“Shannah! Shannah, wake up!”
“No! No! Let me out!” She lashed out at the dark figure bending over her, her nails drawing blood as they raked his cheek. “Let me out! Oh, please, let me out! I’m not dead!”
Ronan caught both of her hands in one of his. “Shannah, calm down. You’ve had a nightmare.”
She collapsed against him, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Shh, love, it’s all right.” He held her tight, one hand stroking her back, her hair. “It was just a bad dream.”
“It was so real.” Shivering, she huddled against him. “I w-want to…to go home.”
He let out a sigh, thinking that he was losing her far sooner than he had planned. But he couldn’t keep her with him against her will, not anymore. He could refuse her nothing that he had the power to give, and if she wanted to go home, he would take her there.
“All right, love,” he said quietly. “Do you want to call your parents and tell them you’re coming?”
She looked up at him, her brow furrowed. “Oh,” she said, sniffling. “I didn’t mean my parents’
home. I meant your home.”
Her words plucked a thorn of despair from his heart. “I’ll take good care of you,” he promised.
“I know.”
He handed her a handkerchief when she sniffed again. Sitting up, she blew her nose and wiped her eyes.
“That must have been some nightmare,” he said. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I dreamed that I died and that my parents…they buried me. But I wasn’t dead and I couldn’t get out!” She looked at him, her eyes wide with horror. “Do you think they ever bury people who aren’t dead?”
“Not anymore,” he said reassuringly. In the old days, it had been a common occurrence to bury someone thinking they were deceased. There had been occasions when a coffin was exhumed and when it was opened, scratches had been found on the inside of the lid, indicating that the deceased hadn’t been deceased at all. In time, a string was tied to one of the deceased’s hands, with the other end of the string being attached to a bell above ground. Should the one interred suddenly regain consciousness and begin to thrash about, the movement caused the bell to ring. It was believed that it was that ancient custom that had spawned the term “dead ringer.”
Shannah blew out a sigh. “It was the worst nightmare I’ve ever had.”
“I’m sure it was.”
She touched his bloodied cheek. “Did I do that?”
“It’s nothing.”
“I’m sorry.” She dabbed at his cheek with his handkerchief but there was no need. The shallow scratches were already healing.
“Believe me,” he said with a wry grin, “I’ve been hurt much worse.”
“Can we leave tonight?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It is. I don’t like it here.”
“All right, love. Gather your things while I go and tell Valerie we’re leaving.”
“Thank you, Ronan.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “I won’t be long.”
Ronan found Valerie at the club, sitting at her usual booth. A young vampire with long brown hair and pale green eyes sat beside her, his expression one of rapt adoration.
Valerie smiled warmly when Ronan sat down across from her. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” she said, “yet you are always welcome.”
“I’ve come to say good-bye.”
“I had hoped you would stay a while longer so that we might reminisce about times past.”
“I would have liked that,” he said, meaning it, “but Shannah wishes to go home.”
“Ah. And have you decided what you’re going to do with your little mortal?”
“It’s up to her.”
Valerie nodded. “I wish you all the best in whatever you decide.”
“Thanks.” Taking her hand in his, he kissed her palm, aware, as he did so, of the young vampire’s jealous gaze. Releasing Valerie’s hand, Ronan winked at the young man. “Don’t worry, kid, she’s all yours.”
Valerie laughed softly. “Ah, Ronan, you’ve got it wrong,” she said, stroking the young vampire’s cheek. “He is all mine.”
Grinning, Ronan left the club.
Shannah was dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed when he returned to the hotel. He noticed at once how pale she looked. The disease was escalating, he thought bleakly. He would have to give her his blood more often if he hoped to keep her alive.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
Tucking her belongings under one arm, he drew her close against him and closed his eyes, focusing his will and his energy on going home. It still amazed him that a single thought could propel him across great distances. It had taken him a while to perfect the art but it had come in handy more than once, especially back in the old days, when vampire hunters had been far more numerous, and far more tenacious.
The familiar weightlessness engulfed him and with it the sense of moving at incredible speed. It was a rather startling sensation that at first had left him feeling light-headed and slightly disoriented. But, like every other aspect of his preternatural life, he had grown accustomed to it.
Moments later, they were standing in the middle of the living room. A wave of his hand kindled a fire in the hearth and turned on the lights.
He glanced at Shannah. One look at her face, and he dropped her belongings on the floor and carried her swiftly up the stairs to her room. Flinging the covers on the bed aside, he placed her gently on the mattress, ripped open the skin on his wrist, and held his arm to her lips.
“Drink, Shannah.”
She stared up at him, her face deathly pale, her eyes unfocused. “No…”
“You must drink!”
She shook her head. “Call my…mom and dad…tell them…I’m sorry.”
“Dammit, Shannah, you will drink!”
She shook her head weakly. “No. It’s too late…just…let me go.”
It was the one thing he could not do. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took her face in his hands and gazed deep into her eyes, heedless of the blood trickling down his arm, dripping onto the sheets. “You must drink, Shannah. You want to drink. The taste will be sweet and you will not stop until I tell you.”
“Please don’t make me…”
He could not, would not let her go. He called on his preternatural powers, felt them come to the fore as he gazed deeper into her eyes, capturing her will with his. “Shannah, listen to my voice. You must do as I say. Please, love, I cannot let you go.”
This time, when he pressed his wrist to her lips, she did not resist.
Jim Hewitt sat in his car, his fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel. He was getting almighty tired of spending his nights sitting in his car on the off-chance that Ronan and the girl would…
He sat up straight, his eyes narrowing as lights came on in the house. Picking up his cell phone, he punched in Overstreet’s number. “Carl?”
“Yeah,” Overstreet said crossly, “whaddya want?”
“They’re back.”
“You’ve seen them?”
“No, but the lights just came on in the house.” Hewitt glanced at his watch. “It’s a little after midnight. Get some sleep. I’ll stay here until six, and then it’s your turn.”
“What’s the point of watching during the day?”
“We need to know if she’s with him.”
“Oh, yeah, right.”
“You’ll get that story yet,” Hewitt said, and ended the call.
He sat in his car a moment more, then got out and made his way up to the front gate. He had expected it to be locked, was surprised when it swung open at his touch. Making his way around to the side of the house, he peeked in the first window he came to. He held his breath as he watched the vampire sweep an apparently unconscious Eva Black into his arms and carry her out of sight. Damn! Was he too late?
Muttering an oath, he went around to the front door, swore again when it refused to open.
Damn and double damn! Was she already dead or was that filthy bloodsucker draining her dry while he stood out here on the porch, helpless?
He smacked his fist against the side of the house. Helpless, was he? Not by a long shot. Yanking his cell phone out of his pocket, he called the police.
Ronan had changed the bloody sheet, tucked Shannah into bed, and was making his way downstairs when he noticed red lights flashing outside. He was about to go out and see what was going on when someone knocked on his front door.
Frowning, he opened it to find two uniformed police officers standing on the porch. Their name tags identified them as Officer Burton and Officer Lincoln.
“Is something wrong, Officer?” He addressed his question to Burton, who was the taller and the older of the two.
“We had a report that there was a dead woman in the house.”
Ronan glanced past the cops to the street. A familiar car was parked behind the police vehicle.
The car was empty but he imagined Hewitt was lurking somewhere close by.
“Do you mind if we come in?” The second officer looked like he was fresh out of the Academy.
Young and green, he was filled with the arrogance and confidence of youth.
Ronan stepped back. “Not at all.”
“Is there anyone else in the house?” Burton asked, glancing around.
“My girlfriend. She’s asleep upstairs.”
“Mind if we take a look?” the young officer asked. His brusque tone made it sound more like a demand than a request.
Ronan shrugged. “Help yourself.”
Officer Burton went upstairs. The other cop remained near Ronan, one hand resting on his holstered revolver.
Ronan listened to Burton’s footsteps as he went from room to room, pausing only when he entered Shannah’s bedroom. With his preternatural powers, Ronan had no trouble tracing the man’s progress.
