“Yes.”
If anything, her eyes widened more. “You can hear me?” Her words carried a British accent.
He smiled. “Yes.” And he thought her voice lovely.
Her face lost all sadness and acquired such a look of astonishment that he had to laugh.
She took a hesitant step closer. “You ... Are you like Marcus, then? You can see ... ?”
“Ghosts? Spirits?”
She nodded, but didn’t seem fond of either term.
“Yes. For as long as I can remember. Though I can probably count on one hand the number of spirits with whom I’ve conversed.”
She stared at him.
He smiled. “I see I’ve surprised you.”
“Yes, you have.” She took another careful step closer, as though she feared he might bolt if she stood too near. “So, you were looking at me upstairs? I thought you were looking at Tracy or Nichole.”
He shook his head. “I was looking at you. And I saw you at the university tonight as well.”
“I thought you were looking at the cat!” she exclaimed, her features brightening with a beguiling grin.
Again he laughed. “Stanislav was looking at the cat. I was looking at you.”
She motioned to the empty chair. “May I join you?”
He stood and motioned to the chair. “Of course.” Once she perched on the edge of the cushioned seat, he reclaimed his own.
“If you’ve seen spirits all of your life,” she asked, “why have you conversed with so few?”
He picked up his apple and dagger and carved off another slice. “Some spirits never acknowledged my presence.” It felt odd, unmannerly, not to offer her a piece. “They didn’t seem to see me, or those around me. Rather they went about whatever chores they were performing as though they were alone.”
She nodded. “I’ve seen such spirits. There is something different about them.”
He eyed her curiously. “Have you ever spoken with them?”
She shook her head. “They ignore me as they do you.”
Interesting.
“What about the other spirits?” she asked. “Spirits like me? Why did you not converse with them?”
He placed another apple slice in his mouth, buying time and considering his words. “Some spirits,” he said at length, “are like the vampires I hunt. They delight in inspiring fear and sparking chaos. If one acknowledges them at all—one need not even say a word, just making eye contact will do—the spirits will do everything they can to make one’s life a living hell.”
Her pretty face grew somber. “Sometimes the vampires’ spirits are like that. They terrify me.”
“Is that why you left as soon as we encountered the vampires earlier?”
She nodded. “I didn’t want to be around when you killed them and freed their spirits.”
Another mystery solved.
“What about the others?” she asked.
Yuri hesitated. “May I be honest with you, at the risk of hurting your feelings?”
“Yes. I always prefer honesty to lies.”
She might change her mind once he spoke. Yuri feared what he intended to say might come across as rather harsh.
He set the dagger and apple core aside. “When I was a boy, I was told more than once never to feed a stray dog. When I asked why, I was told that if I fed the stray, I would never be able to rid myself of it, that it would keep coming back. I learned, rather painfully, that the same held true for spirits.”
She clasped her hands in her lap.
“I spent most of my childhood fearing the spirits only I could see, so I didn’t attempt to speak to one until I had approached, oh, ten and eight summers or thereabouts and thought myself invincible as all young men do. He seemed a benign spirit. Not menacing at all. So I thought it safe to try.” Yuri drew in a deep breath. “Well, once the spirit learned I could see and speak with him, he stuck to me like glue. I never had a moment’s peace afterward. Never had a moment’s privacy. And I could not rid myself of him no matter how hard I tried.”
She bit her lip.
“Even had he been a more likable fellow, it would’ve aggravated me,” Yuri continued, irritation rising at just the thought of that pain in his arse. “But this spirit felt he had to offer his opinion—usually a critical one—on everything. And he wouldn’t even give me privacy when I, uh, sought the company of women.”
Her cheeks acquired a rosy glow.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned that part. “I’m a quiet sort,” Yuri explained. “I appreciate my privacy. Yet he wouldn’t give me any. The damned man, spirit, whatever, was still dogging my heels when I was attacked and transformed by a vampire and would no doubt still be plaguing me today had Seth not done something to rid me of him.”
“What did he do?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me.”
Her brow furrowed. “I can see it angered you.”
He grimaced. “Did I raise my voice?”
She nodded.
“Forgive me.” He offered her a wry smile. “It wasn’t the best period of my life.”
“So you never spoke to a spirit again?” she posed tentatively.
“Actually, I did. Several decades later. I found myself living in a city with an alarmingly large spirit population. One in particular drew my sympathy, so I spoke to her.”
“And?”
He laughed. “And she and all of the other spirits in the vicinity did their damnedest to make me their errand boy once they discovered I could see and hear them.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“They wanted me to carry messages to the living for them.” He could laugh about it now, but it had not been the least bit funny at the time. “In the movies, ghosts always have some meaningful message they wish whoever can see them to tender to their loved ones.”
“I don’t know if that would work,” she said. “Who, other than your immortal brethren, would even believe you if you approached them and said you had a message for them from their dead husband or wife or father?”
“No one would, or did, as far as I could tell. But then I was never asked to carry any noble messages. One spirit wanted me to fetch some jewels he had stashed in his favorite gentlemen’s club and take them to his mistress because he didn’t want his wife to get her greedy little hands on them. His words. Not mine. And there were other, uglier errands. I ended up having to ask Seth for another transfer to get away from them all.”
“How . . . unpleasant.”
“Yes.”
A long moment passed.
“With such a track record,” she said softly, “I’m surprised you ventured to speak to me tonight.”
“I fear it was inevitable. I’ve been wanting to speak to you for a long time now,” he admitted.
Her lips curled up in a faint smile. “You have?”
“Yes. I almost did the night I moved here and saw you for the first time.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“You walked through a wall. I didn’t realize until you did that you were a spirit.”
She stared at him, her brown eyes wide. “You see me that clearly?”
“Yes. Even knowing you were a spirit, I wished to speak to you, but past experience taught me that there is always a catch. I didn’t want to find out what that catch might be with you.”
“Yet you spoke to me tonight. Why?”
“I couldn’t bear your sadness.”
She lowered her head.
“Will you tell me the source of it?” he implored gently.
She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t wish to speak of it.”
When sadness crept back into her visage, Yuri hastened to change the subject. “Then why don’t we formally introduce ourselves?” Rising, he sketched her a gallant bow. “Yuri Sokolov, at your service.”
* * *
Cat rose and smiled up at the handsome immortal warrior. “Catherine Seddon.” She executed a curtsy
. “My friends called me Cat.”
“May I count myself among your friends?” he asked with a roguish grin.
She laughed. “Yes, you may.”
“Then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Cat.”
“A pleasure to meet you, too, sir.”
“Yuri,” he corrected.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yuri.” And how intimate it felt to address him so informally. When she had last been a living member of society, the rules had dictated that she address men such as Yuri by their titles.
Yuri offered her his hand.
Once more, excitement skittered through her. If he could see her and hear her so clearly, would he also be able to feel her?
It had been so long since she had experienced the touch of another.
Cat placed her hand in his. Disappointment pummeled her as her hand passed right through it. “Oh,” she breathed. “I had hoped, since you can see me so clearly . . .”
“That I could feel you, too?” he asked, sympathy and disappointment suffusing his deep brown eyes.
“Yes.”
“I hoped so, too.” He continued to hold his hand out to her, palm up. “Let us try again, shall we? Slower this time.”
Cat saw little purpose in it, but did as he requested and placed her hand over his, making sure, this time, that her hand didn’t keep going and pass right through it. Again she felt no skin-on-skin contact. Did not feel the pressure of his fingers closing around hers when he attempted such.
But she did feel something.
Warmth. Her palm felt warm where it merged with his.
She raised her head and stared up at him in wonder.
“Can you feel me?” he asked, an amber glow entering his brown eyes.
She had to swallow before she could speak. “I feel warmth.”
He cupped his free hand over hers, encapsulating it in more warmth.
It wasn’t what she had hoped. But to feel anything at all after two centuries of nothing . . . “Can you feel me?” she whispered.
“I can’t curl my fingers around yours. Can’t raise your hand to my lips for a kiss,” he murmured, “but my skin tingles where we touch.”
Was tingling a good thing or a bad thing? “Is it uncomfortable?” she asked.
A slow smile stretched his lips. “No. It’s quite pleasant, actually.”
Butterflies fluttered in her belly as Cat found herself utterly smitten with him.
Oh, who was she kidding? She had been smitten with Yuri ever since he had moved into David’s home. Tonight hadn’t been the first time she had followed him on his hunt. Nor was it the first she had joined him in his bedroom.
An unpleasant thought arose. If he could see her, then he must know she had been tagging after him on his hunts and sitting with him and Stanislav while they read and reminisced.
Dismay rose.
Yuri had said he loved his privacy. And like the spirit he had found so annoying as a young man, Cat had denied him that privacy time and time again.
A bell rang.
Cat jerked her hand back and looked toward the door.
Since all of the bedrooms down here had now been soundproofed, they had been outfitted with doorbells in case knocks went unheard.
“Your friend is here to read with you,” she announced. Risking a glance up, she found Yuri scowling at the door.
“I’ll tell him I’m going to be late,” he muttered.
“No,” she protested and backed away. “I’ll go. Thank you for speaking with me tonight.” It had been a rare treat.
“Cat—”
Spinning on her heel, she hurried through the wall into the next room, then stopped short. “Oh!”
Roland Warbrook, the antisocial British immortal, and his American wife were making passionate love in their huge bed. Intensely passionate love.
Eyes wide, Cat sidled around the bed. It had never been like that when she had lain with her husband. Blaise had never done anything to her that would make her loose such sultry moans and cries or throw her head back and reach down to grab her husband’s . . .
Face and body flushing, she raced through the wall and out into the hallway just in time to see Stanislav entering Yuri’s room.
The door closed behind him with a quiet snick.
* * *
Cat leaned into the frame of a large window behind the massive desk in David’s study. The sun’s rays, almost blindingly bright and sparkling with dust motes, poured through the clean panes and passed right through her, imbuing her with warmth . . . much as Yuri’s touch had.
The house around her was quiet. All the immortals slept. Many of their human Seconds slept as well, having worked until noon or thereabouts, running errands and conducting whatever business they did during the day for the immortals they served and protected.
Even David slept, exhausted by the long hours he had kept of late, aiding immortals in North Carolina and surrounding states whenever emergencies arose, then spending the moments in between poring over medical textbooks in search of any information that would help him and Seth carry Ami safely through her difficult pregnancy.
Outside, Roland’s cat, Nietzsche—as cantankerous as his owner—crept toward a squirrel.
The squirrel continued to nibble on an acorn, watching the cat from the corner of its eye.
“There you are.” A pleasant male voice spoke, startling her.
Her head snapping around, Cat stared at the tall figure in the doorway.
Yuri graced her with a charming smile as he entered and closed the door behind him.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” she asked, telling her treacherous heart to stop slamming against her ribs. She had never understood why she had continued to feel that particular organ after she had breathed her last breath. She never felt hunger. Never felt thirst. But her heart seemed to thump away in her breast. One of many mysteries for which she had no explanation.
“I was looking for you,” he said, tucking his hands in his pockets as he strolled toward her. He wore the usual garb of an immortal. Black pants. Black T-shirt stretched taut over the thick muscles of his chest, shoulders, and arms. Heavy black boots.
From what she understood, immortals and their Seconds dressed thusly so bloodstains would be less apparent to any looky-loos who saw them after a hunt.
She frowned. Was that the right phrase? Looky-loos? It sounded odd.
Regardless, the clothing suited Yuri, accenting his dark hair and chestnut eyes.
She straightened as he approached the desk.
“I’ve only caught the briefest glimpses of you these last few nights,” he commented.
Because she had been careful to avoid him since their talk. As soon as he had entered a room, Cat had left it. She had even resisted the temptation to follow him on his hunts.
He arched a dark brow. “Are you avoiding me?”
For a moment, Cat considered denying it. But she had told him she valued honesty. So she nodded.
“Why?” He cocked his head to one side. “Did I offend you in some way?”
Shaking her head, she glanced down. “I fear it is I who offended you.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I owe you an apology.”
His expression remained impassive. “For what?”
“Now that I know you can see me, that you’ve always been able to see me, I realize . . .” Mortified, she looked away and began to pleat her skirts with anxious fingers. “You said you value your privacy, and I denied you that on many an occasion, visiting your chamber and following you on hunts. I—”
“Cat.”
She shook her head and met his gaze. “I don’t want to be like that first spirit you mentioned, the one you spoke to. I don’t want to irritate you or make you uncomfortable. I—”
“You don’t,” he interrupted with a kind smile. “You didn’t.” He sighed as he circled the desk. “I feared this might be the reason for your absence.” Stopping a few feet away, he leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the windo
w, careful to avoid the sun’s rays. “I confess I enjoyed your presence each time you joined me in my room or on a hunt.” His smile widened. “The former more than the latter. The latter proved dangerously distracting on more than one occasion.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” he said, and glanced out the window.
Cat followed his gaze.
Without warning, Nietzsche raced toward the squirrel.
The squirrel dropped its acorn and shot up the nearest tree, not stopping until it reached the highest limbs, well out of the crazy cat’s reach. Spinning around, it barked a peculiar little bark at the disgruntled feline, its tail flicking wildly.
“It’s been so long, Cat,” Yuri murmured, his profile drawing her gaze. “It’s been so very long since I’ve spent time with a woman around whom I can relax and be myself.” He cast her a smile, both wry and sad at the same time. “Five hundred years or so, if you can believe it.”
She couldn’t.
“Even when I was mortal, I had to hide my strange ability to see spirits. If I didn’t, I was believed to be quite mad.” He shrugged. “Once I became immortal, I had a great deal more to hide.”
Surely there had been women over the centuries. Even Bastien had not remained celibate since his transformation.
“This life is not conducive to forming lasting relationships with women,” he went on, almost as though she had spoken the thought aloud. “Human/immortal relationships never end well. Most end bitterly when the human ages and the immortal does not. The human always seems incapable of believing that the immortal who loves her will continue to do so as she grows wrinkled and stooped with age. That disbelief sows distrust. The elderly human convinces herself the immortal must be seeing a younger woman on the side and launches accusations each night as he leaves to hunt. The immortal always grows bitter himself that the woman he loves has so little faith in him.”
He grew quiet, his handsome face pensive.
“Does it never work?” she asked.
“Very rarely. When it does, it always ends in tragedy when the human inevitably dies. Until Roland met Sarah, the same held true for immortal/gifted one relationships. Sarah is the first gifted one in history who actually asked to be transformed so she could spend eternity with an immortal. In the past, gifted ones always refused, which spawned even more bitterness.”
Phantom Embrace Page 3
