He thought of Katlaina, and pain ripped through him. She had promised to love him forever, and he had believed her. Even now, almost two thousand years later, he could remember the look in her eyes when he appeared to her after Shaylyn had turned him. She had stared at him in revulsion, sickened by the look of death in his eyes. She had recognized him for what he was—an inhuman monster. Even the recollection of her acceptance of him years later, when she was dying, could not banish the agony of that moment when she had backed away from him, her face as pale as death, her eyes wide with fear and loathing.
He cursed bitterly. In had lived almost two thousand years, and in all that time, he had never loved another woman. He had lived alone, though he could have taken any woman he desired, taken her and used her and tossed her away.
But now he was wanting a woman, one particular woman, very badly. Adrianna… Surely he deserved to have this one woman. He had lived alone for almost two thousand years, taking only the blood he needed to survive, leaving those he drank from alive when he could so easily have killed them. He had spared countless lives. Surely he deserved this one woman…
With a strangled cry, he stalked out of the house. He wanted her, and he would have her before the night was out, and heaven help anyone who got in his way!
With preternatural speed, he made it to her house in a matter of minutes. The drapes in the living room were open, and he could see her sitting on the sofa, her face bathed in lamplight, an open book on her lap.
Lingering in the shadows under the oak tree, he saw a faint smile curve her lips as she turned a page. Curious to know what had brought such a melancholy expression to her face, he probed her mind, surprised to discover that she was wishing a knight in shining armor would ride into her life, sweep her off her feet, and carry her away.
He cursed softly. She was so young, so innocent. There were no fairy tale endings in life—only pain and loss and endless loneliness.
A rueful grin twisted his lips. It would not be a gallant paladin in sun-bright armor sweeping her off her feet this night, but a monster in the guise of a man. For too long, he had pretended to be something he wasn’t.
Tonight, he would unleash the beast within him.
A low, animal-like growl of remorse rumbled deep in his throat. For a moment, he thought of turning away, of returning home, his desire unfulfilled, his hunger unfed. With sheer effort of will, he forced the thought from his mind. A lion did not feel sympathy for its prey. It made its kill, clean and quick, took what it needed to survive, and moved on.
And so would he.
* * * * *
Adrianna sighed as she put the book aside and went to answer the door. She was no dreamer, no schoolgirl, to believe in fairy tales and happy-ever-after, but, oh, how she wished the man of her dreams would suddenly appear.
Wondering who would be coming to see her so late at night, she slid the safety chain in place, then peered through the peep hole.
She gasped when she saw Navarre standing on the porch. Speechless, she opened the door and blinked at him through the crack. Maybe dreams did come true!
She swallowed, then moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Hello.”
Navarre’s nod was curt. “Hello.”
He wasn’t wearing armor or riding a white horse, she mused, but he looked terribly handsome in a dark gray sweater and sweat pants.
She lifted one hand to the safety chain. “Would you like to come in?”
He stared down at her, at the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat, at the wonder in her blue eyes, and slowly shook his head. “No.”
“Oh.”
He felt the keen edge of her disappointment, knew, instinctively, that she had foolishly cast him in the role of white knight. White, indeed, he mused, when his whole life had been spent in darkness.
She licked her lips again, and he felt the stirrings of desire unfurl within him. “Did you want something?” she asked.
“The bed.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he had picked the wrong topic of conversation. It was all too easy to picture her in the bed he had once slept in, lying beneath the canopy, her hair spread over the pillow, her eyes heavy-lidded with passion.
“The bed?” she repeated, puzzled.
“Yes, I…I came by to make sure you were happy with it.”
She hesitated a moment before answering. She was happy with the bed. It was beautiful and comfortable and yet, even though she knew it was silly, she couldn’t help feeling that her new bed was somehow responsible for the strange dreams she’d been having.
“Is something wrong with it?” Navarre asked.
“No, of course not. I found an old lace bedspread for it in my great-grandmother’s trunk. My mother told me it was part of great-Grandmother Hall’s trousseau from the old country. Would you like to see it?”
Every instinct shouted at him to say no, to turn away before it was too late. Too late for her. Too late for him. Instead, he found himself nodding.
Adrianna closed the door so she could remove the safety chain, then invited him inside with a smile and a wave of her hand.
All too aware that he was making a mistake, he followed her down the corridor that led to her bedroom.
He hadn’t paid much attention to the room before. Now, he noticed that the walls were papered with a delicate blue and rose print. An antique oak dresser stood across from the bed; an oval mirror hung on the wall. A rag doll sat in a small rocking chair located in one corner. Pale-blue curtains hung at the window, a blue carpet covered the floor.
He stood in the doorway, careful to avoid the mirror.
Adrianna ran her hand over the spread. “It looks good, don’t you think?”
Navarre nodded. Indeed, the ivory lace spread looked as if it had been made for his bed, this room, this woman.
He clenched his fists at his sides to keep from crossing the floor and taking her in his arms. It would be so easy, he thought, so easy to press her down to the bed that had once been his and satisfy his desire, his hunger, in one swift, fatal embrace.
Adrianna looked up then, her gaze meeting his. The expression glittering in his eyes sent the breath rocketing from her lungs. She was no expert on men, but she knew desire when she saw it, and never had she seen it burning hotter or brighter than in this man’s eyes.
Awareness hummed between them, vibrant, palpable, so intense it was frightening.
She took an involuntary step backward as he pushed away from the doorway and moved toward her. There was a predatory gleam in the depths of Navarre’s eyes, a hunger that went beyond desire, a need that transcended the boundaries of time.
With a cry of despair, she shook her head, her foot catching on the bedspread as she recoiled from his touch.
The look in her eyes, so like the look he had once seen in Katlaina’s, cut Navarre to the heart, ravaging his soul as the sun would ravage his body dared he linger too long in its light. He began to tremble convulsively as he fought to control the hunger raging through him. Never had he wanted a woman as he wanted this woman. Never had the urge to take what he wanted been so strong.
Never before had he truly realized how difficult it was to separate the desires of the flesh from the lust for blood.
“Forgive me,” he rasped, and fled the room as if pursued by the devil himself.
Outside, he took a deep breath, willing his hands to stop shaking, his heart to stop pounding. Foolish heart, to be so easily swayed by the fear in a woman’s eyes.
At home, he stood at the attic window and stared out into the darkness.
“Vampire.” He spoke the word aloud, as if to remind himself of who and what he was.
Vampire. A solitary, soulless creature who hunted the night.
Vampire. An inhuman monster who lived off the blood of others, who dared not befriend humans for fear that desire would turn to bloodlust, that a kiss of affection might be a prelude to sudden death.
Vampire. A ghoul who was not welcome in the w
orld of humanity or among his own kind. Territorial creatures, those of the undead, jealous of their hunting grounds, secretive in their ways, zealous in the protection of their lairs.
“Vampire!”
Never had he loathed the word, loathed what he was, more than he did at that moment.
Never before had the gulf between himself and the rest of the world seemed so wide, or so deep, or so impossible to cross.
* * * * *
Adrianna wandered through her house, bemused by what had happened between herself and Navarre. In spite of what he’d said, she didn’t believe for a minute that he had come knocking at her door to ask if she was happy with the bed! So why had he shown up at her house so late at night?
She shied away from the answer that immediately came to mind, yet she could not forget the desire she had seen blazing in his eyes, could not forget the tension that had hummed between them like an electrical current.
She wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t back away, if he had pulled her into his arms, tipped her face up to his and kissed her. Would she have protested, or would she have melted in his arms like butter left too long in the sun?
Going into the bedroom, she changed into her nightgown, brushed her teeth, then settled herself in bed to read for a few minutes.
But she couldn’t concentrate on the story. Something kept niggling at her mind, something about Navarre…
She stared at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall across from the bed, and then it hit her. When he had crossed the room toward her, he had passed in front of the mirror. She had seen her own face, the fear in her eyes, but Navarre had cast no reflection in the glass.
“I must be hallucinating,” she muttered, and picked up her book, determined to put it out of her mind. It had been nothing more than her mind playing tricks on her because she’d been so upset.
But that night her dreams were again filled with shadows, and lurking deep in the shadows was a tall dark man with hair as black as ink and gray eyes that burned into her heart and soul, leaving her aching and empty and yearning for something she dared not name. A man whose voice penetrated every fiber of her being, calling to her from the depths of sadness, wordlessly pleading for comfort and acceptance.
She woke with the dawn, her eyes wet with tears.
Chapter Five
Adrianna frowned, then shook her head. “I don’t think so, Nancy, not tonight.”
“Come on, Annie, I’d go with you.”
“But I don’t want to go.”
“Why not?”
Why, indeed, Adrianna mused ruefully. At the moment, the last thing she wanted was to see Navarre again. “I don’t think Cliff House is open on Sunday,” she fibbed.
“Of course it is. Come on, it’ll be fun. Russ is out of town, and we can go to dinner after.”
Adrianna sighed, wondering how she could wriggle out of this without hurting her best friend’s feelings.
“Pick you up in ten minutes,” Nancy said, and hung up the phone before Adrianna could object.
The prospect of seeing Navarre had Adrianna nervous as a cat as Nancy drove out of town toward Old Piney Branch Road. How could she face him again after last night?
“You’re awfully quiet this evening,” Nancy remarked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m just tired. I spent the day working in my garden.” Adrianna glanced over at her friend. She had known Nancy Kendrick since first grade. Nancy was a pretty girl with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a winsome smile. Once, they’d been almost inseparable, but then Nancy had married Russ and even though they had remained close friends, they didn’t get together as often as they once had.
Too soon, Nancy was pulling into the driveway at the end of Old Piney Branch Road.
Adrianna stared at the old house for a long moment, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the car.
“He sure keeps weird hours,” Nancy remarked as they climbed the stairs. “I don’t know how he expects to make any money when he’s only open three hours a night.”
“Maybe he doesn’t need the money,” Adrianna remarked flippantly. “Maybe the antique business is just a hobby.”
“Yeah, right.” Nancy stared at the door. “Do we knock, or just walk in?”
Adrianna shrugged. “Just go on in, I guess,” she suggested, hoping she could get in and out without seeing Navarre.
For a time, Adrianna and Nancy wandered together from room to room, admiring a display of Louis XV furniture, grimacing at an old voodoo death mask, laughing as they tried to imagine churning butter in an old wooden crock, but then Nancy went upstairs to check out the bedroom furniture, leaving Adrianna in the dining room trying to decide if she wanted to spend a hundred dollars on an old English plant stand.
Even though her back was to the door, she knew the exact moment he entered the room. Every nerve ending in her body tingled with his presence, every fiber of her being was acutely, achingly, aware of him.
“Adrianna.” His voice, soft and low, speaking her name, just her name, and yet she heard so much more.
Slowly, she turned to face him. Awareness stretched between them, thick with need.
Adrianna swallowed hard, afraid of the emotions his mere presence aroused in her, afraid of the restless yearning she read in his eyes.
Navarre took a step toward her, waiting for her to back away. When she didn’t, he took another step, and another, until he was close enough to touch her. He curled his hands into tight fists to keep from doing just that, afraid that if he dared touch her now, he would never let her go.
For a moment, they gazed into each other’s eyes, and then Navarre let out a deep sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul.
“Adrianna,” he murmured. “What are we going to do?”
She didn’t pretend she didn’t understand, didn’t make any of the dozens of coy gestures so common to women. She just stood there, her gaze locked to his, and then she shook her head. “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
Heat flared in the depths of his eyes. “I want to make love to you.”
She wasn’t shocked or even surprised by his answer. Still, his bold reply brought a quick rush of heat to her cheeks. It was what she wanted, too, though she couldn’t admit it. Not to him. Not even to herself.
But Navarre heard the quickening of her breath, saw the wanting in her eyes.
He whispered her name as he closed the short distance between them, needing to hold her, to feel her warmth, to taste her sweetness.
The sudden wariness in her eyes halted him in mid-stride. She wanted him, he thought bitterly, but she was still afraid of him.
“I won’t hurt you,” he vowed, and prayed it was a promise he could keep. “Please don’t be afraid of me.”
“I’m not.”
It was a bold-faced lie, and they both knew it.
“Annie, where are you?”
Nancy’s voice cut through the tension between them.
“In here,” Adrianna called.
Navarre swore under his breath as a dark-haired young woman entered the dining room.
“Oh, there you are,” Nancy said. She glanced at Adrianna’s flushed cheeks, then looked at the man standing nearby.
Adrianna forced a smile. “Nancy, this is Mr. Navarre. He owns the shop. Mr. Navarre, this is my friend, Nancy Kendrick.”
“Charmed, madam,” Navarre said, inclining his head in Nancy’s direction. “Welcome to my house.”
“Thank you. Did you find anything, Annie?”
“No.”
“Me, either. At least nothing I can afford.” Nancy smiled apologetically at Navarre, then looked at Adrianna again. “Are you ready to go?”
Adrianna nodded. As much as she had dreaded coming here, she now found herself hating to leave. “Yes, I guess so.”
Navarre stepped forward and took Adrianna’s hand in his. “I hope you’ll come again, Miss Grant.”
“I will, thank you.”
“And you, too, Missus Kendrick.”
“Thank you, Mr. Navarre.” Nancy stared pointedly at his hand, which was still clasping Adrianna’s. “Annie, are you ready?”
“What? Oh, yes.”
Adrianna was keenly aware of Navarre’s gaze on her back as she followed Nancy out of the house.
“Well!” Nancy exclaimed as soon as they were in the car. “What was that all about?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know darn well what I mean! What’s going on between you two?”
“Nothing.”
“It sure looked like something to me. He couldn’t keep his eyes, or his hands, off you.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Silly! There was so much tension in that room you could see it.”
“Nancy…”
“Annie!”
“For goodness sakes, I just met the man. There’s nothing going on.”
“There will be,” Nancy predicted. “There will be.”
* * * * *
Adrianna sank down on the sofa, a cup of hot chocolate cradled in her hands. Dinner with Nancy had been fun, once she got her friend off the subject of Navarre. But then, Nancy was always fun, always able to see the bright side of life, always able to find humor in the grimmest of situations. Her cheerful nature had made her one of the most popular girls in high school. Adrianna had always envied Nancy her easy way with people, her ability to accept things as they really were.
They had lingered over coffee, talking about Russ, about the new mall being built at the south end of town, then reminisced about high school. It had been after ten when Nancy brought her home.
A sigh escaped Adrianna’s lips as she thought of Navarre, his gray eyes intent upon her face, his voice soft and husky as he whispered that he wanted to make love to her. It was what she wanted, too, and yet she couldn’t help being afraid of what it would mean, of the changes it would make in her life.
She set her cup aside, wondering if she was ready to deal with all the implications of surrendering her virginity to Navarre. Though he appeared to be only a few years older than she, there was an air of sophistication and experience about him that made him seem much older. No doubt he had known many women, while her experience with men was limited to heavy petting sessions in the backseat of her old boyfriend’s car, and one brief encounter that had, fortunately, ended before any damage had been done.
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