Secrets of the Night Special Edition, page 74
She heard the mumbled voices of men and women, smelled the rich aromas of food and wine. But sights and sounds blurred beside Galan. Other dancers shared the floor, but all she saw, all she felt, all she knew, was Galan. All she wanted.
She breathed in the faint scent of sandalwood as he drew her ever closer, their bodies moving as one.
In her slinky midnight blue gown of shimmering satin with its low neckline, Stevie caught Galan's dark gaze and roguish smile, his look plainly sensual. With his set jaw and firm lips, he reminded her of a medieval warrior, eager to slay dragons in his lady's defense. Fanciful? Maybe, but this was how she'd always think of him.
Dressed in a suit of the finest black wool, a white shirt, and burgundy tie, he looked every inch a man of fashion. No other man could ever compare with him.
She knew the time was the present, yet the group on the bandstand reminded her of the Big Bands from the '40s. Clarinets mingled with trumpets and tubas, drums, and a piano as the band entertained the customers with a love song she'd never heard, One More Tomorrow. Galan knew the words. Why should that surprise her? He eased her closer and softly sang the lyrics in her ear.
She leaned into his embrace, never wanting him out of her sight. A rush of desire raced from her fingertips to the pit of her stomach, where it lingered as a pleasant but urgent ache.
After the song ended, he held her closer and whispered in her ear, “Let’s go upstairs.”
Anticipation warmed her cheeks.” Thought you'd never ask.”
Her hand in his, Galan led her past the other dancers and they mounted the carpeted stairs, neither saying a word. Heat sizzled between them, so tangible she could reach out and catch the feeling in her hand, store it to savor another time. By the time they neared the top, she simmered with passion, ready to explode.
At their approach, the door to their bedroom swung open, but by some illusional trick, she found herself in an English meadow, her brown peasant dress discarded on the ground. The forest surrounded them, dark tunnels and sweeping arches of oaks. The warm spring air caressed her bare skin.
She and Galan lay under a spreading oak, the faint rays of sunlight filtering through the branches. The spring breeze whispered through the canopy and rustled the violets that blanketed the meadow. What a contrast to the passion that raged inside her.
Why, this must be the Middle Ages, she thought, fingering the rough material of her plain dress. How could that be?
With murmured endearments, he feathered kisses from her jaw to her breast as his hand roamed her body. He eased her legs apart, where his fingers found the core of her passion. Gently, he stroked her as he raised up to watch the emotions playing across her face.
An unbearable ache grew within her, surprising her with its intensity.” Take me now!” she cried.” I've wanted you for so long.”
"No one else, for all time,” he murmured as he entered her.
And then, there was no need for words, only a desperate need to give and receive pleasure.
Which they did, in full. Whispers and moans and gasps of ecstasy were the only sounds to fill the air, their lovemaking all that mattered.
"Galan!” she cried as a shattering force shook her whole body, hers and Galan's together.
"You're mine, Linette!”
* * *
In his bedroom, Galan paused while he slipped his keys into his pants pocket. Pictures flashed through his mind, a cavalcade of visions that teased his senses. He stopped, clutching the edge of his chest of drawers. By all the saints, what was happening here? He saw himself with Stevie, leaving a dance floor, climbing carpeted stairs, hand-in-hand approaching a hotel bedroom.
But wait--where were they now? Not in a bedroom but in a meadow, its tall oaks and chestnuts reminding him of England, his home from so long ago.
Eyes closed, he watched as Stevie undressed, and he lay back on his bed and moaned. The flow of her golden hair down her back, her bare breasts and rose-tipped nipples, all her lovely charms carried him on a rich floodtide of emotion that flowed on and on.
"Stevie!” He grasped his blue bedspread, his fingers digging into the cotton, the images too real to ignore.
By St. Aidan, how long could he live without her?
* * *
The last traces of passion ebbed inside her as Stevie awoke in her dark bedroom, sighing in sleepy pleasure from the sensuous dream. The pain of arthritis forgotten for the moment, she stretched, every image of her dream still vivid. Linette, she puzzled, remembering another dream. Who was she? Why did that name crop up in her dreams, like a long-forgotten memory? Delving into her brain, she came up blank.
Her gaze covered all the familiar objects in the tiny room--the mirror above her chest of drawers, the end table with its mosaic crystal lamp and collection of porcelain rabbits grouped on a lace doily, a miniature straw hat with pink ribbons and masses of pink roses on a far wall. Another end table hugged a far corner, her computer occupying the entire space.
But something was wrong, terribly wrong.
A putrid odor wrenched her gaze to a far wall, several feet away. She jerked upright and stared at--oh, God, what was it? A monster? Couldn't be, couldn't be. She closed her eyes, then blinked them open again. This was no nightmare! This was real!
A long, dark robe covered the creature's stumpy body. The sleeves hung past his wrists, revealing long, clawlike nails. What was he going to do to her?
Her breath came in gasps. She swallowed convulsively and hugged her arms. Her pain returned, every muscle aching, throbbing. She glanced toward the corner again in one last, desperate hope that this sight, too, was part of her imagination.
Empty yet glowing eyes stared from a dull face with a flattened nose and sagging mouth. As if to taunt her with his presence, he stood immobile, reeking of rotten meat and stale urine. Long, tangled hair scraped his shoulders, strands of saliva dripping from his mouth. Who--what was he? Why was he here? God, please, this can't be happening.
Raw fear froze her stomach. Blood pounded in her ears, her temples, her cheeks. Tears filled her eyes. She forced her sleep-drugged brain to react. Flinging her bedcovers aside, she urged her painful limbs to move, move, move! She clutched her flannel nightgown and headed for the door. Socks on her feet made her slip and she bumped into the door, dazed with the impact. Don't stop! Get out of here!
The monster lurched, panting behind her. Terror clogged her throat; she couldn't even groan. She squeezed her hands so hard the nails dug into her palms. Fright drove the air from her lungs.
Run! Go outside!
She reached the front door and gripped the doorknob--not fast enough! He pulled her back, his long, sharp nails scratching her wrist as he tossed her to the floor. She landed on her left hip, a jolt of pain racing down her leg.
Galan, help me, please!
He grabbed for her. She rolled away, finding her voice at last.” Oh, God, no!” She scrambled to her feet and rushed to the sofa. Grasping the edge of it, she kept it between them. A stubby, hairy arm reached for her, but she jumped back. Every part of her body shook as they circled the sofa. Tears streamed down her face. She brushed her hand across her eyes to clear her vision.
Eyes now adjusted to the dark, she could see his jaw working furiously, his thick tongue flicking across his drooping mouth. Sharp incisors gnashed together, grinding like scissors, snapping up and down. Saliva streamed from his mouth like blood from a wound.
Her heart thudded hard and fast. Waves of dizziness washed over her. God, no, she couldn't faint, not now.
The police! If she could reach the phone, she could call for help, but she didn't have time.
A weapon, she needed a weapon. Perspiration streamed down her face and soaked her nightgown as she scanned the end table. A metallic glint caught her eye. She grabbed her letter opener just in time. Pushing sweaty locks of hair from her eyes, she thrust it at him.
"Damn you!”
Another thrust.” Damn you!”
The monster deflected each blow, like an enraged grizzly bear beating back a feather. He was toying with her! He could kill her whenever he wanted.
The freak grabbed her and squeezed her throat. His stubby fingers closed around her, tighter, tighter, tighter. His fetid breath fanned across her face like sewer fumes. Nauseated, she turned her head away.
She felt blood drain from her head. Stars burst in front of her eyes. Her ears rang as dizziness washed over her. Wobbly legs threatened to give out.
She would not die without a fight. She raised her tingling arms and pressed her fingers against his eyeballs. She bit down hard on her lower lip and tasted blood.
Screeching with shock and pain, he released her.
She tried to scream for help, but only a groan tore from her throat.
Galan, please help me!
Outside! Go outside! She raced for the cubbyhole off the kitchen, where a door led to the backyard. She gasped, one quick breath after another. Her flannel nightgown tangled between her legs. She yanked the fabric up and rushed for the door.
Behind her, he grabbed hold of her gown. Razor sharp nails slashed the material and scratched her thigh, but she broke loose. Stabbing, burning pain tortured every joint in her body. A hammer pounded relentlessly in her head.
The monster followed her, his clumsy footsteps shaking the apartment. A painting crashed to the floor.
Almost there! Out of breath, she grasped the doorknob, her hand slippery with sweat.
As the knob turned beneath her trembling fingers, he jerked her back and thrust her against the dryer. Snarling with fury, he raised his hands to her throat.
Chapter Twelve
"How do we know Rosalinda is truly dead?” Now back in the present, Octavius faced Lilith in the spacious bedroom of her luxurious Paris apartment. Outside, bright streetlights illuminated the city, like sparkling crystal scattered across black velvet. Having arrived only a second ago, Octavius aimed to catch the vampiress by surprise.
Which he did. She gasped as she swung away from her mahogany dressing table, frantically waving her hands. Long, auburn tresses flowed past her waist, glowing golden by the light of the ornate crystal lamp on her bedside table. With white, flawless skin and a generous mouth, she had the look of a seductress.
After long moments of charged silence, her sapphire gaze slid over him, cold and calculating. Cat's eyes. Adorned in a black silk gown with a revealing neckline and lace insets in the sleeves and hem, she looked quite the lady of the night . . . fit to kill, he thought on a note of wry humor.
She smiled slyly.” Rosalinda? That's my secret. You'll just have to believe me.” She returned to her silver jewelry box, rummaging among glittering bracelets, ear rings, and necklaces, all set with precious stones. An emerald necklace sparkled around her slender neck . . . Rosalinda's, no doubt.
"We have no proof.” For Galan's sake, he must have an answer, and yes, for his sake, too. He'd developed a fondness for the dark-haired vampiress and he missed her in his own inimitable way. He moved closer to Lilith, as if to taunt her with his presence.
She slapped her hand on the table.” You doubt my word?”
"Let's just say I don't accept it as the Gospel truth.”
She jerked back, as if he'd driven a stake through her heart.” Don't use that word around me!”
"What--Gospel?”
"Stop it!” she snapped. Her hands fluttered about, twisting rings on her fingers, knocking over perfume bottles.
"Very well.” Octavius made a mocking bow.” Your wish is my command.” He gave her a cautious glance.” Moloch is angry with you for destroying Rosalinda. Aren't you afraid he'll come after you?”
Her eyes flashed with indignation, her voice rising.” Rosalinda instigated the trouble.” Lilith lowered her voice.” I'll tell him I killed her in self-defense.”
"You think he'll believe you?”
"It's the truth!”
"So you have no proof that Rosalinda is dead?”
She rolled her eyes.” I already said you'd have to take my word for it.”
"What if I don't believe you?”
She shrugged.” No blood from my veins.”
Making the best of an unsatisfactory situation, he performed an exaggerated bow.” I shall leave you now, my dear Lilith. Do come visit next time you're in Brussels. We can do the city together.” With a wink and a wave, he disappeared.
* * *
Galan, please help me!
Stevie! Galan stopped midway between his living room sofa and the front door. A strong warning flashed through his brain, tugging at his heart.
In less than a second, he arrived inside her apartment, next to the dryer. By all the saints, no! A revenant threatened her. Fierce, red hot rage exploded inside him. He wanted to kill, kill, kill the bastard!
The monster turned from Stevie and looked at him, blinking his soulless eyes with incomprehension.
Stevie's face revealed pure relief, but puzzlement, too.” Galan, how did you--?”
"Not now, later!”
Galan jerked the revenant and banged the monster's head against the opposite wall.” You bastard!” After he killed the beast, the whoreson would disintegrate. God, Stevie must not see this.
"Stevie, please go to your room and close the door.”
"Are you crazy! I'll get out of the way, but I will not close the door,” she said, turning to rush from the room.
"Don't call the police,” he shouted as he struggled to subdue the monster, his hands busy, every muscle straining.
The revenant's jaw dropped open, a look of confusion on his face as he glanced from him to Stevie.
Needing more room to maneuver, Galan grabbed a plastic cup from the washing machine and threw it into the kitchen. He watched in grim satisfaction as the revenant turned in that direction. With one quick movement, Galan shoved him beyond the cubbyhole into the kitchen.
The monster lashed out at him, slicing sharp nails across his face. Galan jerked back in shock. Pain stung his cheeks. His gaze scanned the kitchen for a weapon. And saw none.
A low growl erupted from the beast. It lunged for him again, swinging his arm in a wide arc. Galan stepped aside, the arm missing him by inches.
"You son of a bitch!” Desperation propelled Galan. Next to the oven, he gripped the revenant by the throat, clasping, pinching, pressing, determined to choke him to death. The revenant gagged, his eyeballs bulging, his skin slimy.
The revenant broke free and shoved him aside. Still needing more space, Galan rushed for the living room. Like a puppet, the creature followed him.
Two quick strides took Galan to the sofa. Now to--
The revenant lurched for him, but Galan flung him away. The monster grabbed him in a steely grip. Locked in a macabre dance of death, the two antagonists jerked about the living room, dashing, bashing, crashing into an end table, sending a vase tumbling to the carpeted floor.
Hunger weakened Galan. He couldn't last much longer.
* * *
Stevie's heart pounded, faster, faster, faster. She stood in her doorway, hands clasped as she watched Galan and the monster. Noises sounded throughout the apartment, gasps and grunts and moans, a struggle of life and death. Scared witless, she bent her head as waves of dizziness washed over her. God, she prayed, please take care of Galan.
But how had that thing gotten into the house? Both front and back doors were locked, a deadbolt secured at each. For that matter, how had Galan gotten in?
And what was it?
Breathing hard, she rushed from her bedroom to the living room. She skirted the two fighters, fear sickening her.
In the kitchen, she grabbed a sharp knife from a drawer, her hand trembling. Sweat greased her palm, and the weapon clattered to the floor. Shot with pain and terror, she bent down to reclaim the weapon. She rushed back to the living room, knife clutched in her trembling hand.
Galan and the beast remained locked in a deadly embrace.
How she wanted to escape this nightmare, but she couldn't leave Galan.
* * *
Galan shoved the creature against the wall, banging his head again and again. The revenant pushed him away, back, back, back, until he bumped into the sofa. Galan saw Stevie, the knife in her hand. Relief flooded him, but worry, too. What if the bastard turned on her again?
His strength ebbing, he slammed the revenant to the floor. The beast landed on his stomach, legs thrashing. Wordless sounds escaped his throat. Saliva pooled on the rug.
"Give me the knife!” Galan ordered.
"I can do it!” Stevie raised the knife and slashed it into the creature's massive back.
The revenant lay still at last.
Crouched on the soles of his feet, Galan looked up at Stevie. He sighed heavily.” Good work. Now please wait in your room. I'll handle matters here.” Another glance revealed her white face.” Perhaps you should lie down.”
"Yes!” Hand pressed to her mouth, she rushed to her room and slammed the door behind her.
Oddly bloodless, the revenant lay quiescent, not yet dead. Galan jerked the knife from his back and turned him over, then plunged the knife through his heart.
In slow motion, the revenant disintegrated, his skin sloughing off to reveal his desiccated organs, until those, too, disappeared. His bones crumbled until only ashes fouled the floor, the steel knife as solid as ever. For countless moments, Galan waited for his exhaustion to pass.
After he fetched a pan from the kitchen, he scooped up the ashes and headed for the back door. In the inky blackness of night, he threw the ashes to the winds. There in the backyard, he breathed in the fresh air, reveling in the breeze that caressed his face, its sweetness washing the stench of the revenant from his nose and throat.
Back inside, he strode through the living room, then cautiously opened Stevie's bedroom door. She sat on the bed, clasping and unclasping her hands, her long hair hanging in front of her eyes. At his entrance, she looked up, an unspoken question on her lips. By the blessed Virgin, if only she knew how her anguish tore him apart.
