“I don’t know. You look sort of…forlorn.”
“Not to worry, Shannah. I’m fine.”
“Good.” She yawned behind her hand. “I think I’ll go to bed. Good night, Ronan.”
“Good night, Shannah.”
He sat there long after she had gone upstairs, bemused by his growing affection for her. Funny, he hadn’t realized how lonely he had been until she came into his life.
His writing took up a great deal of his waking hours. He was hooked on the card game Spider, and occasionally played poker on the Internet. He enjoyed reading, both for pleasure and research. He spent one night a week answering his fan mail. From time to time, when he was bored, he surfed some of the online vampire role-playing rooms. He often wondered what the others would think if they knew he wasn’t playing a role.
Only now did he realize how boring and mundane his existence had become. In the beginning, he had wandered the four corners of the earth. He had explored cities, both ancient and modern. He had educated himself, gained an appreciation for art, learned foreign languages. In spite of all that, it had taken a slip of a girl like Shannah to add a dash of excitement to his otherwise dreary existence.
Later that night, when he was certain she was asleep, he went to her bedside. Biting into his wrist, he watched the dark red blood ooze from the shallow gash. He commanded her to swallow a few drops before the wound healed and then, sitting beside her, he spoke to her mind, telling her more about the books he had written, his writing habits, the names of his agent, his publishing house and his editor, and anything else that he could think of that she might need to know when they went on the road.
He sat there until the sky grew rosy with the coming dawn, content to sit by her side and watch her sleep, to inhale the fragrance of her hair and skin, to listen to the slow, steady beat of her heart. To pretend that she was his, for now and for all time. He caressed her face, bent to brush a kiss across her lips.
As the sun grew higher, he sought his lair, his senses still filled with the sweet scent of her skin, the warmth of her cheek beneath his hand. With a sigh, he sank into the darkness of oblivion.
Chapter Seven
In the morning, after a quick breakfast of toast, juice and coffee, Shannah drove to her doctor’s office. She had a standing weekly appointment, and she had missed the last three. She wasn’t sure why she had decided to keep this appointment. What could the doctor tell her that she didn’t already know?
“I’ve been worried about you,” Doctor Harper said as he wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm. “I thought…well, no matter. You’re looking quite well today.”
“I feel wonderful.”
Nodding, he watched the gauge, then removed the cuff from her arm.
“How is it?” she asked.
“Normal.” He made a note on her chart. “I see you’ve even gained a little weight.”
“Really?”
“Yes. How’s your appetite been?”
“Better than usual. And I’ve been keeping everything down!”
“Indeed? Any headaches? Dizziness? Nausea?”
“No, no, and no.”
He made more notes on her chart, listened to her heart and lungs, jotted more notes on her chart. “I want you to go down to the lab so they can take some blood.”
“All right.” Needles, she thought. She hated them.
Leaving the lab twenty minutes later, she went to Baskin-Robbins and treated herself to a double hot fudge sundae with extra whipped crème, and then she went window shopping. She made one stop at the drug store where she bought a makeup mirror, a candy bar, and a pack of gum.
Walking back to her car, she thought again how amazing it was that she felt so well. She didn’t feel the least bit tired. Eating didn’t make her sick. She was sleeping better than ever. When she realized she was squinting, she put on her sunglasses, thinking how odd it was that the sun hurt her eyes when it never had before. Maybe it was just another symptom of her illness. She would have to ask the doctor about it next week.
Back at Ronan’s house, she watched TV for a little while, then switched it off.
Going out into the backyard, she pulled weeds from the garden until her back ached, noting that, once the weeds were gone, there was nothing left.
Returning to the house, she filled a glass with ice and water and then, hoping she wasn’t violating Ronan’s trust in any way, she went into his office and booted up his computer.
Unable to restrain her curiosity, she opened a file named Fan Mail—January 2008. She whistled softly. There were over a thousand emails. Sitting back in the chair, she began to read.
Dear Miss Black—I love your books. I have them all and I’ve read each one of them over and over again. I don’t know how you do it, but you always draw me into the story from page one.
Your characters are so real, especially your vampires. If I didn’t know it was impossible, I’d think you were a vampire yourself. Just kidding. I can’t wait for your next book.
Your number one fan. Sandy.
The letters were all basically the same, praising Eva Black for her wonderful books, asking for autographs or bookmarks or signed photos, or all three. Several were from would-be writers asking for advice on how to get published. A couple were from women who said they had this really great idea for a book and if Miss Black would just write it, they would be happy to split the royalties with her. Shannah had to laugh out loud at their temerity. Ronan would do all the work and they would split the royalties with him! A number of the emails were from readers asking for free books for themselves or donations for fundraisers, or for a loved one who was sick or in prison.
Some of the readers thanked Eva profusely and sincerely, relating how her books had helped them get through a particularly rough time in their lives—the death of a parent or a child, a divorce, a serious illness. Shannah was moved by their gratitude. It must be humbling for an author to receive such letters, she thought, to know that your words had touched another’s life so deeply.
One letter was from a woman who said she didn’t like Eva Black’s last book, and that her husband hadn’t liked it, either.
Shannah laughed at that. It just proved that you couldn’t please all the people all the time.
She was amazed to find that the letters came from both men and women, and that some of his readers were as young as twelve and some were in their eighties. Apparently romances appealed to a wide range of people, from schoolgirls to prison inmates.
Closing the fan mail file, she tried to open a document titled Work in Progress, only to discover she couldn’t open the file without a password. Odd, that he lived alone but felt the need to have a password, and then she grinned. Not so odd, she thought. After all, she was here, trying to get a peek at something that was none of her business.
Frowning, she tried to think of what Ronan might use for a password. She tried his pen name and then she tried every word she could think of for black and for vampire, but none of them worked, either.
With a sigh of exasperation, she turned off the computer and went to fix something to eat.
Later, she wandered through the house, looking for something to do. Using a dish towel, she dusted the furniture, upstairs and down, but that didn’t take long and she was again left with nothing to do.
Where was Ronan, she wondered. What did he do all day? If he was a writer, why wasn’t he here, writing?
She had a lot of questions she wanted to ask him.
She asked the first one when she saw him that night. “Where do you go every day?”
“Hello to you, too.” He sat down on the sofa, careful to leave a good amount of space between them though it didn’t really help. With his preternatural senses, he was all too aware of her—
the scent of her hair and perfume, the warmth of her skin, the ever-present allure of her blood.
“You went to the doctor today. What did he say?”
“He said I’m doing well, and that I’ve gained some weight. Don’t change the subject. I never see you until it’s almost dark outside. Why? And how did you know I went to the doctor?”
“If you must know, I sleep days and work nights.”
“Anyone would think you really are a vampire,” she muttered. “Don’t tell me you sleep in a coffin in the basement.”
He laughed softly, but she noticed he didn’t deny it.
She frowned. “I must be sleeping in your bed, so where do you sleep?”
“Shall we get busy?” he asked, hoping to distract her. “We still have a lot of work to do.”
“How did you know I went to the doctor? I don’t recall mentioning it to you.”
“I can smell it on you.”
“You cannot!”
He shrugged.
Shannah looked down at herself and sniffed. “What do you smell?”
“Disinfectant. Antibiotics. Alcohol.” He frowned. “Dirt.”
“You must have a nose like a bloodhound if you can smell all that!”
“Where did the dirt come from? Not your doctor’s office, I hope.”
“Of course not. I pulled some weeds in the backyard.”
“There’s no need for you to do that.”
“I wanted to. Would you mind if I planted some flowers?”
“Do whatever you wish,” he said impatiently. “Are you ready to get to work now? We still have a lot to do. I’ve made an appointment with a photographer for tomorrow night.”
“So soon?”
He nodded. “I had an email from my editor. She needs the photo for the next book jacket as soon as possible.”
Except for her high school photo, she had never had anyone take her picture professionally.
“Will you come with me?”
“Of course. I told my agent that I would do signings in a few of the larger bookstores in Los Angeles and New York and a couple of radio interviews if they could set them up.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Just memorize the answers I’ve given you and stop worrying.” He would be nearby for any night-time interviews or signings; during the day, she would be on her own, though he didn’t think that would be a problem. He had implanted everything she needed to know in her mind while she slept. “I’m going to write for a few hours while you study.”
