the fainting heroines in her script. The script. Had he meant everything he'd said, or had the whole conversation been a ploy to get her clothes off? At that thought, her attention strayed to the way the sheet felt on her bare skin. Vague memories of where his fingers had roamed woke a deep ache inside her. She tucked the spare pillow between her legs and rocked, suddenly overwhelmed by sensory echoes of Claude's cool touch and

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flickering tongue. The ache blossomed into shudders of release. She lay panting and trembling until her breath slowed to normal.What's he done to me? Thrusting the pillow aside, she sat up and surveyed the room. Claude's cape and bow tie had disappeared. In place of the synopsis and partial, a business card and a sheet of hotel stationery lay on the desk. She put on her reading glasses and skimmed the note: "Thank you for a delightful evening. I'll get in touch with you this week to discuss details of ourVarney adaptation. Meanwhile, if anything happens that requires immediate attention, call one of the numbers on my card." Delightful evening? Yeah, she could endorse that description, but she'd have been much more delighted if she could have remembered exactly what she'd done. She hadn't imbibed enough wine to get blackout-level drunk, and Claude couldn't have found a chance to drug her drink, even if he'd have reason to do such a ridiculous thing. Immediate attention?Oh, wow, I'd love some more of that attention! She mentally gave herself a sound shaking and headed for the shower. Next time she met Claude, she'd keep the encounter all business.

***** Home in Pasadena on Monday, Eloise focused on work—the novel she had assigned herself as her summer's project. There didn't seem any reason to compose more of theVarney script until she'd discussed it further with Claude, to whom she didn't devote a minute's thought after leaving the convention. No more than a minute each hour of the day, anyhow. About nine on Monday evening, sitting at the computer in her home office, she answered the phone and heard an unfamiliar male voice. When he began, "Miss Eloise Kern?" she pigeonholed him as a telemarketer. Who else would speak her full name in that tentative tone? Preoccupied with nothing worse than irritation over his calling so late, she got an unpleasant jolt when he said, "I saw you at the hotel on Saturday with Claude Darvell. Do you intend to associate with him further?" The stiffly formal phrases in a quiet, cultured voice clashed oddly with the boldness of the question. "Why do you ask, and who the heck are you, anyway?" Her pulse hammered in her ears. "Someone who knows who and what Darvell actually is. That man is dangerous. For your own safety, stay away from him." "What do you mean, dangerous? Talk sense or leave me alone!" She heard a tremor in her own voice. She wasn't sure whether the fear seeping into her veins was directed at this anonymous caller or at Claude. "If I explained, you would not believe me. But I know him well, and I am warning you against him. He is a killer." "Look here, you—" The man hung up.

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After her breathing steadied, she got out Claude's business card and picked up the phone again.

***** Claude's surprised pleasure at hearing Eloise's voice turned to alarm when she explained the situation. "I just got an anonymous phone call from some strange man warning me to stay away from you." The words tumbled out, high-pitched with anxiety. "Did he say why?" "No, just that you're dangerous. Do you know who he is?" "I have an idea."Philip! Damn it, how did he find her? "Are you being stalked by a crazy fan, or what?" "Something of the sort." "Well, what's he bothering me for?" Her tone sounded accusatory, and no wonder. "Never mind that. The important thing is to keep you safe. I'm on my way over." "You're what?" "I'm leaving for your place right now. Stay inside and don't answer the door until I get there." He wished he could exert his will on her over the phone. The best he could do was to inject a decisive tone into the order. "Claude, I don't know what you think you're doing, but aren't you overreacting?" "No. You didn't think so when you called me,n'est-ce pas ? Now, will you do as I ask?" "Oh, all right, but when you get here, you better bring some straight answers." Throughout the twenty-minute drive to Pasadena, Claude fumed at the traffic. Too bad his limited power of shape-shifting and levitation didn't enable him to fly the sixteen miles and avoid the mess. On the other hand, if he changed into a bat like his movie counterparts, he would arrive at Eloise's without a car, which he needed to get her out of Philip's reach. On reflection, it seemed obvious that, despite Claude's efforts, Philip had noticed him with Eloise. The other vampire would then have easily discovered her name and address by hypnotizing a hotel clerk. Claude realized he'd counted too heavily on Philip's unfamiliarity with this time and place. Apparently the man had made efficient use of the month since his revival. Once off the freeway in Pasadena, Claude had no trouble finding Eloise's townhouse from the map he'd memorized. Instead of stopping, he drove two blocks farther, parked, and walked back. He shrouded himself in a psychic veil to deflect any watcher's vision. At the door he rang the bell and heard Eloise's footsteps approaching.

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The sound of her rapid, shallow breaths reached him through the wooden panel, along with the rattle of the chain being unhooked. He cursed under his breath at her lack of caution. At the last second though, she remembered to ask, "Who's there?" He gave his name, holding the illusion of invisibility until the door opened. He slipped inside, then closed and latched it behind him. Eloise looked up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. Her aura quivered with anxiety, echoed in the racing of her pulse. "Has he called again?" said Claude. She shook her head. "What's the idea of scaring me half to death? And what are you doing here anyway?" "What, not glad to see me?" Before she had time to object, he wrapped his arms around her. She leaned her head on his chest. He smoothed her unbound hair until her strong, young heart slowed to a steady beat. "It's all right,cherie . I won't let him near you." Sighing, she pushed away from him. He let her go. "Who is this guy, and why should I be afraid of him? He claims you're a killer. What does that mean? You owe me an explanation." He followed her from the entryway into the living room, furnished with a wing-backed couch, two matching chairs, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. "It's too complicated to explain. I can tell you that he's a former friend who thinks he has a legitimate grudge against me, and he'll take it out on you if he can. But I can assure you I haven't killed anyone." He reinforced the last sentence with a psychic nudge. True enough, he hadn't murdered Philip's woman, although he could understand why Philip saw it that way. Standing in the middle of the room with her arms folded, Eloise glared at him. "Yeah? Why me? You and I just met." "Ah, but he doesn't know that. He must have seen us together at the convention, noticed that I spent several hours in your room—" She blushed. "And somehow got my name from the hotel staff. Okay, I get the picture. That doesn't explain why you rushed over here." "To take you to safety, of course. We're going to my house on Big Sur." "What you mean we, white man?" she quoted the old Tonto joke. "You hit the freeway back to Beverly Hills. I'm not going anywhere." He closed the distance between them in two strides, prepared to grab her if she decided to stalk out of the room. "Do you have any obligations that would make it impossible for you to leave for a few days?" "No, I'm not teaching a class this summer, but that's beside the point. I didn't ask you to show up and whisk me away on your white horse." "Actually, it's a dark blue Mercedes." His lips quirked in an involuntary smile at the indignation sparking from her. "This man knows where you live. I simply want to take you somewhere, temporarily, where he can't find you." "You haven't given me a good reason to dive down a rabbit hole. And even if you had, I can take care

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of myself." "Not against this threat, you can't, damn it." He caught her by the upper arms, just below the short sleeves of the clinging T-shirt she wore.Oh, hell, trying to be patient with ephemerals never gets me very far, anyway. He captured her eyes and gave her a gentle psychic nudge. "You'll be safer with me. Let me protect you." Her folded arms and clenched fists relaxed, and the resistance melted out of her. "Protect me? Okay. I'll be safer with you." "That's right. You'll be safe in my house up the coast." "Uh-huh." Wrapping her arms loosely around his waist, she leaned on him again. "Safe." The heat of her flesh and the throbbing of her pulse tempted him to put off their departure long enough for a kiss or two, if not a quick nibble. The trusting way she snuggled up to his chest made his throat go dry, even though he'd implanted that trust himself. But this was no time for dalliance. For all he knew, Philip might be watching the house. With a murmur of regret, Claude pushed Eloise to arm's length and gazed into her eyes again. "Go pack whatever you'll need. And you may as well bring yourVarney materials. We can work on the thing while we're down the rabbit hole." The last remark penetrated her daze enough to evoke a vague smile. He paced the room, ears pricked for any sound of a third person lurking outside, until she reappeared with an overnight bag, briefcase, and purse. He noticed that part of the fog he'd imposed on her brain had evaporated. "Claude, where are we going again, and why?" Staring into her eyes, he said with all the firmness he could muster, "We're going to my other home, about three hundred miles up the coast, where you'll be safe. Take my word for it and don't worry." Her eyelids drooped. "Okay, not worried." "Wait a second." He moved to the window and peered out between the curtains. No sign of Philip. Not that there would be, if the stalker had psychically cloaked himself. Hesitating for that reason would accomplish nothing. Claude put an arm around Eloise to hold her as close as possible while they walked out the door. He rebuilt his shield of illusion, extending it to cover her, too. As long as she stayed in physical contact with him and didn't do anything to attract attention, both of them should remain "invisible." "What are you doing?" she murmured, locking the door on the way out. "Nothing you need to worry about. Just walk with me quietly." They made the two-block trip to the car without incident. Claude only hoped Philip wasn't lurking unseen along the way. After stowing Eloise's things in the back seat, Claude belted her into the passenger seat up front and gave her another order to relax. "You probably need rest. Why don't you take a nap?" Immediately, her head slumped, and her eyes closed.Good, I haven't lost the touch. It was a wonder

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his own anxiety hadn't kept hers alive. His barely leashed fear for her baffled him. Why did he suddenly care so much about an ephemeral's welfare? Mentally shaking off the question, he started the car and headed westward to the coast.

Chapter Six Her neck felt stiff, her eyes gritty. Bewildered to find herself in a moving car, Eloise looked around with a momentary heart-stutter of panic. When she saw Claude in the driver's seat, the fear subsided. He wasn't scary, just overbearing and infuriating. She rubbed her face. "Where are we?" He glanced over at her. "On Highway One, north of L.A., on our way to Big Sur." "But why—" A second later, the evening's events came back to her. "Oh, yeah, you talked me into skipping town with you. How on earth did you do that?" He shrugged. "No doubt you recognized the irresistible logic of my argument." "The one where you claimed some guy is stalking both of us, but you wouldn't tell me why? That argument?" He just flashed her a smile. "And you still won't tell me? Oh, I give up!" She stretched her legs, bemused to notice that she'd left home in the middle of the night in shorts, a T-shirt, and sandals. "I hope you realize I can't make a three-hundred-mile trip without stopping." "Of course. I trust you won't run away, though." "Where to? You think I'd try to hitchhike back to Pasadena? No, I'll stick with you, even if you did kidnap me." He laughed. "The highwayman came riding, riding, up to the old inn door." Recognizing the poem, she retorted, "Don't expect me to make with the sappy devotion like Bess, the landlord's daughter." At the next roadside convenience stop, he pulled in to fuel the car. After using the facilities, Eloise bought a bottle of water and a handful of snacks. It crossed her mind that it would serve him right if she did disappear, but caution prevailed. Back on the road, he said, "You don't happen to have a dashing highwayman who'll ride to your rescue, by the way? I mean, a fiancé or the equivalent who'll challenge me to pistols at dawn because of our temporary elopement?" She blushed at that word. If she had to elope with anyone, Claude would rank high on the list. "No, not since graduate school." She'd broken up with her last fiancé-equivalent when he'd taken his domineering behavior one step too far. She'd recognized his true character when he'd announced to her that they were

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going to get married and move to New Jersey, where he'd accepted a job, instead of consulting her first. Claude, at least, was only kidnapping her as far as central California. By the scenic route, no less. Of course, she would have been able to enjoy the oceanfront scenery better if it hadn't been the middle of the night. "I didn't know you had a house up the coast," she said. "I try not to let it get around. My official bio mentions the penthouse in Los Angeles, the townhouse in London, and the chalet on Lake Geneva. Since this other place doesn't get publicized, I'm hoping the man who called you won't know it exists." "You really are rich, aren't you?" She blushed deeper, wondering why his presence made her blurt out such things. "I mean, I can't help asking why you bother to work. You must love acting." "Yes, and I find the human contact—stimulating." Eloise shivered. How did that one word spark such vivid memories of the sensations he'd incited in her Saturday night? She stared out her window, glad he couldn't possibly see her flushed cheeks in the dark. "It's just hard for me to imagine having four houses. I'm having enough trouble hanging onto one." "What do you mean?" She told him about her problem with the condo conversion. "I really want to buy the townhouse. I planned to all along, but I didn't think it would happen so fast. If I can't swing the mortgage, I'll have to look for a new place, and you know L.A. real estate prices. I shudder to think how hard it'll be to find another decent rental I can afford." "The down payment is the snag, then?" "Yes, it's taking a while to save up, with my mother's nursing home fees and all." At his questioning glance, she said, "Alzheimer's. My dad died years ago, and I'm an only child, so it's all on me." "Can you not borrow the balance of the down payment?" The rich really did live in a different world. "It'll be enough trouble getting approved for the mortgage. Do you have any idea how loan officers react to the word 'writer' on the 'occupation' line? They see it as equivalent to 'unemployed'. Sure, I have my teaching income, but that's part time. If I took a full-time faculty post, I wouldn't be able to keep producing two novels a year." "I see your quandary," he said. "But I sense the townhouse means more to you than an investment." How did he know? "My father was a career officer in the Navy. We never owned a house until he retired to San Diego. Then he died of a heart attack before he had time to enjoy it. And when Mom went into full-time care, we had to sell the place. So a home of my own has been my dream for a long time." "Then theVarney project has special importance for you." "Yes, and now I've bored you with all my problems," she said, embarrassed at having complained about her financial bind to a man she hardly knew. "So it's your turn to spill secrets." "What secrets? You've read the publicity bio."

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"Which doesn't mention a lot besides the three houses, your Anglo-French background, and the fact that acting runs in your family." "That's all there is to tell, essentially. I've led a fairly dull life, for which I'm thankful. You know the curse about interesting times." The official biography didn't even reveal where his money came from. "Inherited wealth" didn't say much. The list of his movies stretched back over twenty years, raising the question of his age at the start of his career. He looked just barely old enough to make the dates plausible, and the bio was frustratingly short of specifics for the early period. As for the continental side of his lineage, except for the occasional French phrase that spiced his conversation, he spoke with a thoroughly British accent. The bio said he'd been born in France but had spent most of his life in England. Obviously, questioning him wouldn't pry loose any information. Eloise decided to rest and enjoy what she could see of the view. After five hours, including two more rest stops, the car wound along the stretch of road high above the Big Sur coastline. Though she still couldn't see much in the dark, she heard the waves through Claude's open window when he slowed down and turned off the highway down a narrow lane that led toward the shore. A private drive, she realized when he pulled to a stop in front of what looked like a two-story house. Getting out, she saw it from a different angle that revealed a third, lower floor, split-level style, in back. Gnarled cypress trees shaped by ocean winds huddled next to the house. Motion sensors switched on floodlights to illuminate the carport and front door. She caught an impression of redwood siding and sloping roofs before Claude escorted her inside. "Enter freely and of your own will," he said as he waved her into the foyer. "Thanks, Count," she said, acknowledging the quote fromDracula . "I hope you don't have dungeons and a crypt. Not to mention a harem of lady vampires." His hand rested lightly on her back, making her shiver with pleasure out of proportion to the casualness of the contact. "Why would I need a harem with you under my roof?" He steered her toward a staircase but then broke off the touch. Feeling mildly let down, she followed him to the top floor. There he showed her to a corner bedroom with a door opening onto a balcony. The other outside wall held a window with a double bed under it. Claude strode over to the door and opened it to let in the salt-flavored breeze and the sound of the waves. "It should be safe enough to leave this open, if you like." "Why shouldn't it be? Do you think your former friend, or whatever he is, would fly in the window like a bat?" She walked over to the balcony to look out. Aside from a streak of moonlight on the water, she couldn't see anything. "No street lights, no neon signs, just the night. It's beautiful—but strange. To me, anyway." He placed his hand in the middle of her back, then skimmed down to her waistline. "I'm delighted to have a chance to share it with you." He reached under the hem of her shirt to stroke the bare skin at the small of her back. Stifling a gasp at the coolness of his touch, she turned toward him. His other hand reached up to smooth her hair, lingering at her temple where the pulse throbbed. His fingers, almost chill in contrast to her own

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flushed face, felt refreshing. So how could that coolness ignite such a fire at her core? He leaned toward her, nuzzled her hair, kissed her forehead. And stopped. Instead of tracing a path to her parted lips, he straightened up. No longer touching, he stepped away from her. "You must be exhausted, after being kidnapped." An ironic smile punctuated the sentence. "Sleep as long as you want." He retreated so fast she could almost imagine being near her made him nervous. Which made no sense, considering his behavior on their first meeting. Unless the excitement vibrating through her body was contagious. Nevertheless, by the time she finished taking a hot shower in the bathroom next door, her tension drained into utter weariness. She fell asleep minutes after crawling into bed.

***** Claude lurked in the hall outside Eloise's room, listening to her breathing slow to the rhythm of sleep. The last thing he should do was invade her dreams with his hunger. He'd brought her here partly for protection and partly for work on the script, not to serve as his live-in buffet. Yet her avid response was so hard to resist. Not only did her body open lavishly to his touch, so did her mind. He recalled how freely she had poured out her problems in their conversation. The down payment she fretted about would, he knew, amount to pocket change for him. Anyone who survived for centuries could accumulate a comfortable fortune, as long as he didn't make himself a target by flaunting it. Claude knew there was no use offering money to Eloise, though. She wouldn't accept a gift or even a loan. All the more reason to focus on the movie project, to give him a legitimate pretext for handing her the solution to her financial woes. Besides, repeatedly feeding on her could expose her to greater danger from Philip. Claude's mark on her aura would make it plain that she meant more to him than a casual donor. If Philip wanted revenge for the loss he'd suffered so many decades before, he would leap at the chance to prey on Claude's pet. Not that he planned to make a pet of Eloise. Yet the drumbeat of her heart, audible through the closed door, drew him like a moth to flame. Except that his appetite was the flame that might consume her. Even while he rehashed the arguments against tasting her again, he opened the door, slipped inside, and glided to the bed. Well, I never claimed to have a conscience.He sat on the edge of the mattress, spreading a net of hypnotic influence to keep her from waking at the disturbance. With a sigh, she turned in her sleep. The sheet slid an inch to reveal the curve of a breast. She wore a low-cut, satin nightgown. When Claude traced a line from the hollow of her throat to the V between her breasts, her pulse accelerated. He felt the blood rushing through her heart under his open hand. The tiny hairs in his palm bristled with eagerness to stroke every inch of her smooth, warm flesh. With his other hand, he turned down the covers. The nightgown was tangled around her hips. He skimmed up one exposed thigh and down the inside of the other. Her lips parted to emit a soft moan. He kissed her forehead, jaw line, throat, the pulse fluttering against his lips like that moth he'd visualized, now trapped in a spider's web. "This is a dream,ma belle ," he whispered. "Only a dream. Embrace me." Her arms twined around his neck. Licking and nibbling her throat and the curve of her breast, teasing

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both her and himself without piercing the skin, he ran his hands over her body, barely touching, stirring the hues of her aura into whirlpools of rose and crimson. Her nipples and mount of Venus, engorged with blood, glowed like clusters of painless sunlight. Ravenous from the aroma of the sweet nectar between her legs and her excitement sparking like miniature stars everywhere he caressed her, he chased that excitement to its source and tickled the taut nubbin of flesh that begged for his attention. Her hips undulated while she clung to him and moaned her pleasure, although her conscious mind still slept. "Open to me," he murmured. Not a moth, he thought, but a bee ready to drink her honey. He would never let his sting cause her pain, though. Her thighs parted. He dipped a finger in her dewy center and stroked her throbbing bud. Throwing her head back on the pillow, she arched her spine and keened in ecstasy. Her heart hammered in time with the pulsation of her climax. At the instant that her release would imbue her blood with the sweetest flavor, he nipped the swell of her breast. With the trickle of blood, her passion fountained forth, as intoxicating as strong mead. His teeth-roots ached too badly for gentle licking to satisfy him. He fastened onto her breast and sucked hard. Her elixir flooded his parched throat and suffused every cell of his body. When he strummed her most sensitive spot again, her second climax shot through him like a bolt of lightning. If only he could keep her forever, not as a pet, but as something more. How would it feel if she opened her eyes and her mind, recognized his true nature, and still welcomed him into her embrace? He yearned to warm himself at the flame of her innermost core. Realizing the folly of that wish, he longed to spend the rest of this night, at least, sipping her sweet nectar. But he forced himself to listen to the voice of moderation. After the long night's drive and the self-indulgent way he'd behaved at the convention only a couple of nights earlier, he knew she needed rest. He reluctantly forced himself to remove his mouth from the incision and calm her with languid petting, rather than goading her to fresh excitement. "Remember, my dear," he said as he straightened her nightgown and covered her with the sheet, "this was only a dream." Life would be simpler if he could delude himself into believing the same thing.

***** A cool wind swept in through the open balcony door. Thunder cleaved the night. In a flash of lightning, Eloise saw a tall man in a black cape silhouetted in the portal. At the neck of his ruffled, white shirt, he wore a ruby pin like a globule of fresh blood. When he strode toward her bed, she recognized Claude. At that point she realized she was dreaming. She decided that was all right. In a dream she could indulge any craving without fear of consequences. She opened her arms, and Claude swooped down upon her.

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His hot mouth feasted on her lips, her neck, her breasts. Somehow their clothes dissolved. His hands roamed over her bare skin. She felt his tongue bathing both nipples, then flickering down her abdomen to her mound, where he probed inside the nest of hair for the sheltered nub of flesh. His tongue tip found the flashpoint of her need, quicker than she could have herself. She screamed aloud when the convulsion ripped through her. Then he licked his way up to her neck and lay on top of her to press his leg between hers, in the place that still burned and tingled. Her tight nipples strained against his naked chest. She felt a sting at her throat, followed by a thread of hot liquid and the lapping of his tongue. He groaned with pleasure, and her voice joined his. She wrapped her legs around his thigh and squeezed. Delicious melting sensations flowed from her throat through her quivering nerves to that hot center. She shuddered in release until exhaustion overcame her. When Claude sat up, another flash of lightning showed dark stains around his mouth. Licking his lips clean, he pulled up the covers over her. "Sleep, my dear, and remember this was only a dream." "Yes, I know," she murmured as he faded into mist. Only in a dream could she imagine Claude to be a real vampire instead of an actor who sometimes played one. Chapter Seven

Birds chirping outside the window woke her. With her eyes still shut, Eloise listened to the other noise in the background, waves on a beach. A cool breeze drifted across her face, carrying the aroma of salt water. What was she doing beside the ocean? She opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed in through a door that opened onto a balcony. Oh, right, Claude's Big Sur waterfront house. He'd kidnapped her. Well, as kidnappers' lairs went, she could enjoy this one. Especially if the sea air always inspired dreams like the one she'd had the night before. Feeling warmth flood her whole body, she hurried to the bathroom next door for a cool shower. If she expected to make a movie deal with Claude, she had to get a grip and act like a professional writer, not a swooning fan with a mad crush. After dressing in jeans and a lightweight, tunic-style blouse and tying back her hair in a ponytail, she thought to check her watch. She'd slept until almost two in the afternoon. Her stomach reminded her that she'd also slept through breakfast and lunch. Still, curiosity demanded a quick tour of the house. The top floor, besides her bedroom and the bath, contained two other bedrooms, open and untenanted, and a closed door at the opposite end of the hall from her room. The absence of any sounds of life suggested Claude was asleep behind that door. Stairs led to the main floor where they'd entered the previous night. Jokes aside, the place didn't look like a haunted castle. The foyer opened into a sunken living room with wall-to-wall carpet, a fireplace, and an elaborate stereo system. Across the hall was an office. Despite her hunger, she couldn't resist pausing to examine the vintage movie posters and old photographs on the wall behind the desk, obviously part of Claude's family history. One black-and-white poster advertised a film adaptation ofThe Sorrows of Satan , from a lurid early twentieth-century novel. The star bore a striking resemblance to Claude, allowing for the devilish eyebrows and other exaggerations of the illustrator's style. His grandfather, or would it have to be great-grandfather? She'd never heard of the movie; it must be one of many silent films that hadn't

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survived. Photos from the 1940s era showed group poses that featured a man with a widow's-peak haircut and a pencil-thin mustache, doubtless Claude's father or uncle. She made a mental note to ask him, but now she had to scrounge some food before she keeled over from starvation. Toward the back of the house she found the dining room and kitchen, which looked as clean as a model home in a very expensive housing development. The kitchen struck her as oddly empty, with nothing on the spacious counters except a blender and microwave, and nothing on the walls, not even a rack of carving knives. The cooking island in the middle of the room displayed food, at least. A box of granola and a bowl of apples didn't inspire gourmet fantasies, but her stomach decided they were better than nothing. The refrigerator held milk, orange juice, and nothing else. Rather than snooping in the freezer, she settled in the breakfast nook to gobble her cereal, apple, and glass of juice. When she rinsed her dishes, she couldn't resist a peek in the cabinets. Other than the one where she had found the bowls and glasses, most of the cupboards were bare. Did Claude always live like Mother Hubbard? Or maybe he just didn't spend a lot of time in this house. On the lowest level, she found a half-bath, a small sitting room with a wide-screen TV, and a den with bookshelves lining all the walls except one, which featured sliding glass doors that opened onto a patio. She stepped outside, drawing a deep breath of the salty air. The house perched on the edge of a cliff above the shore. Wooden steps led from the patio down to the rock-strewn beach. The stony bluffs, too steep for walking or even comfortable climbing, formed a semicircle that completely enclosed what appeared to be Claude's private beachfront property. An effective way to ensure privacy, she mused. Back inside, she still didn't hear any sign of life. She wandered into the TV room, where she discovered a bookcase full of videotapes. Finding a Vincent Price collection on one shelf, she grabbedThe Fall of the House of Usher and snuggled into an enormous armchair to watch the movie. Nothing was missing but the popcorn.

***** Just as the House of Usher started to topple into the lake, a touch on her shoulder jerked her out of the world on the screen. She turned with a gasp. "Good grief, Claude, warn me before you sneak up on me." She switched off the VCR. "I am told I have a quiet footstep," he intoned in a Bela Lugosi accent. "Too bad I don't have a mirror handy to test you with." Her pulse still raced from that momentary touch. She scanned his tall, greyhound-lean form, ravishing even in casual slacks and an open-necked polo shirt. "Good, those secrets you asked about are still safe," he said. "I hope you found everything you needed. I apologize for the minimal breakfast selection, but I don't keep this place well stocked." "That's okay." Following him up to the main floor, she said, "I love your house, and you have an incredible view from the patio." "Wait until you see it at night. By the way, you didn't go outside, did you?" he asked as they entered the kitchen.

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"Only for a second. What about it?" "Please don't." He caught her arm and frowned. "Not without me." His fingers felt like a brand on her skin. "Why on earth not? Come on, kidnapping is one thing, but I don't know if I can stand for house arrest." "Confound it, I'm trying to protect you! Can't you take my word that I know what I'm talking about?" She pulled away from him. "I would if you'd explain yourself." When he continued to glower at her, she said, "Oh, all right, I won't roam around outside by myself." He visibly relaxed. "That's better. Now, you must be hungry. Again, I'm afraid my supplies are limited." He opened the freezer. "Would you prefer chicken, beef, or fish?" "Uh, chicken, I guess." He confirmed her impression of him as a stereotypical bachelor non-cook by taking out a frozen fried chicken dinner and popping it in the microwave. While Eloise sat at the polished redwood table in the breakfast nook, Claude got a can of beef broth from one of the almost-empty cabinets and started it simmering on the stove. He then opened a bottle of cabernet and poured her a glass. "Here, have a drink. Have several." "That's all you're eating?" "I'm not hungry—now. Anyway, I suffer from a mind-boggling array of food allergies," he said, sitting opposite her with his own wineglass. "I survive mostly on a liquid protein diet." "So you just keep the bare minimum of food around for visitors." That explained why the kitchen looked as if a famine had struck central California. "Of which I don't have many here, as I said." He gazed at her over the rim of his glass. "I'm delighted to make you an exception." Blushing under his intense scrutiny, she lowered her eyes to the table, glad the microwave interrupted the moment with a beep. After he'd served her microwaved dinner and his mug of broth, he turned the conversation to theVarney plotline. "Now, about the opening scene. I leap out Flora's window, and her father and brother charge in pursuit, and one of them shoots me, yes?" "Right." "Jolly good. In the book, the rays of the moon bring our Byronic bloodsucker back to life. Shall we use that?" "Why not? It'll give the movie a fresh slant compared to all the other vampire films. In fact, I was thinking we should deliberately make it old-fashioned, just on the edge of camp but not quite." "I like the way your mind works." He raised his glass to her. "So our baffled heroes search hither and yon, without finding a trace of the midnight intruder."

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She smiled at the melodramatic flourish he gave to the words. "The next day, Varney shows up, the elegant gentleman who has just moved into town, offering to buy the mansion. So far, we're sticking to the plot of the book." "Which we have to deviate from eventually, on account of those inconvenient 800 pages. Have you considered doing anything with the sexton who unearths the truth about Varney and blackmails him?" Claude delivered the "unearth" pun with a completely straight face. "If we keep it simple. What if Varney spends the first night in his family crypt, and the sexton catches him rising from the grave at sunset the next day?" "Why doesn't Varney just kill the blighter?" "Good question." Eloise stirred gravy around in her mashed potatoes. "The sexton fends him off with a cross, maybe? After all, they're in a churchyard." With a thoughtful frown, Claude took a long drink from his mug of broth. "I suppose we're stuck with the bit about waving crosses in the vampire's face. Audiences expect it, and it's a convenient icon to brand him as a cursed creature of the night and all that." He emptied the cup and licked his lips. Suppressing a shiver, she forced her eyes away from his mouth. "Okay, he retires to his tomb, wakes up at sunset and gets into a confrontation with the sexton, then visits the Bannerworths and tries to charm them into selling the house. Oh, and somewhere along the way he has to move into rented quarters." "Indeed." Claude refilled both of their wineglasses. "I always wonder about those vampires who live in mausoleums and still manage to have elegant wardrobes and perfect grooming." While pouring her wine, he leaned over her a few seconds longer than necessary. She felt his eyes lingeron her long after he returned to his seat. "That's as far as I've planned in any detail, except for the ending, anyway." She picked at her fried chicken, trying to suppress her awareness of Claude's intense gaze.He acts like my eating is the most fascinating spectacle he's seen all week. When she finished the meal, Claude suggested moving into the office. They brought the rest of the wine along. Eloise switched on the computer and inserted the disk she'd brought with her. "Do you have any ideas about the middle?" she asked, loading her file of unfinished plot notes. "Middles are always the hard part. Varney will try to seduce Flora, of course." "Of course." Claude pulled up a chair beside the desk, so close that Eloise could feel his breath ruffling the fine hairs on her arms. His nostrils flared as if sampling her scent. "When I call on the Bannerworths, I pay particular attention to the innocent Flora. She doesn't recognize me, naturally." "Sure, it has to work that way. You'll have to appear in heavy makeup, with huge fangs, in the first bedroom scene, so the audience can believe she doesn't know it's you." She typed a note to that effect. "But she still feels uneasy. Something about you strikes a chord. I mean something about the vampire," she hastily corrected. "Does it? What kind of chord?" He gave her a teasing half-smile. "She's nervous, but fascinated. It's a 'dove mesmerized by a snake' kind of thing." Feeling her face grow

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hot under his eyes, Eloise focused on the computer screen. "And Varney knows exactly how she reacts, no matter how hard she tries to disguise it," said Claude, edging still closer. "He gloats over her fascination." "How does he know?" "What? Have you forgotten vampires can read emotions? He senses every feeling that flashes through her mind. He knows that underneath her fear, she craves his touch." He lowered his voice to a silken purr. "He does, huh? Who made this rule about vampires reading emotions?" She flicked a brief glance at him, then took a gulp of wine to distract herself from the new blush she felt creeping over her skin. Claude shrugged. "Stands to reason. It goes along with their hypnotic power of mind control. They have to read it to control it, you know." "Right." She forced a shaky giggle to deflect her own thoughts from the way he seemed able to creep into them and control them. "Mind control and emotion reading. Check." She typed the phrases. "No bat transformation, I hope? That's not in the book." "Then let's skip it, by all means. He doesn't need wings to seduce Flora." "Seduce? I thought he was trying to terrify her." "Ah, but once he meets her in a less tumultuous situation, he changes his mind. Her wide, innocent eyes ensnare him." Claude captured Eloise's eyes, making her feel like a shard of metal in the grip of a magnet. "He can't resist the aroma of her blood and the liquid pulsation of her heart." His lips grazed her hair, and he inhaled as if savoring its aroma. He placed one finger on the hollow of her throat. "He lures her into his web under the very eyes of her father, brother, and jealous suitor. He's determined to own the house and make her his bride as well." Eloise felt her pulse throb under his fingertip. "But he doesn't," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "He doesn't possess Flora in the end." "Quite right." Claude retreated to lean against the desk at arm's length from her. "According to your outline, you plan to use the double heroine device. The other girl, Clara, will be the expendable one." She laughed, glad for the break in the tension. "That's such a crude way to put it. I'd rather think of Clara as the red shirt, like a Star Trek security guard." "Varney turns to her as a consolation prize when Flora's family learns how to protect her from vampires," said Claude. "He's lonely for the embrace of a beautiful woman." Eloise's skin prickled under his penetrating gaze. "Vampires get lonely?" "Of course. The blood is the life, as they say. Not just food, but total fulfillment. When Flora rejects Varney, he needs a substitute." She broke away from his stare and focused on the computer screen. "But he gets carried away with Clara—"

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"And accidentally transforms her—" "She rises from the grave and starts preying on the innocent—" "So the vampire-hunting fanatics invade her resting place and drive a stake through her—" "Which awakens Varney to the true horror of his existence. Realizing he'll never find peace, he decides to commit suicide in the crater of Vesuvius," Eloise finished. "The graveyard scene should incorporate all the familiar details from the vintage vampire films. Torch-bearing peasants and the lot. The writhing undead corpse spouting fountains of blood." "Sure, and vampire hunters loaded down with crosses, garlic, and holy water." Claude folded his arms and declaimed, "Garlic in a basket for the vampire in the casket, and a holy water flagon to keep her cape a-draggin'." Eloise gave him an incredulous stare. "I'll need a few minutes of rehearsal," he said, "if you want a better Danny Kaye parody than that. Holy water flask for the undead-splashing task?" She shook her head. "You stick to performing the lines, and let somebody else write them." Brandishing the wine bottle, he said, "Empty. Would you like some more?" She finished typing her notes and stood up. She felt lightheaded and a little wobbly. "Maybe just one glass." In the kitchen, she leaned against the center island and sliced an apple while he opened another bottle of wine. With the length of time that had passed since her not-so-filling dinner, maybe she needed some ballast in her stomach. The paring knife slipped and gashed her left thumb. Her arm jerked, banging her elbow on the counter. She yelped in pain. Claude zipped over to her. "Are you all right? Let me see." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the cut, while he massaged her elbow. Instantly, warmth erased the pain in the joint, spread in concentric circles, and radiated up her arm. She felt his tongue lick the wound before he started sucking it. The sting from the knife blade vanished, replaced by an electric tingle that made the skin prickle all over her body. Only half aware of what she was doing, she closed her eyes and leaned on Claude's chest. He removed his mouth and stepped back, holding her hand lightly. Dismayed by the sudden interruption of the dreamy contentment that had enveloped her, she stared up at him. "There, it's stopped bleeding," he said. His breathing sounded as labored as hers. "Why don't we sit outside awhile?" Why hadn't he taken the embrace any further? Heck of a time for him to develop scruples on the subject, she thought. Carrying their glasses, the bottle of wine, and Eloise's apple, they descended to the patio exit. "This

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should be safe enough," Claude said as he pulled up a deck chair for her, "even if someone's watching the house." They sat in the dark under overhanging eaves, where any observer would have to get exactly the right angle to see them at all. Because the predawn fog was still hours away, they had a glorious view of the star-sprinkled sky and the ocean bisected by a ribbon of moonlight. A cool breeze ruffled her hair. "Who could be watching? Didn't you say nobody knows about this house?" She munched on apple slices while he filled the goblets. His fingers brushed hers when he handed her the glass. Flinching away from the contact, she splashed wine over the rim. Blushing, she wiped her hand on her jeans. The flush of warmth on her face and neck crept down her chest all the way to her stomach and thighs. "I said it hasn't been publicized. It's hardly top secret. The stalker, if you want to call him that, could find the place if he tried hard enough. I'm hoping he won't manage to." "I still think you're overreacting. After all, you're the one he's out to get, not me. If anything, he seemed to be warning me, not threatening." She took a bite of apple and a sip of wine, a light, semi-sweet Riesling that harmonized well with the taste of the fruit. "How long do you expect me to stay here, anyway?" "I wouldn't mind having you stay indefinitely." He lifted her hand, planted a light tongue-flick of a kiss on it, then quickly released it. When she glanced up, startled, she thought she saw a glint of red reflected in his eyes. Since he instantly looked away, she couldn't double-check. It had to be an optical illusion.Oh, boy, maybe that cabernet was stronger than I thought. "As much as I'd enjoy a life of luxury as a prisoner in your castle by the sea," she said with an attempt at a light touch, "I do have my own life and work to get back to." Doubtless that word "indefinitely" meant nothing, anyway. The man was an actor, expert at charming people with empty phrases. "So you do. Our script, for one thing." "You seem pretty sure it'll get filmed," she ventured, hoping she didn't sound pushy for trying to pin him down. "It will. The backers I mentioned owe me a favor." "Do you plan to direct as well as produce and star?" He laughed. "Deliver me from that! No, I have a director in mind, one who'll stick to my intentions for the tone of the thing." "Such as not making Varney one of those spineless undead whining about his cursed existence," she teased, recalling what Claude had said on their first meeting. "We'll have to tread a fine line, giving him a plausible motivation for suicide without turning him into just that." "Well, I think it has to inspire him to a change of heart, when he takes the risk of fleeing to the Bannerworths, and Flora hides him from the mob," she said. "Redeemed by the love of a good woman?" he said with a wry smile. He rested his fingers lightly on her wrist, as if counting her pulse. It sped up accordingly.

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"Not love." The word made Eloise's head buzz like a nest of hornets. He didn't mean a thing by it. He was only making conversation about a pulp horror novel. "She thinks of him more as a friend, since he stopped pressuring them to sell the house and showed her where to find the secret cache of jewels to pay off the family's debt." "Oh, yes, I almost forgot about the hidden treasure." "After she helps him escape through the secret passage—" "There's a secret passage, too?" Laughter tinged the question. "Sure, you can't have a Gothic mansion and a hidden treasure without a secret passage," said Eloise. "Then he sneaks to the home of the local vicar and confesses his evil past. The vicar assures Varney he's not beyond forgiveness, and he decides the only way to redeem himself is by seeking the true death." "Romantic fiction aside, do you believe a vampire can be redeemed?" said Claude in an oddly serious tone. "Theoretically, if they existed?" She shrugged. "If they had consciousness, instead of being demon-animated corpses, they would have free will, too. So they could choose goodness. And if God made everything, He must have made vampires for a reason, if only to remind us ordinary human beings that we're not the rulers of the universe. So I'd think He would accept a vampire who repented." "Well, when you put it that way, it's only fair. The trouble with the usual scenario is that your average vampire in search of redemption wants to be 'cured'. If a supernatural predator decides to mend his ways and stop ripping the occasional victim to shreds, why should the package have to include renouncing all those 'creature of the night' fringe benefits?" "Like immortality and assorted super-powers? Good point." "And invading the bedchambers of nubile maidens." With a fingernail, he traced a circle on the back of her hand. It seared like a lambent flame. "Definitely an important perk." She tried to maintain a light tone, though she had trouble catching her breath. "Next time, let's write a script about a vampire or some other dark-prowling predator who doesn't have to get cremated in a volcano," Claude said. "Here's to creatures of the night." She raised her glass to clink with his. "I'll drink to that." Her nerves fizzed with delight at the hint of a "next time." They finished the bottle in silence except for stray remarks now and then. When she stood up, Eloise felt a pleasant floating sensation but no actual drowsiness, after sleeping more than half the day. As a writer, she liked to keep a late schedule whenever she could, anyway. Nighttime held fewer distractions, such as the afternoon and early evening plague of telemarketers, not to mention friends who mistook "working at home" for doing nothing. "Would you care to watch a movie?" Claude said as they went inside, his hand under her elbow to guide her. "Unless you're too tired? Maybe you'd rather go to bed."

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She felt a quiver in the pit of her stomach. Go to bed and dream of his hands, his mouth, his body covering hers? She eased her arm out of his gentle clasp, hoping he didn't notice how shaky her balance still was. "No, not at all. Do you have tapes of your own films?" "Living near Los Angeles, you must know actors' egos better than that. Of course I do. Maybe you'd like to see the director's cut of the first Count Orloff opus?" She agreed. They spent most of what remained of the night watching that video and its sequel. To her vague disappointment, Claude stayed on his side of the couch throughout both movies. True, she wasn't eager to face the decision of whether to maintain a dignified shield or melt into his arms. On the other hand, she didn't relish the implication that he'd lost interest in her body. Did his occasional sharp glance at her during the delectably romantic moments in the films mean he guessed how the scenes affected her? Could he somehow sense the flutter in her stomach, the pulsation between her legs, the trickle of wetness when he seemed about to move toward her, and the letdown she felt when he returned his attention to the TV? At the door of her room, she thought for a second that he wanted to revive the spark between them. His hands alighted on her upper arms, moving up and down the bare flesh in a distracted manner he seemed hardly aware of. He bent over her, his mouth hovering near hers. She parted her lips and waited. Emitting a long sigh, he kissed her cheek and drew back. A knot of frustration coiled low in her abdomen. "Why don't you work up a few more pages of dialogue?" he said in a husky voice better suited to sensuality than business. "I'll be interested to see how you visualize those conversations between Varney and Flora." "Okay," she murmured, involuntarily swaying toward him. "If you'll read the lines with me to check how it sounds." "With pleasure." He let go of her so abruptly that she almost stumbled. "Sleep well,cherie ." His voice caressed her. He spoiled the impression, though, by adding, "And remember, after you get up, stay inside the house." "Will you cool it with the ominous prohibitions? You make me feel like Bluebeard's bride!" She retreated into the bedroom, closing the door with a firm click that didn't quite rate as a slam.

Chapter Eight The next day, she again woke before Claude. She remembered a note in his publicity bio that his career had started in legitimate theater. That experience must have given him a permanent fondness for keeping late hours. After breakfast, she tackled the pivotal character-changing scenes she and Claude had discussed. Hours flew by while she typed page after page of dialogue. She had no trouble putting seductive speeches in Varney's mouth when she visualized him as Claude. Dream on, girl,she cautioned herself.Any day now you'll have to go home and turn back into a

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pumpkin. She couldn't fool herself that Claude's flattery and seduction meant anything to him beyond a temporary diversion. Judging from the way he'd behaved the night before, he must have already regretted their intimacies at the con. No doubt her unconscious mind approved, because she'd had no erotic dreams this time. Her nipples puckered at the memory of that vivid dream the previous night. She crossed her arms over her breasts to stifle the feeling. By five o'clock, though, she fidgeted with restlessness that made hash of her concentration. Given Claude's obvious resolution to keep distance between them, what gave him the right to forbid her to leave the house? She would take a walk on the beach if she darn well pleased. Especially since the day was almost over, and he still showed no signs of emerging from his cave. Snatching an apple from the kitchen, she stomped out the patio door and down the steps to the beach. She scuffed through the sand to the seaweed-strewn rocks at the edge of the water and crunched her way through the fruit. By the time she buried the core, the exercise and sea air had cooled her temper a little. So what if Claude saw her as a writer instead of a sex object? Wasn't that what she'd originally preferred? And if he had a controlling streak, she could live with that for another day or two. If he delivered orders, she didn't have to obey them. The important thing was that the check, figuratively speaking, was in the mail. Just as she considered going inside, a white shape caught her eye. A man walking across the beach toward her. He must have descended the steps while she'd been looking the other way. When he got closer, she saw that he wore a white suit, a straw hat, and, of all things, white gloves. Tall—well, at five feet four, she thought of most men as tall—with untidy, dark hair, he looked scarecrow-thin even in a jacket with padded shoulders. He strolled right up to her and tipped his hat like a gentleman in an old movie. Now she could see that he had a neatly trimmed mustache, which, along with the suit and hat, gave him a barbershop-quartet appearance, somewhat spoiled by the sunglasses he also wore. "Miss Kern?" he said. "Do I know you?" "No, but I've been looking for you. I'm deeply concerned that you're staying in Claude Darvell's house." His suave tone held no hint of a threat. Nevertheless, her heart accelerated. She folded her arms and took a step backward. "You're the one who called me the other night. What do you want?" He spread his hands. "Only to help you. You are in danger as long as you're within his reach." "Sorry, I don't find vague threats very convincing." Could she evade him and run for the house? He stood between her and the stairs. If she tried to dash around him, he could probably catch her in seconds with those long legs. "Miss Kern, are you a Christian?" She gaped at him. Was he a religious fanatic as well as a crazed stalker? "Well, yes, I belong to a church." Next, she expected, he would ask if she were saved. That always struck her as an intrusively personal question, along the lines of, "Do you love your husband?" Instead, he asked, "Do you have a crucifix with you?"

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"Uh, no, left mine at home."Okay, that settles it, certified nut. "Then you must accept this." From his coat pocket he produced a silver crucifix on a chain. She stared at the minutely detailed Christ figure. "For goodness' sake, why?" "Trust me, Miss Kern. I have known Claude for many years. He is a demon in human form. You need this for protection." "You're out of your mind." She dodged around him and sprinted for the steps. Or tried to, with the sand dragging at her feet. He darted into her path and grabbed her arm. "Please, I don't intend to hurt you. Listen to me!" "I don't have to listen to any of this insanity!" She tried to pull free, but her efforts hadn't the slightest effect on his grip. "Claude killed my beloved." Astonished, she forgot to struggle. "He what?" "He caused her death. He's dangerous to women." "How did he cause it? Not that I believe a word of this." "He is a vampire. A bloodthirsty demon who only appears human. He lurks in the shadows and sucks the life out of innocent women." Though her heart still hammered with fear, disgust kept her from outright panic. "Couldn't you come up with a more original fantasy? You've seen too many movies." His brow furrowed in apparent confusion. "This has nothing to do with movies. I'm telling you the truth, for your protection." With the hand that still had the silver chain looped around it, he took off the sunglasses. His eyes pierced hers. "Listen carefully and do as I say." A wave of faintness swept over Eloise, as if the sun's glare had caught up with her. Her fear evaporated. The man's voice sounded like an echo reverberating through a tunnel. "Take the cross. Test it for yourself. Go into Claude's lair while he sleeps and place the holy symbol on his flesh. You will see that I'm right." That didn't seem like too much to ask. In fact, the suggestion sounded quite reasonable. "Okay," she muttered. "But you can't be right. No such thing as vampires." "Make the test, and form your own conclusion. Then, for your safety, get away from here as soon as you can." "Sure, whatever you say." She felt him press the crucifix into her hand. A minute later, she found herself alone, climbing the steps to the house. The man had vanished.

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Feeling as if her head were floating, she drifted upstairs to Claude's closed bedroom door. With the cross dangling from her fingers, she opened the door and tiptoed inside. Still in a daze, she walked through a sitting room into the bedroom beyond. She came to a halt beside Claude's bed, dimly visible in the heavily curtained chamber. He lay on his back, so still she couldn't see him breathing. Her brain snapped into focus. She blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the low light.What the heck am I doing, barging into his bedroom? Still, without conscious decision, she turned back the covers and extended the cross toward his bare chest. The symbol grazed his skin. His eyes snapped open, blazing crimson. The air around him rippled. His face blurred into a dark-furred, tigerish mask, with fangs and pointed ears. With a wordless snarl, he clamped onto her wrists. She let out a shriek and tried to pull away. His claws held her like a pair of handcuffs. The next instant, he morphed back to normal. No fangs, no claws, no fur. In his eyes, though, pinpoints of red still gleamed. Swallowing her heart, Eloise blinked, trying to convince herself that his eyes didn't shine. They did. "Bloody hell!" He released one of her hands, the one holding the silver chain. "Get that thing away from me!" She dropped the cross on the nightstand. Since he still held her tightly by one arm, she couldn't run away. Even if he'd let go, she thought she probably wouldn't be able to move. The few seconds of transformation had stunned her like a punch in the head. Before she could catch her breath, Claude flipped her onto her back and pinned her with his body. "What in hell possessed you to do that?" Her ribcage seemed to compress her lungs like a corset of steel. She had to gulp air to squeeze out an answer. "A man on the beach. Gave me the cross, told me to test you. Seemed like a good idea at the time." "On the—? Damn it, I ordered you to stay inside!" His anger swept over her like a gale-force wind. She summoned her own outrage to beat it back. "I don't take orders!" He twined his fingers in her hair. When she struggled to escape his burning stare, he tightened his grip to keep her head immobile. Conscious of his weight on her, she felt her stomach churn with a mix of fear and excitement. "Oh, damn, your heart's pounding. You're afraid of me." "Well, yeah, I'm not stupid." A half-hysterical giggle escaped her. He loosened his grip and smoothed her hair. "I have no intention of ripping your throat out." "That's a relief. What are you going to do?" Now that the immediate terror had faded, she became

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aware of his legs trapping hers, her breasts against his chest, and his face inches from her own. "I should make you forget all this." "Vampire mind control? Haven't you done enough of that already? You hypnotized me at the con, didn't you?" His silence confessed to the charge. "If I wanted a man to manipulate me and order me around, I'd have stuck to that guy I broke up with in grad school." She dug her nails into his shoulders. He winced. "I was only trying to protect you. Philip—the stalker—could have killed you." "He didn't do one thing to threaten me. He just talked crazy. Anyway, why would you care if I get hurt?" "Damn it, woman, of course I care!" He tangled his fingers in her hair again. When she gasped, he covered her open mouth with his. His tongue thrust inside, grazing her teeth. The swirl of his tongue around the inside of her lips sent sparks dancing along her nerves. She squirmed under him, eager to feel the pressure of his body on her tender parts. He broke off the kiss, heaving ragged breaths. "I promised myself I would not do that." He sat up, with the sheet still covering him from the hips down. As far as she could see, he didn't wear anything in bed. "We need to talk." "We certainly do." She sat up, too, her head reeling and her cheeks hot with the brew of emotions that simmered in her. "Truth?" "Very well,ma chere . The whole truth and nothing but. Not here, though. Go into the next room and let me get dressed first." He cupped her chin to raise her eyes to his. "You won't run away, I trust?" Run where?"Not a chance." Eloise retreated into the adjacent sitting room. After opening the curtains halfway to let in some light, she saw a matching couch and chair, a bookcase, a miniature refrigerator, and a wet bar with a compact-model microwave oven on its counter. She sat on the couch and waited, glad for the few minutes of solitude to tame the hive of bees in her skull and the spiders skittering in her stomach. Soon Claude emerged from the bedroom, barefoot, in a pair of blue satin jogging shorts and a T-shirt. He went to the bar, filled a glass with ice, and got out bottles of gin and tonic. "Care for a drink?" "No, thanks, I want my head clear. If that's possible around you." She glared at him. "Well, I need one." When she flinched, he added with a wry smile, "Not that kind. Not right this minute, anyway." After he'd mixed his gin and tonic, he took a seat at the other end of the couch from her, out of the direct sunlight from the window. "Tell me exactly what happened when you met Philip." She summarized the encounter. "He said you're a vampire, a demon in human shape, as he put it. I'm not sure how it happened, but the next thing I knew, I was in here testing the theory." "Of course," Claude sighed. "I should have known. He caught you off guard, so he hypnotized you. I should have known you wouldn't do anything like that on a mere suggestion. Regardless of what you saw just now, I'm not a demon."

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"You changed—" Her breath caught in her throat, cutting off the words. "I apologize for that. A defense mechanism. You startled me out of a sound sleep, after all." "What about the cross?" "A psychosomatic reaction. I'm not a creature of the devil, and I'm not undead, either. Though if you'd looked for a pulse a few minutes ago, you'd have had trouble finding one. Suspended animation looks a lot like death." She folded her arms in resistance to his reasonable tone. "I don't hear you denying you're a vampire." "I don't deny it." He took a swallow of his drink. "But I'm not supernatural. We're another species, long-lived, with a specialized diet." "Liquid protein." He nodded. Her numbed brain woke up and processed clues from the past few days. "Oh, God, you drank my blood! How many times?" He gazed into his glass as if embarrassed. "Come on, level with me. At the con?" "Yes, and the night before last, after we arrived here." A flush spread over her body. "Then all those feelings I thought were dreams came from you? And that's why I can't remember much about Saturday night?" "Granted." He drained his glass and got up to mix another drink, heavy on the gin. Her throat tightened with indignation. "You—I don't believe this! You made up all that rigmarole about producing my script just to feed on me." "What?" He whirled around to face her, glass in hand. "Bloody hell, do you seriously think I'd go to all that trouble just for a little refreshment? I can get that from the vampire groupies." Her pulse hammered in her temples. "Well, isn't that what I am to you?" "Eloise, no!" He hurried to the couch and sat near her. She edged as far away as the space allowed. "I feasted on your mind, your passions, not only your blood. That's why I didn't want to take any risk of letting Philip see us together. He would realize instantly that I care for you. And I meant it when I said I'd like to have you stay here." "How can I tell what you mean? You turned me into a puppet, like one of those blow-up sex dolls, and wiped my memory on top of it. Anyway, you're an actor. You could turn on the charm at will even if you weren't a vampire." "Please,ma belle , let me prove that isn't true." He caressed her shoulder and gazed into her eyes. In this

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light, his no longer glowed red, but they still held an inhuman sheen of silver that she could hardly believe she'd missed before. She jerked away from his touch. "Don't look at me." "I've vowed not to mesmerize you again." "I don't trust your vows. Not yet." He stalked to the bar and leaned against it, half-turned away from her. "Very well, I'm not looking at you. Now will you listen?" "I'm listening. What do you mean, you vowed not to do it again?" "I want you as a friend, an equal." He gave a dry chuckle. "Something we don't say to ephemerals very often. Many of my people would think I'm going soft even to consider it." "Ephemerals? That's what you call us? Here today, gone tomorrow. No wonder you think you can treat us like puppets." "I don't." He gritted his teeth, with a muted growl. "Some ephemerals. Not you." "Well, at least you admit it." A new thought chilled her. "How many people have you killed?" "Oh, for hell's sake!" He slammed the glass on the bar. "I don't kill for food. I take no more than they can spare, and I reward them with pleasure. Pleasure that I thoroughly enjoy sharing. I've killed in self-defense now and then. Not often. I told you, I prefer the quiet life." "That Philip guy said you killed his beloved, or caused her death, anyway. Is that how he knows you're a vampire?" "What do you thinkhe is?" "He's one, too?" Speechless for a minute, Eloise sorted out this new bit of data. "Wait a second, he walked around in broad daylight." "You've read enough books likeDracula andVarney , not to mention reams of folklore, that you shouldn't believe that tripe about vampires bursting into flame in the sun." "Yeah, but he was out on the beach with no shade at all." "Goes to show how much he's willing to suffer for the satisfaction of harassing me," said Claude. "How was he dressed?" "White suit, gloves, hat, sunglasses." "You see? Probably sunscreen, as well. I could walk on the beach in that costume, too, but I wouldn't enjoy it much." "What about the cross? It didn't seem to bother him."

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Claude fidgeted with his glass as if self-conscious about the topic. "I suffer from a phobia for religious objects. He doesn't. He was fortunate enough to grow up in the enlightened atmosphere of Victorian England. I was born in a French village in 1738, when rural folk still seriously believed demons might walk among them. It was also the height of the vampire-hunting craze in Greece and Eastern Europe, as you know. I became infected with the superstitions of the culture around me." "Really? Does that happen a lot?" "It can. We're highly adaptable, especially in childhood. We have to be, to fit invisibly into your world. We tend to pick up human attitudes unless our mentors are very careful." He sat down, more relaxed now, but still making a point of not looking directly at her. "It still happens to some young vampires today, if they're allowed to watch horror movies." She had to laugh at the image of stern vampire elders censoring their children's viewing habits. "Tell me about Philip. Who was the woman, and why does he blame you for her death?" Claude sighed. "He's not far wrong, but I never intended her any harm. I suppose I'd better tell you the whole story." "Yes, please do." She folded her arms and frowned at him, determined to shield herself against his charm until he offered her some basis for trust. Chapter Nine

"As I said, I grew up in France. I stayed there until the Revolution, when I relocated to England. I had no desire to meet Madame Guillotine. Decapitation kills us as easily as you. In the middle of the nineteenth century, I wandered into an acting career mostly out of boredom. I discovered that I enjoyed performing before audiences. Their emotions could be quite—intoxicating." He smiled like a cat licking milk from its whiskers. "If you researched the late Victorian theatrical world in depth, you might stumble across an obscure actor named Claude D'Arnot." "You." He nodded. "If you noticed the photographs and posters in my office, you must have guessed by now that all those ancestors of mine were actually myself." "And you hang the pictures in plain sight? In a vampire movie, that would be my first clue that you're immortal." He laughed. "In real life, of course, nobody nowadays would come up with that theory. They'd think what you probably did: 'What an amazing family resemblance.' Right?" "Well, yeah." "That's part of my camouflage. Who could suspect I would display my past lives that brazenly if I really were immortal? But all that came after the story I'm telling you now," he continued. "By the 1890s I'd temporarily given up the stage. I became involved with a young woman who practiced as a medium. I helped her get out from under the thumb of her charlatan of an uncle who used her in spiritualist scams. She knew my true nature, and we stayed together for several years."

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"Were you in love with her?" Eloise tried to convince herself that she asked from mere curiosity, not because she cared about Claude's past liaisons. "That's a human emotion. I'm not sure I know what it means. I was addicted to her, the inevitable result of feeding from the same donor for any length of time. In an exclusive relationship like that, the roots strike very deep." "Exclusive? How could she stand the blood loss?" He sighed. "We don't come close to draining our donors. I don't need more than a few sips, when the emotions are so intense. Quality makes up for quantity. Bulk nourishment comes from animals." "Okay, you had an addictive relationship." Eloise felt sick at the implication that he might think of her, too, as some sort of drug. "Where does Philip come in? Was that the woman he accused you of killing?" "No, that was later. My donor began to have doubts about me. Intellectually, she knew I wasn't supernatural or demonic. Emotionally, she couldn't quell the fear that her soul was somehow tainted. She wanted to break it off. Knowing neither of us could resist the lure of our mutual addiction, I had to get as far away from her as possible. I'd known Philip Trent in London for a few years, before he'd moved to San Francisco. He suggested I might enjoy living there, so I made the move in 1902." "You were friends then." "Yes, what I originally told you about him was essentially true, although not the whole truth. I decided it was time to assume a new identity, so I changed my name. I picked 'Darvell' because that was what my mother called herself at the time." "You've got a mother?" she blurted out. "Did you think we reproduced by spontaneous generation? She's dead, though. The only family I have now is a half-brother. But you don't want to get sidetracked onto the subject of genealogy, do you?" "Oh, no." She made a mental note to satisfy her curiosity about vampire family structures some other time. "Go on about Philip." "There I was in California, making a fresh start. I was determined never to get attached to another ephemeral. Not that my emotions had been engaged to any depth, or so I told myself, but the break was still painful. I plunged into the San Francisco night life with Philip, flitting from one lovely female blossom to another like a pair of honey-sipping wasps." "I can imagine, rolling in money on top of that charm of yours," she said in a caustic tone, to fend off the memory of how she'd felt when Claude had stung and sipped her. "A few years after I joined him, Philip became enamored of a woman, a naive ingénue he had no business fixating on. To cut short the distressing details, I didn't realize how he felt about the girl. We have a taboo against preying on someone else's donor. But I assumed he thought of her as a casual victim, so I ignored the rule." "You claimed you'd never killed for food."

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"Don't jump to conclusions. I didn't drain the girl." Claude got up and paced while he continued, "I got careless about erasing her memory. The next time Philip visited her, his bite triggered the recollection of mine." "So then she figured out he was a vampire, too?" "Exactly. Of course, up to that point she'd been a rational young woman of the new century, who would have laughed at the idea of vampires. She was terrified, thought she was losing her mind." "I know the feeling," said Eloise, thinking of the moment when Claude's face had transformed into a raging beast's. "That night, Philip stormed into my flat, furious about the way he'd had to leave her in hysterics. I handled the blasted thing all wrong. Instead of apologizing for my trespass, as vampire etiquette demanded, I made light of it. Asked him why he made such a fuss over an ephemeral. After all, he could always find another pet." "Pet?" She almost choked on her indignation at the word. "That's how most of our kind view their repeat donors. I had to pretend I thought that way, to keep from admitting to myself how the loss of my own 'pet' had hurt me." "So how did Philip react?" She reserved judgment about his claim to have been hurt. "Said he was in love with the young female. Of course, I laughed at the very idea. When he reacted by trying to throttle me, I had to take his infatuation seriously. I offered to talk to his young lady and undo the damage I'd done. Needless to say, he wasn't about to let me near her alone. We went to her place together." He poured himself a straight shot of gin and gulped it down, then resumed pacing. "I don't want to dwell on the details. We had to force our way in. When I tried to mesmerize her, she screamed and waved a cross in my face. Philip tried, and when he put his arms around her, she slapped him. He wouldn't use physical force on her, so when she ran outside, all we could do was chase her down the street." "Why didn't the hypnotism work?" Claude shrugged. "She had faith in the cross. It gave her a focus for resistance." He picked up a corkscrew from the bar and tossed it from one hand to the other. "She fled a couple of streets over, into a Catholic church. Philip followed her all the way to the altar. I stopped at the door. That was when the earthquake started." "Oh! The big 1906 quake?" He nodded, still fiddling with the corkscrew. "I shouted at Philip to run for it. He wouldn't leave the girl, and she ducked behind the altar and refused to go with him. When the roof collapsed, I cleared out." "You mean they—" "Both of them, buried in the rubble." He stabbed the corkscrew into the top of the bar, where it protruded like an arrow in a target. "After the quake, I went back to check. The whole church had crumbled into a heap of bricks."

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Eloise's stomach knotted. She swallowed a mouthful of acid. "But Philip's alive." "About a month ago, the church started a building program, which included archeological excavation of the present parking lot. They found two bodies, or, rather, a woman's skeleton and the strangely preserved body of a man." "So he woke up? What would it take to kill a vampire permanently?" "Decapitation, cremation, stake through the heart if it's left in place long enough. The usual." His lips quirked in a humorless smile. "Anything on the standard list except sunlight, which just gives us headaches that won't quit. Luckily for Philip, the falling debris didn't separate his head from his body or crush the brain beyond regeneration." "And now he's out to get you." "I'm afraid so." With a sigh he sat down with arms flung wide along the back of the couch. "To me, a long human lifetime has passed since the quake. To him, it's little more than yesterday. No wonder he's still furious." "But you didn't kill his girlfriend, donor, whatever. If you helped to cause her death, so did he. You couldn't have predicted how she'd react, much less that an earthquake would hit right that minute." Eloise wasn't sure why she felt like defending Claude, after the way he had treated her at the convention. "Anyway, it's a relief to find out you're not a murderer, much less a demon. I won't have to sell my soul to get my script produced." He laughed. "And I'm relieved you haven't run out of here screaming in terror." "It was close there for a while," she said. She still couldn't wrap her mind around the change she'd witnessed when the cross had grazed him. "Unfortunately, it's clear Philip doesn't see the situation your way. I'm afraid he'll use you to punish me. He thinks I destroyed the woman he loved, so what better way to get revenge than through someone I care about? The last thing I want is to see another ephemeral killed on my account, especially you." "How could you possibly feel anything special about me? You hardly know me." She heard an edge of harshness in her own voice. It jolted her to realize how much she wished Claude did care about her. "But I do know you. Intimately. For vampires, a night or two is all it takes. We can read emotions, remember?" Shocked, she stared at him, met his intent gaze, and hastily looked away. Her cheeks flushed. "You mean all that stuff about Varney sensing Flora's reaction wasn't just theoretical? You know every thought in my head?" "Not thoughts," he said. "Emotions, sensations. For true telepathy, we would have to bond—share blood both ways." She hid her face in her hands. "I don't believe this," she muttered. No wonder his lovemaking fulfilled her needs so perfectly. He saw, scented, and tasted every impulse that flitted through her body and mind. "Oh, God, it's like you stripped me naked." Remembering how she'd awakened in her bed at the hotel,

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she said, "You did, but this is worse." She hurried to the window, staring at the sun low on the horizon above the ocean. "How could you do that to me and then call me a friend? You—actor!" "Cherie, please don't!" He crept up beside her and reached for her arm. Shaking off the tentative touch, she said, "And don't try to charm me with bilingual sweet talk." "Why does it upset you this badly? You enjoyed the encounters as much as I did." "That's not the point." She swiped at the tears spilling from her eyes. "You played me like a musical instrument. You never gave me a chance to accept or refuse." "Suppose I'd told you the truth from the beginning? Assuming you believed me, would you have leaped into my arms?" "I don't know. And since you didn't take the risk of being honest, we'll never know." "Didn't you understand when I said I'd vowed not to mesmerize you again? After I realized I wanted you as a companion, not just a food source or even a business associate, I stopped 'playing' you." She could almost hear his teeth grind. "Confound it, Eloise, look at me!" She turned in a slow circle toward him. Her breath rapid and shallow, she avoided his eyes. "You think it's that easy to make me trust you?" "What can I do, then?" Some emotion roughened his voice. She didn't dare let herself assume it was pain at her rejection. "What did you change into when I touched you with the cross? Show me." "Oh, hell, do you have to ask for that?" When she just glared at him, he said, "I apologize for the lapse in control. We have a limited ability to shape-change. It's an ancestral form encoded in the genes, a vestigial skill, not much use in the modern environment." "Limited? No bats, wolves, clouds of mist?" "Don't we wish," he chuckled. "No, just what you saw. Well, and a spot of levitation." "That's all? Gosh, what a letdown." She maintained the sarcastic tone to shield herself from the attraction that could easily override her judgment. "Come on, demonstrate." "Yes, that's all. Any elaborate transformations you might see are purely illusion, including a veil of invisibility that's almost as good as mist." He narrowed his eyes in concentration and faded from her sight. Before she could blink, he reappeared as a blurred outline then sharpened into solidity. "Oh, wow." Gray patches gathered before her eyes. She stumbled backward to lean against the wall. Folding his arms, he focused on a point somewhere past her shoulder and blurred again. A dark velvet pelt spread over his face and arms. His ears grew points, his eyes glowed red, and fangs sprouted in his

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mouth. A shadow of silver wings momentarily hovered behind him. After a few seconds, the change reversed itself like a tape on rewind, and he reverted to normal. Stretching his arms wide, he rose from the floor and floated toward the ceiling. He drifted to the floor, where he stood with his hands extended toward her, palms up. "Please don't be afraid." "I'm working on it." She reached out to run her fingertips over his right palm. "You're real. Not dreaming. Not crazy." "No. I'm real." He shivered when she repeated the light touch. "Easy." "Hey, little hairs." The folktales had preserved the facts about vampires in random hit-or-miss fashion, it seemed. "Yes, and they're sensitive." He drew back and folded his arms. "If I can't touch or look at you, it's unfair for you to take advantage." She couldn't decide whether he was teasing or serious. "How sensitive can they be, if you use your hands normally all the time?" "Firm grasping doesn't trigger the response. Other kinds of touching do." "Great, I have a way to get back at you for some of the things you did to me Saturday night." She clamped a lid on the turbulent images of those things. He drew a hissing breath. "Does that mean you may allow it to happen again?" "Don't push it!" she snapped. "Very well." He backed up, hands raised in surrender. "I swore I'd leave your free will intact, and I won't break my word." "Darn it, Claude, don't you have any idea how I feel, knowing you practically turned me inside out and hardly let me remember any of it?" After a pause for thought, she said, "Oh, yeah, you know everything I feel." "I know you're angry and frustrated, understandably." "Talk about unfair advantage!" She flung herself onto the couch. "Let me get this straight. You drank my blood, and that's like sex for you." He sat down, too, still keeping his distance. "We breed so infrequently that reproductive sex means very little to us. I've never been chosen as a stud, but I can't miss what I've never experienced. And it doesn't matter that a male vampire can't mate with a human female. We get our satisfaction from our donors' arousal and fulfillment." "The emotion-reading thing." She couldn't suppress a mental flashback to her "dream" of the other night. A shadow of that excitement tingled through her body. "I told you I feasted on your passion. Those of our kind who have produced offspring say the blood-sharing is far more intense than ordinary sex."

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"And you made me forget the whole thing." She gulped a deep breath to gather her nerve. "If you want to make up for lying and manipulating, you can start by doing it all over, with me fully conscious." He became very still. "Eloise, are you sure you want this?" "Why not? You said you don't take enough to do any harm." She hugged herself, feeling as if her heart might burst out of her ribcage. "It's harm to our relationship that concerns me. Don't tempt me into this if you might regret it." She shook her head. "Why worry about closing the barn door after the horse goes to water?" "The more often we indulge," he said, "the easier it will be for Philip to notice my mark on your aura. It'll be obvious that I have a special interest in you. I don't want to make you a target." "If we're supposed to be friends and equals and all that, I get some input on that decision, too." "Damn. I never did develop the habit of resisting temptation." He ran his fingers through his hair, got up, and paced to the bar and back. "What you should do is leave right now. Call a cab, go to the airport in Monterey, and catch the first flight south. Make Philip think you took his advice and rejected me. Then he'll leave you alone." "What if I don't want to leave right now?" She stood up, hands on her hips. Claude took a step toward her, reached for her, let his arms drop, and then, with an inarticulate growl, grabbed her. "We'll discuss it later." He pulled her to him and captured her mouth with a hard kiss. She gasped in a spasm of alarm. She knew he must hear and feel the hammering of her heart. He raised his head to impale her with his violet-silver, red-tinged eyes. "You are afraid. I won't continue if you have doubts." Wrapping her arms around his waist, Eloise shook her head. "Not afraid, just startled. I don't have doubts. I want to experience this. But slower." He rubbed up and down her spine as if petting a kitten. "Yes. Forgive me for pouncing so hard." Easing her head onto his chest, he stroked her hair and sighed. "It's been so long since I've enjoyed a woman who's fully aware. I got carried away. You know, you'll still have to leave sometime within the next day or so. We have to get Philip off your trail." Was he trying to get rid of her? She looked up at him. While he could read her emotions, she had no clue as to his. "Okay, whatever, just call me Scarlett." When he quizzically raised his eyebrows, she said, "I'll think about it tomorrow." "Very well, I can't refuse a lady's wishes. Where? Couch or bed?" Her breath caught in her throat. "Bed. Yours. You invaded mine enough already." Chapter Ten

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He picked her up and carried her into the other room. She kicked off her sandals on the way. Placing her on the satin sheets, he removed the tie from her ponytail and ran his fingers through her hair, making her scalp tingle. When he rolled up the hem of her T-shirt, she said, "Wait. You have to undress, too." "Why? I told you ordinary intercourse doesn't happen." His fingers skimmed the waistband of her shorts. His cool skin on hers made her shiver. "Equality. If I have to be exposed, so do you." "Fair enough. Come to think of it, skin-to-skin contact sounds very pleasant." He peeled off his shirt. "Your aura glows red with heat. I want to bathe in it." His resonant voice made her insides vibrate, like feeling the notes of a pipe organ through the floorboards. "And I need to see better," she whispered. "Need light." The heavy drapes made the room dim even now. When the sun finished setting, it would be too dark for her. Claude, she suspected, could see like a cat. "No electric light," he said. "Too harsh." He opened the nightstand drawer and produced a fat candle, which he set in an ashtray and lit. The scent of vanilla wafted from it. "That should last several hours." He removed his shorts and sat on the edge of the bed. Eloise scanned his lean, pale body in the candlelight. An inverted triangle of fine hair covered his chest from the nipples down, tapering to a point at the navel. From there, a thin line of hair arrowed down to the groin, where his cock lay at rest against his thigh. A shuddering breath escaped from her. Her abdominal muscles tensed, but not with fear, when his fingers crept under her T-shirt. He rolled it up, the backs of his hands brushing her skin, skimming the inside curves of her breasts. She lifted her arms to let him pull the shirt over her head, then leaned on her elbows to give him access to the hooks at the back of her bra. When he tossed it aside with the shirt, a draft from the air conditioner raised prickles on her skin. His fingertips brushed her neck, swept down between her breasts, and settled at her waist, creating a fresh wave of shivers. Wetness pooled between her legs. Could he tell how aroused she was? Of course, he sensed everything she felt. A flush suffused her body. He spread his hand on the bare skin just above her beltline. "When blood rushes to your skin that way, it's all I can do to wait." He rubbed her middle in a circular motion, with the lightest possible contact. "Your warmth makes my palms tingle. If only you could see how your aura turns deep red here, when you become excited." He moved down the front of her shorts to the apex of her thighs. "And you smell delicious." She couldn't suppress a wiggle of her hips. "So taste me." He bent over and licked first the right nipple, then the left, each in one long stroke. The heat of his tongue contrasted with the near chill of his hands, one of which explored her inner thighs while the other cupped her mound. "Not fair," she gasped. "I want to drive you crazy, too." "You already do." He unzipped her shorts, and she raised her hips to let him strip them off. Reclining beside her, he leaned on one elbow to tickle the inside of her legs just below the nest of curls.

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She grabbed his hand and ran her thumb over the delicate hairs in the palm. "How does that feel?" He closed his eyes. "Maddening. If you want me to go slowly, don't do that." He freed his hand and returned it to the space between her legs. One finger grazed her inner lips. She felt herself melting. "Are you hypnotizing me now?" He nuzzled her neck. "I promised not to." "Then how do you do this?" He probed her slit, which throbbed eagerly. She squeezed her legs shut on his hand. "I stir the currents of your aura. I follow the path of your arousal. I feel exactly when your excitement rises." He spread a sheen of wetness up to her clit. "I feel you want me to touch you here." His fingers swirled around the tight knot of sensation and zeroed on the spot where it burned hottest. He echoed her earlier question. "How does that feel?" "You know how," she said through gritted teeth. "You read my emotions." "But only from the outside." He lapped each of her nipples again, then abandoned the aching peaks to lick her throat. "We're not bonded, so I can't share your sensations from inside. What does human arousal feel like?" "Like my skin's on fire. Especially there." Sparks danced from his flickering tongue at her neck to her taut nipples and the swollen bud where his fingers played. "Like I'm melting into a puddle of hot lava. And tight. Like my clit's about to burst." His teeth stung her throat. A rush of warmth quenched the minor pain and transformed it to a bolt of electricity that zapped from that spot straight to the center of her need. He responded to the arching of her hips with a frenzied rubbing of her clit. His fingers plunged inside her. The suction of his lips at her neck pushed her over the edge. Her clit pulsed like a second heartbeat, and her sheath convulsed to the same rhythm. Still lapping her blood, he lay on top of her, tucking one leg between hers. The pressure gave her all the stimulation she needed to shudder through wave after wave of overlapping climaxes that seemed to last forever. Finally, when she felt ready to faint from sensory overload, he stopped drinking, with one last flicker of his tongue. He rolled on his side, bringing her with him in a tight hug. After a few minutes, her head stopped spinning. "I see what you mean about addictive." His breath ruffled her hair. "Yes, and I'm afraid I've already gone past the point of no return with you. After this, nobody else could satisfy me." "Did it really feel as incredible to you as it did to me?" "Oh, yes." She heard amusement in his voice. "Probably more." "I can't imagine how. Especially if you don't even feel anything, well, down there."

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"What gives you that idea? The sensation centers on tasting your blood, but it involves my whole body. Every inch of my skin becomes hypersensitive. When you spend, I ride the wave with you. If you could imagine what it's like to feel your heart pounding, feel your hot flesh pressed against mine…Damn, I'm getting thirsty again." She giggled. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm still here." She reached between them to stroke his chest. The hair felt like velvet. She traced it to his navel and below. When he didn't object, she fondled his quiescent penis. "So you don't mind this?" "I like it. I enjoy any contact with you. This is new to me, though. Never had a donor touch me there before." "Really? Why not?" "There was no reason to." He ran his hand down her spine to explore the curve of her derriere. "Ah, like silk. I've never been naked with a donor before." She tilted her head to look into his half-closed eyes. If true, that statement added weight to his claim that he thought of her as special. She squeezed his shaft. It began to harden. "I thought you said you can't—perform—with human females." "Again, never had any reason to try. I don't produce or expel sperm. But, as you see, direct stimulation does have an effect." She made a cylinder of her palm and pumped up and down his shaft. It became engorged. She heard a rumble in his chest that almost sounded like a purr. "If you wanted to, we could, well, you know." Suddenly shy, Eloise paused her caresses. What if he found the idea unappealing? If so, she didn't want to coax him into the act. "We could couple. Interesting." He thrust into her hand. "Please continue. That's giving me a hell of an appetite." The husky note in his voice stirred a tingle between her legs, followed by a new gush of wetness. She pressed her thighs together to ease the tickle in her clit. He nuzzled her neck and growled deep in his chest, making her nerves quiver. "You're ready again. The fragrance of your nectar makes me so thirsty I can't stand it." He licked the hollow of her throat, then traced a path to the inside of her right breast. He nipped the skin. The now-familiar jolt of electricity convulsed her. Squirming, she rubbed up and down his shaft. She draped her leg over his, desperate for contact to relieve the ache. The frantic lapping of his tongue paused. "What do you want? Tell me." Hell of a time to pretend he can't sense it!Between labored breaths, she said, "Rub me—there—before I explode!" His fingers matched the rhythm of his tongue, and she did explode. "Come in! Please!" When he didn't obey instantly, she shoved him from his side to his back and rolled on top. Ignoring the smile that flitted

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across his lips, she knelt above him and pointed his cock at her hole. "Now!" She lowered herself on him, and he plunged in to the hilt.

***** Claude gasped in delighted astonishment at Eloise's sudden attack. The hot, silken wetness that surrounded his shaft made currents radiate from that point throughout his body in expanding waves of excitement. He wanted to plunge still deeper into her, swim in her life-force, merge with her until her energy flowed in all his veins and filled each empty spot to the brim. She rocked, rubbing her clitoris against the hair at the root of his cock. Her sheath slid up and down on his rod in a smooth rhythm that made his teeth tingle with the need to taste her. He sensed her excitement swelling toward release. Her inner muscles rippled around him. She skimmed her nails over his chest. Tormented by the light contact, he growled, "Harder!" She scratched him, but still not hard enough. When he hissed aloud, she slashed, leaving fiery tracks that made his stomach cramp with need. His mouth watered, and his jaws ached. He couldn't let her spend without him. He needed to soar with her again. With a roar, he gripped her arms. "Damn it, I can't reach you!" She let him pull her into a tight embrace, their bodies pressed together from shoulders to loins. His mouth fastened on her throat. When her blood flowed over his tongue, it completed a circuit of energy that poured through both of them in an endless circle of arousal and satisfaction. Another climax ripped through her, and he shuddered along with her. She screamed, and he echoed her with a howl of ecstasy. Mine!he exulted.Mine, forever! No one else could touch her. If he had to, he would kill to keep her safe. He felt her go limp, pleasantly exhausted, on the edge of fainting. Her aura faded to a rose-tinged pastel. He shifted position to pillow her head on his shoulder until the fog cleared from her mind. "Don't worry," he murmured. "You haven't lost much blood. The exhaustion you feel is the energy drain. And the incisions will heal in a day or two, much faster than ordinary cuts." "I'm not worried." She rubbed her face against his chest. "That was incredible." "Vraiment! I never imagined the insertion of one appendage into an orifice could enhance the experience that way." A ghost of the ardor they had just shared warmed his blood, and he heard her pulse quicken, too. She punched him lightly on the arm. "Ephemerals aren't so inferior, after all." "I never considered you inferior. Merely different." She sat up. "You used to, though, didn't you?" "I don't deny that I've considered all my past donors as sources of refreshment or, at most, pets. But not you. Not from the first night we met." He fought against the impulse to use his hypnotic power to override

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her doubts. He wanted her fully aware, free, and willing in their union. "I don't like the idea that you think of other people as lower animals, either." Bitterness tinged her voice. "For you, I'll try to reform." When she frowned at his flippant tone, he said more seriously, "It's not easy to change the habits of a couple of centuries, but I do want to please you. For your sake, I'll revise my attitude toward the rest of your species." Already that "revision" had begun, he realized, for now he understood Philip's anger and grief over his lover's death. She started collecting her clothes. "You talk as if we have a future. Aside from making a movie together, I mean." Though he still sensed her reservations, he decided further argument right now would have only a negative effect. He sat up with the sheet across his lap. "I hope so,cherie . Dozens of movies and a very long future—after we deal with Philip. Look, you need nourishment. We'll discuss it downstairs over dinner." The thought of letting her go, even temporarily, chilled him. He wanted to share thousands of nights like this. He wanted a lifetime to explore her vibrant mind, bask in her scintillating aura, and feast on her intoxicating elixir. But first he had to ensure her safety.

***** After a shower, she joined him in the kitchen. He served her another of the frozen dinners and poured himself a glass of milk. She gaped at it. "Vampires drink milk?" "Animal blood and milk form the bulk of our diet. Surely you've come across that detail in folklore?" She recalled a few tales that accused vampires of drying up the milk of the village cows. "Sheesh, another blow to my romantic fantasies. Okay, what about Philip? Can't you do anything about him?" "Such as? We're forbidden to kill our own kind except in self-defense. I talked to one of the elders after I found out about Philip's resurrection. I'm not getting cut any slack. Unless he attacks me directly, I can't destroy him without becoming an outcast." "Oh." "Not that I want to. He may be a blot on the landscape, but the poor chap was my friend once. The only way I can see to settle the problem without violence is, as I said, to convince him you're not important to me." Am I?While she didn't want to whine for reassurance, she couldn't shake off the awareness that he had the whole emotion-reading advantage over her. "And if he doesn't give up harassing us?" Claude shook his head. "If he wants to make a nuisance of himself, there's no practical way I can evade him. I'm astonished that he found me so fast to begin with. The elder I consulted was quick to point out that if I didn't live this purloined letter lifestyle, Philip would probably never have known where to start looking."

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Recognizing the title of the Poe mystery, Eloise said, "Purloined letter, hidden in plain sight. A vampire pretending to be an actor playing a vampire." "Precisely. The strategy has the added bonus that if anyone notices my eccentricities, such as not eating and avoiding the sun, they're chalked up to publicity stunts." "With the drawback that the few people who do know vampires exist have no trouble picking up the clues." "Too true." He finished the milk and sat back in his chair. "I don't know what long-term solution we can arrange, but for now, he has to see you leave. He has to believe you consider me a monster. Then you should be safe." "For how long?" She banged her fork on the table. "Do you expect me to stay away from you for a week? A month? Until another building falls on your ex-friend?" "Eloise—" He reached for her hand. "I want you with me always. But not at the cost of your life." She withdrew from his handclasp. "Am I supposed to leave right now?" "In the middle of the night? Hardly. I'd feel safer if you wait until day, when he'll be weaker. " "What are we going to do for the rest of the night?" When the obvious answer popped into her mind, her cheeks warmed. "Not what you're thinking." He stood up to clear the dishes. "Something to occupy our thoughts, so I can keep my hands—and other parts—off you." Feeling a second or two of irrational letdown that he didn't plan to whisk her to the bedroom again, she said, "It can't stay this intense forever, can it? The attraction has to cool off eventually, and then what?" "Au contraire, for all I've heard, the allure between vampire and donor doesn't fade like human infatuation. It only grows stronger with time. There's the addiction factor, you see. It's a biological phenomenon, not merely emotional." "Addiction. Then how can we possibly know it's anything except biological?" The doubts she'd buried rose up once more. When he said he cared for her, he himself might not even know the truth of that claim. "Considering how desperately I craved you after the first sip, long before the dependency could have started, I trust the reality of my feelings." Circling the table, he imprisoned her head between his hands and stared at her like a cat with a bird under its paw. "Other women cloy the appetites they feed, but she makes hungry where most she satisfies." "Shakespeare, now? I'm no Cleopatra." "Believe that I see you that way,ma belle ." The pressure of his gaze made her pulse flutter in her throat. "You promised not to use hypnosis on me." "I'm not. Perhaps you're already beginning to sense my emotions, even without a physical bond." His

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voice caressed her like a cool breeze on sun-warmed flesh. "Well, put a lid on them. Let's find something nice and neutral to occupy our thoughts." Laughing, he said, "Didn't you write a scene or two forVarney today? Bring it on. Nothing like a spot of editing to quell one's ardor." In the office, they spent over an hour cheerfully dissecting the dialogue she'd composed that afternoon. When Claude delivered her Varney's lines with melodramatic verbal flourishes, exaggerated arm-waving, and villainous leers, she collapsed in a fit of giggles. He also offered serious advice for revision, showing that he'd given a lot of thought to how the story should be staged. She could get to like this routine all too quickly. She had to remind herself that her future probably didn't hold nights of passion and literary debates with a ravishing vampire. More likely, Claude's warnings about Philip Trent masked a wish to nudge her out of his life. In reminiscing about his last donor in the 1890s, Claude had made his anxieties about "addiction" clear enough, hadn't he? They spent the rest of the night watching movies downstairs. Eloise welcomed the immersion in imaginary realms to keep her brain from buzzing with doubt and fear. If she had to turn into a pumpkin at sunrise, at least she could enjoy these few hours. Claude carefully sat at arm's length from her again, but she undercut his caution by reaching across the space between them to capture his hand. He didn't try to retrieve it. She delighted in making him squirm by tickling the little hairs in his palm. He retaliated by rubbing his thumb over the pulse point on her wrist. Electric currents raced up her arm, made her nipples peak, and zinged down to the spot between her legs. She squeezed her thighs in a futile attempt at relief. Knowing he could scent the moisture gathering there, she almost wished he would cuddle up to her and start nibbling again. But he maintained his self-control. Damn. Dawn came too soon. After the little packing she needed to do, she went to the main floor to find Claude waiting for her in the living room. He clasped her hand and kissed it, a faint brush of his lips on her palm. The contrast between his cool grip and the heat of his mouth made her insides vibrate. "I'd better call a cab for you," he said, "however much I'd rather not." "I'm already wondering if what I remember from last night really happened." She reclaimed her hand and wrung her fingers together. "When will I see you again?" "As soon as I think it's safe." "That's no answer!" He shrugged. "We can finalize the movie deal and finish the script without meeting face to face. After a few weeks have passed, maybe Philip will cool off enough that I can talk to him, make him see reason." "Meanwhile, I wait around for you to decide my future?" "Please don't make this so difficult. I want you near me, but I want you alive even more." He reached around to massage the nape of her neck, and she couldn't summon the strength to evade him. "If anything happened to you, I wouldn't jump into a volcano, but my heart would feel charred to ashes." "You talk a good line. Prove it."

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His eyebrows arched. "How?" "You read my emotions like large print, and yours are a closed book to me. I don't have anything to go on except your word. You say two-way blood sharing creates a telepathic bond, right?" "That's right." His voice sounded tight with stress. "So let's do it. Let me drink your blood and read your mind."

Chapter Eleven He stepped away from her, spread his hands as if in mute appeal, and lowered his voice. "Eloise, are you quite sure you want this?" She planted her clenched fists on her hips. "I don't believe it. You're afraid." "Cautious, rather. So far, we haven't passed the point of no return for biochemical dependency. If you taste my blood, we'll be locked into a bond that we couldn't break without pain. From what I've been told, pain like gouging one's heart from one's chest." "Told? You mean you don't know?" He shook his head. "Not from first-hand experience." Somehow she'd assumed he had bonded with his previous donor. A thread of satisfaction trickled through her when she realized he hadn't. "Then you've never done this before?" "What, never?" he said with a wry smile. "No, never. Well, hardly ever," he finished the quote from H.M.S. Pinafore . "Only with my adviser, for teaching purposes. I understand bonding with a donor is very different, the most exquisitely intense union one can possibly imagine." Cupping her chin to make her meet his glittering eyes, he said, "Please make sure you choose this freely. Afterward, neither of us will be able to choose with unclouded minds." She heaved a deep breath. "Yes, I choose. If you're willing, I'm ready." "If that's what you need to make you trust me, I'm willing." He added with a shaky laugh, "Eager." His arm encircled her waist. "We'd better retire to the bedroom and get comfortable. When we black out from the intensity, we want to be lying down already." "You're putting me on, aren't you?" she said as they walked upstairs. "Will that really happen?" "I don't know. We're exploring uncharted territory here. I've heard it can become that powerful, though." In his bedroom, she knelt on the satin sheets to watch him light the vanilla-scented candle and undress in its glow. His pale torso looked like a marble sculpture of a Greek god, animated by magic. Towering over her, he twined his fingers through her hair and clasped her to his chest. The slow beat of his heart thundered in her ears. She couldn't resist flicking her tongue out to tease one of his nipples.

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It hardened instantly. Groaning, he convulsively tightened his embrace. Through gritted teeth, he said, "Enough." He eased her onto the mattress. "In this condition, my whole body is hypersensitive. If we want to forge the bond, we'd better do it before I forget why we're here." He stripped off her shirt and bra with rapid movements, as if he feared getting distracted. With his help, she wiggled out of the rest of her clothes. "Beautiful." His voice shook. "You have a vivid imagination." "When you see yourself through my eyes, you'll understand." He stretched out so that they reclined side by side, facing each other. "Ready?" She nodded, snuggling closer to him. Her nipples grazed his chest, and his cool thighs pressed against hers. The tip of his quiescent organ brushed the curls on her mound. Warmth spread through her lower abdomen and pooled between her legs. Claude turned his head to bite his own shoulder. With a hand on the back of her head, he urged her toward the half-inch slash. She hesitantly licked the blood that oozed from it. His body spasmed, his arms tightening around her. "Yes," he hissed. "Don't stop." She clamped her mouth onto the wound and sucked. It tasted salty and metallic, like the heated-iron scent of his skin. A low growl thrummed in his throat. No, she thought, more like a purr. His palms ranged over her back and the curve of her bottom. His teeth pierced her neck. She felt her pulse leap to quench his thirst. His blood effervesced like champagne in her mouth. She plunged into his mind like diving into a bottomless lake. At the same moment, she felt him flow into all the crevices of her body and brain. She tasted her blood as he swallowed it, like fine sherry. It warmed him all the way to the pit of his stomach and spread through every vein. She felt the way her breasts and thighs seared his skin. She felt the hairs in his palms bristle when they stroked her. The electricity made her own skin tingle. Merging deeper into his senses, she shared his vision. To him, she appeared enveloped in a halo of rose-pink and, at the apex of her thighs, turgid red. Surrounding that red haze, she saw a rainbow of coruscating light that radiated from her and undulated with each move she made. Your aura.Claude's voice in her mind sounded deeper, more resonant, than his normal speech. It reverberated through her insides and made her diaphragm quiver like the surface of a drum.Now you see how beautiful you are. I can hear my own heartbeat.Not only that, through his ears she heard the blood rushing beneath her skin. In a surge of still deeper immersion, she felt his delight in her amazement. She sensed him watching himself through her eyes and tasting his own blood on her lips as well as hers in his mouth. When his hand crept between their bodies to caress her breasts, she felt the tingle in his palm along with his pleasure in feeling the ache in her taut nipples. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the tangle of sensations. His hand skimmed over her abdomen to the triangle of hair. When he probed for the bud inside that

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nest, she began to melt instantly. You're flowing with honey,he silently told her.And I feel it now, from within. Your wetness, your need. Her clit was already twitching. She moaned and rocked her hips toward him. I know, ma belle. I share that ache.His fingers traced spirals around her swollen bud, stroking nearer and nearer to the burning tip. At the moment she felt she would explode if he delayed any longer, he relieved that burning with frenzied caresses that sent her into convulsions that only erupted afresh each time she thought she'd reached the highest possible peak. She tasted his blood, her blood, felt her tremors of release echoed in his mind, felt his urgency feeding hers, until both of them were sated and had to stop tasting just to breathe. Excitement still throbbed through her tender parts, though. When Claude guided her hand to his groin, she realized why she felt that way. I've developed an erection, with no direct contact. Fascinating.He rubbed her hand up and down his shaft.My body mirrors yours. It wants to sheath itself in you. As soon as he projected that thought, she craved the same thing. Nudging her to roll face down, he climbed on top. She melted all over again. He plunged into her from behind, like a panther mating. And like a cat, he fastened his teeth in the nape of her neck. She felt the penetration of his teeth and his cock, along with the intoxication of her blood trickling into his mouth and the hot tightness of her sheath clenching around him. She felt his rod stiffen still harder in an echo of her clit's swelling. When she throbbed in response, his excitement grew fiercer and fed back to her in an ever-expanding spiral. She screamed in release, and he answered with a roar of ecstasy. Some time later, she drifted down to normal awareness. The shadow of his thoughts lingered in the back of her mind, but she remained within her own senses. "Will it always feel like that?" she said. He shifted position so that he lay on his back with her cuddled next to him. "We can revive it at will and control the depth of the union. We don't have to lose ourselves." His tone sounded less confident than the words. "You don't know, either, do you?" "I already admitted this is unexplored territory for me. And I do want to explore again—much further." He disentangled from her embrace. "Do something for me, please. Go out on the balcony." At her quizzical glance, he gestured toward one set of drapes on the other side of the room. Opening them partway, she found a door onto a balcony identical to the one in her room. Still naked, she stepped outside. The wind from the ocean made her skin prickle. The early morning sun shed its light on the waves. She felt Claude reaching into her brain and merging his vision with hers.

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Incredible! Eloise, I can see through your eyes. I can see the ocean in daylight. Couldn't you do that anyway? What I see is a blinding glare. And the colors! To me, colors on the blue end of the spectrum look washed out. No, I've never seen the ocean like this.His gratitude pierced her to the heart.You show me a whole new world. She felt a sudden emptiness, a hollow space at her core. Somehow she knew the feeling originated with Claude. He needed to touch her. She returned to the bed and flowed into his arms. His shields dissolved, layer upon layer, until she felt him invite her into the shadowed cave of his heart. His thoughts showed her a multifaceted crystal of ice that thawed and vaporized at her touch. "Mon amour, I'll never stop needing you." He kissed the top of her head. "But I can't keep you, not until you're safe from Philip. You really have to leave." Drained, purring with languid satisfaction, she couldn't face the idea of putting on her clothes and facing the world yet. "Yeah, right. Soon. Let's just rest awhile first." He chuckled. "Very well,ma chere . Just a few minutes." Chapter Twelve

When she swam up to consciousness, her head lay on Claude's shoulder. He felt as cool and still as marble. No breath expanded his ribs. She swept her hand over his chest, while probing the silence of his mind. Awareness stirred in him. His eyes opened, the now-familiar crimson gleam in their silver depths fixed on her. He gave her a drowsy, catlike smile. An instant later, the languor he projected flared into alarm, and he sat up. "Oh, damn, look at the time!" She rolled over to glance at the alarm clock. After six p.m. "Confound it, you bloody temptress, I never should have let you lull me to sleep." "Me, lull you? You're the one who goes into hibernation every day." "Eloise, you have to get away from here. Now." He stood up and whipped the covers off her. "Suppose Philip's been watching the house all along and started to get impatient? If he decides you've ignored his warning, he might try something more drastic." "Okay, I get your point." She felt Claude's anxiety beating against her like the wings of a caged hawk. Scooping up her clothes, she went into the bathroom to wash and dress. When she emerged, Claude had dressed, too, though he hadn't bothered to comb his sleep-ruffled hair. "I've phoned a cab. You go up to the road and wait for it. If Philip's around, he'll see you're leaving. Escaping from the evil vampire's clutches." "Right, but not for long. If we're physically dependent on each other now…"

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"I, more than you. I can't feed on any other human donor. Only you." He rubbed his eyes. "A factor I conveniently overlooked when I agreed to the bond. I can't stay away from you more than a few days." She threw herself into his arms. His passion and fear for her flowed over her, until she thought she might melt into him and drown all over again. She forced herself to slip out of his embrace. "We'll manage somehow. You didn't think I planned to let you stay away anyhow, did you?" He nodded toward the nightstand. "I suggest you wear that trinket Philip gave you. Displaying an anti-vampire talisman will lend credibility to the ruse." "Good idea." She hung the cross around her neck. "Here I go, one ruse, coming up." Claude walked her to the foyer but stood well away from the door when she opened it. She marched up the drive to the road, overnight bag and purse slung over her shoulders, briefcase in one hand, trying to project revulsion toward all things vampiric. It didn't work. She had no talent for acting. She settled for blanking her mind, so that if Philip spied on her, at least he wouldn't sense her yearning for Claude. At the edge of the road, she set down her bags and glanced both ways. Claude hadn't mentioned how long the taxi would take to arrive. She blinked in the late afternoon sun. The sea breeze cooled her flushed cheeks. So many things had happened to her since the last time she'd stepped outside in daylight. Now, with her thoughts deliberately blocked from any contact with Claude that might alert his enemy to her true feelings, she couldn't help wondering about the reality of those experiences. Had she dreamed it all? Lost her mind? Succumbed to a complex, brain-twisting form of hypnosis? She shook her head to dispel the mental fog. Impossible.More impossible than vampires? Well, hardly less impossible. What ordinary human being could hypnotize anyone to that extent, without the aid of powerful psychotropic drugs? And the theory that Claude had drugged her into accepting such a wild tale and imagining they could read each other's minds struck her as more far-fetched than a race of naturally evolved vampires. She would see him again in a few nights, no matter how carefully they had to avoid Philip's hypothetical surveillance. They belonged to each other now. She had to hang onto that belief. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the movement of a shadow. She clutched the cross on its chain around her neck. The shadow oozed toward her. A man in white loomed at her side. She stumbled backward with a yelp of alarm. Philip grabbed her wrist. "What do you think you're doing? Let go of me." He took off his sunglasses. "You stayed here longer than I expected. I became worried about your welfare." "Well, you can forget it. You warned me to get away, and I'm leaving." With the cross digging into her curled fingers, she remembered Claude's remark about faith in the symbol as a focus for resistance. Maybe it would help her guard against Philip's psychic perception. She concentrated on keeping her mind blank.

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"But why didn't you leave much sooner, hmm?" He scraped a fingernail along her jawline. Eloise shuddered. "My cab will get here any minute. Just let go of me." "Could it be that my old friend seduced you?" "I don't know what you're talking about." He squeezed her wrist painfully hard. "You can't lie to me. I can see through your flimsy shields." "Let go or I'll scream." She scanned the road. No cars whose drivers might notice if she struggled. No houses in sight, nobody close enough to hear a cry for help. "No, you won't." Philip's eyes impaled hers. "Be still." She froze. Inside, she strained against the psychic manacles, but her muscles remained paralyzed. Philip picked her up and slung her across his shoulder. A whirlwind rushed past her. The landscape went gray before her eyes. A second later, her vision cleared to show a view of the ocean. At her feet she saw emptiness, dropping straight down to the tide line. She stood on a ridge overlooking Claude's private beach. Philip's arm encircled her waist from behind, tightening like a vise when she made a feeble attempt to wiggle free. "Go ahead and scream now. I want Claude to know I have his pet." "I'm not his pet," she whispered. "More than a pet? No?" The soft voice mocked her. "Then he won't mind if I have a taste." The man's tongue circled her earlobe, then penetrated the ear. She trembled, swallowing a spasm of nausea. Yet, to her disgust, she also felt a faintly erotic flutter in the pit of her stomach. "Whatever pleasure he can give you, so can I." Philip's teeth rested on the side of her neck, not quite piercing the skin. Eloise gave up her attempt to maintain the mental barrier.Claude! I need you! His response crashed like a tidal wave against her barrier, flattening it instantly.Eloise? She felt him rush toward her. Seconds after she called, Philip half-turned, still gripping her around the waist. "Claude. Stop there." The nails of his free hand dug into the skin of Eloise's neck. She saw Claude standing about ten feet away. Unlike Philip, he wore short sleeves and no hat. This early in the evening, the sun still glared on his unprotected skin and eyes. She sensed his incipient headache and the way the light scorched his arms. Those discomforts faded to the background, though. His fear for her dominated his thoughts. "Philip, old thing, you don't need to do this. I admit I treated you shabbily. You have a perfect right to your anger. But Eloise has nothing to do with that."

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"Of course she does. You destroyed my favorite—my beloved. I'm taking yours." "What makes you think she's my favorite, much less 'beloved'? That's a human emotion." Eloise reached for Claude's mind and hit a blank wall. She assured herself he probably had his shield up to keep the attacker from reading him. Yet she couldn't tame the fear that he displayed no emotions because he didn't feel any. Because all the passion and need she remembered had been nothing but an illusion to add spice to the feast. Philip edged to the very rim of the cliff and leaned so that she momentarily tilted outward above the drop. Her stomach churned. Head spinning, she clung to the arm locked around her waist. A shaft of alarm from Claude stabbed her. With a cold chuckle, Philip straightened up. "What a disgraceful lack of control, Claude. You broadcast that reaction like a beacon from a lighthouse. Now tell me you don't feel anything for this pet." "Only what I'd feel if you endangered any ephemeral for pure vengeance. I bitterly regret the death of your donor. I don't want to see anyone else die for my negligence." "Is that an apology? And a plea, no less?" "Take it as whatever you'd like." Claude glided a pace or two nearer, stopping when Philip clawed Eloise's neck once more. "I'll apologize all you want. Hell, I'll grovel. Just let her go and face me like a man of honor." "Now you're talking in human terms. Since when does a vampire's honor depend on an ephemeral's welfare? At least, according to you. I could always find another pet, you said." Eloise felt the anger boiling under the surface of Claude's mind. "Damn it, I said I was wrong." "You think a simple apology makes up for her death and all the years I lost?" "What more do you expect? I can't bring your donor back." Philip licked Eloise's ear again. His tongue felt the way she imagined a snake's forked tongue might. Fear swamped any trace of arousal. "I'll take this one as a substitute," he said. Claude bared his teeth. "Not a chance." His hands curled like talons. "Fascinating. You're in love with this woman." "Don't be absurd." The chill in his voice sounded almost genuine enough to confirm that she had fantasized those hours of passion they'd shared. A growl rumbled in Philip's chest. "You know we can't lie to each other. I can see the strength of your feeling for her." "We used to be friends. I don't want to kill you." "You'd make yourself an outcast for an ephemeral? Better and better." He nipped the side of her neck.

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She felt the trickle of blood and the flick of his tongue. He didn't continue feeding, though. He obviously intended the violation just to taunt Claude. To underscore the message, he grazed her breast with his free hand. Claude stood motionless, staring at the two on the edge of the cliff. He spoke inside Eloise's mind:I don't dare charge. He could tear your throat out before I got anywhere near you. His thoughts lay bare to her. She saw a vision of herself lying on the ground with blood fountaining from a fatal wound and felt his near panic at the image. Then what do we do? The reply came as an unexpected shock:You have to make him drop you. Her stomach lurched.What? Rather, you have to make him let go long enough for you to jump off the edge. Are you nuts? Claude's mental voice thrummed with tension.It's the only way. I can catch you before you hit the ground. He won't be expecting that. He expected her to believe he could cover the distance faster than she could fall? She went lightheaded at the mere thought.I don't think I can make myself do it. It's our only reasonable chance. Eloise, please, you have to trust me. Trust a man who wasn't even human? Letting him feast on her blood and ravish her body and mind was one thing, but this—! Trusting him too far in this case could have a fatal result. On the other hand, so could not trusting. The wet suction of Philip's mouth tugged at her throat. At any moment, he might decide to sink his teeth in, just to watch Claude's reaction. All right,she silently answered.I'll try. Make her captor let go? How? What did she know about a vampire's vulnerability? Too bad Philip didn't suffer from a religious phobia. The cross wouldn't work as a weapon. What about physiological weaknesses all his kind shared? She rummaged in her memories of the nights with Claude. One "weakness" came to mind, the way he'd practically whimpered when she'd tickled his palms. Philip had one hand within easy reach, loosely cupping her breast. She insinuated her own hand between his arm and her body. At the same time, she went limp, hoping to make him think she'd given up resisting. Her fingertips brushed the fine hairs in his palm. He growled into her neck, looked up, and said to Claude, "Ah, she likes it. You see, any vampire can please her. You're wasting energy to concern yourself with this woman." He returned his mouth to the minute wound. Swallowing her revulsion, she stroked the hairs in a light spiral pattern. He moaned with evident pleasure. She leaned into his arm, toward the cliff's edge. Now, Eloise,Claude urged.I'm ready.

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While she mechanically kept up her fake seduction, her brain screamed,I can't do this, I just can't! Then let me help you. I promised not to override your will, but if you give me permission, I can make you jump. Let him take over her mind and body? Operate her like a puppet? Still, if she didn't have faith that he would release his control the instant after he caught her, she might as well admit she didn't trust him at all. Fine! Do it! She dug her nails into Philip's palm and gouged the most sensitive spot. With a howl of pain and rage, he momentarily spasmed and relaxed his grip. She mentally reached for Claude and felt his will wrap her mind like a spider's silk. He slipped inside her nerves and muscles like a man putting on a cloak. Her body launched itself into the void. The surf on the rocks rushed toward her. Her head reeled, and her stomach turned inside out. A scream ripped from her throat. Chapter Thirteen

A blur of motion swooped under her. She landed in Claude's arms. He sprinted down the beach and halted in a swirl of sand. Shaking, but with her feet on the ground, she clung to him. Her head spun as if she had just crawled out of a roller coaster car. "It's all right,cherie ." His hands stroked her head and her back. "I have to leave you for a minute. Stay here." Like I can do anything else?When he let go of her, she collapsed onto the sand. She watched him levitate up to the ridge toward Philip, who crouched there roaring in fury. Claude charged at the other vampire and slammed him to the ground. Philip rammed a fist into Claude's face and broke his hold. Through the blood-bond, Eloise's nerves echoed the pain of the blow. The two men rolled over, Claude underneath now. He rallied instantly, shoved his opponent off, and flipped him onto his back. Though the pounding of the waves made it hard for Eloise to hear the next few words, she picked up the conversation through Claude's mind. "Talk about wasting energy, old man. Don't bother struggling. I'm stronger than you are. You probably haven't fed worth a damn in the past few nights, with all your time spent stalking Eloise. I've feasted well." He punctuated the sentence with a hard slap to the other man's face. "Go ahead and kill me," came Philip's sullen response. "I detest what this world has become. Noisy, artificial, foul-smelling—" "I said I didn't want to kill you. But I'm sure as hell not going to let you run loose. Perhaps another long stretch of undeath will help you see reason."

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"In other words, you plan to kill me temporarily." The other vampire's weary voice held a sardonic edge. "Call it whatever you wish. The point is to make Eloise safe from you." Claude wrapped his hands around Philip's neck. "Fine. At least I got to see you besotted with an ephemeral. When you thought I might slaughter your woman, you were terrified. That's satisfaction enough." Claude tightened his grip until Philip stopped breathing and his body went slack. Through Claude's ears, Eloise heard the other vampire's heart fall silent.Is he dead? Only dormant. And I'll make sure he stays that way for the foreseeable future.Picking up the body, Claude sprang off the ridge and hovered above the ocean surface. He raised the body over his head. With a strength she couldn't have imagined, he heaved the inert form offshore, the distance of a couple of football fields. It sank instantly. Claude floated down to her side, helped her stand up, and folded her in a tight embrace. "He won't drown, but he won't wake up, either. Not as long as he stays underwater." "He'll wash ashore, though, won't he?" Leading her toward the stairs that ascended to the patio, he said, "Not anytime soon. You see, he's not dead, so his body won't float like a corpse. On the other hand, let's hope for his sake the local sea life doesn't find vampire flesh appetizing." Her stomach knotted. "Forgive me for subjecting you to all this." She swallowed. "It's Philip's fault, not yours." "I'll report to the elders and ask their advice. Eventually, I may have to dredge up and revive him myself. When and if I feel sure I can keep him away from you." She edged away from Claude, her fingers groping for the crucifix around her neck. "But you almost killed him…" "Oh, damn. Please don't fear me." His hand rested lightly on her arm. "I bear no malice toward the poor blighter. Now I know how he felt when his lady died. The same way I'd feel if I lost you." He opened his mind and showed her a bleak expanse of desert baking under a remorseless sun. He glanced briefly at the cross. "You said you believe I'm not a demon, that your Deity made my kind for a purpose." She clutched the crucifix like an anchor. "I do believe that. I know you're not evil." Slowly, her grasp relaxed, and she unhooked the silver chain. "I'm not asking you to forsake your religion," he said. "Only that it not make a barrier between us." "It won't." She tucked the cross into her pants pocket and allowed Claude to put his arm around her waist. He helped her into the den and settled her on the couch. "It's a relief to get out of the sun. I need a drink

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of water. Let me bring you one, too." When he returned with two glasses of ice water, he said, "I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to leave anyhow, right this minute. Your choice. Needless to say, whatever you do won't affect our movie deal." She took a long gulp of the water. Her stomach began to calm down. "Good grief, I forgot all about the cab. He probably came and went already." "I can drive you to the airport myself, if you like." He sat on the edge of the couch, at arm's length from her. She felt the uncertainty preying on his mind. Uncertainty of what? Her feelings or his own? "That depends," she said, staring into her glass. "On what?" "What Philip said." She forced the words past a lump in her throat. "That vampires can't lie to each other." "No, the most we can do is conceal our emotions, not disguise them." "He also said you're in love with me. Well?" The surface of Claude's mind churned like a windswept lake. "If he saw that in my aura, it must be true." Moisture blurred her vision. "Again with the non-answer." "Cherie, I don't know how to answer. I have never experienced an emotion like this before. As if you've already grown roots into my heart." His eyes widened. "Oh, hell. Poetic justice at its best. I'm not just addicted. Iam in love with you." "Do you have to sound like it's a fate worse than death?" Her voice rasped with suppressed tears. "Not that. But still terribly strange. I. Love. You." He moved next to her, clasped her hand, and kissed it. Sparks danced up her arm and over her entire body. She felt the same electricity sizzling through him. "Eloise, our bond gives me access to your deepest thoughts and desires. But it doesn't analyze and define them. You have to tell me in words. Do you love me?" Trembling, she let her hand rest in his while she considered. "You threatened to make yourself an outcast by destroying Philip for me. You guided me to escape from him and then released control instantly, the way you promised. You could mesmerize me into any emotion you want me to feel, but you're not." She laid her free hand on his chest, and he shivered, his eyes half-closed. "I love you, Claude." With a groan, he drew her into a tight embrace. She twisted around, trying to press her body against his. She ended up in his lap, her head on his shoulder. "Stay with me. Marry me." She insinuated her hand into his shirt and heard a purr in his throat when she skimmed her nails over his chest. "Marry? That's so human of you."

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He nipped her earlobe without piercing the skin. "Human? Please, no insults.Mon amour , I promise not to treat you like a pet. Keep your own home, if you need a refuge sometimes. And, of course, your own work and bank account. I want marriage under your laws, though. I'll have no lurid supermarket tabloid speculation about you. I want the world to know you belong to me. Legally and permanently." "As long as you know it works both ways. You belong to me, too." "Certainement.That's what the blood-bond means." He hugged her so tightly she had to gasp for breath. "You hold my life in your hands, forever. We possess each other as long as our hearts beat." Tracing a scratch on his collarbone with a fingernail, he guided her lips to the wound. His mouth fastened on her neck, and the life-force flowed between them in an unbroken circle. Their hearts pulsed in unison. Like two rivers pouring into one sea, their blood and passion merged. Forever.

Statuesque ©Lani Aames, 2002 Statuesque

The weathered peak of the rock formation pointed toward the sheer blue cloudless sky. Lia Morgan shaded her eyes against the sun and studied it. She thought it was shaped a little like the prow of a gigantic ship tipped back and half-buried in the desert sand. "This is it!" Mac shouted and started climbing for a flat table of rock at its base. Lia watched him. She had been half in love with Mac Taylor since she first met him in college. He had taken her under his wing, showed her how to have a good time, and promised her adventure. Mac had partially filled a void in her protected and pampered life, and Lia was grateful for their friendship even if a little disappointed it hadn't gone further. Now thirty, he was five years older than she, but he had bummed around a few years before settling on studies in anthropology, specializing in archaeology. He liked the past, he said, better than the present. In many ways, Lia agreed. The past seemed more interesting and less complicated than the present. Ancient civilizations and antiquities had always interested her, but even so, she hadn't followed that course of study. She had majored in the more practical business and marketing, going for a lucrative career instead of adventure. Yet here she was, spending another vacation following Mac in search of the lifesize statue of Zamar and the elusive Zamarians. If Mac had ever asked her outright, she would have told him she didn't think the statue or the Zamarians existed. All he had was a few paragraphs in a musty old tome written in the latter half of the nineteenth century by a quasi-archaeologist that everyone else in the field considered a nutcase. She couldn't blame him for getting his hopes up when he'd discovered a map in yet another batch of

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scrolls he'd picked up on the black market. Usually the disintegrating sheets of papyrus were nothing more than bills of lading or a merchant's daily tally of goods bought and sold. Interesting because of their age, but nothing unique. Until the map. How had anything as unusual as the map passed through the hands of a pirate who should be on the lookout for something more valuable? Mac had explained most black marketers were ignorant illiterates looking to make a quick buck. She supposed he was right. Mac looked back and waved at her to get moving. Lia started climbing over the rocks to reach the flat table. As she laid her hands on each timeworn boulder, they seemed somehow familiar. She shook her head and continued climbing. How many rocks had she and Mac clambered over the past few years? Too many, and they were all starting to look alike. Whether this led to the cavern Mac sought or not, she hoped this put a rest to his search once and for all. She reached the flat top and stood, looking at the sand spread out as far as the eye could see. The sun hung low in the western sky to her right, even though it was still early in the evening. Mac had insisted they do this in mid-autumn, on the night the Zamarians held their sacred ritual when the sacrifice of a virgin would bring the statue of the god to life. The mid-point between the autumnal equinox and the winter solstice. The night the boundary between the natural and the supernatural was most easily crossed. It was quite fitting they commence this crazy search on All Hallow's Eve—Halloween night. The Jeep, a few yards from the base, suddenly looked out of place. "Magnificent view, isn't it?" Mac said. Lia barely managed a nod. The scene before her wavered as if it were going in and out of focus. She placed a hand on a nearby boulder to steady herself. Dizziness swept over her and she wondered if the desert heat had finally gotten to her. She heard Mac climb down the other side of the flat rock and knew she should follow, but her legs seemed rooted to the spot. "C'mon, Lia. I found the entrance," he called to her over his shoulder. She opened her mouth to call out to him for help but couldn't speak. The landscape before her blurred, went black, then… The setting sun burns the desert fiercely with its red and orange golden glow. She lingers on the flat rock waiting for the sand to swallow the fiery orb. She has managed to escape her guards once again, but it becomes more difficult each time. Although her shoulders are burdened with great guilt, her heart is light because she will soon meet with her lover—the boy who was her playmate in childhood and the man who became a priest because she could never wed. A lover who is not a lover, she muses as twilight settles across the stretch of sand. She scrambles from the rock, into the hidden entrance… "Lia!" A hand clamped on her shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Breathing hard, she whirled to face Mac.

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"Are you all right?" he asked, but his dark green eyes were narrowed. She had first fallen for his eyes. They were almost jewel tone, like emeralds. An unusual combination with his jet-black hair and swarthy skin. "Yeah," she said breathlessly, as if she had been running. The vision jarred her, but for some strange reason it didn't really frighten her. She sensed a deeper meaning behind it, but a meaning she couldn't quite grasp. Lia brushed past Mac and leapt from the table of rock. She wound her way through the jumble of boulders, heading straight toward the entrance. She waited for him to catch up. He looked at her, his head tilted to one side, a strange look of expectation on his face she couldn't explain. "How did you know where to find the entrance? You can't see it from up there. The way it's hidden behind that outcropping of rock, you can't see it until you're right on top of it." If she told him about the vision, he would think she'd gone mad, wouldn't he? She'd never kept a secret from Mac. But now…something deep inside her warned her not to tell. She shrugged and pointed to the sand. "I followed your footprints." He looked down and his gaze followed his first set of prints that led to the entrance and back again. "No shit, Sherlock," he said more to himself than her and laughed. Mac's sarcasm grated on her nerves. Usually she enjoyed his razor-sharp wit, a little black and a little dry, but suddenly she wanted to lash out at him. Not knowing where the feeling came from, she watched him walk to the opening in the rock face and disappear inside. She followed more slowly. She stepped inside the tunnel. It was cooler here in the darkness. She swiped at the blonde strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail and fallen across her eyes, plastered to her skin with sweat. She pulled the flashlight from her utility belt and switched it on. The light wavered, in and out, and she wondered if the battery was going dead… She pauses only long enough to light an oil lamp. She has passed this way so many times she could find her way to the appointed place with her eyes closed, but she moves faster with the light to show the way. She runs along the hand-carved passageway, passing entrances to chambers and other tunnels. Most of them lead nowhere, to confuse those not initiated in the ways of the goddess, but her lover has told her how to navigate the maze. She approaches the first fork. "Where are you going, Lia?" Mac's call interrupted the vision. Or the vision ended just as he called. Lia wasn't sure. Lia turned around and flashed her light. Mac had turned right and she had turned left. Had the woman turned left in the vision? In her mind, Lia replayed what she had seen. Lia remembered the woman running, not bothering to glance to either side. She had almost reached where the main passageway forked, but Mac had called to her, bringing Lia back to the present. So no, the woman hadn't made the turn before the vision ended. Yet Lia had automatically turned left.

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"The way to the Chamber of Zamar is marked on the map," Mac said and held out one of several copies he had made because the original was too fragile to survive much handling. "We're supposed to go right at the first fork." Lia pretended to study the piece of paper. She knew the left passageway would take them where they wanted to go. She didn't know how she knew, but she suspected she was somehow tapping into the knowledge of the woman in the vision. Lia looked at the map in earnest. The left passage led to a few more turns then a dead end…according to the map. She should tell Mac about the visions and how she inhabited the woman, but as soon as she opened her mouth, her vocal chords seemed to freeze up. Her throat muscles seized and she panicked. "All right!" she screamed in her head. "I won't say a word!" As soon as she made the conscious decision not to tell Mac, her throat relaxed and she was able to breathe again. She took in silent gulps of air, trying to steady her shaking hands. "Do you see it?" Mac asked sharply and Lia sensed he was losing patience with her. She swallowed hard. "You're right." Side by side, they started down the corridor to the right. "Except?" Mac prompted, flashing his light over the walls and arched ceiling. Lia smiled. He could hear the doubt in her voice. "What if the map is misleading? Why would anyone go to the trouble of creating this maze of tunnels and rooms, then leave a map lying around for just anyone to find?" "But no one found it, Lia. I was just incredibly lucky to run across it in that last batch of scrolls. What are the odds!" What were the odds? Unbelievably astronomical. Incredible. Unbelievable. Weren't those words telling hersomething? "What if it doesn't lead us to the Chamber of Zamar? Or if it does, what if it's a trap? Haven't you seen Indiana Jones ?" "That's a movie," Mac snapped. His tone had an edge to it she didn't like. "This is different." But Lia couldn't leave well enough alone. She was edgy, her senses heightened. She was being pulled in the opposite direction, but had no idea how to get Mac to agree to go the other way without telling him about the visions. "What if the statue isn't there?" she asked irritably. She truly wasn't trying to provoke him. The chatter helped her to burn off nervous energy. "And even if it is, it has probably been destroyed. Most old tombs and temples were raided of their valuables centuries ago." "Not this one. There's not a sign anyone has been in here since the beginning."

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The beginning ofwhat ? Did she even want to know? Sometimes, she felt Mac knew more than he was telling her. It was fitting she had her own little secret. If this path did lead nowhere, then they could always turn around and do it her way. Assuming they survived. "We have no idea what we're walking into," she continued. "We're crazy for even being here. A team of experts needs to see this. It needs to be recorded and protected." Mac stopped in his tracks and shone his beam directly into her eyes. The sudden brilliance hurt and she blinked, shielding her eyes from it. "What the fuck am I? Don't you think I know what I'm doing?" "Get that light out my eyes!" she snapped and gasped in relief, rubbing her eyes when he moved the light away. "You know what I mean, Mac. Of course I think you know what you're doing or I wouldn't be here with you." "Then why are you going over ground you've covered a dozen times before? We're here now. We're about to make the discovery of the millennium, this one and the last, and all you can do is question me." Mac started down the corridor again. "Just shut the hell up and enjoy it. It's the adventure of a lifetime." He was right, of course. How many sales reps got the chance to search for a lost civilization that most reputable archaeologists didn't even believe had existed? She should be grateful Mac let her tag along. Maybe, after he'd made his name in the field with this discovery, she could go back to college, get her degree, and join him in his work. He had always resented that he couldn't change her mind about her studies. Then maybe she could change his mind about sleeping with her. They consulted the map frequently although Mac seemed to have the path memorized. Corridor followed corridor going deeper and deeper. A couple of hours later, they stopped to rest. Lia watched Mac drink from his canteen, his head tilted back. His long coal-black hair hung limply down his shoulders, tangled with sweat. She had been half in love with him from the beginning of their friendship, but she knew she could never be completely in love with him. There was a streak of cruelty in him that kept her from giving her heart to him. She didn't quite understand why he wouldn't sleep with her. He said it would ruin their friendship and she knew he was right. But she was so physically drawn to him that she often grew hot and wet just watching him do something as simple as taking a drink. Under normal circumstances, when her clit throbbed and she ached all over after spending time with Mac, she would lie in her bed and take care of her needs, pretending it was a black-haired, green-eyed man who touched her. To add to her confusion, sometimes it wasn't Mac. Lately, most of the time it wasn't Mac. His face wouldn't quite come into focus and all she was aware of was long waves of black hair and emerald green eyes. Occasionally, she dreamed of him. In her dreams, it was never Mac, but this other fantasy man. She couldn't imagine who this other man was. She had never met anyone else with Mac's black hair, green eyes, and dark complexion. Of course, he didn't really exist, but once in a while she found herself searching crowds for him. She soon came to realize the color combo of black hair and green eyes was rare. She further realized that she had invented this man because Mac rejected her.

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Even if Mac agreed to sleep with her, could she actually do it? She had dated a number of men. She was reasonably attractive and kept physically fit because of Mac's explorations. Some man was always asking her out. There had been a few who were warm and funny and she could almost imagine a life with one of them. There had been several she had been tempted to sleep with. But when it came down to the nitty gritty, even so far as getting undressed and into bed, she couldn't do it. She froze, her muscles seizing up as stiff and unresponsive as the statue Mac searched for. She always apologized profusely, but it embarrassed her completely. Why was she so different from her circle of acquaintances who talked about sleeping with men as easily as they talked about trying on a new dress? Most of the men ranted and raved, called her a bitch and a cock-tease as they jerked on their clothes and stormed away. Only two had reacted like gentlemen. With them, she had discovered other ways of pleasure, with lips and tongues and fingertips. One had lasted only that night. He was apologetic, but he didn't have the patience or desire to teach a virgin about sex, to help her get over whatever baggage she was carrying. The affair with the other had lasted a few months, but every time she tried to make love with him, she would freeze. He never grew frustrated or angry with her. She would more than make up for it by giving him long sessions of blowjobs that left him gasping and shuddering. He would reciprocate, although her body would not allow penetration of her vagina even with his fingers or tongue. They drifted apart, as she knew they would. No man, no matter that he was receiving the best head in his life, could go long without traditional sex. What was wrong with her? There had been no sexual abuse or molestation in her childhood. She'd had wonderful parents, both gone now, who had been devoted to each other and her. As an only child, she had been spoiled, of course, by their undivided attention, but they had been neither too strict nor too lenient. Her parents had never pushed her to excel although they expected her to do as well as she could. Their unexpected and untimely deaths in a car accident a year after she had graduated from college left her with a little money to invest that would ensure her a comfortable retirement. Her parents' unconditional love might be the problem, but she had never equated her parents' love with that of a man. She had always considered herself well adjusted with no self-esteem problems. She was boringly average in every way. Except she could not have sex. She shouldn't have let her thoughts stray to her unsatisfactory love life because when Mac suggested they should move on, she could barely stand. She was horny and there was no relief in sight. Fine time for her body to stir and long for a man. She wondered what Mac would do if she jumped him right then, tore the khaki clothes from his body, and rode him like the sex-starved woman that she was. Would he push her away? More than likely, she thought as she fell into step beside him. He had always been adamant their relationship not pass the boundary of best friends. Lovers, he said, alwayscum and go, but friends, and enemies, lasted for-fucking-ever. Well, that was Mac. Crude but truthful. Lia let Mac lead the way because if given the opportunity, she would turn around and go back. She didn't trust herself to follow the map. Yet, she didn't trust her instincts. It had been hours since she'd had a vision and she had begun to think they had been her imagination working overtime, carried away with the ambiance of this place.

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They had made a few more turns and traveled a few more corridors when Lia, now lagging a few yards behind Mac, nearly lost her footing in the sand. She reached out to the wall to steady herself and… As she nears the chamber, her sandal scuffs against stone, and she stumbles, the lamp falling from her grasp. The oil spills and the light is snuffed out in the layer of loose sand covering the floor. In the sudden darkness, she becomes disoriented and reaches out to steady herself, but she is caught by strong arms and brought up short against a massive chest. For a moment, she cannot breathe. What if he is not her lover? What if others have discovered their trysts, and now one of them holds her captive? It would mean her death! But more, it would mean the death of her lover. "Are you sure you're okay?" Mac asked. Lia blinked. She found herself in Mac's arms, her hands pressed to a chest that bulged to fill his khaki shirt quite nicely. His chest couldn't be called massive, but he had always been muscular and fit. "I-I'm fine," she assured him and dragged her hands away from him. She was close to tearing the shirt open and pressing her lips to his bare skin. Sexual heat thrummed through every nerve. God, she had never been this aroused! She longed to grab Mac's hand, jam it down her khaki shorts, beneath her panties, and get rid of that awful, sweet ache. As close as she was to the edge of orgasm, it wouldn't take more than a few soft strokes around her clit. Lia shuddered with the thought and was glad Mac had turned away. She had taken a few steps backward when she realized what she was doing and forced herself to follow Mac. "Only a few more turns and we're there. These fucking passages are longer than they look on paper." Lia could only grunt in agreement. She didn't trust her voice. If she tried to speak, she might scream. Every step vibrated through her body. The shorts rubbed between her legs and her panties were damp with her juices. She tugged at them to move them away from her overly sensitive flesh, but after a few steps, they rode up again, tormenting her. She wanted to strip them off and wallow in the sand until Mac saw her and fucked her as she had longed for him to do ever since she'd met him. She imagined his green eyes dark with passion. No, not Mac's…but whose? Mac had stopped. He shone his light through an opening, but it barely penetrated the darkness. "This is it," he whispered. Lia didn't remember making those last few turns. All she was aware of was her body and the ripples of arousal flowing through her limbs. Her breasts felt swollen and her erect nipples rubbed almost painfully against her shirt, the thin, taut material of her stretch bra only heightening the sensation. She wanted to place her hands on them and massage the ache away, but Mac would think she had lost her mind. Maybe she had. Shaking her head, trying to clear it enough to concentrate on Mac and his find, she stepped closer to him. "After you," she breathed.

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"No, we do this together," Mac said with a strange smile that she saw in the glow of their flashlights. It didn't look like a smile of triumph but was more of a cat-that-ate-the-canary kind of smile. Lia shrugged and moved to his side. They stepped inside. Shining their lights around, Lia was shocked to see they were in a natural cavern, not man-made. It was huge, the slope of the ceiling rising away from them into pitch black. Stalagmites and stalactites dotted the ceiling and uneven floor. Rocks, boulders, and mounds of pebbles were strewn everywhere. There was no sign that any ritual had ever been held here. No statue of the god Zamar. They stepped away from the opening and the walls groaned around them. She heard shrieking, grinding mechanisms then walls slamming against walls from near and far. Her eyes grew wide and she started to step back through the opening, but Mac grabbed her arm and pulled her away. "Look!" He pointed. The sides of the opening moved together swiftly. She could have been caught between them. There was a moment of deafening silence when all Lia could do was stare at their only means of leaving this place. "Oh, Mac, what if we're trapped?" her voice echoed hollowly in the large chamber. Before Mac could respond, the sounds came again. Some from a far distance and others closer. And one sounded as if it was in the chamber with them. They shone their lights around until the beams caught another exit opening up a dozen yards to the left. All fell silent again. Mac laughed. "The corridors changed, and the map is now useless." "How the hell are we going to get out of here?" Lia asked, her voice surprisingly calm when she wanted to scream in frustration at being trapped. Her body craving a sexual release that was so totally inappropriate it was ludicrous wasn't helping either. "Through there," Mac said and flashed his beam toward the new opening. "But first we look around." "There's nothing here!" Lia shouted and her echoes bounced off the walls again and again. "It was a trap. We'll never find our way out if there even is a way out." "You don't know that, Lia." Mac's voice was calm, reassuring. Too calm. Mac was always sensible in the face of danger, but there should have been some sign of panic as he fought to control it. She saw nothing but complacency and that frightened her more than the thought of never finding a way out. "You go that way and I'll go over here," Mac suggested, using the beam to indicate she should go left. "What are we looking for?" Lia shivered with sexual tension and fear and her voice reflected it, but Mac didn't seem to notice.

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"Anything that looks odd. Some sign the Zamarians used this chamber for their ritual. This might well be it, Lia. They made the tunnels that led to this cave to perform their ritual in a natural setting." It made as much sense as any of this did, she supposed, and did as he told her. She climbed boulders and squeezed between stalagmites, hoping to find some indication that anyone had ever used this cavern for anything. All she saw were rocks and more rocks, as she flashed her light around and the fingers of her free hand pinched at one nipple. When she realized what she was doing, she dropped her hand. Mac was somewhere on the other side of the cavern. If she had a few minutes she could ease this tortuous ache quickly. She felt her face grow warm in embarrassment. How could that be the foremost thought in her mind when they might die here? "Find anything?" she shouted. "Not a thing," he called back and she was disappointed that he sounded too near. It sounded as if he was coming back toward her. Her only defense was that if she could get rid of her need, she would be able to think more clearly. She waited a few minutes, but didn't hear his footsteps. "Mac?" Her voice reverberated softly around her. She waited a few more minutes. "Mac, did you find something?" There was still no answer. Panicking, she hurried back toward the place where they'd separated. "Mac!" she screamed. "Can you hear me?" The floor in this cavern was covered in mottled sand, a mix of black and gray, not the neutral beige color of the desert and layered sand in the passageways. She saw his footsteps trail to a line of boulders he had climbed, but there was no return track. She ran to the boulders and shone her light beyond them. She could see clearly that he wasn't here. He hadn't fallen and struck his head. He wasn't hiding out to tease her. "Mac, where are you?" Her echo was the only answer she received. She made her way to the new exit, but the sand around the opening lay undisturbed. He hadn't gone out without her, but where had he gone? "MAC! MAC! MAC!" she screamed as long and as loud as she could, until her throat felt raw and her breath was almost gone. Gasping for air, Lia made her way back to the line of boulders. He might have fallen in a way that she couldn't see. Or dropped into a pit. Or a poisonous snake might have bitten him, paralyzing him, after he stumbled into a far corner. Any number of gruesome things might have happened and she imagined them all as she climbed over the rocks and landed in the sand beyond. She flashed her light around, but there was no sign of distress. In fact, there were no footprints at all.

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Mac had never made it this far. She climbed back upon the boulders and looked at them all. They were wedged tightly together, no crevice for him to have fallen through. Where had he gone? From where she stood, facing the way they had come in, there was only the cavern wall to her left and a thick column of rock that seemed to be holding up the ceiling to her right. She had been exploring on the other side of the column. He couldn't have gone behind the column or she would have seen him. She dropped to the ground. She was still shaking, more with fear now, but her breasts and clit still burned where her clothes rubbed them. She had to fight the urge to strip the offending material from her body. She shook her head to clear it. What should she do? Stay here where she'd last seen Mac in the hopes that he would be able to return from wherever he'd disappeared to? Or go through the new exit and try to find the way out and call for help? Call! She struggled with her backpack and nearly ripped it open in her anxiety. The radio! It wouldn't reach outside, but maybe she could reach Mac. She pressed the button. "Mac! Mac, can you hear me?" She strained to hear beyond the static in case he had somehow gotten far away from her. She called him again and again, but received no answer. At last, she gave up, deciding to save the batteries. If he was unconscious now, he might wake up later and try to contact her. Deciding to wait here for now, she sat in the dark sand and leaned back against a boulder. She pulled out her canteen, only allowing herself one deep swallow. She hadn't seen any sign of water at all even in this cavern. All Lia could do now was wait. She rested her head on the boulder and closed her eyes… "My One," a caressing voice whispers in the dark, and she relaxes against him, pressing her palms flat over the expanse of skin between the open folds of his robe. A fingertip on each hand brushes a nipple and they harden beneath her touch. She is pleased by his sharp intake of breath, and the growing proof of his desire pushing toward her. "I have missed you, Beloved," she murmurs. She is glad there is darkness for it hides the tears she sheds in sadness. "Please, let us leave now. Tonight. I do not know how much longer I can bear to be separated from you." His lips brush hers, caress her cheeks, and kiss away her tears. She smiles. She should have known that he would be aware of her tears. "Soon," he says, his voice filled with promise. She clings to it with all her heart. "We cannot abandon our people and leave them at the mercy of the Dark Priest." She knows he is right, but she senses that if they do not leave soon, they might never leave at all. "They will not listen.Heis the one they follow, that our people have always followed. How can you turn them all againsthim?"

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They dare not say names, that of the Dark Priest or their own, in case someone suspects and listens to them in the dark. Yet, who else would they be speaking of? There is only one priest who wields such power. "I am not the only one who sees his corruption. Others have joined me in the fight against him. As soon as there are enough, we will defeat him. When that is done, you and I will be free to leave all of this behind." His hands run over her skin as he speaks and she shivers in anticipation. She slips the robe over his broad shoulders and kisses the hollow at his throat. "It will not be easy, my One. Your father—" "My father will not stop us!" she cries out in defiance although she is fearful he will do just that. They dare not make proper love because if her maidenhead is discovered to be broken, she will die at her father's decree. The virginity of the king's eldest daughter is sacred. Its loss would bring a generation of darkness and war, plague and pestilence to the kingdom—so the followers of the goddess Seniha believes. "On your father's command, his soldiers will follow us to the ends of the earth to avenge Seniha's loss. You know this." She nods in the darkness, against his chest. "But we will hide, my One, where no one can ever find us. We will go where they will not know to look. This world is larger than you know, and there are lands across the ocean that will be our refuge." Lands across the ocean…her lover knows so many things of which most others do not. "Are they arid lands, Beloved?" she asks in a whisper, her lips teasing his skin. "Or lush mountains and fertile valleys?" "Both," he breathes into her hair as he unfastens the cloth that binds her breasts. "Lush mountains," he says with wicked teasing in his voice as her breasts overflow his large hands. She wets her lips and bends her head, placing his thumb in her mouth, suckling in imitation of another part of his body. His breath quickens and he uses her wetness to run lazy circles around the nipple, bringing it to hardness. His hands skim her ribs and stomach. "Flat plains," he says. He strips away the length of cloth wrapped around her hips, and his fingers tangle in her nether curls. "Grasslands as far as the eye can see." His finger dips and she gasps, her hips surging toward him at his tender touch. "And the most fertile of valleys. You are my world, my life, my love. You are my One forever." "Forever," she echoes and her heart melts. Her fingers dig into his shoulders, and she throws back her head as he begins to summon that most delicious of feelings from deep inside the center of her being. Her senses heighten and her body arches, as taut as a bowstring. A wail started low and built with intensity, and Lia was barely aware the sound came from her as she shuddered with the explosion of heat throughout her body, rushing from where her fingers moved round

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and round her clit and labia, through her limbs, to her toes. Her back rose from the boulder she leaned against as her hips convulsed against her hand. Her other hand had cupped one breast, pinching the hard nipple until pain mixed with the pleasure. Even in her state of abandon, she didn't dare dip her fingertips into her wet vagina because she knew she would freeze before she could do it. But she cravedsomething there. Anything long, hard, and phallic would do, and the thought of a cock, velvet-smooth and deep inside her made her fingers circle her clit furiously, wringing every sensation possible. She roiled with the waves, the sound from her parched throat growing louder and begging for release. After what seemed an eternity, the last tremor wound down and Lia opened her eyes, wincing at the last echo of her cries. Now she could remember how the chamber had filled with her ragged voice, multiple reverberations sounding like a dozen women screaming in ecstasy. Lia leaned back against the boulder again and stiffly pulled her hand from her shorts. She was gulping in air and her mouth was as dry as the desert, her tongue like sandpaper. She fumbled with her backpack, legs still spread wide, aching with the aftershock. She twisted the top off the canteen and poured the cool water down her throat. Even as she drank, she smelled her dew on her hand, and the burn stirred deep inside. Dear God, she couldn't go through that again! She jerked the canteen away from her lips. She wanted to scrub her hand, get rid of the smell, but she couldn't waste the precious water. She'd already drunk more than she should. Half the canteen was gone. Carefully, she closed the top. The tang of sex had already sent her senses reeling. Her clit and nipples started to throb, a dull rhythm matching the beat of her heart. She had to do something, to get her mind off of it. "Mac! Mac! Where are you?" she screamed although her voice was hoarse from her earlier shouts and the keening of her tortured release. There were only his footprints leading to the boulders, none away from them and none on the other side. None leading to the new exit created by the shifting walls. She could wait here, but she could wait until she died of thirst and Mac might never find his way back from wherever he had gone. That was their only chance, wasn't it? If she could find the way out again and go for help. Lia threw on her backpack and ran for the exit. Whatever she faced out there was better than waiting here for a slow death. At least out there she would die trying to do something. Lia stepped across the threshold. She had taken two steps when she heard the shrieking mechanisms start up again. Rock slammed into rock. Gears and chains ground and shuddered. The opening behind her closed. Then it all began again as new doorways were made. Flashing the light where the opening had once been, she could barely see the fine line where stone met stone. The precision with which the blocks were carved and matched seemed impossible without more sophisticated tools than the ancients had. But all she had to do was remember Stonehenge, the Sphinx, and the pyramids of Egypt and South America. The ancients had more skill and patience with their crude tools than most modern engineers. No passages to the left or right. She had no way of knowing if the maze had returned to its original layout or changed into another entirely different one. She had no choice. There was only one way to go,

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forward. Lia hurried along the tunnel. She tried to keep her bearings in relation to the large cavern she'd left behind, but after a few turns she was thoroughly confused. She stopped to catch her breath and closed her eyes for a moment. She had been drawn in a different direction since she first entered this place and experienced the first vision. If she emptied her mind and quit fighting the force, perhaps it would lead her to where she needed to go. Making her mind go blank was more difficult than she thought. She was almost in a state of panic at losing Mac. She pictured Mac. Tall, handsome, muscled. Long black hair, green eyes…and suddenly he wasn't Mac, but she didn't know who he was. He was taller, broader, more muscular, but she couldn't glimpse his face. He was someone she knew intimately, but the practical part of her reminded her that she knew no one else like Mac. Lia tried to shake the thoughts away. She needed to concentrate. It took a while for her to loosen up enough to do it, but for a moment, that breathless time between one second and the next, she managed a perfect state of unawareness. And in that moment, she knew exactly where she needed to go. Lia ran as fast as she could, turning corners at a reckless pace, sprinting down the straight passageways, until she developed a stitch in her side that forced her to slow down. Panting from exertion, she reached the end of the first passageway, where she had gone left and Mac right. She shone her light down the long passage. At the end of the tunnel was the way out. She could see if Mac had made it out. If not, she could take the Jeep to the nearest village and bring back help. Or she could take the left turn. It didn't matter if she set off more traps, she could always find her way back here. She now knew this place like the back of her hand. Whatever connection she had with the woman in the vision gave her the knowledge to find her way no matter the design. Lia had to discover what pulled at her. With one last look down the main tunnel, she started at a trot down the left passageway, limping in deference to the pain in her side. This tunnel looked no different than any of the other dozens she had traveled, but itfelt different. Moving away from this direction had filled her with doubts and dread. Now, she felt joyous, tingling with anticipation. She felt as if she were going to meet her lover…the way the woman had felt in the vision. With every step she took, her sexual tension grew until she rubbed first one breast and then the other to try to relieve the ache. Even though she was only making it worse, she couldn't stop. Lia made a few more turns and found herself in a short passageway. Instinctively, she knew this was where the woman had dropped her oil lamp and met her lover in the dark. Here, he had caressed her, murmuring words of love, bringing her to the point of orgasm. Lia whimpered as everything went black. The vision was taking over again. Her hips undulate in opposition to the swirling of his fingertips, and she longs for him to push inside her wetness. He dares not, but he knows exactly where to touch and what to do and he does it so well. She cannot imagine true coupling could be sweeter than what they share, but it must be for her muscles tighten

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within as if they are trying to draw something in deeper. She sighs against the futility of her own desires, groping for his erection. Her fingers close over his hot, stiff member and he groans, a primal sound that reverberates through his chest. How she loves the throaty sounds he makes while she pleasures him. Her fingers caress him lightly as he pushes into the cup of her hand. Their rhythms match, both swaying into the other's hand, then away, then in again. His fingers slip down to cover the folds of what the goddess holds sacred, and the nub of her desire collides with the base of his palm again and again. Their rhythm quickens and her hand tightens. Her palm catches the small amount of moisture from the engorged tip and spreads it along the rock hard length of his manhood. Their breaths sound harsh but come as one, and their heartbeats match. They almost become one another, she thinks, as she nears the bursting point of her pleasure, her hips moving even more quickly against his hand. He matches her pace, and she feels him grow even harder, that last stiffening just before he is ready to spill his seed. She wishes he could spill within her and create a child, a proof of their everlasting love. But for now, it cannot be. She cries out as her pleasure is released and her body tingles and grows warm. She feels faint and her legs become weak as wave after wave pours through her body. When she is replete and her hips have stopped grinding against his palm, only then does he push his manhood insistently. She grips him firmly with both hands, but lets him set the pace. He moves back and forth more quickly until the last moments when he strains into the tight circle formed of her hands. A guttural groan is torn from his throat as his seed spills and she catches every precious drop. When the last shudder racks his body, he sags against her for only a moment drawing in deep, ragged breaths. Bracing himself, he swings her up into his arms and she cradles her head between his jaw and shoulder. He carries her into their chamber. The vision ended abruptly, and Lia's hand shook as she lifted the flashlight to reveal an entryway to a chamber—the same chamber where the woman's lover carried her. Lia stumbled across the passageway and over the threshold. She stopped just inside and leaned back against the wall beside the opening. Her whole body trembled, craving something her own hands couldn't satisfy. She flashed the light around, but the beam revealed an empty room, the floor covered in sand like the passageways. No statue. She had almost expected to see it there even though according to the glyphs on the scroll, the statue would be situated in a chamber large enough to hold hundreds of people attending the ritual. Nothing tangible here, but she was overcome with a sense of love and devotion and physical arousal—all the things the woman felt for her lover. Lia slid down the wall to sit at its base, tears streaming down her face. The woman's connection to her lover was a relationship Lia had always wanted but never came close to having. Before she was aware of what she was doing, she had jammed the handle of the flashlight between her legs, rubbing the long, cylindrical case back and forth. She closed her eyes, moaning…

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He lays her on the thick pallet he had prepared earlier in anticipation of their tryst. How often do they not make it to the makeshift bed before their hands pleasure one another's bodies? Too often, she thinks and smiles in the dark. A faint light glimmers from the other side of the small chamber. He has lighted a lamp. Quickly, she crawls from the soft pallet, over the abrasive sand until she reaches the back chamber wall. There she digs a hole in the loose sand and buries his seed as a gift to the goddess. It will not sprout him sons, she thinks, and stifles a laugh at the image of babies springing from the sand, but they mustn't leave any evidence of what they do behind. And perhaps the goddess will reconsider what she asks the eldest daughter of the king to forsake if she is brought closer to the pleasure a man can give a woman. Her lover catches her from behind, his strong arm slipping around her stomach. He has discarded his robe and he holds her close to his naked body. She feels his growing manhood press against the back of her thigh. He swings her up and deposits her on the pallet, tumbling along with her. They laugh as limbs tangle and warm skin slides along warm skin. The faint light is a bright corona outlining him in stark relief as he raises and kneels between her legs, spreading them wide. Her hips surge upward and she longs for him to plunge inside, but it would be certain death for both of them. The royal physician examines her frequently to ensure her maidenhead is intact. It is a humiliating experience that she loathes, and she will be glad to leave it and everything else behind when her lover deems it is time for them to go away together. She dreams of the day he will be able to pierce her maidenhead and make her feel like a true woman. He runs his hands from her calves, over her knees, to the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. She quivers with delight and forgets everything except the feel of his hands on her body. He lowers his head and his fingers spread her folds farther apart. She sighs with the first exquisite touch of his tongue in the creases around her nub and the tingle of arousal begins. He laps at her gently, long slow strokes that make her squirm into him. His hands move under her hips and clutch her buttocks. His touch is hot and she feels as if the imprints of his large hands have been burned into her flesh. He raises her closer to him, his tongue gliding up and down the rim of the goddess' portal. Her breath quickens and her heart pounds. Her hips begin a rhythm all their own and his lips return to her nub, surrounding it, suckling it. She pushes into him, her back arching, ready for the rush of sensation, but at the last moment he stops and draws away. She hangs on the edge of oblivion, poised on the brink of eternity, but instead the feeling recedes a little. He flicks his fingers around her nub a few times, but not enough to send her plummeting over the edge. "Please, please, Beloved!" she begs in a whimper, her body writhing with need. "Do not stop!" But it is part of their lovemaking and she enjoys his teasing touch. "Not yet, my One," he whispers hoarsely. "There are more pleasures to come." Lia groaned aloud when the vision ended, and she was back in the chamber, alone and horny as hell. She shook her head against the wall and tried to bring the vision back. She wanted to experience what they experienced, wanted to live inside the woman and be loved in a way she had never been loved by a man. To be treasured and wanted, even if the complete act of penetration was an impossibility.

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Sobbing, Lia yanked the flashlight from between her legs. No more! It wasn't enough, would never be enough. She had to find the statue. The answer was with the statue. Lia wasn't sure how she knew it. Probably from the woman in the vision. At least, if she found the statue, she could get out of here. If she hadn't found Mac by then, she could go for help. Lia stood on shaky legs and stepped out into the passageway. She closed her eyes and tried to make her mind go blank again. This time it was easier and she knew where she needed to go and what she had to do. Half an hour later, she entered a medium-sized chamber. Larger than where the woman and her lover met, but not spacious enough to hold hundreds of worshipers. Here, there was a large block of stone long enough for someone to lie on, its flat surface as tall as her waist. Could it be an altar? Glyphs she didn't know how to read were carved on all sides. Piles of rubbish lined the side walls. Fragments of papyrus that disintegrated when she touched them. Dull metal tools. Clay vessels that shattered when she tried to move them. But none of this really interested her. She moved around the slab of rock to the back of the chamber. She found a loose stone and pushed inward. Prepared for grinding, whining gears, she was surprised when a section of the wall moved aside with barely a whisper. The flash of her light revealed a long flight of steps leading down. The steps seemed intact as far as the light would reach. Everything else had held up well over time, no reason these shouldn't have either. She started down. At the bottom, there was another stone to push and another door to open. Just as she laid her hand on the correct block, everything blurred and she was back again with the woman and her lover. "More?" she asks in a timid whisper. She doesn't think her body can stand more stimulation, but she knows it can. They shouldn't take so much time tonight, yet she can't bear to tell him she must leave. She prays to the goddess that the guards will not notice her absence. But will the goddess heed her prayers when they go against everything the priests tell them the goddess stands for? She cannot believe the goddess would wish her to abstain from this…and it is her last thought as her lover's hands grip her waist and pulls her up and toward him. She rises until she is seated on his thighs, her portal of Sineha lying along his thick, hard length. She squirms closer until her nub is in contact with the flesh just above the root of his manhood. She rocks her hips, bumping him just enough to bring back the sweet tingle of anticipation. Her lover has wrapped his arms around her, to steady her, and his head dips, his mouth closing over the tight peak of one breast. His teeth nip gently and his tongue rakes the hardened flesh, drawing circles around and around. He moves to the other and lavishes the same attention to it. She throws back her head, her hands threaded through his silky hair. She glides her portal back and forth over his stiff manhood, careful not to press too hard although she wants him inside of her so badly tears well in her eyes. She is almost there, once again on the edge of the precipice, but his hands grasp her hips and he stops her. She trembles violently.

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"Beloved, please," she whimpers, tossing her head from side to side. "Please release me from my torment." "Not yet," he says again and kisses her. His lips taste sweetly of her own dew as his tongue delves into her mouth. Her fingers clench in his hair and her hips thrust toward him, but he holds her firmly away from him. Time! She wishes it could stand still for them, but it races forward whenever they are together. She has been away much longer than she should have. She only came tonight for a quick kiss and caress. When they brought one another to ecstasy in the passageway, she should have dressed and left right then. He swung her up into his arms, and she couldn't resist another session of his passion. Now, too much time has passed. "Beloved," she says as she draws away from his kisses, but flings her arms around him. "I should go back before I am missed. I would rather die a thousand deaths than leave you, but I do not want you in danger." "Soon," he croons, his warm breath tickling her ear. "Soon we will be together and far away from here. But tonight is for our love." Gently, he loosens her arms and slips her off his thighs. He lies back on the pallet and she looks at him. His face is in shadow and she cannot see his expression, but his manhood is taut, gently curving upward. Her pulse pounds throughout her body, the drumming echoed in her swollen nub. She moves to her knees beside him and reaches for his enormous length. "Come here, my One," he says and catches her hand. "We will love one another together." He indicates for her to straddle him so that her back is to him. He positions her so that her legs are tucked under his shoulders, and his mouth easily finds the center of her pleasure. She moans as his tongue licks greedily at her soft folds. Then she bends and places her hands around his shaft. He stiffens and pushes into her grasp as her mouth covers the engorged head. She rakes her tongue across the tender underside again and again and is teased by the same motions he creates around her nub. She takes as much of him as she can into her mouth and begins the in and out rhythm he enjoys. His lips do the same to her nub as his hands squeeze her buttocks. Soon, she can barely breathe or think as her hips quicken and his lips move faster. Then a fingertip eases just inside the tightness of her anus, massaging in time to their movements, and she is swept away on a wave of bliss. She cries out against his manhood and her excitement ends his torture as well. Warm fluid spurts into her mouth as she rides the crest of sensation that has threatened to tear her asunder. And then she feels rough hands on her, pulling her off of her lover. She senses more than sees him rolling to his feet, a feral growl on his lips. More hands fasten onto her body, holding her back as she strains to free herself, to reach her lover. The strange hands touch her in places they shouldn't touch. They hold her arms outstretched and her legs far apart. A hand clamps over her wet portal of pleasure. "Let her go!" her lover snarls, struggling against his captors. "You want me, not her! Free her!" "On your knees, novice!" The dark and dangerous voice of the Dark Priest commands her lover from beneath his hood. "No!" she screams. "We have done nothing wrong!"

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The robed men who hold her lover drive him to his knees. "That is for the royal physician to decide," the Dark Priest rasps. He nods and something hard and leathery touches the entry to her portal. Pain rips through as it is forced inside, where only moments before she had felt pure ecstasy. Then she understands. "NOOOOO!" she screams and cannot stop. "NONONONONO!" The destruction of her maidenhead means her death and the death of her lover! It is the only way the Dark Priest can rid himself of her lover and the conspiracy against him. She is gagged to stifle her tormented screams. Before she is carried away, her lover manages to escape his captors for a brief moment and embraces her one last time. "Forgive me," he whispers into her ear before they take him away. "Remember, my One…forever!" "Nooooo…." Lia moaned. She was on her knees, her hand lying lightly on the stone block. Tears streamed from her eyes, and her breathing came in hitching gasps. She could hardly bear witnessing the discovery and separation of the lovers. Her heart felt as if it were shattering in her chest. Lia was left with the terrible feeling that the lovers had never been reunited. When her breathing had evened and the tears had stopped, only then did she stand on shaky legs and press the block of stone. Like the mechanism at the top of the steps, the doorway opened almost silently. She wiped at her tear-stained face and crossed the threshold. Immediately, the wall behind her slid together soundlessly. She whirled around and flashed her light over the stone blocks. The stones were almost seamless, and she might not have noticed them at all if she hadn't known they were there. Lia shone the light around. Like the passages, the floor was layered in sand. To the right was a large archway and to the left was what looked like a crack in the natural rock wall creating a crevice barely wide enough for a person to walk through. The archway would only take her back to the beginning of the maze. The crevice would take her where she needed to go. As long as she still remembered what she learned while inhabiting the woman in her visions, she could always find the way out. She turned left. Lia crossed the room then took a step into the crevice, almost expecting the walls to begin to close in on her. She waited, holding her breath, but didn't hear anything. She had to go on if she wanted to find out what all of this was about. She took a few more tentative steps forward, then she was racing along as fast as she could. The crevice was almost straight, veering neither to the left or right. She ran until the stitch in her side caught again, and she was forced to slow. Where could Mac be?she thought guiltily. It had been a long while since he and his whereabouts had crossed her mind. She had gotten so caught up in the drama in her visions that she had allowed it to push aside what should have been her main concern.

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Minutes passed like hours before she saw a faint light in the distance. The end of the crevice was near. She limped the last few steps out of the crevice and into the Chamber of Zamar. The huge cavern could be nothing else. The walls shimmered with a gentle glow that lighted the entire chamber. She blinked against the sudden light after hours of darkness and took two more steps into the huge chamber. A temblor moved through the rock, and she felt the reverberation throughout her body. She turned in time to see the walls settle into place, only a thin line marking where the crevice had been. Lia knew she should panic, but she didn't as she waited for another set of moving gears to create another opening. Long minutes passed, but nothing happened. No new exit was created. She was trapped. She didn't know the way out of the chamber. What knowledge she had gained from the woman didn't cover how to escape the chamber, only how to find it. A thought suddenly made her feel guiltier. What if Mac had discovered one of these silent passages that closed as soon as he stepped through? She should have looked beyond the row of boulders, searched the wall for a thin line that indicated the secret opening. But there had been no footprints in the sand. How could he have possibly reached an opening without stepping onto the sand? Lia took a deep breath. First things first. Find out what had compelled her to come to this chamber, then find a way out. She remembered the way back to the cavern where Mac had disappeared. She could find it again and do another, more thorough search. Right now, she had to find out if the statue was here. She slowly walked farther into the chamber. Three times or more as large as the cavern where Mac had disappeared, it could easily accommodate a small village to witness a religious rite. Lia switched off her flashlight. The floor was bare rock. A large pool had been cut into the center of the rock floor, its perfect circular shape obviously made by man, not developed naturally. A round "island" of rock had been left in the center of the pool and had been carved into a pyramid shape rising thirty feet in the air. Steps on the two sides that she could see led to a small platform at the top, and the silhouette of— Lia started. For an instant, she thought someone stood motionless on the flat peak looking down at her. Then she realized it was a statue and its back was turned toward her—the statue of Zamar. The tragedy of the lovers in the vision had put a halt to the overwhelming sexual need raging within, but the sight of the statue stirred the need all over again. Her knees grew weak and she trembled all over. Her clit throbbed in time to her steps as she approached the pool. She felt as if she were almost in a daze she couldn't shake off. It took only moments to shed her clothing. Nude, she stepped into the shallow depth and walked until the level reached her breasts. The water was cool and clear. She swam a few strokes, then treaded water as she loosened her hair. She rinsed away the sweat and grit of the past few hours. Then she swam to the island, reveling in the feel of the water gliding over her skin and between her legs. She climbed out on the island.

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Lia walked all the way around the pyramid and found the other two sides identical to the first two she'd seen. She stopped when she reached the side the statue faced. She shivered. The swim had left her refreshed but chilled. However, she thought the shiver really came from what she would find at the top of the pyramid. The steps were hand-hewn and uniform. She placed one foot on the bottom step and climbed. The statue's head came into view first and her breath caught. It was the most beautiful likeness of a man she had ever seen—high, flat cheekbones, straight nose, tapered jaw, and a sensuous mouth, lips parted as if he were about to speak. His eyelids were half-closed over two green jewels for irises and inlaid obsidian or jet for pupils. Thick waves of hair swept away from his brow to fall carelessly down his back. Lia's pulse pounded in her ears. She climbed a few more steps in breathless anticipation. Straining muscles delineated his neck and broad shoulders. His arms were outstretched toward her, bent at elbow and wrist to suggest he was holding a woman close. Broad chest narrowed to trim waist and slim hips and an erect penis. Lia stopped short and gasped, pressing her thighs together. This was what she wanted, craved, needed like nothing she'd ever needed before. She hurried up the last few steps. The statue was over six feet tall, every detail in correct proportion, nothing exaggerated, not even the genitalia. The thick penis jutted out and slightly curved upward, ready to be mounted. The word shook her.Mounted was such a base, primal word. Yet what was sex but the most base and primal act in which two people could engage. Without thinking, she reached out a finger and ran it along the hard length of his cock. Lia thought she felt a tremor pass through it, but more likely it was the echo of her own trembling. She licked her lips and ran her fingers over the fine musculature of his flat stomach and chest. She found his nipples, tiny granules of stone that didn't threaten to break off. She looked up into his jewel-green eyes and wondered what kind of sacrifices he had seen. Were virgins slaughtered before his eyes? Or brutally raped by mortal men who had assumed the persona of the god Zamar? Lia examined the floor around him, but there were no bloodstains. The actual sacrifice could have taken place elsewhere, perhaps the pool. She turned her attention back to him and eased into the embrace of his arms. His stone flesh was cool against her heated skin. "You are Zamar," she whispered, her lips close to his as she stood on tiptoe. His erection nudged her belly and she stretched a little farther until the tip of his shaft was wedged in the juncture of her legs. Her blood pounded in her ears, and she burned where he touched her. She was careful not to put too much weight on his penis, afraid it might snap off. She didn't want to mar this perfect man-statue. She shifted her weight to spread her legs, noticing the difference in temperature between the cooler stone beneath her feet and where the statue touched her body now. Perhaps her own body heat had warmed

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the stone. His cock felt too good against her. She closed her eyes and rubbed back and forth until her hips thrust of their own will. Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, and she writhed until the tip of his cock was pressed firmly against her clit. She shuddered violently, trying to find release, but couldn't. "Zamar!" she cried out his name in a breathless rush, as if he were her lover. "I have to, don't I?" Lia rubbed once more and shuddered again. Her breasts burned in anticipation. She massaged the rigid nipples, which only deepened her need, and wished Zamar's hands were touching her instead. She pretended her hands were his. While one hand pinched a nipple, the other slipped across her ribcage and over her belly to the mat of curls. She raised her head and looked directly into Zamar's jewel-green eyes. The hand slid against her swollen, wet folds. Fingers caressed her labia lightly in a circular motion until one brushed her clit. Her body arched, aching to be released from this torture. The fingers found her clit again and pressed closer, quickening the motion. It wasn't enough and she quivered with the shock of the thought that had struck her as soon as she saw his hard cock. Lia removed her hands and placed her body within his embrace, so that his arms surrounded her and his hands braced her back. She stood on tiptoe and raised one leg. She coated her fingers with her juice and spread it over the tip of his cock to make entry easier. Taking a deep breath, she eased herself over him. Would she freeze as she had always done with live men? Or was this what she had been meant to do all along? She forced herself down, easily, gently, prepared for the panic to seize her and cause her to withdraw. Nothing happened except a sharp stab of pain when her hymen broke. She hesitated but the pain dissolved. The stone cock was warm inside her, not cool as she expected. It almost felt pliable as she slid farther down, a fraction of an inch at a time, careful to angle her body just right. She was eager to do this, but not at the risk of damaging herself. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and pushed down, down until he filled her up and her clit was pressed firmly against the angle where his penis joined below his belly. A sigh escaped her lips at the satisfactory fullness of his cock. She thought there would be more pain, the rock chafing her vagina, but she felt nothing except pleasure. It felt as if he pulsed within her, almost thrusting with her as she began to undulate her hips.My imagination , she thought, closing her eyes and pressing her breasts to his, nipple to nipple. Warmth and pleasure surged through her. She lifted one leg then the other, placing them around his narrow hips, her heels digging into his buttocks. Strong hands gripped her under her arms and helped her increase the rhythmic momentum. Suddenly, she was aware of heavy breathing in her ear and warm lips on her neck. Powerful thrusts from beneath carried her closer and closer to the edge. She managed to think one clear thought before tumbling over:I'm dreaming! She ground herself against warm flesh, arching her back as the most powerful orgasm she'd ever felt struck, ricocheting through every limb and nerve. She shuddered and shivered and screamed out his name, "Zamar!"

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He groaned, a ragged sound deep in his throat, and he strained into her, his thrusts deeper and longer. He stiffened and moaned and shook as a hotness burned inside her vagina with his release. What a wonderful fantasy, Lia thought, brought on by the visions she had experienced. Perhaps another vision, one that seemed more real than the others. Slowly, she became aware of her hands clenched in thick, silky hair and arms moving around her to hold her up since the shriveling shaft no longer gave support. Lia jerked back and looked into jewel-green eyes that looked back at her. "My One," he said, his voice husky and rich. He was even more handsome than before as his eyes searched her face and his full lips curved into a smile. His skin, now the color of bronze, glistened with sweat. Lia gasped. "It's—It's not possible! You can't be alive!" He laughed and the sound rumbled in his chest. "I am Zamar. You called my name and sacrificed yourself to me. Of course, I am alive. And you are my One." "Nooooo," Lia moaned. "You're only a legend, and—" "Legend? I?" He laughed again, and started down the ancient hewn steps. His arms tightened around her, holding her securely. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he walked into the water until it lapped at his waist. Carefully, he laid her back until she was submerged to her neck, her body floating before him. One arm still supported her. The refreshing water eased the soreness between her thighs. "I—I'm not your One," Lia said softly, wishing she were his One so she could be loved like the woman in her visions. He only smiled at her. Cupping his hand and filling it with water, he let the cool liquid trickle over her flushed face. "Where are the witnesses?" "Witnesses?" "Always, the entire village has borne witness to the sacrifice," he explained. "Even if the village is at war, the women and the priests should be in attendance." Lia ran a hand over his ribs and chest. Touching him and being held by him was as natural as breathing…after she'd gotten over the initial shock of finding herself impaled on a live man instead of a stone statue. "I'm sorry, Zamar. I don't know how to explain. Your people are long gone and all that remains are a few passages in an old book. And a scroll."

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"They are gone?" he asked but expected no answer. His dark eyebrows furrowed and a deep sadness filled his eyes. "So it was foretold that one day this would happen. I did not think it would be so soon." "It's been thousands of years since it happened, whatever it was that wiped out your people. There is so little information about you that it took years for my friend to find this place. And only then because he had a scroll." "A scroll?" "A map of this place and how to find it." Zamar's hand moved to her hair and picked up a strand that was not yet wet. "I have never seen hair the color of gold. Where are you from? What are you now called?" He worded the question strangely, but she answered. "My name is Lia Morgan. It's been a long time since the last sacrifice, and the world has changed so much." "Lia," he said, savoring the sounds, and nodded. "I am aware of the changes though I do not always know what they mean." "When my friend found a short passage in a book about the Zamarians, the only name your people are known by, he became obsessed over the idea of finding this place and the sacrificial chamber of the god Zamar." "I am no god! I am as mortal as you." "Then how did you become a statue?" "The Dark Priest punished me when I conspired against him." A spike of fear shot through her and she shivered. The Dark Priest was the one who ordered the destruction of the woman's maidenhead so she and her lover would be sentenced to death. "Do you re—" Zamar broke off and hesitated. Then he said, "Do you know of him?" Lia nodded, but he seemed to sense her fear. He gathered her up into his arms and cradled her as he sat at the edge of the pool. She clung to him, feeling safer with his arms around her. "Ever since I entered this place, I've had visions of a man and woman. I saw everything through the eyes of the woman as she met her lover, although it was forbidden for her to make love. They—They were caught by the Dark Priest, and…" "And?" he prompted. "And the woman was—was deflowered at the order of the Dark Priest, so the two lovers would be executed." Lia shrugged. "That's all. That was the last of the visions before I found this chamber." Zamar leaned close to her and whispered into her ear, "Remember, my One…forever." Trembling, Lia looked up at him and tears filled her eyes. "Those were his last words to her, the last words I heard, anyway. He was always in the darkness and the shadows and I never saw his face. It

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really was you?" "Yes," he murmured against her hair. "And the woman?" "She was Aeliha. As the eldest daughter of the king, her body was sacred to the goddess we worshipped at the time. She was forbidden the pleasures of the flesh, especially intimacy with a man. I became a priest because I could not marry my Aeliha and to try to learn to control my passions. If I could not have her, I did not want anyone." "But you were together anyway." He smiled. "We could not stay away from one another. Aeliha would slip past her guards and come to me here in the priests' chambers, although I begged her not to." "Wh-What happened to her?" Zamar looked down at her and placed a kiss on her lips. "I will tell you later." "Why?" "I do not think you are ready to rem—to hear." Lia jerked upright and would have leapt from his embrace, but he held her tightly. "I know the word you keep stumbling over! Why should Iremember anything?" Lia shook her head. "I was in the woman's mind, and I could see out of her eyes. I know some things, but I don't know everything she knew." Zamar pulled her back down to sit in his lap, his arms around her. Why did it feel so right to be with him like this? She couldn't find the strength to leave his embrace. She didn't really want to. She wanted his hands on her body, his lips against hers. She wanted him to make love to her again. "I had the impression that you would die when the Dark Priest found you two together. The woman kept thinking it would mean your deaths if you were discovered. Why were you not killed?" "I was punished with a fate worse than death," Zamar murmured sadly. "I was only a novice priest. In the very beginning I saw how he controlled even the eldest priests. I wanted to believe he had good intentions for our people, but I soon came to realize his plans were only for the good of Mahkul." "M-Mahkul?" "The Dark Priest's name was Mahkul. He wanted the power to control and the wealth the people would give him. When I would not betray my people and led the conspiracy to stop him, Mahkul found a way to stop me. Instead of allowing me to be executed as I should have been, he cast me in stone. The curse showed the people how powerful Mahkul was, and they eagerly followed him." As he spoke, his hand lazily caressed her breasts until her nipples were hard points. Desire stirred in her once again, although she wouldn't have thought it was possible so soon.

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"Over time, they began to believe the lies Mahkul told them. Every generation when the sacrifice of a virgin was made, I saw they were ever further removed from the old ways and enslaved to Mahkul's ways. It began with the abandonment of Seniha, the goddess my people had worshipped since the beginning of time. I believe it amused Mahkul to make me as a god in the eyes of my people." His hand roved farther down over her ribs and belly, a finger rimming her navel. She quivered at his touch even as she listened to him. "I would try to tell them, but they would not listen. Even though they were told I was their god brought to life, they feared Mahkul more than they feared me. After all, I was only alive for one day every generation, but they were forced to live with his greed for power and wealth every day of their lives. And I never showed them any powers I might possess." "And the virgin sacrifice?" Lia asked, her voice trembling. Suddenly, she was afraid this Dark Priest would appear and drive a knife through her heart. Although, technically, she was no longer a virgin. "The sacrifice is her virginity, not her life," he said with a small smile, as if he knew what she was thinking. "We would spend a day and a night in intimacy, hoping she would conceive. If she didn't, Mahkul would banish her from the village, never to be seen again. When I was brought to life the next time, I would see the grown sons or daughters that resulted from the previous union. Sometimes there would be none," he added wistfully. Lia's eyes grew wide. Conception was a concern with them, but it was much too late to worry about it. She had never dreamed the statue would actually come alive while inside her. Or maybe she did, but didn't want to admit it. She decided they would worry about it later—if there was a later. Their first priority was escape. "Is there another way out of here?" she asked as his hand moved even lower, fingers tangling in the curls between her thighs. "The crevice closed when I entered." "It has always done so when the virgin entered this chamber. Always, when the night was over, the crevice would open and the people would leave, and I would become a statue until the next generation." "You would be intimate in front of everyone?" she asked, trying to imagine performing as she had in front of hundreds of people. But she supposed that was the least of their worries. Zamar laughed, his green eyes twinkling. "No, not after the first mounting." Lia started. There was that word again,mounting . A word she had never thought of in connection with sex before today. Had it been left over from a suppressed memory of the woman's? "A tent would be prepared for us and we would spend our time there while the people feasted and rejoiced. A successful mating ensured a bountiful generation for the village." His finger delved deeper, driving into her and her breath caught. Her hips pushed against him so that his finger would go even deeper. Too soon he pulled out, setting her on the edge of the pool so that she was half in, half out of the water. He parted her legs and moved between them. His hands raised her hips and his head lowered. His tongue swirled over the folds and creases and dipped into her slit. She leaned back, closing her eyes, and let the sensations wash over her. He sucked her clit, intensifying the urgency, bringing her to the

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edge, then stopped and circled it with his tongue again. He had teased the woman in this same manner, and she had loved it. Lia now knew exactly why. Zamar repeated this process over and over, driving her wild with the build up and let down again and again. He continued until she was squirming with the need of release, bucking her hips toward his mouth only to find it gone. "Oh, Zamar, please," Lia whispered when she didn't think she could stand another minute of his sweet torture. Lia gasped when he slowly eased a fingertip into her anus, but her muscle gripped him hard and pleasure rippled through her. Other fingers slid deep into her slit, a wonderful feeling she could now enjoy. Then his mouth sealed over her clit, his tongue working it quickly. The myriad sensations all at once sent her over the edge, her hips moving in a frenzy against his lips and hand, as her muscles tightened and a tidal wave of pleasure swept through her. When the last tingling ebbed away, she relaxed, totally depleted. She didn't resist when he turned her over and stepped between her legs again. She couldn't have resisted if she wanted. She lay still as he spread her legs farther and entered her from behind, his stiff cock sliding easily into her. It occurred to Lia that they didn't have to do this because there was no village to ensure fertility and bounty for. Everything and everyone Zamar had known was gone. But as she languidly joined the rhythm he'd set, his cock pumping into her, she didn't see any reason to stop him either. What was done, was done. Lia had no regrets. She didn't really regret that Mac hadn't been her first. She didn't regret sacrificing her virginity to Zamar and releasing him from his prison of stone. He grew longer and harder within her, and his thrusts increased in speed and intensity. She tried to keep up, but she was exhausted. When she thought he might batter her into pulp, he came with a loud groan, shooting his hot semen into her. Instinctively, she pressed back against him, hoping her movements prolonged his pleasure. He made a few last jerking motions, then collapsed atop her, carrying most of his weight on his arms on each side of her. He kissed the nape of her neck. "I have waited an eternity for this, my One," he whispered. Lia shook her head. She was not his One, as much as she wished it were true. She opened her mouth to deny it, but he kissed her instead. "There is another way out," he said. "Mahkul would appear and disappear at will, but it was not by conjure. He had uncovered a few secrets, including how to turn a man to stone, but that was the extent of his sorcery. He had very little natural ability and it was another reason he hated me." Lia let the opportunity to deny she was his One slip by and focused on his belief there was another way out of the chamber. "That's wonderful!" "But I do not know where it is," he said regretfully. "That's not wonderful," she said, trying to keep the disappointment from her tone. "We will find it." He rose up and helped her to her feet. They swam across to the other side and emerged near Lia's belongings. "Maybe we should just wait until the crevice opens again," Lia suggested as she got dressed, and pulled her wet hair into a ponytail.

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Zamar shook his head, his coal-black hair rippling over his shoulders. "With the dawn, the crevice opens and I begin to turn to stone. It is a much slower process than coming alive. I grow sluggish then I cannot walk. Soon I do not blink or breathe and I lose consciousness of my surroundings. I tried to escape several times in the beginning, but I would always turn to stone. I found it was easier for the sacrifice if I chose an accommodating position before I turned completely." "But then it doesn't matter, does it? Even if we find a way out, you would still turn to stone. We can just wait until—until the time is up and the crevice opens." Lia finished tucking her shirt into the waistband of her shorts, but her heart was crumbling in her chest. She had finally found the one man who could get past her panic and allow her to make love like a normal person, only to lose him. She could never bring him back again because she was no longer a virgin. "No, it does matter. If Mahkul controls the openings then he is here, somewhere." "That's not possible, is it? He would be long dead." "Immortality was one of the few secrets Mahkul learned. He had uncovered ancient paintings—ancient even in our time—deep in the caves beneath this one. He was the only one who knew where they were located. Most of the paintings had been defaced, their meanings undecipherable. But a few, he said, remained intact. From them he learned the secret of immortality and how to turn a man to stone and a few other tricks to impress and control the people. He did not have the ability to expand on the knowledge he had gleaned and create his own conjures." "Immortality," Lia whispered incredulously. Yet, was immortality any more unbelievable than a stone statue turning into a live man? And if the Dark Priest washere , was he the one who had taken Mac? "He could very well be watching us now," Zamar said, his eyes darting toward the shadowy reaches of the chamber's farthest depths. Lia hugged herself, glad she had dressed. Her skin crawled with the thought of the Dark Priest's eyes on her. Her face grew warm with the thought that he might have seen what she'd done with Zamar the statue and Zamar the man. The faintest whisper of a sound echoed throughout the cavern and startled them both. Footsteps sounded and a brilliant light moved from behind the pyramid and around the pool. Zamar stepped in front of her protectively, but she peeked over his shoulder, blinking against the light. The footsteps stopped several dozen yards away and the light went out. It took a few moments for Lia's eyes to adjust to the sudden dimness, but when she did… "Mac!" she cried out and launched herself around Zamar, running toward him. In the next instant, Zamar threw his arm around her midsection, bringing her up short, and called out, "Mahkul!" Zamar held her tight against him. "This is your friend?" Lia nodded weakly. "This is also Mahkul, the Dark Priest," he said softly.

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"No…no…" she mewled, her mind racing, trying to put the pieces together and resisting at the same time. She closed her eyes, but wasn't swept away into a vision. Yet, scenes flashed before her eyes…Zamar bound and gagged at the top of the pyramid. She, as the woman in the visions, on her knees, her arms trussed behind her. Mac as the Dark Priest standing to one side, the light of triumph in his eyes, his mouth almost smiling. The flash of a blade toward her, horror in Zamar's eyes, then…blackness…but everything to her was crystal clear. Lia jerked her eyes open. "You," she said, her voice hoarse. "You brought me here on purpose." "Of course, Lia," he said, moving closer, and it was then she noticed the gun in his hand. "I've spent many lifetimes looking for you. I knew who you were from the moment we met, and the similarity of your name clenched it. Those who are reborn often have names similar to those in a previous life. You're remembering, aren't you?" Lia nodded. "Good." "You forged the map," Lia said, trying to untangle her thoughts. "And the book. To lure me here with you." Mac laughed. "Well, technically, it's not a forgery. I drew the map centuries ago. The book is legitimate, too. I was working with the archaeologist during the time he wrote it. The hardest part has been finding you, Aeliha. This is the first time our paths have crossed since I witnessed your beheading." Zamar's hands tightened around her, and she could feel the tension and hatred emanating from him. "That you were still a virgin when we met was miraculous," Mac continued. "Only a virgin fucking the statue could bring Zamar back to life. Do you know how rare virgins are these days? If I'd known how difficult it would be to find one, I'd have changed the circumstances of his turning. But there you were, Aeliha, ripe for the plucking." "Why do you need Zamar alive? I know you hate him. You could have smashed the statue into a million bits at any time and that would have taken care of him forever. Why did you needme ? Any virgin would have done at any time before now." "I knew you were out there, somewhere, Aeliha. I didn't know it would take so many lifetimes to find you or I might have given up sooner. When our people were conquered and slaughtered, I could have smashed the statue and been rid of him for all time. But I had to have a purpose, didn't I? Immortality can be a bitch without a purpose. Besides, I wanted to see the look on his face when I killed you in front of him again. I want to see the loss and despair. And then I want to see the look on his face when I kill him." Lia whirled away from Mac's laughter to face Zamar. "The thing in his hand is a weapon. If he pulls the trigger, the small handle, a little piece of metal will come out so fast you won't be able to see it, but it can kill you if it hits you." Zamar jerked his head to show he understood and shoved her behind him again. "Mahkul, let her leave this place and we will settle our differences." Mac shook his head. "I can't do that. While I was working with the archaeologist, I found an incantation

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to take another's power, but it requires the sacrifice of a woman. Not necessarily a virgin, Lia, but you will have to die this time." "Oh, Mac…" Lia began but didn't know what to say. The memories of Aeliha were blending, then receding, separating with the memories of her life as Lia. Aeliha's memories were almost as full of Mahkul as Zamar, especially when they were children. If she was Aeliha, how could she have been so easily tricked by him as Lia? "I really will miss you, Lia. Some of the best times I've had in this millennium were with you." Mac shifted his gaze to Zamar. "You, I won't miss at all." Mac eased his backpack off, reached in and brought out a pair of plastic handcuffs. "Cuff him," Mac said and threw the straps at Lia. Time slowed. As Lia watched, the cuffs made a lazy arc in the space between them. Mac's and Zamar's movements became sluggish, and when Mac spoke, his voice was guttural and drawn out so that she couldn't understand what he said. Lia stood, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath harsh and fast. Had she done this? If so, all she had to do was pluck the gun from Mahkul's hand. The effort to step forward was almost too great. She wasn't in slow motion, but her legs felt as if dead weights had been tied to them. She pushed on, her heart beating faster, her breath turning ragged. She had almost reached Mahkul when they were all in sync again and time moved naturally. Mahkul gasped but reacted more quickly than she could. He reached for her. With a sudden burst of energy and knowledge, she dodged him easily. In a rapid double strike, she knocked the gun from his hand and backhanded a blow across his arrogant sneer. Mahkul barely flinched. He grabbed her by the hair, fingers digging into the base of her ponytail, and slung her to her knees. Another quick movement and the gun was back in his hand, the barrel jammed into the side of her neck. It had all happened so quickly and smoothly that Zamar could only take a couple of steps toward them. "I'll kill her," Mahkul threatened, the words stopping Zamar as effectively as a blow. "She's served her purpose by bringing you back. I thought it would be amusing, the three of us together again, but I don't really need her." "If you kill her, you will have to kill me," Zamar said. "Maybe," Mahkul conceded. "Believe me, I would regret it. I only waited this long in the hopes Aeliha would return. But I won't have to kill you, Zamar. A well-placed bullet will take you down without killing you." Zamar's fists clenched at his side. "What do you want?" he ground out. "What I've always wanted. Your power." Zamar shook his head. "If there was a way, I would have gladly given it to you when we were children.

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You were jealous of it then, the talent Aeliha and I had. There is no way to transfer the power we are born with and you know this." Mahkul chuckled. "That's the incantation I found. A few special words and the death of a woman. And, naturally, it results in the death of the one with the power. My talent has always been in spell work, remember? I could always manifest the most complicated and intricate of incantations." Zamar said nothing, but he'd brought his clenched fist up in front of him. "We're wasting time. Pick up the cuffs, slowly, and give them to Aeliha." No!The word exploded in Lia's mind. She had to do something to stop him. They were going to die anyway. If she could incapacitate Mahkul somehow, it would give Zamar time to escape. He might not get far before dawn and again turned to stone, but it would complicate matters for Mahkul. He would have to wait until the next generation and find another virgin sacrifice. By then, she could be reborn again, an adult, and find a way to stop him. Determined to save Zamar, energy welled within her again. She focused and concentrated. She leapt straight up, throwing Mahkul off-balance, and caught his wrists. The ease and agility of her movements surprised her. She had the grace of a cat. "Go, Zamar!" she shouted as she struggled to keep Mahkul's arms in the air and the gun's aim away from Zamar. She was losing her focus, but Zamar had to leave now. "Go while you can. We'll be together again, I promise!" "No, it ends here. Move away, Aeliha." The surge of strength was waning. Oh, why couldn't she hold onto the energy within her? "Zamar, please go. I-I can't hold him much longer." As the last of her strength slipped away, Mahkul overcame her. He tossed her high into the air, toward the nearest wall. She knew she was going to crash, breaking every bone in her body, but she couldn't— She jerked to a halt as if a wire attached to her waist had been snapped short. She floated in mid-air unsteadily, but she didn't drop like a stone. With only a little effort she pivoted, slowly uprighting herself, and looked at the two men who stood a few yards from one another. Just as Mahkul swung the gun around, Zamar's arm jetted forward, a streak of intense blue lightning leaving his fingertips. The air crackled with the energy and when the bolt touched Mahkul, he became immobile, a web of bright blue currents playing all over his body. Lia started to take a step, but remembered she was in mid-air, only to look down and find she had already landed lightly on her feet. She ran to Zamar. Now, Zamar's hands were several inches apart. Red and orange flames coalesced into a sphere, the size of a golf ball, between his palms. "Mahkul bound my powers before casting me in stone, but over the undisturbed centuries I have been able to increase the strength of my sorcery," he explained quickly. Sweat beaded on his brow with the effort. "Help me, Aeliha." "What do I do?" Lia cried out helplessly. Having the memories of Aeliha come at random then leave her

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completely was frustrating. "Concentrate, Aeliha," Zamar said softly, patiently. The sphere was almost the size of a tennis ball now. "Remember when we were children, we did this often. We would conjure a fireball, no larger than the tip of a thumb. When we threw it, the blast would bring the palace guards running. We would be sitting, playing in the dirt, and pretend we didn't hear a thing." Lia smiled and nodded. How many times had her father lectured them against teasing the guards? Too many and they never listened. She glanced at Mahkul. The blue current had lessened. "Hurry, Aeliha, or the conjure on Mahkul will wear off before we can finish." Lia stepped in front of Zamar and placed her hands over and under the small sphere, palms inward. She focused her energy on the flickering flames, concentrating on making it bigger, brighter, stronger. The sphere grew rapidly and when it was the size of a basketball, Zamar nodded. Lia carefully removed her hands and backed away. Zamar launched the sphere. The fireball hit just as the blue charge went out and Mahkul regained mobility. His scream rent the air, his body writhing in the flames until his flesh melted away and he was nothing more than blackened bones. The flames flickered out, leaving a gray skeleton. All was still for a moment, then the skeletal frame collapsed into a heap of ash around the melted lump of the revolver. Lia turned her back on what was left of Mahkul, tears filling her eyes with grief and sorrow. Zamar gathered her into his arms. "I remember everything now," she sniffled against his broad chest. "At first, I thought Aeliha was using me to reach you, but now that I remember everything, I know Iam Aeliha." "Then you remember—" "About Mahkul? Yes, he was my brother." She looked up into Zamar's jewel-green eyes, but saw no triumph, only grief and a sorrow to match her own. "When we were children, you and Mahkul were the best of friends. He wasn't always like this, was he?" Zamar shook his head. "No, not always. But as we grew older, he could not understand why the son of the king had lesser powers than the son of a scribe." "It's why my father fostered you, to train you as a warrior. He recognized your potential, and he spoke of it often. Maybe too often," she added, thinking of Mahkul's jealousy. "He was furious when you chose the priesthood." "I went through the ceremony in secret. Not even the king could rescind it once I was sworn in as a novice. Mahkul made the arrangements. Not out of friendship, but as a way to defy his father." His large hands framed her face. "Warriors were required to marry, but priests were not. Powerful warriors were expected to breed powerful sons for a future army. I could never love another as I loved you. You could not bear my sons and so I did not want sons. It is why I chose the priesthood." "I remember why! I couldn't stay away from you. I would use my ability to levitate to evade the guards." Lia pressed closer to him, savoring the feel of him in her arms once again. "I remember how I loved you and I still love you with all my heart. I refused to be reborn until I was strong enough to fight Mahkul, too.

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My bond with Mahkul stayed with me all this time, and I was aware when he found the incantation to steal your power. I knew when he started losing patience and it was time to return. I didn't think my memories would be so deeply repressed in this incarnation. Mahkul recognized me, though. By bringing me here, he forced me to remember. He wanted me to know who I had been and who he was and what he'd done to us." Zamar lowered his head and kissed her. "Your physical body is different, but you are my Aeliha, my One." "Forever," she said, but a question had risen to the surface of her consciousness. "Even if we find a way to get out of here, will you still turn into a statue?" "I believe now that Mahkul is dead, the curse is broken. We will find out at dawn." Lia glanced at her watch. "We only have a few hours left. What if—" Zamar laid his finger across her lips. "Shhh, my One. What will be, will be. If I turn to stone, I trust you will find a way to remove the curse." "If you turn to stone, I'll die!" Lia cried out, tears streaming from her eyes. "I've waited too long.We have waited too long to be together." Zamar gently wiped the wet trails from her cheeks. "What is another generation when we have waited many hundreds of generations?" "We shouldn't have to wait," Lia whispered hoarsely. "No, we should not," he agreed solemnly. "But we will if we must. Now, we have to find how Mahkul entered this chamber so that you will be able to leave if I do turn to stone." Lia shook her head, but she knew he was right. Only if she was able to leave would she be able to find out how to break the curse and save Zamar. If what Zamar believed was true, it didn't matter. But if the curse wasn't broken with Mahkul's death, then they had to be prepared. Zamar took her hand to walk with her around the pool, when she stumbled over Mahkul's backpack. She knelt and rummaged through it. He had kept an extra set of clothes, khaki shirt and shorts, and she handed them to Zamar. Lia glanced up at him. "As much as I love you just the way you are, you might want to put these on. If the curse is broken, you'll need them anyway. They should fit." They did. Nicely, Lia thought. Mahkul wasn't quite as large as Zamar and they were snug. He couldn't button the shirt over his broad chest, so he tucked the ends in the waistband of his shorts. He slung the backpack over his shoulders after watching the way she put on hers. They backtracked around the pool, going in the direction from which Mahkul had come. His footprints seemed to emerge from the wall where no opening was in evidence. Lia examined the stone wall closely and found the hairline crack outlining the doorway. She pointed it out to Zamar. "There must be a way to open it from here," he said.

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They pressed the wall near the crack and a small stone, its outline all but invisible, moved beneath Zamar's touch. The large section of stone swung back with barely a whisper. Lia turned on her flashlight. The passageway was small and cramped, sand and gravel littering the floor. It turned to the right. She hesitated. What if Mahkul had set traps? "We have no choice, Aeliha," Zamar murmured as if he could read her mind. Hadn't it always been so? He knew what she felt almost before she began feeling it. She nodded and stepped inside, Zamar close behind, his hand reassuringly on her shoulder. They had only gone a few paces when the doorway slid shut behind them, leaving them in total darkness except for the beam from her flashlight. "I never knew about this passageway," Zamar said softly as they followed its curve to the right. If Lia's calculations were correct, this passageway was circling around the large chamber. They stepped over stones and sank in deep drifts of sand until at last the flashlight illuminated a stone wall in front of them. It took less than a minute to find the small stone in the wall that triggered the opening. The door of stone swung open and they stepped into a medium sized chamber, covered in a layer of sand…and footprints! Lia flashed the light around. There was an archway to the left, but the walls, directly across from them and to the right were solid. Yet footprints led to both walls. "I recognize this room," Lia said. "To the right is where the crevice opened." "This is the antechamber, yes," Zamar commented. "The villagers entered through the arch. It leads back to where they entered the caves from the other side." "I entered from there," Lia said and flashed her light at the wall directly across from them. "It leads up to a small room with an altar." "Mahkul's chamber," Zamar said. Once again, they easily found the stone to press to open the doorway. They ascended the long flight of steps and emerged behind the altar. They didn't linger, but left the room and followed the passageways until they reached the main one, pale moonlight showing them the exit to outside. Lia reached it first and turned to watch Zamar step into the fresh air for the first time in millennia. He stood, bathed in moonlight, his face turned to the starry sky. He wore an incredible smile. Lia didn't want to, but she checked her watch. Just over an hour until dawn. Although the night had been long and tiring, she was overcome with how quickly they were running out of time. If Mahkul's death didn't break the curse, then how was she to go on? She was as much Aeliha now as Lia. She loved Zamar. How could she bear to let him go? "The stars are not as bright," Zamar said. "Air pollution," Lia explained. "We've managed to mess up the planet quite a bit since your time." He nodded and looked at her.

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"This is it," Lia whispered. "In about an hour, we'll know whether you turn to stone or not." "If I do—" "If you do, then I have to find a way to bring you back permanently. It could take many lifetimes, but I'll do it!" she swore, tears filling her eyes. She took a step toward him, but he swept forward and enclosed her in his arms. Zamar kissed her tears away. "I pray to Seniha that with Mahkul's death the curse is broken. With many conjures it is so." Lia nodded. "I pray you're right. We've waited so long, I don't know how I'll go on." "I'll wait for you," he said with a smile. "You'll have no choice!" Lia laughed, but it was a nervous, giddy sound. "Come," he said, taking her hand. "We'll watch the sun rise together." She let him lead her to the flat rock where millennia ago she had waited to enter the caverns to be with Zamar for what turned out to be their last time together, and only hours ago she had stood watching the desert devour the sun. She had been two different people who were now blended into one—one who loved Zamar. "I don't want to let you go, Beloved," she whispered and slipped into his embrace. He held her protectively and she looped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. She could feel the quick beating of his heart in his chest and his warm breath near her ear. "I will not be far, my One," he promised softly. "Only a heartbeat away whenever you think of me. I will be thinking of you as well." Zamar's head bent and his mouth closed over hers. His lips were so familiar to her now, as was his touch. His hands slid down the small of her back and into the waistband of her shorts. Raw need pulsed through her, throbbing in her breasts and clit. Trembling, she loosened her arms from around his neck and trailed her fingers over his smooth chest. She knew his body, every ridge and contour, and traced them with her fingertips. His nipples were hard points, and her lips surrounded one as she tugged the ends of his shirt free. "Make love to me, Zamar," she murmured against his skin. "It might be our last chance." "I do not think it will be our last chance, my One," he said. His hands moved to the front of her shorts and fumbled with the button. "But I have hungered for you for far too long to deny either of us." Lia helped him with the unfastening of their clothing. When they'd undressed, they used the clothes and backpacks together for a makeshift pallet on the flat surface of the rock. "Do you remember," Lia began as she lay back and Zamar molded his body to hers, "our last time together and you told me about a place across the ocean where my father would never find us?" "Yes." Zamar's warm breath fanned across her skin. He held one of her breasts and raked his tongue

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over the peak. "You were right. I live there now. How did you know?" He kissed her nipple tenderly. "I had seen it in my dreams. I prayed to Seniha to show me a safe place for us. The goddess took me across the vast ocean, to a new land. She promised we would live there in peace together." Hope sprang alive within Lia. "When Mahkul discovered us, executed you, and cursed me, I thought Seniha had forsaken us. I now realize she did not saywhen we would be there, only that we would. I beg her forgiveness for doubting her." A shadow crossed over Lia's hope and she frowned. "Then it might not happen right now." "No. But it will happen." Zamar's strong hands roamed her body, creating a warmth that staved off the chill of the night air. "Seniha's promise tells us you will be successful even if we find Mahkul's curse is not lifted when the day dawns. Have faith, my One." Lia wanted to scream and cry and beat her fists against the rock, but she knew it wouldn't help. Instead, she slipped her hands between them and found his cock, as stone hard as when she'd first touched him as a statue, but much hotter and more pliable. She moved her hands up and down. "I'll try, Beloved," she whispered, accepting his kiss. Zamar pushed open her legs and moved between them. He lifted her thigh, settling into place, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. She released his cock and it sank into her wetness where she wanted it to go. She sighed into his ear as he gathered her into his arms. "I told you then that you are my world," he breathed while he slowly thrust into her. "You are my past and my present and now my future. You are everything and all things to me and always will be. Forever, my One." "Forever, Beloved," she cried out, back arching, as she burst into a million fragments, her fingers digging into the muscles of his arms. When her shattered self had rejoined, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. He strained into her and she squeezed around him. He came, a look of pleasure and pain on his handsome face, then he tossed back his head and groaned with his release. He held her for a while, until they noticed the lightening of the sky to the east. Only then did he withdraw from her and help her to her feet. She shouldn't be locked in his embrace if he was still cursed and did turn into a statue. Lia shook, from exhaustion, satiation, and fear. She glanced at Zamar. "I don't feel the change coming," he said in answer to her unvoiced question. She dressed to keep herself busy, to keep from howling in frustration. Then she watched him, magnificently naked, his unaroused cock still impressively long, as he stood defiantly facing the east. The sky turned light blue then pink and gold then fiery orange as the sun climbed from the desert. Zamar shook his head. "I do not know exactly when the change occurs. It may be when the sun has fully risen."

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They waited, saying nothing. They had said all there was to say. If he did turn to stone, it would be up to her. According to Zamar's dream of Seniha's promise, she would eventually succeed in freeing Zamar from Mahkul's curse. But how many more lifetimes would it take? The sun was so bright she couldn't look at it directly, but by the amount of light, Lia could only think it must be up completely. "Is it over yet?" Lia asked softly. He looked at her, his green eyes wide, a smile on his lips. "It must be. I feel no different. Only happier than I have in a long time." Zamar swung her up into his arms. "I am free, my One, free of Mahkul's vengeance." He laughed, tilting his head back to look at the sky. "We both are," Lia said, tears of happiness blurring her vision. She caught his chin, bringing his mouth to hers, and kissed him soundly. "Everything in the world is different now. You won't recognize it at all." "I have seen the changes in my dreams, though I could not make sense of many things. I believe the goddess sent me these dreams while I was stone to prepare me." He drew in a deep breath. "With you by my side, I am ready, Lia." Lia kissed him again. "Then let's go home, to the place that was promised to us." And they did.

MONSTER LOVE © MaryJanice Davidson, 2002

Prologue

From the private papers of Richard Will, Ten Beacon Hill, Boston, Massachusetts. "Becoming a vampire was the best thing that ever happened to me. The very, very best. Which is why I don't understand all the literature, how the vampires are usually these moody fellows who rue the day they ever got bitten, who pray for some illiterate European to plant a stake through their ribs. Rue the

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day? If the mob hadn't torched my killer the next night, I'd have kissed his feet. I'd even have kissed his behind! "After all, what else was there for me? Take over the farm when my father died?No, thank you. Farming is back-breaking work for very little reward, and even less respect. And I could hardly endure being in the same room with my father, much less work for him the rest of my life. (Punch first and punch second, that was my dear departed papa's motto.) "Lie about my age to join the army, and get my head blown off? (All so sixty years later we can ignore the Holocaust and pretend the Germans are good guys?) But back then, if you didn't fight you were a coward. Of course, two wars later the young men wereencouraged to go to Canada, to avoid responsibilities to their country. If they fought, and lived, their reward was to be spit upon at the airport. It just goes to prove, nothing changes faster than the mind of an American. "No, life wasn't exactly a bowl of fresh peaches. I was in a box, and each side of the box was equally insurmountable. I wasn't the only one, but I was the only one who noticed the shape and size of the prison. I was always different from my chums. At least, I think I was…it was a long time ago, and don't we always think we're different? "So when Darak—that was his name, or at least the name he gave me—bought me a drink, then two, then ten, I didn't turn him down. What did I care if a stranger wanted to help me forget about the box? I was big—twenty-three years working on a farm made for a big boy—and if he wanted to get inappropriate, I was sure I could handle it. "Yes, there was homosexuality in the forties. People like to pretend it's a modern invention, which always makes me laugh. Anyway, I figured Darak wanted to see what I had inside my drawers, but I had no intention of showing him—what men did with other men was none of my concern. Of course, my drawers weren't what held his interest at all. "I'd been supremely confident I could toss Darak through a window if I needed to, which just goes to show I was something of a naïve moron when I was a boy. Darak took what he needed from me, and never mind pretty words or even asking permission. He stopped my heart and left me on a filthy floor to breathe my last. The last thing I remember was a rat scampering across my face, how the tail felt, dragging across my mouth. "I woke up two nights later. It was dark and close, but in a stroke of luck I hadn't been buried yet. I didn't know it then, but the town's only mill had blown up, and there were forty bodies to be interred. Plus they'd cornered Darak and set him on fire. Yes, things had been positively hopping in the small town of Millidgeville, pop. 232 (actually 191 now). They were in no rush to get me in the ground. They had more important things to worry about. "I was thirstier than I had ever been in my life. And strong…I meant only to pop open the door to the coffin, and ended up ripping it off the hinges. I lurched out of the coffin and realized instantly where I was. And I knew what Darak was…I'd read Bram Stoker as a teenager. But even through the mad haze of my unnatural—or so it seemed to me then—thirst and the disbelief of my death, the main thing I remember is the relief. I was dead. I was free. I silently blessed Darak, and went to find someone to eat. "Being a vampire iswonderful . The strength, the speed, the liquid diet…all solidly in the plus column. The minuses—no sunbathing (so?), sensitivity to light (sunglasses fixed that nicely), no real relationships other than those of a transitory nature (call girls!)—are bearable.

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"I miss women, though. That's probably the worst of it. No more sunsets? Phaugh. I saw plenty of them on the farm. But I haven't had a girlfriend since…er…what year is it? Never mind. "I can't be with a mortal woman, for obvious reasons. She'd never understand what I was, what I needed. I'd constantly fear hurting her—I can lift a car over my head, so being with a mortal woman is not unlike being with a china doll. And being dead hasn't affected my sex drive one bit. I was a young man of lusty appetite, and while I still look young, my appetite has increased exponentially with my age. "I've only met six other vampires in my life. Of the six, four were women, and let me tell you, they were complete and unrepentant monsters. They ate children.Children! I killed two, but the other two got away. I could have gone after them, but I had to get the child to a hospital and—well, I wouldn't have wished their company on my fiercest enemy, much less welcomed them to the marriage bed. "Yes, I'm lonely. Another price to pay for the eternal life and the liquid diet. But I'm young for a vampire—not even close to a hundred yet. Things are bound to look up. And even if they don't, my patience—like my thirst—is infinite." Chapter One

A monkey.A fucking monkey! Janet Lupo practically threw her invitation at the goon guarding the doors to the reception hall. Bad enough that one of the most eligible werewolves in the pack—the world!—was now off the market, but he'd taken a pure human to mate. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Humans were okay. If you liked sloths. She stomped toward her table, noticing with bitter satisfaction the way people jumped out of her path. Pack members walked clear when she was in agood mood. Which, at the moment, she was not. Bad enough to be outnumbered a thousand to one by the humans, but to marry one? And fuck one and get it pregnant and join the PTA and… The mind reeled. Janet had nothing against humans as a species. In fact, she greatly admired their rapaciousness.Homo sapiens never passed up prey, not even if they were stuffed—not even if they didn't eat meat! They'd kill each other overshoes , for God's sake. They had fought wars over shiny metals and rocks. Janet had never understood why a diamond was worth killing over, but a pink topaz was hardly worth sweating about. Humans had fought wars over the possession of gold, but iron ferrite, which lookedexactly the same , was worthless. And when humans started killing, watch out. Whether it was "Free the Holy Land from the infidels!" or "Cotton and Slave's Rights!" or "Down with Capitalism!" or whatever was worth mass genocide, when humans went to war, your only chance was to get out of the way and keep your head down. But marry one? Marry someone slower and weaker? Much, much weaker? Someone with no pack instincts, someone who only lived for themself? It'd be—it'd be like a human marrying a bear. A small, sleepy bear who hardly ever moved. Fucking creepy, is what it was.

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And there was Alec, sitting at the head table and smirking like he'd won the lottery! And his mate—uh, wife—sitting next to him. She was cute enough if you liked chubby, which the boys in the pack did. A bony wife wasn't such a great mother when food was scarce. Not that foodwas scarce these days, but thousands of years of genetic conditioning died hard. Besides, who wanted to squash their body down onto a bundle of sticks? Okay, there wasn't anything wrong with her looks. Her looks were fine. So was her smell—like peaches packed in fresh snow. And the bimbo knew what she was getting into—her old lady had worked for Old Man Wyndham, way back in the day—so the whole family had experience keeping secrets. But to call a sloth a sloth, the new Mrs. Kilcurt was not pack. Wasn't family. And would never be, no matter how many cubs Alec got on her. Jesus! First the pack leader—Michael—knocked up a human, and now Alec Kilcurt. Didn't any of her fellow werewolves marrywerewolves anymore? "Dance, Jane?" "I'd rather eat my own eyeballs," she said moodily, not even looking to see who asked. Why was she going to her table, anyway? The reception wasn't mandatory. Neither was the wedding. She'd just gone to be polite. And the time for that was done. She turned on her heel and marched out. The goon at the door obligingly held it open. Which was just as well, 'cuz otherwise she'd have kicked it down.

***** Janet vastly preferred Boston in the spring, and as cities went, Boston was not awful. Parts of it—the harbor, the aquarium—were actually kind of cool. Thinking of the New England Aquarium—all those fish, lobsters, squid, and sharks—made her stomach growl. She'd been too annoyed to eat lunch, and when she had walked out of the reception, she had also walked out on her supper. She turned onto a side street, taking a short-cut to Legal Sea Foods, a restaurant that did not suck. She'd have a big bowl of clam chowder, and some raw oysters, and a steak, and a lobster. And maybe something for dessert. And a drink. Maybe three. A scent caught her attention, forcing a split-second decision. She turned onto another street, one much less crowded, curious to see if the men were going to keep following her. They were. She hadn't seen their faces, just caught their scents as they swung around to follow her on Park Street. They smelled like desperation and stale coffee grounds. She was well dressed, and probably looked prosperous to them. Prime pickings. She turned again, this time down a deserted alley. If the two would-be robbers thought they were keeping her from supper, they were out of their teeny, tiny minds. She could easily outrun them, but that would mean kicking off her high heels. The stupid pinchy shoes cost almost thirty bucks! She wasn't leaving them in a Boston alley. If push came to shove, she'd bounce her stalkers off the bricks. Possibly more than once, the mood she was in.

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"Halt, gentlemen." Janet jumped. There was a man standing at the end of the alley, and she hadn't known he was there until he spoke up. She hadn't smelled him, even though he was upwind. When was the last timethat had happened? He was tall—over six feet—and well built, for someone who wasn't pack. His shoulders were broad and he definitely had the look of a man used to working with his hands. He had blond hair the color of wheat, and his eyes—even from fifteen feet away she could see their vivid color—were Mediterranean blue. He was wearing all black—dress slacks, a shirt open at the throat, a duster that went almost all the way to his heels. And—what's this now? He was squinting in the poor light of the alley, and slipping on a pair of sunglasses.Sunglasses —how weird wasthat , at ten-thirty at night? "I have business with the young lady," Weirdo continued, walking toward them. His hands were open, relaxed. She knew he wasn't carrying a weapon. He moved with the grace of a dancer; if she hadn't been so fucking hungry she might have liked to watch him prance around. "Much kinder business, I think, than you two. So be on your way, all right?" Then, in a lower voice, "Don't be afraid, miss. I won't hurt you. Hardly at all." "Stand aside, four eyes," she snapped, and with barely a glance, she stiff-armed him into the side of the building and hurried past. She had no time for would-be muggers, and less for Mr. Sunglasses-At-Night. Let the three of them fight it out. She had a date with a dead lobster. Behind her, Sunglasses yelped in surprise. There was a flat smack as he hit the wall, then slid down. She'd tossed him a little harder than she meant—oopsie—and then the other two jumped him, and she was out of the alley. She could see the restaurant up ahead. Just a few more steps and she could order. Just a few more… She stopped. Don't you dare! Turned. C'mon, enough already! They're human…it's none of your business. She started back toward the alley. Sunglasses was a weirdo, but he was vulnerable to attack because of what she had done. Yeah, they were human, but it was one thing to mind your own business, and another to turn your back on a mess you helped make. You moron! Who knows when you'll get to eat now? "Fuck off, inner voice," she said aloud. People thought the outer Janet was a bitch; God forbid they should ever meet the inner Janet. She stepped into the alley to help, and was just in time to see the second mugger crumple to the filthy street. The first was half in and half out of the dumpster. And Sunglasses was hurrying, hurrying toward her, licking the blood off his knuckles. "As I was sayingbefore you tossed me against the wall, I

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have business with you, miss. And where on earth do you work out?" She was so surprised she let him put his hands on her shoulders, let him draw her close. He smiled at her and even in the poorly lit alley she could see the light gleaming on his teeth. His very long canines. His fangs, to be perfectly blunt. He had fangs, and it wasn't even close to the full moon. "What the hell areyou ?" She put a hand to his chest to keep him from pulling her closer. His heart beat once. Then nothing. He blinked at her. "What? Usually the lady in question is halfway to fainting by now. To answer your question, I'm the son of a farmer. That's all." "My ass," she said rudely. "I came back to give you a hand—" "How sweet." "—but you're fine, and I'm hungry." "What a coincidence," he murmured. He tapped a sharp canine with his tongue. Beneath her palm, his heart beat again. "My, you're exceedingly beautiful. I suppose your beaux tell you that all the time." "Beaux? Who the hell talks like that? And you're full of shit," she informed him. Beautiful? Shyeah. She wasn't petite and she wasn't tall—just somewhere in the middle. Average height, average weight, average hair color—not quite blonde and not quite brown—average nose, mouth, chin. She could see her average eyes reflected in his sunglasses. "And you'd better let go before I hit you so hard, you'll spend the rest of the night throwing up your teeth." He blinked again, then smiled. "Forgive the obvious question, but aren't you a little nervous? It's dark…and you're quite alone with me. Why, I might do anything to you." He licked his lower lip thoughtfully. "Anything at all." "This is really, really boring, fuck-o," she informed him. "Leggo." "I decline." She brought her foot down on his, felt his toes squish through the dress shoe. Then she knocked him away from her with a right cross. This time, when he went down, he stayed down. Twenty minutes later, she was happily slurping the first of a dozen oysters on ice. Chapter Two

He knew he was lurking like a villain in a bad melodrama, but he couldn't help it. He had to catch her when she came out of the restaurant. So he was reduced to watching her through the restaurant window from across the street. Richard rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. It didn't hurt anymore, but if he'd been mortal, it likely would have shattered from the force of the woman's punch. She hit like a Teamster. And swore like one, too.

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She was stunning, really very stunning with those cider-colored eyes and that unique hair. Her crowning glory was shoulder length and wavy, and made up of several colors: gold, auburn, chestnut…even a few strands of silver. The silky strands gleamed beneath the streetlight and made him itch to touch them, to see if they were as soft as they looked. She had been fearless in the near dark of the alley, and he'd become utterly besotted. He had to see her again, take her in his arms again, hear her say "fuck" again. Ah! After a five-course meal, here she came. And look! She had spotted him instantly, and was now stomping across the street toward him. Her small hands were balled into fists and her lush mouth was curled in a snarl. "Fuck-o, you don't learn too quick, do you?" "You're marvelous," he said, smiling at her. There were few people on the street at this hour, but the ones who were around caught the tension in the air, and did a quick fade. Most mortals had zero protective coloring, but something about the proximity of a vampire put their wind up, even if they weren't consciously aware of it. "Just charming, really." She snorted delicately. "I see you're heavily medicated, on top of everything else. Get lost, before I belt you in the chops again." "You came all the way over here to tell me to go away?" A frown wrinkle appeared on her perfect, creamy forehead. "Yeah, I did. Don't read anything into it. So blow, okay?" "Richard Will." "What?" "My name is Richard Will." He held out his hand, hoping she wouldn't be startled by his long fingers. Most people—women—were. "Yeah? Well, Dick, I don't trust people with two first names." She stared at his outstretched hand, then crossed her arms over her chest. He let his hand drop. "And you are…?" "Tired of this conversation." "Is that your first name or your last?" Her lips curled into an unwitting smile. "Very funny. You never answered my question." "Which one?" "What are you? Your heart…" She started to reach for him, then let her hand drop. "Let's just say you should get your ass to a doctor, pronto." "You know what I am." He bent toward her, and was thrilled when she didn't back off. "In your heart,

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you know." "Dick, as my family will tell you, I don'thave a heart." He rested his palm against her chest, feeling the rapid beat. "Such a lie, dearest." She knocked his hand away, and sounded gratifyingly breathless when she said, "Don't call me that." "I have no choice, dearest, as you never told me your name." "It's Janet." "Janet…?" "Smith," she said rudely, and he chuckled. Then laughed, a full-blown guffaw that sent more stragglers hurrying away. "What the hell's so funny?" "Don't you see? We simply must get married. Richard and Janet…Dick and Jane!" She gaped at him for a long moment and then, reluctantly, joined him in laughter.

***** "So you don't like the new wife?" Janet moodily stirred her coffee. It was after midnight, and they were the only couple in the coffee shop. "It's not that I have a personal problem with her, she's just…not our kind, is all." "She's Polish?" She snorted a laugh through her nose. "Nothing like that…I'm notthat big a bitch. It's hard to explain. And you wouldn't believe me anyway." He grinned, flashing his fangs. "Try me." "No way, José. I want to hear aboutyou . I didn't know there were such things as vampires. Assuming you're not some pathetic schmuck who filed his teeth to get the girls." He considered lifting her, in her chair, over his head, but decided against it. Among other things, it was unnecessary. She knew what he was, oh yes. She had felt his heart. And he had felt hers. "I didn't know there were such things either, until I woke up dead." She leaned forward, which gave him an excellent view of creamy cleavage in her wine-colored dress. "How old are you?" "Not so old, for a vampire. Not even a hundred yet. And as it's not polite to ask a lady her age—" "Thirty-six."

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Perfect. Giggling girlhood was left behind, she was closing in on her sexual peak, and the best was still ahead. He tried very hard not to drool. "I'm the old maid of the family," she was saying. "Most of my friends have teenagers already." "You have plenty of time." She brightened. "See, that's what I always say! Just because we're trapped in this damned youth-obsessed society doesn't mean we have to doeverything in our twenties. What's the fucking rush?" "Exactly. That's what I—" "Except my family thinks totally differently," she said, her shoulders slumping. "They're very in-the-now , if you know what I mean. Sometimes there's…there's fights and stuff and you never know if today's your last day on earth. There's lots of pressure to make every single day count, to cram everything you can, as often as you can. Nobody really stops and smells the fuckin' roses where I come from, you know?" "That's fairly typical of…of people." He'd almost said 'of mortals', but no need to push things. As it was, he had a hard time believing this conversation was taking place. She'd insulted him, pounded him, knew what he was, and was now having coffee with him. Amazing! "If your life span is so brief—what? Seventy years or so? Well, of course you want to make every minute count." "My family's lifespan is even shorter," she said moodily. "Ah. Dangerous neighborhood?" "To put it mildly. Although it's better since…well, it's better now, and I just hope it lasts." "Which is why you can take care of yourself so well." She cracked her knuckles, which made the lone counterman cringe. "Bet your ass." "Indeed I would not." He stirred his coffee. He could drink it, though all it would do was make him thirstier. Instead he played with it; he enjoyed the ritual of cream and sugar. "How long are you in town?" She shrugged. "Long as I want. The wedding's over, so we'll probably hang out for a couple days, then head back to our homes." "And home for you is…?" "None of your fucking business. Don't get me wrong, Dick, you seem pleasant enough for a blood-sucking fiend of the undead…" "Thank you." "…but I'm not opening up to you with all my vitals, no matter how good-looking and charming you are." "So my powers of attraction aren't completely lost on you," he teased.

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She ignored the interruption. "And if you don't like it, you can stop dicking around with your coffee and get the hell gone." "I cannot decide," he said after a long pause, during which he guiltily put his spoon down, "if you're the most refreshing person I've ever met, or the most irritating." "Go with irritating," she suggested. "That's what my family does." She glanced at her watch, a cheap thing that probably told time about as well as a carrot. "I gotta go. It's really late, even for me." She laughed at that, for some reason. He leaned forward and picked up her warm little hand. The palm was chubby, with a strong life line. Her nails were brutally short, and unpolished. "I must see you again. Actually, I would prefer to spirit you away to my—" "Creaky, musty, damp castle?" "—condo on Beacon Hill, but you're quite a strong young lady and I seriously doubt I could do so without attracting attention. So I must persuade you." "Damned right, chum." She jerked her hand out of his grasp. "Try anything, and—" "I'll vomit my teeth, or be split down the middle, or my head will be twisted around so far I'll be able to see my own backside—" She giggled. "—yes, yes, I quite understand. Have dinner with me tomorrow night." "Don't you mean 'let me watch you eat while I play with my drink'?" "Something like that, yes." "Why?" she asked suspiciously. "Because," he said simply, "I've decided. You're refreshing because you're irritating. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a nice conversation with a lady?" She stared at him. "You think this has been a nice conversation?" "Nicer than 'Help, eeeeeek, stay away you horrible thing, no, no, noooooooooo, oh, God, please don't kill me!' I can't tell you how many times I've hadthat conversation." "Serves you right for being a walking wood tick," she said. "Dinner, huh? On you?" "Of course."Possibly on you , he thought, suddenly dizzy with a vision of licking red wine off her stomach. "Mmmm. All right. I'll admit, it's nice to be myself with a guy and not have him be such a fucking Nancy boy whenever I say something the least bit—" "Fucking obscene?" She giggled again. "But you gotta tell me all about waking up dead, and what it's like to be on a

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liquid diet. And how come my family didn't know about you and your kind?" "Why would your family know about my kind?" "We're pretty far-flung. There's not much going on the planet wedon't know. So you'll feed me, and we'll talk. Deal, Dick?" "Deal…Jane." "I find out you've got a dog named Spot, dinner's off," she warned.

Chapter Three

The phone rang, that shrill "pay attention to me!" sound she hated. She groaned, rolled over, groped for the phone, and knocked it off the hook. She relaxed into the blessed silence, which was broken by a tinny sound. "Hello? Jane?" She burrowed under the covers. "Jane? Are you there? Janet. Hello??" She cursed her werewolf hearing. Tinny and faint the voice might be, but it was also unmistakable. "What." "Pick up the phone," the telephone receiver squawked. "I want to make sure you're getting all this." "Can't. Too tired." "It's six o'clock at night, for God's sake. Pick up the phone!" She muttered something foul, and obeyed the caller. "Whoever the hell this is, you'd better be on fire." "It's Moira, and I practically am…the high today was eighty-two. In May!" "Moira." "You should see what the humidity did to my hair." "Moira." "I look like a blonde cotton swab." "Moira! This is fascinating, but you sure as shit better not be calling me to babble about your for-Christ's-sakehair. What do you want?"

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"It's not what I want," Moira went on in her irritatingly cheerful voice. "It's Michael. The big boss wants to see you on the Cape, pronto." Finally, the silly bitch had Jane's attention. Her eyes opened wide and she sat straight up in bed. "Michael Wyndham? Wants to see me? How come?" And on the heels of that, a panicked thought: What'd I do? And resentment.Come, girl, good dog, here's a treat for the good doggie. "Mine is not to reason why, girly…and neither is yours. I suggest you get your ass out here yesterday." Jane groaned. "Aw, fuck a duck!" "I'll pass." "I've got a date. Today." She squinted at her watch. "Tonight, I mean." "Youdo ?" Moira sounded—rightfully so—completely astonished. She modified her tone, too late. "I mean, of course you do. Sure. It's only natural, a…a lively and…er…opinionated young lady like yourself. With a date on a Saturday night. Yep." "Cut the shit, you're embarrassing both of us."Young lady . Right. Moira was at least ten years younger. Half Jane's size (and weight). Twice the brains. Calling Moira a silly bitch was only half right. "Fuck! I don't need this now. You don't haveany idea what it's about?" "Um…" "Come on, Moira, you and the boss are practically litter-mates. Spill." "Let's just say that in his newfound happiness with mate and cub, our fearless leader thinks it's high time you settled down—" "No, no,no!" "—and he's metjust the right fella for you," she continued brightly. "He's sure you'll hit it off." "Doesn't the head of the pack have anything better to do than fix me up on yet another stupid blind date?" She could hear plastic cracking, and forced her fingers to loosen around the receiver. "Apparently not. Now tell the truth; the last one wasn't so bad." "He cried like a third grade girl when I beat him to the kill." "Well, youdid hog all the rabbits yourself. Tsk, tsk." "Figures," Jane grumbled, swinging her legs over and resting her feet on the floor. "The first halfway decent guy I meet in forever, and the boss wants me to blow him off to meet some new dildo." "Sorry," Moira said, sounding anything but. "I'll leave the dildo part out when I tell Michael you're on the way. And now, having imparted my message, I'd say something like 'have a nice day', except I know you—"

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"Hate that shit. Bye." She hung up and resisted the urge to throw the phone against the wall. Fuck. Fuck fuck! She'd been so excited about dinner with Dick, she'd had a hard time getting to sleep. She'd finally dozed off near dawn…and slept the entire day away. Now she had to beat feet for the Cape, of all places…fuck! She did throw the phone. But it didn't make her feel any better, not even when it shattered spectacularly against the wall.

***** She was tapping her foot on the curb, waiting for the sloth-like doorman to hail her a cab. She could hail her own damned cab, thanks very much, but when in Rome, do what the sheep do. Or something like that. She'd packed like a madwoman and it showed—she could see the corner of her dress sticking out of the suitcase. Aarrggh! Fifty-nine ninety-nine at Sears, and she'd probably never get to wear it again. Like clothes shopping wasn't an unending horror anyway—now she'd have to goagain . And Dick. She felt really bad about up and leaving town. He'd think she stood him up. Likethat would happen. He was ridiculously good-looking but, even more important, she could talk to him. Not be herself—not completely—but close. Shit, she couldn’t even be herself with the pack; they'd written her off as an old maid a decade ago. Pack members mated young, dropped kids young, and died young. And she didn't want kids, which, among her people, made herEl Freako Supremo . Getting knocked up—assuming your mate could get you pregnant without getting his bad self hurt—was one thing, but then you were a slumlord to a fetus for ten endless months. At least the humans only had to suffer for nine. Even worse, you puffed up like a blowfish and ate everything in sight, then squeezed out a kid during hours of blood and pain…blurgh. And afterwards! Just the thought of having to tote around a l'il nose-miner who cried and screamed and puked and shit—and that was just the first week!—was enough to curl her hair. She hadn't liked kids even when she was one. The feeling had been mutually—and heartily—returned. She'd felt that way at eighteen, twenty-three, thirty, thirty-four. Sure, kids were necessary—for other people. Janet preferred to sleep late, and wear clothes that hadn't been puked on, and not watch her language. "Where to, ma'am?" the doorman asked, breaking her anti-infant reverie. He was ineffectually flapping a hand at the occasional cab. She could have hailed four on her own by now. Shit, she could havejogged to the airport by now. "Logan," she practically snapped. It wasn't Door Boy's fault she'd been ordered to leave town, but the big boss wasn't here for her to take her anger out on him. "Quick as you can." She thought about leaving a note for Dick, and reluctantly decided against it…better find out what Boss Man Michael wanted, first. And if it wasn't life and death, she'd let him have it, and who gave a rat's ass if

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he was the pack leader? She had a life. Well, before yesterday she really hadn't, buthe didn't know that. It was his privilege to snap his fingers and have any one of them come at a dead run, but it was hers not to like it. She observed the doorman shivering and realized the sun had nearly set, and the temperature had dropped a good ten degrees. Still, it wasn'tthat cold. And why did the kid look like he was ready to drop a steaming load into his trousers? She was irritated, but not at him…surely he knew that. God, the reek the kid was giving off! Like mothballs dipped in gasoline. His fear—his terror—burned her nose. It put her wind up and she cupped her elbows, shivering. From grumpy to edgy in less than five seconds…a new record! The ball dropped and she understood a half second too late. She was spun around and had time to take in burning blue eyes before there was a walloping pain in her jaw and Dick turned off the lights. And everything else. Chapter Four

He didn't care. He really didn't. She was fine, and if she wasn't, who cared? He hadn't hurt her. Not really. He checked on her for the eleventh time in sixty minutes, and was relieved to see the bruise on the underside of her jaw had faded to a mere shadow. Guilt rolled off his shoulders like a boulder. To save time and steps—if he left he'd just be in here five minutes later—he sat down in the chair beside the bed. He cupped his chin in his hand, leaned forward, and watched her sleep. Jane scowled, even in the throes of unconsciousness. It would have made him smile, if he hadn't felt so angry and betrayed. Betrayed? All right, tell the truth and shame the devil…yes.Betrayed! And angry and sick at heart andfurious with the little twit tied to his bed. Most of his anger was directed at himself, it was true, but he had a nice helping saved for Miss Jane. She'd fooled him; that was all. A simple thing, but unforgivable. She made him believe she accepted the monster, when in fact she most assuredly had not. The duplicitous wretch agreed to join him for dinner to placate him, then made arrangements to slink out of town like a thief. If he hadn't shown up early to escort her to dinner, she would have disappeared and he might never have known what had become of her. Would have wasted years of his life worrying about her fate. Instead, he'd taken in the situation at a glance, and acted accordingly. Well, all right, that was a rather large lie. He had panicked—all he could think of was to get her home, stop her from leaving him. Leavingtown, rather. And in his panic, he'd smacked her when he only meant to tap her. The one bit of luck was that it had happened too quickly for the lone witness—the doorman—to see much more than a swirl of cloth. Dusk and speed were his friends, even if Jane was not. And that was the rub of it. He'd allowed himself to forget, for one evening, that he was the monster in the fairy tales. He had forgotten there could be no relationship with a woman other than the most carnal type. He wouldn't have vampire women, and mortal women wouldn't have him. Well, that was fine. That

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was just fine. He was a monster, and was done pretending otherwise. But Jane would pay for making him forget. She'd pay for making him think, however briefly, that he was a man first and a beast second. Chapter Five

Jane groaned and tried to roll over. The phone was ringing. It would be Moira, telling her to get her ass to the Cape. She couldn't see Dick tonight. She had to answer the phone and tell Moira to go fuck herself, and then— Wait. That had already happened. So why was she still in bed? She opened her eyes and tried to sit up. Three alarming facts registered immediately on her brain: a) she couldn't sit up, and b) she was tied to a bed. She was, in fact, c) tied down in the same room with an annoyed vampire. And not a prayer of room service. "Ohhhhhh, youidiot! " she howled. If she could have slapped her hand over her eyes, she would have. If she could have slappedhim , she would have. As it was, her ankles and arms were spread wide and tied to each poster of the bed. "Do you have any idea of the trouble you've landed me in, numb nuts?" Dick, sitting in the chair next to the bed, blinked at her. He did that a lot…a long, slow, thoughtful blink when he was taken by surprise. It was like a stall for time, or something. She used to think it was kind of cute. "I shouldn't have expected maidenly protestations," he said after a long pause. "Youshould expect a fractured skull, you undead idiot! What thefuck am I doing tied to your bed?Is it your bed? It damn well better be your bed! If I'm in some strange dead guy's bed your ass is grass!" He brought a hand up to his chin…then got up and abruptly left. She used the chance to yank at her bonds—no good. They were soft, like cloth, but amazingly strong. Were her bonds lined with bubble gum, or what? She strained to hear, and, very faintly, could hear muffled laughter coming from about thirty feet away. Dick had trotted out to the hall to have a giggle at her expense—fucking great. The door was thrown open a moment later, and when Dick returned, he was stone-faced. "Sorry about that. I thought I left something on the stove. Now where were we?" She kicked out at him. The bonds let her leg leave the bed, but not by much. "We were talking about how you're going to die a painful and horrible death—again! What the hell have you trussed me up with?" The left side of his mouth twitched. "It's elastic lined with titanium wire. It won't hurt you if you pull on it, but it's impossible to break. Even I have trouble breaking it, and I'm quite a bit stronger than you

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are." Wanna bet, Dead Man Walking?"Do you have any idea—aarrgh! I'm supposed to be meeting my boss right this minute! What time is it?" "About two a.m." "Aaaarrrgggghhh! Jerk! I'm five hours late!" "Another date?" he asked silkily. "No, Deaf and Undead, Itold you. My boss called—well, he didn't call, one of his lackeys did—and told me to get to the office, pronto. And when he says jump, weleap , dude. I didn't have time to leave you a note, but I would have come back!" "Sure you would have." Jane was so annoyed, she felt like biting herself. Instead, she yanked impotently on her bonds again. "Yes I would have, dill-hole!" "Your boss calls you on a weekend, and you must drop everything and race to his side? Really, Janet. I was expecting a better story than that." She snarled at him. If he made her much madder, she'd start barking at the goddamned ceiling. "Jesus, to think I was actually looking forward to seeing you! And this is how you take rejection…pervert!" Something flashed in his eyes then. Way down deep. She was suddenly reminded of the lake back home she used to do laps in. The blue water was pretty and inviting, but the lake was spring-fed, and freezing cold, even in July. You didn't know how cold it was until you committed yourself and jumped. Then you were stuck, and you got moving or you froze. "So you admit you rejected me?" "No, doorknob! I told you the truth. You can believe it or you can go fuck yourself." "Is there a third choice?" "Yes…untie me so I can make a phone call!" "I decline." "You can't just keep me here like a…a…” She practically spat the word. "…petor something." "Can't I?" Suddenly he was standing over her, casually unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders. Her eyes widened until they felt like they were practically bulging. "What the hell are you doing?" "You're a bright girl. You'll figure it out in a minute." "Don't youdare !"

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"I dare much, now that my heart—” He cut himself off abruptly, and she heard the click of his teeth coming together. What the hell was goingon with this guy? Off came the trousers, the socks, the underwear. Nude, Dick was exceedingly yummy…long legs, broad shoulders, and a tasty flat stomach that made her think about hot fudge sauce and whipped cream. His chest was lightly furred with blond hair two shades darker than the hair on his head. His muscle definition was excellent and she had a sudden, maddening urge to touch him, see if his skin was as smooth as it looked. It would be, she thought, like velvet encased in steel. Or marble…he was quite pale. He reached out and flipped off the light…click. She consciously dilated her pupils and could see him again, a pale blur in the dark. A blur with glittering blue eyes. She felt his cool hand on her thigh, then his fingers were nimbly unbuttoning her dress. She kicked out again, to no avail. He popped open the clasp on her bra—stupid front clasps!—and with odd care, gently tore her panties down the middle. She hissed at him. Twelve bucks at Victoria's Secret! The bitch's secret was that she marked up her underwear by 600%! "You are an asshole," she said clearly. "True enough." He pulled her panties free and spread her dress wide, then pushed her bra out of the way. "Umm. Very nice." "Go fuck yourself, perv." "I'd rather not…besides,you're here, so why should I have to? We have hours until sunrise." He chuckled. It sounded like cold water flowing over black rocks. "And Jane…I'm sooooo hungry. I've been waiting and waiting for you to wake up." "I hope I poison you. I hope you choke until your lungs explode. I hope my blood burns your windpipe. I hope—" "I get the gist.I hope that the next time you agree to spend the evening with me, you keep your word." Then he was on her so suddenly she didn't have time to pull in air for a gasp. She braced herself as best she could for his brutal entry, for teeth and blood and pain.Oh, when I get out of here I'm going to use your vertebrae for dice. See if I don't. And I won't cry, either. So there. His mouth skimmed her jaw, and she felt him lick her jugular and nibble gently at the tender flesh. His cool hand closed over her breast, pressed against her warm flesh, and she felt her nipple harden against his palm. Then he was kissing her throat, the middle of her chest, and her stomach. She felt his thumbs on her cunt, spreading her wide, and she felt his tongue snake inside her. The shock of it nearly bent her up off the bed. His mouth was cool, but quickly warmed, and she flinched back, thinking of his sharp canines. But there was nothing to fear—or there was, but she quickly forgot it as waves of heat started from her crotch and radiated upward. His tongue was flicking in and out of her little tunnel, stabbing her clit, and then he pulled back and licked…excruciatingly slow licks that made her shake. She gritted her teeth as hard as she could and locked away the sounds she wanted to make. So he wasn't being a hard guy—fine. This still wasn't her idea. It still wasn't any different than smacking her around or shoving her up against a dirty alley wall or—or—

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He stopped. He pulled back. She started to relax, then felt the sharp sting as he teeth broke the skin over her femoral artery. She gasped—she couldn't help it—and tried to jerk away, but his hands held her fast. His fingers smoothed the soft pelt between her thighs, and then he was parting her lips again, and stroking her throbbing clit. One of his fingers dipped inside her while his thumb pressed gentle circles around her increasingly slick flesh. Meanwhile, his mouth was busy on her inner thigh, and she could hear soft sucking. This went on, and on…she quickly lost track of time. She was screaming inside. Whenever she started to get close, he somehow knew, and his fingers would still, or pull away entirely. His mouthnever stopped. Then he'd resume again, careful not to push her over the edge. After a while she still wasn't making any sounds, but the bed shook with her trembling. At last he was sated. He pulled back, then bent to her and gave her a long, leisurely lick. "Ummm. You're so wet. I love that. And you tastesoooo good. Everywhere, it seems. Your blood is really rich. What on earth have you been eating?" She ground her teeth at him for answer. She felt his pelvis settle over hers, heard him chuckle. "Your rage could set the room on fire—better than being cold, I think?" She didn't dignify that with an answer. Besides, if she opened her mouth—what might she say? She was horribly afraid she might ask—beg—to be fucked. Hard. For a long, long time. Her cunt throbbed. Her thigh throbbed. It wasn't pain, it was sheer yearning. She had never needed to come so badly. When she felt him start to enter her, it took every ounce, every drop of her willpower not to strain to meet him. She resisted by listing his many odious offenses inside her head. Thatpart of him was warm. And hard, and huge. His cock was parting her slowly and gently, and she had a quick thought:He has to be gentle…he wasn't, a few times before, and he hurt his partner. That's how he knows to tongue fuck, first. But that thought spiraled away into confusion as he shoved, and she felt him slam into her. She made a sound, some small sound, and his mouth was instantly on hers. She could taste her lust, and her blood, and then he was whispering into her mouth, "I couldn't help that, I'm sorry—am I hurting you?" His hands were fisting in her hair and now he was groaning and thrusting, and her breath was coming in harsh gasps. "Please," she groaned. "Please—"Don't stop. Don't ever stop. Harder. More. Faster. Please. Please. Please. He groaned, too. "I wanted to hurt you but not like…I'll make it up to you, my own—" She heard him grind his teeth…and then he stopped so suddenly he was rigid with the strain of it. She was afraid to move, to breathe, but it didn't matter, he did the unthinkable anyway—slowly pulled out of her. She closed her eyes and whimpered as he went, hating herself for it even as she knew she could have done nothing to quell the sound. "Jane. Tell the truth, love. Am I hurting you?" She felt his hand caress her cheek and opened her eyes. His teeth were set so hard his jaw trembled. Here was a perfect opportunity for revenge. And she couldn't do it. "Twice," she whispered.

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He bent closer, dropped a kiss to her shoulder. "What?" "Twice. This is my second time. Ever. In my life." "You—what?" She could have laughed at his horrified expression, if she hadn't been ready to claw his eyes out for not letting her come. "Oh, Christ! I had no—I thought you—you seemed so tough I was sure—" Tough? Sure. Real tough. She'd grown a shell around her soul the night she lost her virginity. The night she, in her ardor, broke her lover's back. It had happened on the last day of her freshmen year in college, and her then-boyfriend, as far as she knew, was still in a wheelchair. It was the first and last time she'd chosen someone who wasn't pack. It was, in fact, the last time she'd chosen anyone, until tonight. And she hasn't exactly chosen this, had she? "You can't sayChrist, " she whispered. "You're a vampire." "One of the many myths," he whispered back. He stroked her hair. She could feel his cock on her leg, throbbing impatiently.It didn't give a fuck if she was hurt or not. It had business to get back to. And so did she. "Jane, why did you try to run away from me?" "I didn't, dimwad. I told you the truth." "Hmm." "Now will youplease finish and untie me?" "Pick one." She nearly screamed. "What?" "Pick one." He tapped her clit with a teasing finger. "And I'll do it." He kissed her again. He ducked down and licked her nipple, then sucked, hard. In their bonds, her hands curled into fists. "Whichever one. I'll do it. Thoroughly." "I hate you," she nearly sobbed. "I know." "Finish." "Oh, thank God." In an instant he was pushing his way inside her again, and for a half second she understood why he had been concerned—the friction was delightful,so delightful it was just this side of pain. Then he was pumping his hips against hers and it became more than delightful; it was exquisite. "Kiss me back," he said into her mouth. "Give me your tongue." Half-blind from the swamping pleasure, she did so. He sucked on it in time with his thrusts and she could hear someone making high, whimpering noises, and realized with amazement it washer making those silly bitch sounds. The bed thumped in time with their fucking, and then he tore his mouth from hers. "Now," he hissed in her ear, "come now." Then he pinched her nipple, hard, and that spun her into the most powerful orgasm of her life. She could actually feel the spasms ripple through her uterus, and the

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world got dark and fuzzy around the edges for a few moments. Above her he stiffened and for a moment his grip was painful. "God, my God, Jane!" Then he shuddered all over, and he relaxed as she felt him spurt deeply inside her. She dozed for a few minutes—it had been a stressful few days. She came all the way awake when she realized he was stroking her lower lip with his thumb. "Get the fuck off menow ." "Ah, you're back. I thought you were being uncharacteristically quiet." "Off. Now. Hate you. Kill you." He burst out laughing, which did nothing for her temper. She strained mightily and managed to roll him off her. "I'm sorry, love, it's rude to laugh. But most women in your position would be fetal with shock, sobbing into the bedspread. Allyou can think about is how to get your teeth into me." "And how you might taste," she added silkily. "Umm…well, there are ways to answerthat question…" "Anything you put in my mouth, you're gonna lose." He sighed. "I suppose it was too good to last. Pity we're only compatible in bed." "Compatible in—youraped me, asswipe! Do you have any idea what my family is going todo to you? WhatI'm going to do to you?" "I did rape you." He tweaked one of her nipples. "At first." She blushed with shame. He saw it, and it moved him whereas her death threats did not. "No, you're right—I forced you. None of this was your idea. You're still tied up, for heaven's sake. You don't have anything to feel guilty about." She was, absurdly, grateful for the lie. Not that she had any intention of showing it. "I feel very guilty that I didn'tbreak your neck in that alley when I had the chance now let me go!" "Sorry, Jane. You had your chance to be free, and you chose to stay." "I didnot —" "So stay you will, and just like this, until…" "Oh, what,what? Christ, you're driving me crazy!" "…until you agree to be my wife." Long silence, broken by, "You're on drugs." "Only if you are. Is that why your blood is so rich? God, it was like wine. I don't think I've ever felt better," he said giddily. "I had planned to fuck you and eat you and turn you out into the street in the wee hours of the morning without so much as an 'I'll call you', but now I'll never, never let you go. You're a rare jewel, Jane. An emerald, a ruby."

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"I'm tied to the bed next to a crazy person," she mused aloud. Thinking,Never drank from a werewolf before, eh, buddy? Interesting. If you become addicted to me, that could be useful. "And as far as being your wife—you've probably heard this from all yourother rape victims, but I'd rather be dead." "Undead," he said brightly. "Well, we've got time for that. You're still in your prime. Although I have no intention of becoming a widower in forty or fifty years." "What?" "Oh, I won't insist upon it right away, but probably within the next ten years or so, I'll definitely have to turn you into a vampire." An undead werewolf? What's next, Frankenstein's Monster coming over for dinner?"You're out of your fucking mind." "Apparently so," he said cheerfully, and kissed her, and left her. Chapter Six

Richard knocked modestly—absurd, given what he had just done to her—and opened the door. She was staring at the ceiling, and didn't look at him when he came in. He nibbled his lower lip and tried to distract himself from the sight of the lovely Janet, spread-eagled on his bed. It was amazing—he'd just spent over an hour with her, but he could have taken her right this minute. And again. And then again. He was carrying a tray full of savories. She smelled it and sat up as much as her bonds would allow. "Feeding time at the zoo," Jane said moodily. The spot on her thigh where he'd fed from her was purpling. He stifled an urge to kiss it, and beg her forgiveness.She lied, he reminded himself.And you're the monster. "Oh, hush. No one in a zoo eats so well. See? Lobster bisque and biscuits and a steak and milk and if you eat everything, chocolate ice cream." "That's a ridiculous amount of food," she said, staring at the tray. "I've seen you eat, my love. I'm going to let you out of your bonds, but before you hit me over the head with the tray and flee for the hills, I should explain that there are no fewer than three bolted doors—all English oak—between you and the street. You'd never get through them all before being caught. And you must be starving. Surely it's more prudent to eat and plot revenge, right?" She drummed her fingers on the bedspread and stared up at him. Her eyes went narrow and flinty, but at last she said, "I'm starving." "Eat, and then a hot bath…sound good?" "And then what?" "And then agree to be my wife."

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"Don't," she practically snarled, "start with that again, dicklick." "Ah, a blushingly modest bride, how refreshing. I can see you're contemplating homicide—try not to spill the soup." He set the tray down on the table, and unsnapped her ankle bonds. Then he seized the footboard and tugged the bed away from the wall. She could have done the same thing herself, but couldn't help but be impressed—not bad for an undead monkey. He walked to the headboard, reached behind it, and in a few seconds had her wrists freed. She was off the bed in a bound, pulled the shreds of her clothes off and let them flutter to the floor, then made a beeline for the tray. "I brought you a robe—" "Who cares?" she said with a mouthful of biscuit. "You've already seen me naked." "Uh—"You're gorgeous. You're distracting. If you prance around in that sweet little body you'll have your hands full. You have soup on your chin. "As you wish." He sat down across from her and watched her eat. She ate like a machine, seeming to take no enjoyment from the meal.Refueling, the better to kick my ass. Well, so be it. He deserved that, and more. And he was a fast healer. Let her do her worst. "Why did you break our date?" he asked abruptly, and surprised even himself—he had no idea he was going to say such a thing until it was done. She grunted irritably. "We've been over this." "Jane…" Again, he had no idea what would come out of his mouth, but plunged ahead anyway. "Jane, if you tell the truth, I'll unlock those three doors and will walk you back to your hotel. Just admit that you were afraid of me, that you were only pretending to accept what I am, and—" Her gaze locked on his like a laser. "My name is Janet Lupo," she said coldly. "I'm not afraid of any man. And. I. Don't. Lie." He actually felt the chill coming off her. Absurd! She was half his size, even if she had twice the mouth. Her gaze was odd, almost hypnotic. With difficulty he broke her challenging stare. "Well," he said at last, "perhaps you can understand why I have difficulty believing that your 'boss' would insist on your free time, and why you would have to drop everything and rush to meet him at a moment's notice." "Pack rules." "Beg pardon?" "Pack…rules…dumb…fuck. Am I stuttering? I'm a werewolf. My boss is the head werewolf." He laughed, then ducked as her soup bowl sailed over his head. "Oh, come now, Janet! Because you know I am a vampire, you've decided I'll believe that you're a werewolf? I'mthat gullible? There's no such thing, and you know it well." "Says the bloodsucker!" He was still chuckling. "Nice try."

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"If you could think about something besides your dick for five seconds, you'd see it makes sense. My strength, my speed…" "All well within the range forhomo sapien …albeit the high end." "You've been dead too long, Dick. The averagehomo loser can barely lift the remote control. My rich blood? That's from a diet high in protein.Raw protein, during the full moon." "Ah, the full moon. It's a few days away, but I suppose I had better take care when—" She slammed her fork down; the table trembled, then was still. "The full moon is eight days away. And when it comes, you're going to get a big fucking surprise. Your little oak doors won't hold me then. I'll be out of here—possibly eating your head on my way out the door—and you'll realize you fucked up, bad. You'll know I was telling the truth the whole time, but you couldn't see past your stupid injured male pride. I'll be gone forever, and you'll have the next hundred years to realize what an asshole you were." This was so convincing, he actually panicked for a moment. To add drama to her little speech, she stopped eating, walked to the bed, got under the covers, and faced away from him the rest of the night. She never said another word, or looked at him, not even when he tempted her with a brimming bowl of frozen custard. Chapter Seven

He was right. The doors—this one, anyway—were oak. Thick and heavy, with the hinges on the outside where she couldn't get at them. She threw her shoulder a few times—okay, thirty—into the door, but it barely rocked in its frame. "Fucking Brit wood," she mumbled, rubbing her aching shoulder. She'd prowled around her cage for the last couple of hours. It was a gorgeous room with plush wine-colored carpet, a soft queen-sized bed with about a zillion pillows, and a truly glorious attached bathroom (free of all razors and other sharp things, she was sorry to note). But as far as Janet was concerned, if you couldn't leave, it might as well have a cement floor and bars on the window. She went through the bureau and found several robes in her size, in various materials. No real clothes. No television, either, but several books. She saw some classics—Shakespeare, Mark Twain, and Tolstoy—as well as—too funny!—the entire collected works of Stephen King. She supposed she might stand half a chance if she threwHamlet at Dick as hard as she could. She'd gotten the drop on him before, in the alley, but wondered if it was possible now. He didn't believe she was a werewolf, the stupid dickhead, but he'd be careful. He thought she was one of the monkeys, but he respected her anyway. If he wasn't such a fuckstick, she could have really liked him. She wondered what the pack was thinking—what boss-man Michael was thinking. Probably that she'd been run over by a train or something. Death was about the only acceptable reason for skipping a meeting with the big dog. Interestingly, that thought—she'd unwillingly disobeyed a command from her pack leader—brought no anxiety. In fact, it was kind of nice, knowing Michael wanted her on the Cape, and here she was, still in Boston. If only Dick hadn't been such a beast. If only he hadn't been sonice about being such a beast—he might have wanted to really hurt her, but he sucked at it. She remembered him pulling out of her when he thought he was too big for her…remembered the excellent food, and the large quantities of it. The absurd

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marriage proposal. Absurd because…well, just because. If he wasn't such a dick, she could start to like him. But nobody—fuckingnobody —snatched Janet Lupo from the street, tied her down like a dog, and did whatever he wanted. He'd pay. She would have to wait for her chance, but it would eventually present itself. And then he'd better watch out for his guts, because she meant to have them on the floor.

***** The smell of eggs basted in butter woke her up. Before she could open her eyes, she realized Dick was under the blankets with her. Then she felt his mouth on her neck, felt brief pain as his fangs broke the skin. She tried to push him away, but he pinned her down and held her to the bed while he drank. She had no leverage and could only lie beneath him while he took from her. "You piece of shit," she said directly into his ear. He laughed against her throat. "That's the problem, Jane m'love. If you screamed or fainted or cried, I'd have no interest in you—I'd want to be rid of you as quickly as possible. But you're fearless, and furious, and it works on me like an aphrodisiac. Which is why youhave t o be my wife." "I'd rather eat my own heart." He licked the bite mark on her neck, then nuzzled the tender spot. "That's a rather disturbing visual. Did you sleep well? I admit I was astonished you weren't lying in wait ready to strangle me with the sash from one of your robes." "I'd rather wait until you dropped your guard. Then you'll be sorry." She said this with total confidence. He rested his forehead against hers. "God, you're delightful." "I'm going to skin you alive, you fucking undead monkey. Then I'm going to set your skin on fire. Then I'm going to roast your skinless body over the fire I made with your skin." "And so ladylike, too! Umm…" His cool mouth closed over one of her nipples, and she brought her fist down on top of his head, hard. Then yelped when he bit her. "Sorry," he said, rubbing the top of his head. "That was you, not me. You hit me so hard my teeth nearly clacked together." "Just you wait," she said ominously. He kissed her wrist, her pulse point, and then the crook of her elbow. She balled a fist and got ready to sock him again. "Jane, as delightful as last night was—for me, anyway—I'd rather not tie you up again." She punched him square in the face, a poor blow with her lack of leverage, but his head rocked back, which was gratifying. He went on as if nothing had happened. "So let's make a deal, you and I. I won't tie you up, and you won't fight me. As of now," he amended. "You won't tie me up?" she asked suspiciously. "But I have to let you fuck me?"

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He looked pained. "Yes, you have to let me fuck you." She pretended to think it over, but it was an easy decision. She could stand almost anything but being tied down. It went against her very nature, made her want to bite somebody. "Okay. I won't punch, and you won't get out the elastic bubble gum." "And you'll kiss me back." "Forget it." "All right, then, I will do all the kissing for both of us." He smiled at her, put a hand on the back of her neck, and pulled her to him. "What, I can't eat first? This deal blows." "Later, Jane. I'm begging you." His mouth was slightly warm, and his tongue slipped past her teeth to stroke her own tongue. She felt his hand cup one of her breasts, testing the weight of it, and then his thumb was rubbing her nipple. She wriggled, pushing more of her breast into his palm. "So, the quicker you get off, the quicker I can have eggs?" He sighed. "You're really killing the mood here." "What mood? I'm a prisoner, for fuck's sake. And I'm hungry," she whined. "Oh, for—" But he let go of her and she bounded off the bed. She wolfed down her breakfast—eggs, six strips of bacon, four pieces of toast, and two glasses of milk—in five minutes while he laid on the bed and watched her with his fingers laced behind his head and a mildly disbelieving look on his face. She got up, wiped her mouth with a napkin, tossed it over her shoulder, and climbed back into bed. "All right, then," she said, infinitely more cheerful. He smiled at her. "All right, then." He reached out, took her hand, and led her to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, they were in his giant bathtub and the floor was soaked. Her legs were spread wide and resting on each rim of the tub, and she was gripping the sides so tightly her knuckles ached. Richard was beneath the water, nuzzling and tonguing and fingering her cunt. He'd been down there for five minutes, and she was about ready to lose her fucking mind. Now his tongue was inside her, and one of his fingers was worming into her ass. She'd never been interested in assplay—the idea had always grossed her out—but the sensation of his long finger sliding up inside her while his tongue darted and stabbed and licked her cunt made her throb. She had no control over her reflexes, she simply started to thrust her hips at his face. Her muffled groans (for her teeth were tightly clenched) bounced off the bathroom tile. He rose, water dripping down his marble-white skin, and grinned at her. He pulled her up to him and growled, "Nowyou'll kiss me." She did, without hesitation. He sucked her tongue into his mouth as he pushed her thighs wide, as he

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took himself in hand and rubbed his cock against her sopping cunt. She moaned into his mouth and strained toward him. He tore his mouth from hers, sought her neck, and she felt him bite her just as his cock thrust inside. The combination of sensations—slight pain, swamping pleasure—made her come so hard she bucked against him, and another gallon of water sloshed over the side of the tub. "Ummmm," he said against her throat. "Oh, that's very good. I could do this all day." "Better…not…" she managed. "It'll kill me." He laughed and leaned back. She was still spread up against the sloping end of the tub; they were connected only by his cock. He ran his hands over her soapy breasts, smiling as she groaned again. "Oh, youare going to marry me," he said huskily. "Believe it." "Why don’t you…stop talking…and finish fucking?" He grinned, flashing fangs, and obliged. When he finished she was indecently satisfied, and there was only a few inches of water left in the tub.

***** Later, he brought a second breakfast. "After that half an hour," he explained, "evenI could eat a few more eggs." "Not bad for a dead guy," she said casually, pretending she wasn't still throbbing. The man had a fiendish touch between the sheets—or in the tub—and that was a fact. "I'm sure the ladies like you all right, when you're not being such a jerkoff." He didn't answer, just sat down across from her and watched her eat. After a few minutes, he started drumming his fingers on the table. "Yeah,that's not gonna get annoying. The kidnapping and the fucking I can take, but not the nervous tics. Cut it out." "Why only twice?" "What?" He was nibbling thoughtfully on his lower lip and watching her. "Why was last night only your second time? You're in your thirties. You should have had hundreds of experiences by now. It can't be a dislike for the act itself—you're sexy, responsive, and open to new experiences. So what's the explanation?" Her mouth was suddenly dry—weird!—and she gulped some juice. "None of your goddamned business." "Did he hurt you? Because if he did, I'd be delighted to track him down for you and teach him a richly deserved—" "Am I speaking a language you don't know? I said it was none of your business." Her hand was shaking. She put the juice glass down with a bang and hid her hands under the table. "And even if it was,

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I don't want to talk about it. Especially with you." His eyes were narrow, thoughtful. "Ah…you hurthim . And felt needless guilt ever since—Jane, for heaven's sake. Whatever you did, it was an accident. You didn't mean it." "Are you deaf? I said Idon't want to talk about it !" The glass zoomed at his head; he ducked and it slammed into the far wall. Orange juice and broken glass sprayed everywhere. "All right," he said calmly. "We won't talk about it." Her hands weren't the only thing shaking. She grabbed her elbows and squeezed; clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering. She was morbidly afraid she might puke, and soon. He got up from his chair, came to her, and scooped her up as if she was a child. For a wonder, she didn't try to pull his eyeballs out of his head. "You're tired," he soothed. "You've had a rotten week. Why don't you take a nap?" "Why don't you go fuck yourself?" "Can't we do both?" She chuckled unwillingly. Chapter Eight

Two nights before the full moon, and she was actually torn. Torn!It was almost like she was dreading her impending escape. Which only proved a steady diet of rich food and amazing sex lowered I.Q. points. Every day, he asked her to tell him the truth, promising to let her go if she did. And every day, she told him the truth…a lie would have choked her. She hadn't broken their date by choice. She had wanted to see him again. And she almost didn't hate him. That one she kept to herself. He hadn't tied her up since that first night. And she hadn't tried to attack him. Another example of her quickly-lowering I.Q. When they were between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or on the floor in front of the fireplace), the last thing on her mind was leaving. But far more disturbing, when they weren't between the sheets, the last thing on her mind was leaving. And it wasn't that she was thinking with her pussy instead of her brain. Well, it wasn'tjust that. Because to be perfectly honest, what, exactly, was she going back to? To be at Mikey's beck and call? To hang out with a group of people who disapproved of her, then go home to her lonely bed? The pack didn't much want her, and she sure as shit didn't want someone who wasn't pack, someone who was fragile—who would break if she really let loose. Dick fit the bill admirably, and he approved of her—to the hilt! He thought everything she did and said was swell. She could have farted on him and he would have rhapsodized about it. In fact, she did…after

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a particularly strenuous sexual marathon and when she was relaxing in his embrace. Relaxing a little too well, in fact—she really cut one. Quick as thought, she pulled the blankets over Dick's head, trapping him with the noxious odor. Cursing, he finally freed himself, and then they both laughed until they cried. She rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling. It was getting rapidly dark in the bedroom; the sun would be down in a few more minutes. She'd adjusted nicely to his schedule, and now slept her days away. Frankly, she preferred his schedule—she'd never been much of an early riser. He'd be here any minute. Any minute. She felt a tightening in her stomach and was disgusted with herself. Just thinking about him—about his long fingers and his mouth and his tongue and his cock—was making her wet. Some prisoner. Now she had Stockholm Syndrome. Except it was more like Bimbo Hypnotized By Bad Guy's Huge Cock Syndrome. And then later he would bring amazing food, and they'd talk about everything and anything. And he'd read to her—they were halfway throughSalem's Lot , which he seemed to think was a comedy—while she paced. She liked books but couldn't stand to sit still for the hours and hours required to read one. Or they'd wrestle, and once she'd thrown the leftover apple pie at him and they'd had a food fight that ruined the drapes. Jane sighed. If it wasjust his dick, it wouldn't be so bad. She could always buy a vibrator. No, it was Dick . She really, really liked him. More than any guy she'd ever known, and she knew a lot of fellas. And she was having a helluva time remembering she was a prisoner. In fact, she didn't think Dick remembered much, either.

***** Her vision doubled, trebled…then her knees buckled. Luckily she was bent over the footboard, so she had some support. Dick let go of her waist and pulled her back onto the bed. "That was…sweaty." Panting lightly, he flopped over on the pillows. "Jane, your stamina knows no bounds. Look at me; I'm actually out of breath. And I don't even need to breathe." "My stamina? Look who's talking. We've been at it since—holy shit, the sun's gonna be up in another hour. You'd better beat feet back to the coffin, old man." He snorted. "It's a bed, not a coffin. It's one of the guest beds, in fact.You're in my coffin, so to speak." "So why don't you sleep here?" "I've been thinking about it." He propped himself up on one elbow, bent to kiss her shoulder, then said, "More and more, actually. In the beginning I dared not leave myself at your mercy, but now I wonder." "What the hell are you talking about? You take longer to say something than anyone I've ever met." He didn't smile at her bitching, like he usually did. "I'd be quite helpless, Janet. If you, ah, decided to be angry, there's nothing I could do until the sun went down. And the tables in here are all made out of wood…so are the chairs. It wouldn't be difficult for someone with your determination to fashion a rudimentary stake."

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She'd never thought of that. She couldn't believe she'd never thought of that. "Oh." She mulled it over for a minute, then said, "Well, I don't especially want to stake you in the guts." "The guts I wouldn't mind so much. How about the heart?" She rolled over and rested her chin on his chest. "There either. I dunno, you're okay. When you're not being a total shit. Stay, go, I don't give a fuck." "Well, I can hardly turn down such a warm invitation." Still, he glanced nervously at the table in the corner before climbing under the covers. "Ah, well, here goes nothing. Climb in next to me." "I have chicken grease under my nails," she pointed out. "So, we'll take a nice hot shower together later tonight." "Sounds like a date." She snuggled in next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. His body was still slightly warm from their earlier exertions and, as she pressed closer to him, remained that way. "Ahhhhh," he sighed. "You're better than my electric blanket." "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. You should write for fuckin' soap operas," she grumbled, but inside she was glowing. He was trusting her with his life. He knew he was easy prey, and he was going to sleep anyway. It spoke volumes about his true feelings for her…and her status as his "prisoner". Well, shit, she thought, drifting into sleep.Her palm rested over his heart, which beat once or twice every minute.Maybe there's hope for us after all. Chapter Nine

Richard woke, as he had for the last several decades, just as the sun slipped past the horizon line. He felt Jane's head resting on his shoulder and smiled. A wonderful way to start the evening. And he waswarm , so delightfully warm. She was better than a hot tub. He'd have to do something really nice for her for not killing him. Like…let her go? He couldn't. He knew it was the right thing to do, knew he had no business keeping her as a sort of mid-sized boy toy, but every time he thought of his condo emptied of her refreshing presence, he wanted to shiver. Hell, he wanted to go for a walk in the sunshine. He couldn't even pretend it was about revenge anymore. Even if she had lied, they were square after that first night. No, he was keeping her because he was a selfish monster and he couldn't bear to let her go. To be brutally honest, he was thrilled she was sticking to her story, because it gave him the perfect excuse to keep her. The fact that he wasn't pinned to the bed via a table leg through his rib cage spoke well of her feelings for him. He was as hopeful as he'd been in—what yearwas it? She had her chance for vengeance, and hadn't taken it. And he doubted his lovely Jane was in the habit of passing up a chance to avenge herself. Was it possible she'd forgiven him? That was too unrealistic to believe, but perhaps there was hope.

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Perhaps— "No! No, God, no…aw, jeez, Bobby!" She was screaming. Screaming in her sleep. He was so startled he nearly jumped off the bed. Never had he heard his Janet so terrified, and so young. She sounded like a teenager. "I didn't—Bobby, don't move, I'll get an ambulance, oh, God, don't die, please don't die!" She was clawing at him in her sleep. He caught her hands and squeezed. "Jane, love. It's a dream. It's not real."Anymore , he added silently. His chest and throat felt tight. Whatever had happened, it had been horrible. Awful enough to scare her away from lovemaking for years and years. Her eyes flew open. He was shocked to see them filling, and then her tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. "I didn't mean to," she sobbed. "Of course you didn't." "They told me it wasn't a good idea—that monkeys are fragile—I didn't listen." She made a small fist and thumped it against his chest. "Why didn't I listen? Oh, we were having such fun—it didn't even hurt, and I thought it was supposed to hurt the first time. And then I started to come and I wrapped my legs around his waist and squeezed and—and—" "Janet, it was an accident."Monkeys? Odd slang—he had never been able to keep up with it. Had she broken the boy's ribs? Had they been in a precarious position, and had fallen, and perhaps the boy had…? Well. Whatever had happened, he was thoroughly certain of one thing. "You didn't mean to hurt him, Jane. You never would have hurt him. You've got to let this go." He was stroking her back while he soothed her and she finally relaxed against him. He added jokingly, hoping to see a scowl, "Besides, you don't need to worry about such things with me. You could set me on fire while you were having your way with me, and I'd be fine the next day. Before you ask, though, I'm really not into that." She jerked up on one elbow and stared at him. Her eyes were smudged with tears, bloodshot, and enormous. He thought she'd never looked so pretty. "That's right," she said slowly. "I was thinking about that last night and you…I can't hurt you. You can take whatever I dish out." "And have been," he added, "for several days now. See, look!" He showed her his arm where, in her agitation, she'd clawed off ribbons of skin. It was nearly healed. Oddly, she was still staring at him as if she'd never seen him before. "I don't know why I didn't think of it before, Dick." "You've had other things on your mind. Now, that's enough crying over a fifteen year-old accident you couldn't help," he said briskly, hoping she agreed. He couldn't bear to see her cry. He rolled out of bed and stood up, casting about for a way to distract her. "How about sushi and maybe some vegetable tempura for breakfast?" She perked up immediately. "I like raw fish," she said. "I like steak tartare, too, but I like it better with steak, not hamburger." "Sounds like we have lunch figured out, too, m'love."

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"But first we have to shower," she said, almost shyly. He laughed, bent to her, picked her up, and kissed her. "Yes indeed. You arefilthy . And so am I. I foresee lots of scrubbing in our future." "Fucking pervert," she snorted, and he cheered inwardly, knowing she was back to herself.

***** For the second night in a row, Richard woke up warm and content. He had made up his mind as dawn broke in the wee hours of the morning, as Janet cuddled up to him and snored softly in his ear. Today they would go out. He'd take her shopping and buy her a ridiculous amount of clothes. Clothes, lingerie, priceless paintings, pounds of steak tartare—whatever she wanted. He knew in his heart she wouldn't run away from him, and it was past time he let her out of his bedroom. She had been admirably patient, and it was time for a reward. He stretched. He didn't really need to—he always woke energized and hungry and raring to go—but enjoyed the sensation. Yes, they would go shopping and she would bully the sales clerks and it would be delightful. Then back to his place for a light lunch and some energetic lovemaking, and possibly a nap, or more ofSalem's Lot . Yes, it was all— Where the hell was Janet? He'd been groping absently for her while he'd been thinking, but she wasn't in his bed, and the bathroom light was off. He could hear her on the floor, gasping in—pain? Was that pain? In the second before he looked, it seemed like every malady mortals were prone to raced through his brain. She had appendicitis. He'd knocked her up (it was supposed to be impossible, but who really knew?) and she was having a miscarriage. She was having a heart attack. A brain embolism. A kidney shutdown. God help him, he was as afraid to look as he was afraid not to. He looked. Janet was on her knees beside the bed, panting harshly, and her back—it almost looked like the knobs of her spine weremoving . Her hair was hanging in her face in sweaty tangles, and her nails were sunk into the carpet. His feet hit the floor with a double thud and he reached for her. "Janet, I'm getting a doctor. I'll be right—" A low, ripping growl froze his hand in mid-reach. And then—so fast, it was so quick, he blinked and it was done—she sprouted hair and her nose turned into a long snout and her eyes went wild and she was leaping for the door. She bounced off it, but he was alarmed to see it actually shudder in its frame. She coiled and leapt again. And again. He remained sitting on the bed—he was afraid if he stood he would fall—and stared at her. Janet was a dun-colored wolf with silver streaks running down her back. Her eyes were the same color as when she was a biped, but now they were glittery and homicidal. He remembered how she paced when he read, how she couldn't seem to sit still for long, and realized that in this form she was claustrophobic. Chunks of the door were leaping off the frame and falling to the carpet each time her body hit the door, but at this rate it would take at least ten minutes and she was likely to damage herself. He got up and

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walked to the door on legs stiff with shock, fumbled with the lock, dropped his key twice (all the while dodging her small wolf's body—she never stopped, she completely ignored him, he doubted he was even a cipher to her now), and finally swung the door open. He ran after her to do it again, and again. Then she spotted the bank of windows facing west and lunged toward them. He dived, and managed to catch her back left leg just as she was coiling for a leap that would take her through the window. She spun and he had a dizzying glimpse of what looked like a thousand sharp teeth as she growled. "We're three stories up," he panted, clutching her while at the same time trying not to break her leg. "You'll never survive the fall. Well, you might but—Janet, don't go!" She snapped at his fingers. Wrathful growls bubbled up out of her without pause, or breath. "Please don't leave! I was wrong and you were right—God, you were so right, I was a blind fool not to see it.Please don't leave me." She snapped again, her jaws closing about a centimeter from his flesh. A warning. Probably her last warning. "I can't bear it without you. I swear I can't. I thought I was content before but it was a lie, everything was a lie, even why I was keeping you was a lie…" His grip was slipping. He talked faster. "…but you were right, and you never lied, not once, not even to get away, and Janet, I will spend the rest of your life making it up to you…” She was almost free, and he was afraid if he let go to get a better grip, he wouldn't be fast enough. "…but please…don't…go!" She went. He lay on the floor in his study a very long time. It seemed too much work to get up, find the broom, and start sweeping up the broken glass. He owned the building anyway, so who cared? Who cared about anything? He couldn't believe she was gone. He couldn't believe he—who prided himself on possessing at least a modicum of intelligence—had let this happen. My name is Janet Lupo. Had done such things, and to such a woman. I'm not afraid of any man, and I don't lie. What had he been thinking? My name is Janet Lupo.

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How could he have been so blind? My name is Janet Lupo. So stupid and arrogant? The full moon is eight days away. And when it comes, you're going to get a big fucking surprise. Oh, if there was a God this was a fine joke indeed. He had finally found the one woman he could spend eternity with… Your little oak doors won't hold me then. …and he had kidnapped her and raped her and kept her and ignored her when she spoke the truth. You'll realize you fucked up, bad. He'd demanded she admit to being afraid of him, and when she wouldn't, he assumed it was a lie. You'll know I was telling the truth the whole time, but you couldn't see past your stupid injured male pride. His stupid injured male pride. I'll be gone forever, and you'll have the next hundred years to realize what an asshole you were. He would have cried, but he had no tears. Chapter Ten Three days later

Jane rolled over and stretched. Then shrieked in anger as she fell three feet and hit the cement with a smack. She'd curled up on the base of the statue in Park Square, promptly gone to sleep, then forgotten about the drop when she woke up.Why don't I ever remember this shit until it's too late ? she thought, rubbing her skinned elbow. She was pleasantly tired, and would be for the next couple of days. It was always like that when she chased the moon. She also felt very new, almost husked out. Purified. Whatever. She stood, and shivered. Step one: find clothes. Spring in Boston was like spring in Siberia. She marched up to an early-morning commuter, a businessman obviously cutting through the park to get to the subway. He stared at her appreciatively as she approached, but she had eyes only for his cashmere topcoat. "How-" was all he had time for before she belted him in the jaw and mugged him. She had made her choice as a wolf, and would carry it out as a woman. She didn't have to wake up in the park, naked and alone. Or yesterday, in an alley. Or the night before that, beneath the docks by the harbor—ugh. She didn't think she'd ever get the smell out of her hair.

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There were only a hundred safe-houses in Boston, as well as acres and acres of woods owned by pack members. She could have romped there and woken to clean clothes and a hearty breakfast. But as a wolf she had avoided all those places and her kind. The beast knew what she wanted. Now it was time to get it. Of course, she didn't know where Dick lived, exactly. It's not like she scribbled down the address with her paw on her way out the window. Luckily, there were ways and ways. She might not have a super nose like some of her kind, but the day she couldn't sniff up her own backtrail to a den was the day she'd jump off a fucking bridge. It didn't take long, but her feet were freezing by the time she got there. Dick lived in a dignified brownstone condo that was probably built the year theMayflower landed. She shifted her weight back and forth, stuck her hands in her stolen pockets, and looked up at his window. The glass hadn't been replaced; there was a large piece of cardboard taped into the frame instead. Guess it took time to order that fancy old-fashioned stuff. Except for the rumble of an early morning delivery truck, the street was quiet. "'Scuse me. D'you live here?" She looked. The delivery boy was holding three brimming grocery bags, and looking glum. "Yeah. Why?" "Well, thank God. 'Cause I've been making deliveries for two weeks, but the last couple days nobody ever takes the food in, and it goes bad or gets swiped, and it's just a waste, is all." Ah, so that's where all the sumptuous feasts came from! Dick had the food delivered, and cooked the meals for her.Yum. "I was gone for a while," she told him, "but now I'm back." "Who are you?" "I'm the owner's fiancée." She shook her head. It sounded just as weird out loud as it did in her head. "Do I have to sign something?" "No. He's got an account with us." "Then get lost." "Nice!" But he set the bags down, slouched back to his truck, and pulled into traffic without looking, in typical Boston fashion. Which was good, because it wouldn't do for him to watch her break into the house. "Well, shit." That had been considerably easier said than done! Dick's front door wouldn't budge, and she was reluctant to break more of that expensive glass. He might not be so thrilled she came back. She had a vague memory of him grabbing her and begging her not to go, but it was more like a dream. She didn't trust her wolf-brain to factually interpret human emotions. She smacked herself on the forehead. Dummy! Why was she trying to see him in thedaytime ? Even if she got in, he wouldn’t exactly be a thrilling conversationalist. He'd be holed up in his bedroom, dead to the world—literally. Until then, she might as well chat with a rock. Still, it would have been nice to swipe some clothes.

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Oh, well. The coat was plenty warm enough, and she didn't give a fuck how many people stared at her feet. At least she was in a big city, instead of some rinky-dinky small town…the yokels always loved something new to gawp at. She just had to kill another ten hours until the sun set. Thank God for the Barnes & Noble café. Chapter Eleven

Richard slumped in the chair beside the fireplace. He'd been sitting in this room every evening since Jane had left. It had been the last place he'd seen her. He was starving, and didn't care. He deserved to go hungry. And the thought of leaving—of perhaps missing her if she came back—was unbearable. What if she was hurt? What if she needed something and he was out assuaging his thirst? Who are you kidding? She's gone, fool. You did everything but toss her out the window yourself. True enough. Still, he waited. It was the only thing he could do. He'd never insult her by trying to find her and convince her to return. Return to what? An unnatural existence with a monster? And what in the world could he ever say to her? "Janet, dear, sorry about kidnapping you and raping you and keeping you and all but calling you a liar to your face, kiss-kiss, let's go home." As the lady herself might say, "In a fuckin' pig's eye." "Dick! Stop with the fucking sulking and open the front door!" Oh, Christ, now his inner voice sounded likeher . Bad enough he was starving, but it appeared he was slowly going insane as well. "You son of a bitch! You piece of shit! I trot my ass all the way back down here—twice!—and you keep me standing out here on this freezing sidewalk?" He buried his face in his hands. How he missed her! "I am going to rip your heart out and pin it to the bedroom wall with a swizzle stick! I'm going to yank the fixtures out of that stupid bathroom you're so proud of and shove them up your ass!"Wham! Wham! Wham! "Now let me in before I lose my temper!" That's no inner voice, Richard. I ought to know…I'myour inner voice. He jumped up so quickly his head actually banged into the ceiling. He barely felt it. He clawed for the doorway, raced through it and down the hall, down three flights of stairs, fumbled for the bolts and locks, and flung the door open. Janet stood on his front step, flushed and out of breath. Her little fists were red from the cold, and from banging his door. She was wearing a man's overcoat roughly six sizes too big for her, and three large grocery bags were at her feet. She was scowling. "Well,finally . Don't sulk on my time, all right, pal?" She stomped past him. Like a zombie, he picked up the groceries, then slowly turned and followed her. She shrugged out of the

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coat and headed straight for their—for his room. He watched her naked form sway back and forth as she went up the stairs like she owned them. "Food," she said over her shoulder on her way up. "I could eat a cow. In fact, I think I did, night before last." By the time he brought her tray to the bedroom, she had showered and toweled off. She strolled out of the bathroom and sniffed appreciatively. "Oooh, yeah, that's the stuff. I could eattwo steaks." "They're both for you," he said automatically. "Why…how…why…?" "You sounded a lot brighter when you thought I was a liar." She brushed past him and jumped for the bed, landing in the middle, lolling like a queen, and favoring him with a smirk. "Ah, the mileage I'm gonna get out of this. Let's start with your whole smug speech about how just because you're a vampire, there's no such thing as werewolves. That sound like a good place to you?" "Janet—" "Or we could touch on why it's not a good idea to kidnap people when they're on their way to an important meeting." "Janet—" "Or we could go into all the times you asked me to tell the truth, and I did, and then you didn't believe me, and then you—" He fell to his knees beside the bed. He had to grit his teeth for a few seconds to keep his jaw from trembling. "Janet, why are you here? Why aren't you with your family?" His voice was rising, but he was helpless to stop it. "Why didn't you head for the road and keep going? Why are you back?" She frowned. "You're taking the fun all out of this. I've been looking forward to it for days. I need to see some major-ass groveling, pal." He didn't speak. She sighed. "What, I gotta get out the hand puppets? You haven't figured it out? Dick,you're my family now. I never want to go back there. Cape Cod in the summer—yech! Tourists cluttering up the roads, the beaches, and the mall—and you get in trouble if you eat them. Can't even take a little bite to discourage them from coming back…" "Janet." "I'm serious! Anyway, if I stay with you, I don't have to go back. I didn't realize how unhappy I was with them until I fell in with you. I'm not pack anymore, I'm yours. I mean—if you want." "Is this a joke?" he almost whispered. "Is it a trick to get even? Because while I wouldn't blame you—" "Oh, hey, I'm a bitch, but I'm not, like, a sociopath! That'd be a rotten thing to do. I love you, you stupid fuck. I'm not going anywhere. Except, of course, for a few days a month. Think you can put up with that, you undead dope?" "I've been waiting almost a hundred years to hear those words. Well, not those exact words." He reached out and pulled her down onto his lap. They sat on the floor while she cuddled into him like a

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bad-tempered doll. "Oh, Janet. I missed you so much. And I was such a fool." "Yeah, a real arrogant asshole." "Yes." "Completely unreasonable and jerkish." "And then some." "And you're really, reallysorry." "So unbelievably sorry." "And totally unworthy of me." "In a thousand ways." "And you're gonna buy lots of food and get a house in the country so I don't have to hunt in the city." "The refrigerator is full and I already have a house in the Berkshires." "Then that's all right," she said, sounding quite satisfied. She stretched her legs out and wiggled her toes. "Um…the steaks are getting cold." "So am I." She giggled and turned so she was straddling him, then hooked her ankles behind his waist and kissed him on the mouth. Slowly, she cupped the back of his neck and brought his mouth to her throat. "Hungry?" she purred. He thought he would have a seizure. She had come back—she loved him—she would stay—and now she was freely offering him blood. Soon the Palestinians and the Israelis would make peace, and Janet would willingly enroll in charm school. He sank his fangs into her throat without hesitation—he couldn't have held back if he tried. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest while her blood warmed him from the inside out. She was wriggling against him—now her fingers were at his zipper—now her warm little hand was inside his trousers, clasping him, stroking him. He groaned against her throat. "Youdid miss me!" She shoved him back and he was happy enough to lie down for her. He stopped feeding and licked the bite mark. Her glorious breasts were jiggling in his face and he couldn't recall ever being happier, not once in his long, long life. She seized his cock with delightful firmness and raised herself above him. His arms went around her waist as he guided her to him. Entering her was like slipping into luxurious oil. Her head tipped back and she said "Ummmmm…that's good, I missed that," to the ceiling. He stroked her breasts, running his fingers over her firm nipples, marveling at the softness of her skin in

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contrast with her strength and stamina. She'd jumped three stories and there wasn't a mark on her—and he was certainly looking! Not a bruise, not a scratch. She healed almost as quickly as he did. "You're gorgeous," he said. "You're just saying that to get laid," she teased. "In case you haven't noticed, Iam getting laid." She snorted, then began to rock back and forth. He noticed an odd, sudden reticence about her and wondered about it—then suddenly realized she had likely been on top when she crippled her first lover. "For heaven's sakes," he said with mock disgust, "can't you go any faster than that? Any harder? I'm about to fall asleep down here." She was so astonished she nearly fell off him. Then she made the connection and smirked. "Okey-dokey, dead guy. Here we go." They ruined the carpet. They didn't care. Toward the end, she was screaming at the ceiling and he could feel his spine cracking—and didn't care. Her legs were around his waist in a crushing grip, her arms around his neck, cutting off his air—and he wanted more. He told her so, insisted on it, demanded it, then bit her ear. He could actually feel the temperature change within her as she reached orgasm, felt her uterus tightening around his shaft. That was enough to tip him dizzily over the edge. They weren't able to speak for several minutes, until Janet finally managed, "Oh, cripes, I think that should be against the law." "It probably is, in at least three states." "My supper's cold," she complained, making no move to stand up and get the tray. "So, I've got a microwave. Why did I even cook it? I doubt you'd have minded it raw. A werewolf," he mused, stroking her thigh. "Even after I saw the truth with my own eyes, I could hardly believe it." "That's because you're kind of a dumb-ass sometimes." "I have to take this from a foul-mouthed tart like you?" She pounced on him, nibbled his throat. "I'myour foul-mouthed tart, so there." "Excellent." He kissed her nose. "So…how do you feel about being an undead werewolf?" She groaned. "Let's talk about it in ten years, all right? Let me get used to the idea of not being pack anymore first." "It's a date. Will they come after you?" "I have no idea. No one's ever voluntarily left before. I doubt the boss would really mind—he's softened up since he got hitched—but I s'pose I should tell them I'm not dead." "Tomorrow."

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"Yeah. Tomorrow." "We've made our own pack, Jane. We're two monsters who do as they like, when they like. Everyone else had best stay out of our way." "Ooooh, God, I love it when you talk like that…" "How about when I do this?" He leaned down and nibbled on her impudent nipple, running his tongue over the velvety bumps of her areola. "Oh, God." "Or this?" He sucked hard, and nipped her very, very lightly. "Ummmmm…" "I love you." "Ummmm. Me too. Don't stop." He laughed and bent to her warm, lush flesh. "Not for a hundred years, at least." "We'll figure something out." Epilogue

From the private papers of Richard Will, Ten Beacon Hill, Boston, Massachusetts. "I'm in love! No entries of late—too busy. Too much to do just to keep up with my lovely monster. She's everything I ever wanted and, even better, I appear to be everything she ever wanted. "No more time to write today—we're breaking in a new chef. He's used to catering large office functions, so he should be able to keep Janet satisfied. "I suppose I'll give up this journal very soon. I realize now I wrote in it as a way to stave off my loneliness. No need for such distracting tricks any longer. "Must go—my bride has just playfully tossed a marble bust at my head to get my attention. I think I'll chase her down and spank her."

The End

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