Navarre stared at her, mesmerized by her youth, her beauty, the innocence in her clear blue eyes. Her hair, loosed from the coil at her nape, fell well past her shoulders and he had a sudden urge to run his hands through the silken tresses, to press her body to his and feel her warmth. Her skin would be soft and smooth, vibrant with youth. Her blood would be as sweet as her lips. Even from here, he could smell the life flowing through her veins…
The hunger, kept under tight control for centuries, rose up within him, clawing at his vitals with fingers of flame.
He felt the prick of his fangs against his tongue and he cursed softly, looking away lest she see the bloodlust that was surely glowing in his eyes.
Adrianna blinked. Feeling as if she had been freed from some sorcerer’s spell, she shook her head. “What are you doing here?”
He lifted one black brow. “Walking.”
“You walked here from Cliff House?” she exclaimed. “But that’s almost ten miles.”
Navarre shrugged. “It’s good exercise, good discipline.”
“I see,” Adrianna replied, though she didn’t understand at all. “Would you…would you care for a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you.” He clenched his fists, suppressing the hunger raging through him. “It’s late. I should be going.”
“Maybe some other time.”
“Perhaps. Good night, Miss Grant.”
“Good night.”
He turned on his heel and walked back the way he’d come, knowing he had to put as much distance between them as possible, knowing that, for his sake, and hers, he must never see her again.
Chapter Three
Navarre knew she was there before he opened the door. He had sensed her presence even before he came downstairs.
He opened the door and her nearness filled his senses. She wore a v-necked pale blue sweater, black slacks, and sandals. Her hair fell down her back in a thick braid. Navarre took a deep breath, inhaling the mingled scents of soap and skin that were hers and hers alone.
Adrianna smiled uncertainly as Navarre stared at her. She had every right to be here, she assured herself. It wasn’t as if she was coming to see him. After all, the man owned a business, and she was a customer. The fact that his place of business was also his residence didn’t mean a thing.
But it did. She had spent all day Sunday trying to convince herself that she didn’t care a fig about the man, or what he thought. She had invited him to share her company twice, and twice he had refused. She didn’t have to be hit over the head; then again, maybe she did, because she had come here directly from work, not even going home long enough to grab something to eat.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Adrianna pasted a smile on her face and stepped over the threshold.
She felt Navarre’s gaze on her back as she walked into the spacious front parlor.
“Anything I can help you with?” he asked, coming up behind her.
“No,” she replied brightly. “I’m just browsing.”
She didn’t have the courage to face him, certain he would read the lie in her eyes. But she could feel his nearness. The sheer size of the man was overpowering; his masculinity made her limbs tremble and her insides ache with longing. It had been madness to come here, she thought, but she was here now, and she’d just have to make the best of it.
Trying to ignore his presence, she wandered around the room, pausing to study an oak hall tree, a three-tiered mahogany table, an old school desk, complete with inkwell. But no matter where she was, she was aware of Navarre. He stood in the doorway, his arms folded over his broad chest, one ankle crossed over the other. Once, when she slid a covert glance in his direction, she could see him staring at her, his gray eyes narrowed.
He held her gaze for a long moment and she felt the heat climb into her cheeks. She wasn’t fooling him for a moment, she thought. He knew exactly why she was there. All she could do now was bluff her way through and make as hasty and dignified an exit as possible.
Reaching for the first thing that came to hand, she picked up a shaving mug emblazoned with the words “Buck’s Barber Shoppe” and asked the price.
Adrianna heard the amusement in Navarre’s voice as he named a price, but the words themselves didn’t register. He was wearing black again, she noticed. Black jeans and a faded black Phantom of the Opera t-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and chest like a second skin.
“Shall I wrap it up for you?” he asked.
Adrianna blinked, startled to find him standing directly in front of her, wondering how he had crossed the room without her even being aware that he’d moved.
She stared up at him, transfixed by his stare. “What?”
“The shaving cup. Shall I wrap it up for you?”
She looked at the object in her hand as if seeing it for the first time. “Oh. No, no, I…I was…no.”
“Why did you come here today, Adrianna?”
She shivered at the sound of her name on his lips, at the husky sound of his voice. “Why?”
Try as she might, she couldn’t draw her gaze from the web of his stare. “Because, that is, I…”
She took a deep breath. Lying had never come easy to her, but she was prepared to tell a whopper now, anything to make him stop looking at her like that, as if he knew her every thought, her deepest, most intimate secrets.
She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him she was looking for a gift for her boyfriend, but Navarre’s eyes were fixed on hers—fathomless gray eyes that delved into the nethermost regions of her very soul.
“Adrianna?” His voice was harsh, demanding the truth.
“I came to see you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
But he knew. Throughout the centuries of his life, women had been attracted to him, seduced by the dark power he possessed.
“Go home, little girl. Go home before you get hurt.”
His voice was as soft as the first spring rain, as intimate as a lover’s caress.
Adrianna swayed toward him, drawn like the tide to the shore. “I’m not a little girl.”
“Aren’t you?” His throat felt thick, so thick he could scarcely speak.
“No.” She tilted her head back, the better to see his face, parting her lips to give him ready access to her mouth.
Navarre gazed into her eyes, and in their clear blue depths he saw sunshine on a summer day, the ocean at rest beneath a cloudless sky, lovers entwined on a sandy beach.
Her nearness enflamed his senses, senses that were sharper, stronger, more discerning, than those of a mortal man. Her nearness was intoxicating, her scent as alluring as the Siren call of the sun.
Muttering an oath, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.
Heat coursed through him, firing his blood, chasing away endless centuries of loneliness. Unable to resist taking her in his arms any more than he could resist the blood hunger that kept him alive, he pulled her into his embrace, gathering her body against his.
Her body fit to his as though she had been sculpted to his measurement. Her breasts were warm and firm against his chest, her hair fell over his arm in a waterfall of honey-gold silk. She sighed as he deepened the kiss, her breath fanning his cheek, fanning his desire. He could feel the rapid beating of her heart, smell the blood that flowed in a crimson rush through her veins.
His response to her touch, her nearness, was immediate and obvious. He expected her to pull away, to scream for help, to slap his face and declare he was a cad.
She did none of those things; instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him closer, her tongue darting out to touch his, a little moan of pleasure rising in her throat.
What insanity was this, he thought as his tongue delved deeper into her mouth. Was she mad, or was he?
Common sense demanded that he put her from him, that he send her away, but the need to hold and be held was stronger than logic, more compelling than reason. He couldn’t let her go, not now, not when
she felt so good, so right, in his arms.
He could only imagine what would have happened next if he hadn’t heard the sound of footsteps in the foyer.
With a muttered oath, he put Adrianna from him and took a step backward.
“Go home, Miss Grant,” he said, his voice like sandpaper over steel. “Don’t come here again.”
Before she could think, before she could argue, he left the room. A moment later, she heard his voice welcoming another customer.
Giving herself a mental shake, Adrianna squared her shoulders and left the house, determined never to go back.
* * * * *
That night, her dreams were filled with drifting shadows, images without form or substance. She heard a voice calling to her from out of the shadows, a deep voice, filled with the loneliness of a thousand lifetimes. It was a sound of such sadness that her heart ached with compassion, and even though she knew she shouldn’t wander into the shadows, even though she knew that danger lurked in the swirling mists of darkness, she felt impelled to follow the sound of that voice.
Abruptly, she found herself adrift in a sea of blackness. Too frightened to move, she searched for a light, any light at all, and then it was as if a movie screen unfolded before her eyes. A barrage of images flickered before her: images of a man in a cage, of a woman with devil-black hair and eyes. Another woman replaced the first, her green eyes filled with love and fear as a tall, dark man rose over her. There were scattered images of ancient castles and kingdoms, of time passing, of a man buried deep in the earth, a man who was not dead, but sleeping.
Adrianna screamed as the blackness dissolved into a warm red river that pulsed with the very essence of life. Nausea rose up within her as the blood engulfed her, filling her mouth and throat, mingling with the blood in her own veins, until she was drowning in the scent and the taste and the texture…
She woke with a cry on her lips. Still caught in the terror of her nightmare, she sat up and flicked on the bedside light. But it wasn’t enough to chase away the terror that engulfed her and she bolted out of bed, running through the house, turning on every light in every room.
As she passed the living room window, she felt an overwhelming urge to look outside. Heart pounding with trepidation, she pressed herself close to the wall and peered into the darkness.
At first, she saw nothing and then, as her eyes adjusted to the night, she saw a dark figure lurking in the moon-dappled shadows beneath the old oak tree at the end of her driveway.
She blinked, and he was gone, leaving her to wonder if she had imagined it, or if she had truly seen Navarre staring back at her.
Navarre turned away, blending in to the night as he headed toward home. He had known from the beginning that going to her house would be a mistake, but he had been unable to stay away. Knowing he must never see her again, he had nevertheless felt the urge to be near her one last time, and so he had gone to her home in the dead of night.
Standing in the shadows, he had given free rein to his senses as he focused on Adrianna. In his mind’s eye, he had seen her sleeping in her bed, seen her as clearly as if he stood in the room. She slept on her left side, one hand pillowed beneath her cheek, her hair like a splash of gold paint on the white pillowcase. He had inhaled and drawn her fragrance into his nostrils, into the very essence of his being—absorbing the smell of her shampoo, her toothpaste, the soap she had bathed with, and, overall, her own musky, feminine scent.
Knowing it was wrong, he had probed her mind, curious to know what dreams kept her company while she slept. He had been unprepared for the link that had formed between them, startled to discover that, even as he was probing her thoughts, she was somehow delving into his. Scattered images of his past lives had been woven into her dreams, though she had not been aware that it was his past she was dreaming about. And then, before he could close his mind to hers, before he could erase the growing horror that filled her mind like a dark plague, she had come awake with a scream on her lips.
And still he had lingered in the dark, waiting. He had seen the lights go on in every room of the house, and then he had seen her peering into the darkness. Their gazes had locked for one brief instant, and then he had turned away, feeling as though he had left a vital part of himself behind.
* * * * *
By morning, Adrianna had convinced herself it was all just a bad dream.
She got ready for work, ate a quick breakfast, and left the house. She paused at the end of the driveway, staring at the old oak tree where she had imagined she’d seen Navarre. She moved to stand under the tree, felt her skin prickle as if she had received a mild electric shock.
Alarmed, she jumped onto the sidewalk, then glanced up and down the street, wondering if anyone had seen her behaving so foolishly.
Clutching her handbag in a death grip, she hurried up the driveway, opened the garage door, slid behind the wheel of her car, and drove to work.
She still felt a sense of pride when she saw her name on the door. She had bought the bookstore a year after she graduated from high school. For Adrianna, it had been a dream come true, made possible by the inheritance she had received when her great-grandmother passed away. Still, it had been scary, going into business when she was only nineteen. But it had been good for her, giving her a feeling of self-confidence she’d never had before.
Sitting in her office helped put everything in perspective. She had met a rather odd man. She’d had a scary nightmare, and that’s all there was to it.
Adrianna heaved a sigh as she opened her account book. It was time to put the night’s foolishness behind her and get down to business.
But, try as she might, she could not put Navarre from her thoughts. No matter how often she pushed his brooding image away, it sprang right back again. What secrets was he hiding behind those fathomless gray eyes? Why did he keep such peculiar hours? Why had he kissed her with such passion, and then sent her away with a warning never to return?
What did the V stand for? She had the most peculiar feeling that if she could discover his first name, she would unlock the mystery that was Navarre.
Like a sleuth on the trail of a killer, she went to work. She called her friend, Nancy, who worked at the DMV and asked her to check Navarre’s records.
“V. Navarre,” Nancy said a few minutes later. “Says he was born in New Mexico on September first, nineteen seventy. He’s six-foot, four inches tall, has black hair, gray eyes, weighs two hundred and twenty pounds.”
“Yes, that’s him,” Adrianna remarked. “Thanks, Nancy.”
“Why the sudden interest in this guy?” Nancy asked. “I’ve never heard you mention him before.”
“Nothing, just curious.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Honestly, Nancy. I just wondered if the V stood for anything.”
“Why don’t you just ask him?”
“Because I’ll probably never see him again.”
“Navarre? Navarre? Say, isn’t that the name of the guy who owns the antique store out on Old Piney Branch Road?”
“Yeah. I bought a bed from him last weekend.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t. Listen, I’ve got to go.”
“Sure, well, keep me posted.”
“All right, I will. Bye.”
Frowning, Adrianna hung up the phone as she went out to wait on a customer. Apparently, there was no mystery to be solved. The letter V didn’t stand for anything.
Chapter Four
A week passed. For Navarre, they were the longest seven days of his entire life.
Why, he raged as he paced restlessly from one end of the house to the other, why was he so intrigued by Miss Adrianna Grant? In his time, he had known women who were smarter, women who were more beautiful, more voluptuous, more everything. But he had never known one who had eyes quite that shade of blue, hair quite that shade of blonde, a smile that made him believe anything was possible. She filled his every waking moment.
Like a schoolboy in the throe
s of his first crush, he made excuses to pass by her house, her shop. Sometimes, feeling like an adolescent fool, he followed her, always keeping out of sight, always careful to screen his presence from her mind.
He followed her home from work in the evening, he followed her when she went out to dinner with a girlfriend, he had followed her into the movie theater the previous Saturday night. Sitting in the back and off to the side, he had spent two hours watching her face, watching her reactions to the bittersweet love story unfolding on the screen. Her laughter filled him with sunshine; her tears made him long to comfort her. Trailing after her as she walked home from the theater, he had cursed himself for being a fool. But he couldn’t stop thinking of her, couldn’t stop remembering the sweet womanly scent of her skin and hair, the way she had fit into his embrace, the intoxicating taste of her kisses.
He couldn’t stop thinking of her; couldn’t stop wanting her.
And now it was Saturday night again. Prowling through the quiet rooms of his house, he told himself to take her and be done with it. She wanted him, whether she knew it or not. He could make her his at any time. With the power of his mind, he could call her to him. He could mesmerize her with the power of his gaze, bend her will to his, take what he wanted and send her away, the knowledge of what transpired between them erased from her mind with a word.
He swore a vile oath as he brought his fist down on a heavy oak table. He didn’t want her like that—no better than a puppet while he pulled the strings. He wanted her warm and willing, fully aware of what was happening. He wanted to hear the sound of his name on her lips, to gaze deep into her eyes and see love reflected there…
Love! He cursed under his breath. Where had that come from? Love, indeed. What woman would love a creature like him, a man who was not a man at all, a monster who lived by night and existed on the blood of others?
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