He woke at dusk. For a long while, he stayed where he was, recalling what had happened earlier in the day. Filled with rage, his body racked with pain, the hunger slicing through him like hot knives, he had been on the very brink of madness. And then Sara had come to him, offering him the surcease he needed. And he, cursed wretch that he was, had taken it.
Even now the thought of what he had done filled him with self-loathing.
Why had she helped him? Once she knew what kind of monster he was, why had she brought him here?
"Because I love you."
He sat up at the sound of her voice. "Don't."
"You said that before, remember?" Sara remarked as she entered the room. "I said I loved you and you told me not to."
"You should have listened."
"That story you told me, about the young man who traded his soul for another chance at life, that was you, wasn't it?"
He nodded, too ashamed to speak.
She sat down on the foot of the bed and studied him through wide, guileless eyes.
"How old are you, Gabriel? You would never tell me before."
"I was born in the winter of 1502."
She frowned a moment. "But that would make you..."
He nodded. "Three hundred and eighty-four years old."
It was impossible, inconceivable. And yet she knew it was true.
"You always said you were too old for me," she mused, and then she began to laugh uncontrollably.
Gabriel watched her from beneath hooded lids, his emotions in turmoil. He had made love to her, had given her his blood and taken hers. Though he had not taken enough of her blood to initiate her, they now shared a bond that could never be broken.
Sara looked at him, helpless, as her hysterical laughter dissolved into tears. And then he was holding her, his face buried in her hair. She felt his shoulders shake and she knew he was crying, too.
"Gabriel?" She drew away, her own tears forgotten in her need to comfort him.
A single tear hovered in the corner of his eye. A tear tinged with blood. Very carefully, she wiped it away with a corner of the bed sheet.
She stared at the bright red stain on the white linen and realized, for the first time, the full horror of who and what he was.
Vampire.
The undead.
Creatures who slept in coffins by day and prowled the darkness at night, preying on the weakness, and the blood, of others.
Gabriel was a vampire.
He saw the knowledge in her eyes, saw the realization that came as she recalled incidents from the past.
"That's why I never saw you eat," she said tonelessly. "Why I never saw you during the day. Why the burns on your face healed so quickly..."
She gasped as another startling realization came to the fore. He was the monster who had plagued her nightmares not so long ago.
"It's true," he said flatly. "All of it. Look at me, Sara. What do you see?"
"I see the man I love." She spoke the words confidently, but he saw the doubt shadowing her eyes.
Gabriel shook his head. "No, Sara, I'm not a man. I exist, but I don't live. I grow old, but I don't age. Face it. Accept it."
She looked at him warily, wondering why she wasn't more afraid. Sadness dragged at his features; his eyes were haunted, filled with more pain than a mere mortal could ever endure.
"Do you despise me now?" he asked.
"No."
"But you're afraid of me."
"A little."
"I won't hurt you, cara. Believe that. And if you can't believe my words, then look inside my mind and see the truth for yourself."
"Look inside your mind? What do you mean?"
"We share a bond, Sara. A blood bond. If you but try, you can read my thoughts."
"Is that why I heard you calling to me?" Gabriel nodded, waiting for her to take the next logical step.
"But I heard you before you took my blood." He nodded again, his hands clenching as he watched her try to fit the pieces together. "Have you taken my blood before?"
"No".
"You gave me yours." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.
Time hung suspended while she waited for his answer.
"Yes."
"When I was burned," Sara said. "That's why I got better so fast. You gave me your blood, and it made me strong. It made me walk..."
"Yes."
"But that wasn't the first time, was it? You gave me your blood when I wanted to die because I thought I was never going to see you again. I remember now. You came to me in the night. I thought it was another dream, but it was real, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"You saved my life. Twice."
"And you have saved mine, miserable though it might be."
He yearned to hold her, to bury himself in her sweetness, but he could not. In spite of the blood bond between them, he felt as if a chasm as wide and deep as hell separated them.
She licked her lips, needing, dreading, to ask the question that had been gnawing at the corner of her mind.
"Am I a vampire now?"
"No!" The word was torn from his throat. "I would never bring you over, Sara. You must believe that if you believe nothing else."
The relief in her eyes was like a dagger in his heart.
"Sara..." He glanced at the open door, then slid out of bed. "Someone's here."
"Maurice," Sara said, rising. "I forgot he was coming by."
"Go then."
"Will you be here when I get back?"
"No. I'm going to Spain."
She stared at him, wanting him to stay, yet afraid of what it would mean if he did. Vampire. The mere idea was vile, repugnant. Unbelievable.
Before she could speak, she heard Maurice's knock at the door again.
"You'd best go let him in before he breaks down the door," Gabriel said dryly.
"Don't go," she said, and left the room, closing the bedroom door behind her before he could reply.
She ran to the front door and opened it, forcing a smile. "Good evening, Maurice."
"Sara." He frowned. "You're not dressed," he said, taking in her disheveled appearance. "Am I early?"
"No, I'm late. Sit down. Have some wine. I won't be but a moment."
"Hurry, cheri. We dine at seven."
"I will."
She paused outside her bedroom door, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.
Gabriel was standing at the window. He glanced at her over his shoulder as she closed the door behind her.
He didn't look like a demon now, she thought. That horrible red glow was gone from his eyes; his skin no longer looked like old parchment. He looked like Gabriel again, human, masculine, and devastatingly attractive. Suddenly she yearned to be in his arms once more, to hear his voice whispering her name, to taste his kisses. Man or monster, she loved him, would always love him.
Gabriel met her gaze, though it was difficult for him to look at her now. Only a short time ago, she had seen him at his worst, seen him as he really was. Few people had ever seen him when the hunger was fast upon him and lived to tell the tale.
He wished he could hold her.
He wished she would go away.
"Was there something you wanted, Sara?"
"I... Maurice is here. We're going out to dinner."
The faintest glimmer of amusement flickered in Gabriel's dark eyes.
"Yes," he murmured dryly, "I was thinking of going out for... dinner... myself."
He watched the color drain from her face as she absorbed his meaning.
"How can you make jokes about... about what you do?"
"Believe me, Sara, there's nothing funny about it."
"Have you... ?"
"Have I what?"
"Have you killed a great many people?"
He shrugged, trying not to be offended by the revulsion in her voice, by the morbid curiosity in her eyes.
"Not many," he replied coldly. "Are you in fear for your life now?"
"No! I just thought... I mean..."
"It isn't necessary for me to kill to survive. I no longer require a great deal of blood, nor do I need it each day."
His gaze held hers. He wanted suddenly to hurt her, to shock her, or perhaps he merely needed to remind himself of the vast gulf between them.
"If I'm desperate, the blood of animals will suffice. In extreme cases, I've been known to dine on the blood of rats."
"Why are you telling me this? Do you think it will make me love you less? Are you still trying to drive me away?"
He couldn't look at her any longer, couldn't abide the overwhelming pity, the faint glimmer of revulsion, that lingered in her eyes.
Cursing softly, he turned to stare out the window again. "You'd better go," he said tersely. "Your young man is waiting for you."
She wasn't much company at dinner that night. She picked at her food, remembering what Gabriel had said. If I'm desperate, the blood of animals will suffice. In extreme cases, I've been known to dine on the blood of rats... Had he been serious, or was he merely trying to drive her away? And yet, deep down, she knew that everything he had said was true. He lived only by night. He fed off the blood of other living creatures. How could he exist like that?
She stared at the dark red wine in her glass. Gabriel drank wine. It was the only nourishment she had ever seen him take. How could he drink blood?
"Sara Jayne?"
She glanced up, aware that Maurice had asked her a question. "What?"
"You seem distracted."
"I'm sorry."
"Is anything wrong?"
"No."
"Have you by chance been out to the cottage?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Have you?"
"Yes. I assume that's your handiwork, all those crosses, and the garlic?"
Maurice nodded.
"What did you hope to prove?"
"He's a vampire, Sara Jayne. I'm sure of it."
"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "There's no such thing."
Maurice shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But if he isn't a vampire, then all I've done is waste my time. And if he is..."
"If he is?"
"Then he won't be able to leave the cottage." Maurice sat back in his chair, his expression suddenly suspicious. "You didn't touch anything, did you?"
"No," she said quickly. Too quickly.
"You're a terrible liar, Sara Jayne."
"That's what Gabriel says."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know. When I saw him last, he said he was leaving Paris."
"Are you sorry he's going?"
"I don't know." She looked at Maurice, her gaze unwavering. "But I know I shall miss him every day for the rest of my life."
Gabriel walked slowly through the castle. It was an amazing piece of work. Built over four hundred years ago of stone and wood, it was a sight to behold, from its turrets and towers to the moat and drawbridge. At one time, it had housed a hundred knights. Now its high stone walls sheltered a monster.
He moved through the Great Hall with its tapestries and long trestle tables, through the kitchens that hadn't been used in over three hundred years. Climbing the winding stone staircase, he wandered from chamber to chamber, pausing now and then to stare out one of the windows into the darkness.
Removing a key from his inside coat pocket, he unlocked the door to the dungeons and walked down the damp stone steps. Ancient instruments of torture lined one wall; a score of iron-barred cells bore mute evidence to a less civilized time. The walls were damp; the air was musty.
Returning to the Great Hall, he sank down in the thronelike chair that had belonged to the lord of the castle and stared into the enormous fireplace at the far end of the room.
The silence of the castle was absolute. The Hall was in utter darkness, as black as his soul.
He closed his eyes, and Sara's image came quickly to mind, her beautiful face framed by a wealth of honey gold hair, her eyes now filled with laughter, now shining with love, now cloudy with desire. Sara...
He saw her dancing the part of Aurora in Sleeping Beauty, an ethereal creature of beauty and light as she pirouetted across the stage during the Rose
Adagio; he saw her as Giselle, lamenting her lost love...
With a mighty curse, he forced her image from his mind.
Determined to pretend for a while that he was a mortal man, he decided to hire some men to come out and replace the rotting wood he had noticed on the drawbridge; he would hire a couple of women to sweep and clean.
In a week or so, Necromancer would arrive, along with the young man he had hired to act as stableboy.
Gabriel grunted softly. Perhaps he'd buy a couple of mares and raise horses. It would give him something to do to pass the time, something to think about besides Sara...
He glanced around the Hall, filled with a sudden yearning to see it filled with people, to hear the laughter of children, the gossip of women, to imagine, for a little while, that he was like any other man. For a moment, he closed his eyes and pretended that Sara was his wife, that she had come to him without fear or doubt, that she had agreed to be his for as long as she lived... for a moment, it was a dream sweeter than life itself. But the thought of watching her age and die was more than he could bear, and he put the image from his mind.
He was a creature of the night, destined to spend his existence alone. A bitter smile twisted his lips. After 355 years, he should have learned to accept it.
A fortnight later, the castle was humming with activity. He had hired two men to come during the day to keep the castle in good repair, and a woman to look after the house. He purchased three blooded mares to breed with his stallion, which had arrived the week before.
If the hired help found it odd that the master of the castle never appeared during the day, they did not mention it, at least not in his hearing. If the stableboy thought it most peculiar that the horses were bred at night, and that the master took the stallion out only after dark, he kept it to himself.
In a short time, the castle seemed to have roused from a deep sleep. The moat was cleared of debris, the windows were washed clean, the floors were swept daily, the tapestries had been aired. One of the maids planted a flower garden, weeds and briars were removed, trees were pruned.
Determined not to sit in his castle and brood over what could never be, Gabriel paid several visits to the local tavern, where he sat alone in the back of the room, his only companion a bottle of red wine. He knew the villagers were curious about his identity. Rumors and gossip abounded, implying that he was everything from a defrocked priest to an eccentric nobleman.
Well, he thought, let them speculate.
Several times, he heard Sara's voice in his mind, calling to him, begging him to come back. He felt her pain, her loneliness, her confusion, but he never answered her, and finally he closed his mind against her, refusing to torture himself by listening to her cries.
His only joy was in riding his big black stallion. Each night, he raced across the dark land, reveling in the horse's speed and power, remembering how Sara had shrieked with delight the night he had taken her riding. She had urged him to go faster, faster. Cheeks flushed, her lips parted, she had turned to face him. His Sara, so full of life...
He reined the stallion to a halt and sat staring into the distance. Sara. What was she doing now? Had she decided to marry Maurice? Gabriel's hands curled into tight fists as he thought of the young man's treachery. Were it not for Sara, he might still be imprisoned in that cottage, writhing in pain as a relentless thirst drove him slowly mad. Maurice and Sara...
Sensing his agitation, the stallion shifted uneasily beneath him. Gabriel spoke to the horse and the animal quieted immediately.
And still Gabriel sat there, staring sightlessly into the distance, his mind filling with images of Sara in Maurice's arms, in Maurice's bed.
Gabriel threw back his head as a long, anguished cry rose in his throat, and then he urged the stallion into a run, flying like the wind across the darkened land.
But he could not outrun his misery, or the image of Sara with another man.
A mortal man who could walk with her in daylight.
A man who could give her sons.
She had finally put him from her mind. She stopped trying to read his thoughts, stopped trying to send her thoughts to him. She spent her every waking hour with Maurice, mentally extolling his virtues, telling herself that she loved him. They danced onstage together. He was the prince to her Aurora, the Albrecht to her Giselle. They shared candlelit dinners after the theater. They went walking together in the early afternoon. They spoke of marriage. She let him kiss her, and occasionally she endured his caresses, but she refused to let him move in with her.
She went on a shopping spree and bought herself a new wardrobe: hats, shoes, petticoats, gowns and day dresses, feather fans, lacy parasols, a sleeping gown of gossamer silk.
She redecorated her apartment in shades of mauve and white.
She indulged her every whim. She danced as she had never danced before.
And at night, alone in her bed, she cried herself to sleep.
He felt a presence when he stepped into the Hall - a presence he recognized. And loathed.
She was wearing a dress the color of fresh blood. Her hair, black and glossy, fell over her shoulders in loose waves. Her complexion was glowing, and he knew she had fed recently.
"What are you doing here?"
"Giovanni, mon amour, is that any way to greet an old friend?"
"We are not friends," Gabriel retorted sharply.
"Lovers, then," Antonina purred. "Even better."
Crossing the room, she ran her hands across his shoulders and down his arms, appreciating the solid feel of him, the latent strength that rippled beneath her fingertips.
She felt her blood stir as she gazed up into his eyes. "Ah, Giovanni, I have missed you."
Gabriel took hold of her hands and pushed her away. "What do you want, Nina?"
She pouted prettily. "Do I have to want something? It's been decades since we last met, cara mia. I just wanted to see how you are."
"I'm fine. Go away."
"Don't be rude, Gianni." She walked around the Hall, running her fingertips over the ancient tapestries, pausing at a narrow window to gaze into the courtyard below.
"Why are you here?" she asked without turning around. "Who are you hiding from?"
"I'm not hiding from anyone," Gabriel replied. Except Sara. Except myself.
Antonina glanced at him over her shoulder. "You cannot lie to me, Gianni."
She stared deep into his eyes, and even from across the room, he felt the heat, the power, of her gaze. A thousand years she had walked the earth. He knew of no vampire older, or more powerful, than Antonina Insenna.
"Have you fallen in love again, Giovanni? Is that why you have buried yourself in this dreary castle?"
She had always been the most perceptive of women, Gabriel thought bleakly. There was no point in lying to her, yet he could not bring himself to admit the truth.
"When I buried Rosalia, I vowed never to love again," he replied curtly.
"You once loved me," Antonina said. "Remember? Ah, those long summer nights we spent together, cara - "
"Don't call me that!"
Antonina lifted a delicate black brow. "Did she hurt you, Gianni? Is that why you've come here, to lick your wounds?" She moved toward him, her footsteps so light she seemed to float across the floor. "Come out with me, Gianni," she crooned, her dark eyes shining with the lust for blood. "Let us hunt together."
Slowly, Gabriel shook his head. "Go away, Nina," he said wearily. "I don't want you."
She drew herself up to her full height, her expression regal, haughty.
"You wanted me once, Giovanni Ognibene. Can you deny that it was good between us?" A knowing smile teased her lips. "I see that you remember the nights we spent together. In all these years, mon amour, Ihave not found another lover to compare with you."
He stared at her, hating her because what she said was true. They had been good together. She had loved him with the passion and strength and endurance that only a vampire could possess. She had been insatiable, hungry for his touch, and he had delighted in it. At the time, he had thought it was because he was a superb lover. He knew now that, even as a mortal, she would have been insatiable, forever lusting for more.
Eager to put some distance between them, he walked to the fireplace and rested his hand on the mantel. "You haven't told me why you're here."
"I'm lonely," she said petulantly. "Lonely and bored. Won't you amuse me for a little while, Gianni, for old times' sake?"
"No."
"Once you wanted what only I could give you," she said, her voice brittle. "Now I want what only you can give me."
Gabriel shook his head. "There are other vampires in the world, Nina. Seek your pleasure from one of them."
"But none of them are you, Gianni. You owe me a debt. Were it not for me, your body would have been food for the worms these last three hundred and fifty years."
"I can't give you what you want."
"I'm not asking for your love, Giovanni, only a moment of your time."
"No. You have nothing to tempt me with this time, Nina. You can't offer me life. I have no need of gold." He breathed a weary sigh. "Go away."
Her eyes narrowed ominously, her lips thinned, and he wondered how he had ever thought her beautiful.
"So," she hissed, "you would deny me a single night in your bed?"
"I would deny you a single minute."
"Think carefully, Giovanni," she warned. "Think about your little ballerina."
In an instant, he was across the room, his hand locked around her throat. "You will not touch a hair on her head! Do you hear me? Not a hair!"
She laughed in his face. "Do you think to threaten me, Giovanni?"
"It is no threat, Antonina. If you dare to lay a hand on Sara, I will drag you out into the sunlight and watch you burn."
She made a low sound of disbelief. "You would die for this mortal woman?"
"If need be. Look at me, Nina. Never doubt that I mean what I say. I will burn beside you rather than let you harm Sara."
"You fool! Do you think I have survived for a thousand years by being intimidated by the likes of you? Be careful where you rest, cara. I have those who will do my bidding by day. They will not hesitate to drive a stake through your ungrateful heart, and then bring me your head." She glared at him defiantly. "And what do you think will become of your little ballerina then?" She laughed softly, wickedly. "I should hate to destroy a creature as handsome as you, mon amour. Perhaps I shall bring her over instead. Would you like that?"
Gabriel's hands wrapped around her throat, choking off her breath. He wished fervently that he could squeeze the life from her body, but such a thing was impossible.
With a cry of frustration, he let her go, then wiped his hands on the sides of his trousers, as if touching her had somehow denied him.
Rage flickered in the depths of her hell-black eyes. "You will regret this night, Giovanni. I promise you, you will regret this night!"
"Nina!" Fear for Sara's life rose up within him. "Damn you, Nina, come back here!"
But it was too late. She was gone in a swirling gray mist, her voice trailing behind her like smoke. You will regret this night...
Gabriel ran a hand through his hair. Damn! What had he done? Why hadn't he given Nina what she wanted? A night of his time. What difference would one night have made?
He glanced out the window. The sky was growing light, changing from black to indigo. Antonina would have to go to ground soon, as would he.
Muttering an oath, he found a scrap of parchment and quickly wrote a list of directions, advising his servants that he had been called away in the middle of the night, leaving instructions that the crate in the basement was to be shipped to Paris immediately, along with his horse. He left enough money to pay for his passage, as well as a generous gratuity. As an afterthought, he invited his servants to take up residence in the castle until he returned, if they so desired.
With the last detail taken care of, he went below to seek his rest, confident that his instructions would be obeyed without question.
His last thought, as the darkness carried him away, was of Sara.
