Secrets of the Night Special Edition, page 83
His mind made up, he drove to her apartment. An unfamiliar car in the driveway ignited a fresh rush of fury inside him. Possibly the family she rented from had a visitor, but every sense within him refuted that wish.
If it were a man, he'd kill him, rip into his subclavian vein and drain all the blood from the bastard's body. Inside the car, he gripped the steering wheel as his anger became a tangible entity, pounding inside his brain, urging him to kill, kill, kill!
He slid out of the car and slammed the door shut, then strode toward the apartment.
* * *
At the small kitchen table, Stevie set a piece of chocolate cake and a cup of coffee in front of Mark, then took a seat opposite him.
He sampled the cake, smiling in appreciation.” A great ending to a delicious meal. Did you bake this yourself?”
She laughed.” From a mix. Does anyone bake a cake from scratch anymore?”
"Well, it sure tastes good, no matter--"
A knock at the door stopped him in mid sentence. Her face set in a neutral mask, Stevie placed her linen napkin by her plate and slid her chair back.” Go ahead and eat. I'll be only a minute. Might be someone from church.”
First checking through the peephole to see who it was, she gasped before opening the door.” Galan, what a surprise.” Of all times, why had he come now? What about the vampiress he professed to love? She stood back for him to enter, fixing a look of indifference on her face.
Without a word, he stepped inside, his mouth twisted in a grimace as his gaze lit on Mark.
She motioned toward the other man.” Mark, I'd like you to meet an acquaintance.” She stressed the last word.
Her gaze shifted from one to the other as Mark rose from the table and came forward, looking hesitant, as if unsure whether to greet the visitor or shove him out the door. She made the introductions, well aware each man sized the other up.
Mark winced as Galan shook his hand, making her wince. Damn Galan! What was he so mad about? His eyes radiated malice, a muscle jerking at his jaw. Raw anger and energy vibrated from him, like a tiger poised to pounce on its prey. He finally released Mark's hand, and a whoosh of relief escaped her mouth.
"Mark's a history professor at the University of Miami,” Stevie said, trying to relieve the tension.
Galan's expression was glacial.” I see.”
Stevie observed the look of shocked puzzlement on Mark's face and knew repercussions would result from this night's encounter.
With one last glare, Galan spun on his heel and strode toward the door.” I shall come at another, more opportune time.”
She glanced from one man to the other.” Oh, but don't think you have to--"
"I said, I shall come some other time.”
* * *
Which he did, the following night.
He burst into Stevie's apartment.” Who is he?”
"Who do you think you are, barging in here like this?” she snapped.” Some avenging angel? Or devil,” she muttered under her breath. But he heard her words. And ignored them.
"Just answer my question.”
"Don't you remember?” she said with acid sarcasm.” I introduced you to him.”
He splayed his fingers through his hair.” Yes, yes, I know. But what does he mean to you?”
"What's it to you? You've found someone else, and it's just as well we stay with our own kind--your words, in case you forgot.” She indicated an easy chair.” Come on, let's sit down. If we're going to argue, we might as well make ourselves comfortable.” She plopped down on the sofa across from him, arms folded across her chest, a scowl on her face.
"I'm not arguing,” he insisted.
"You could've fooled me.”
He rested his hands in his lap, hoping to present a placid appearance, although he seethed inside.” How do you know he's a university professor? He may be a rapist or murderer, for all you know. This city is full of evildoers.”
"Well, look who's talking.”
"I have committed no evil, and I have ever been honest.”
"Sorry, my mistake,” she said with a derisive smirk.” You only feed on innocent people.”
"Not innocent. Criminals, every one of them.”
"That's not for you to decide,” she replied with a shake of her head.” A man is innocent until proven guilty. I seem to recall we had this discussion once before at the restaurant.”
"You don't see the things I see--the murders, the rapes, the child molestings.”
Stevie frowned.” How do you see all these things?”
"I am a vampire, remember? I can come and go as I please with no fear of retaliation. Remember Nick, the homeless man who used to sleep by the New World Tower?”
She sat upright.” So you did kill him! I should have known you--"
"No, truly I did not kill him. But I saw him murder an old man for a few dollars the unfortunate victim carried in his pocket.”
"I don't believe you.”
Galan shrugged, resolved she wouldn't see how her mistrust hurt him.” Don't believe me, then, but I assure you it's true.” "Let's drop that for now.” She paused, drawing her legs under her.” Something I've wondered about ever since you told me you're--"Her voice caught--"that you're a vampire. Why don't you feed off of animals?”
"I tried that at first. But I found I gained no strength or power from animal blood, that I barely existed. It would be akin to your living off of bread and water, only worse. I could not transport myself, and I lived in constant fear of detection.” He clenched his hands as painful memories shuffled through his mind.” Something else I must tell you, and you may find this difficult to believe, but there have been many vampires who so tired of immortality that they've committed suicide by exposing themselves to sunlight. A terrible way to die, I do assure you.”
"What about you?” Stevie asked.” Do you want to become mortal again?”
"Once, but no longer,” he lied.” The situation has changed, now that I have found one of my own kind to love.”
"You two go feed together?” she asked with a bewildered expression.
"But of course! We must live off the blood of mortals.”
"No!” She shook her head vigorously, her hair flying across her face.” No matter what you say, you don't have the right to feed off of people. You can still drink animal blood. So you lose some of your powers, so what? Why do you have to transport yourself from one place to another?”
Indignation welled inside him, but he forced himself to speak with cool precision.” You forget that's how I saved you from Rosalinda.”
"Oh.” She remained silent for a moment.” But if I'd never met you, I wouldn't have been in danger in the first place.”
"So you are sorry you met me.”
She rose from the sofa and paced the floor, a troubled expression on her pretty face.” Galan, we could argue about this forever and not get anywhere. The fact remains, you are what you are--a vampire. You've found someone else, someone of your own kind. Good. I'm happy for you. But don't expect me to approve of your . . . your lifestyle.”
He gazed up at her, aware she would never find lasting contentment with him, a vampire. Torn between love and desire for her happiness, he said nothing, for there was nothing to say. She glanced his way.” So tell me something. Why'd you come here tonight? Your girlfriend's not available?”
"Stevie, I . . .” He shook his head and took refuge in silence, for words became stuck in his throat. Inwardly, he winced, never wanting her to see how her words pierced his soul. In her white jeans and light blue sweater, her blonde hair rippling down her back, she'd never looked so lovely, so desirable, the only woman he could ever love.
She waved her hand at him.” And quit thinking you can pop in and out of my life whenever it pleases you, because I've got better things to do with my time. . . .” She continued talking, each word a stake through his heart.
Galan wanted her now, this minute, as he'd never wanted anyone or anything in his long ill-begotten life, yes, even more than mortality. Willingly would he give up his wish to be human again if he could only make her his own. He trembled with his need for her, this woman he loved more than life.
The wounded look in her eyes, the sorrow etched on her face, told him her heart was breaking, as his was. Silent for a moment, she picked up a candy dish and stared at it, as though she'd never seen it before; then she set it down and looked his way again.
"A bit of advice for you,” she continued, aiming another disdainful look his way,” if you ever tire of your vampire girlfriend--and I'm sure you will, sooner or later--leave the mortal women alone. Better for everyone if you stay with your own kind . . .”
Her words struck him like lance thrusts, yet he couldn't remove his gaze from her. As if she were the most exquisite diamond, he studied her hand movements while she talked, those long elegant fingers, tipped with a rosy polish, every gesture elegant but controlled. She tucked her hair behind her ears, a familiar gesture of hers, graceful in its simplicity. Two bright spots of pink tinged her cheeks, evidence of her agitation. Even now, her voice had a sensual quality, low and husky. Her sweet-spicy scent tantalized him, reminding him of meadows and wildflowers of England, of everything he'd known and loved so long ago.
She was all he'd ever wanted in a woman.
But she wasn't his.
Never his.
All the beautiful things in life resided in her, her warmth and goodness, everything that made Stevie the woman he loved, the only woman he could ever care for. All he'd ever dreamed of but could never have was embodied in this unique woman, one he'd foolishly thought might want to share her life with his.
Her jeans hugged her body, revealing her slim waist, the curve of her hips, her tight derriere. His imagination soared in a hundred different directions, every byway leading to Stevie. Her cotton sweater revealed the tempting swell of her breasts, and passion flared inside him, a searing heat that swept over his body.
She stopped pacing and settled her gaze on him.” And I don't know why you came back to see me, because your presence--and your arguments--haven't accomplished anything. You won't convince me it's right to take human blood. You have your life and I have mine. So go back to your vampiress and leave me alone. I never want to see you again.”
Chapter Twenty
On a balmy evening, Stevie returned with Mark from a dinner, and hand-in-hand, they strolled toward her apartment. Overhead, a quarter moon floated in a clear, starry sky, a light breeze whispering through the trees and bushes. She glanced sideways at Mark, and he met her look, a quick smile on his face. His good looks had an engaging quality, and his infectious grin was enough to tempt any woman . . . almost any woman. She wished she could think only of him, but memories of Galan hounded her--his kisses, those obsidian eyes and warm smile, all the wonderful things that made him a man she could never forget.
Mark stopped by her front door and drew her toward him. She pressed closer in his embrace, hoping his kisses would blot out memories of someone else.
They didn't.
Easing away, he gave her a troubled look.” It's that other man, isn't it?”
"Who?” she asked, pretending ignorance.
"You know who--the guy who came to your place when I was there for dinner.”
Stevie flicked her hand.” Take my word for it, he doesn't mean a thing to me. Oh, I'll admit we went together at one time, but we broke up because . . . because our lifestyles were so different.” She fingered the lapels of his brown wool jacket, giving him an appealing look.” Mark, these last few weeks with you have meant a lot to me. You're the nicest guy I've met in a long time. Can't we continue as we are? We're not making any lifelong commitment. So let's enjoy each other's company. Who knows? Maybe we just need time.”
He captured her hand and squeezed it.” I'll settle for that.”
After she said goodbye and stepped inside her living room, she tried to make herself believe her words to Mark. He was a nice guy; she was lucky to have met him. If they merely stayed friends, that was okay with her. In only a few months, she'd start at Barry University to study sociology, and for all she knew, she might not have time for any serious relationship.
Love and marriage were both far in her future.
So I'll just forget I ever knew Galan, she vowed as she unbuttoned her white rayon blouse and headed for her bedroom.
* * *
As dusk cloaked the city and Venus heralded the night, Galan found a letter from his editor waiting for him. Striving for nonchalance, he sat beside his coffee table and slit the letter open.
". . . an eminent writing style,” the editor wrote.” You make the battle scene and the events preceding the battle come alive, as if you'd actually fought at Hastings.”
Legs stretched out, Galan read on.” . . . an advance of $100, 000. Both The Book-of-The-Month Club and its subsidiary, The History Book Club, want to feature your book, and their sponsorship should greatly increase your sales.”
He studied the check: one-hundred thousand dollars, an amount that meant nothing to him. Money can't buy happiness, as the mortals always said. If he had Stevie with him--ah, what he would do with the money. He'd take her to London, Paris, Rome, and Prague. They would stay at the most exclusive hotels, eat at the finest restaurants, and yes, she could shop at the finest boutiques, an activity he knew all ladies enjoyed, whether vampire or mortal.
He tossed the letter onto the table and stared out the window.
Why wish for the impossible?
Clenching his hands, his mind switched to Moloch. The fiend had summoned him to Schloss Omerau, a message delivered by one of the demon's creatures. It was a demand he couldn't ignore, for if he did, it would only endanger Stevie. Galan felt sure the command dealt with her, and he agonized over what evil Moloch was devising now. God, please protect Stevie.
* * *
"You betrayed me. You agreed to stay away from the mortal woman once she recovered from her affliction.” Moloch pointed a skeletal finger at Galan.” You went back on your word.”
"She was in danger and still suffering from her illness when I rescued her,” Galan said, facing the demon across the trestle table.” I had to save her from Rosalinda.” And now he must save Stevie from Moloch. But how?
Outside, a winter storm raged, dry snowflakes blasting through the wide open windows. A stiff wind whipped the tapestry on the wall, all but tearing it from its hanging.
Moloch's eyes shone like black daggers, probing, seeking, never leaving his face.” You think I didn't know that Rosalinda had captured the mortal woman. Of course I knew. If she had died--and I wish she had--it would be no great loss.”
"You bastard!”
Moloch slammed his hand on the table.” I've had enough of your impertinence. Don't try my patience too far.” He gave Galan a hard look.” As for your own imprisonment, I knew about that, too.”
"Then why--?”
"Because I wanted to test your mettle, see how much suffering you could take. I won't consider a coward to head the Society.”
His mind reeling, Galan stared at him.” So you left me in the dungeon, later exposed to the sun, to die a horrible death.”
"If Octavius hadn't saved you, I would have,” the fiend said with a negligent wave of his hand.” You weren't out in the sun very long, scarcely long enough to burn your skin.” He scowled.” As for the human, this is your last warning. I'm ordering you to stay away from that woman.”
"Not if she's in danger.”
"Who cares if the slut dies?”
"You son of a bitch!” Galan kicked a table leg.” Damn you, I care! We made an agreement--did we not? --that I would leave her alone if no danger imperiled her.”
Moloch smiled, thin lips pushing back his cheeks into deep wrinkles.” I've not imperiled her. But if others want to harm her, I'll not stand in their way.” He sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his gaunt chest, looking for all the world as if he were discussing a business arrangement, or giving a benediction.
"Then the hell with you!” Galan scoffed.” Find someone else to supervise your Godforsaken Society of the Undead. I'll have no part of it.” His jaw clenched as he spun away to leave the hall, striding along the stone floor past the open windows.
". . . all manner of hideous deaths,” Moloch called after him.” How would you like to see her suffer on the rack, to have her body torn apart until she's a helpless mass? Or to be burned at the stake, where you can smell her roasting flesh?” He chuckled.” I assure you she'd take hours to die. You understand me?”
Slowly, Galan turned around, his shoulders sagging. Misery stalked every cell of his body, but he must protect Stevie with his life.” Very well. It shall be as you say. I'll stay away from the mortal woman.”
Galan's despair deepened. Would the fiend keep his word? No need to ask.
* * *
As he observed Galan leaving the hall, Moloch remained at the table, drumming his fingers, his long sharp nails tapping on his wide belt. Click, click. Despite pretending otherwise, he liked Galan's impertinence, his grit, his determination. Galan had guts, a necessary qualification for dealing with the nightwalkers throughout the world. The young man had tenacity, too, a trait not to be disregarded. If only he would forget this stupid mortal woman . . .
Moloch reached for a crystal flagon to pour a glass of red wine. He was fed up with the mortal woman, a constant disruption to his peace of mind, like a stake aimed at his heart. He would destroy her himself, but not now . . . later. Let Galan be lulled into a false sense of security. Let him think she was safe. Then her destruction would be so much more satisfying.
Soon, he'd get rid of her, torture her while she begged for mercy, watch with pleasure as it took her hours to die. But how? Thinking hard, he rested his head in his chin. Should he stretch her on the rack until all her bones broke and she screamed in agony, or should he hang her upside down while he held a flaming torch to her face?
