by Trisha Baker
Simon kissed her hard, cutting off her sobs. No, she thought, desperately fighting what she knew was true. They were in love… They were both clinging to each other and trembling. Why am I so cursed? she thought wretchedly. How can I love a creature that is pure evil?
Simon pulled away from her. "Damn you, Meghann O'Neill. Do you think I ever wanted this?" He laughed, a shaky, desperate sound. "An evil, depraved fiend has no heart. That first night—when I drank your blood, I meant to kill you. I thought you would be one of my many conquests. You screamed when I bit you. Certainly, you were not the first to cry out and beg me not to hurt you. But when I looked up at your sweet, innocent face, it touched my heart in a way no woman ever has. I was in love with you… and I transformed you because I wanted you with me forever."
"No!" Meghann vehemently denied what she heard. "That's not true. You never loved me! How could you when there was a chance I'd die through transformation—"
Simon grabbed her close. "You were in no danger that night, sweet. Did the sham priest forget to tell you I am the expert on transformation? In that moment, when you gave yourself to me… I have never loved you more. And I used that love to hold you close all through that terrible night. There was never any chance that I would lose you. I know it hurt; I know it frightened you. But the pain could have been far more than it was, Meghann. I shared it with you; I made it my own so you wouldn't suffer. I've never done that for anyone else… only you."
"Only because I look like Isabelle, not because you loved me—"
"Stop!" he screamed, and kissed her again, nearly suffocating her. "I never knew my self-righteous, holier-than-thou uncle to be a gossip. What did he tell you? That I only transformed you because you were a doppelgänger for my dead wife?" Simon laughed bitterly. "Use some common sense, girl. Do you think in four hundred years I never met another redhead who reminded me of Isabelle? I met hundreds of them, sweetheart… and I murdered every last one of them." Simon stopped, and held her so hard she thought he'd break her bones, but she didn't object. To her eternal shame, she clung to him just as tightly. "Tell me what that wretch told you of my second marriage."
That helped Meghann remember all the reasons she had to loathe him. In a calm voice, she recited the litany of his atrocities that she knew by heart. "You ruined her life, Simon. You murdered Roger because you were jealous. And he died when he tried to stop you from raping her. She only married you to save the life of her child, which you later ended anyway. And when you were married, you beat her and tortured her. You broke her soul when she miscarried and made her life a living hell after she was crippled. You rotten, vicious, unpardonable bastard! How could you do that to someone? I don't love you, and if you think I'll stand by and let you treat me that way, well, think again! I'll find a way to kill you, Simon Baldevar! You vile beast… How could you? What did she ever do to you? And the little boy… and every other thing I heard or saw you do! You sicken me and I won't live that way! I won't!" She was panting with rage, wild-eyed and gasping for breath.
Simon didn't appear at all angry—instead, he looked at her with something akin to admiration. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are right now… with your hair flying and your eyes blazing? Believe me, child, you do not remind me of Isabelle at all. All that makes me love you was missing in that cold, overly pious, stupid girl." He smiled. "If only Isabelle had your fire, my marriage might have been tolerable."
"Why should Isabelle have had any fire? You did your best to destroy it, to crush any spirit she might have had. And I might add, you've done the same to me."
Simon pulled her into his lap again. "Sweet, you accuse me of all manner of evil, but you and your sanctimonious friends have managed to miss the entire point of my marriage."
Meghann glared. "You married her because you were infatuated with what you couldn't have… and you had that pathological jealousy of your brother Roger."
Simon rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, I had lived in Turkey all that time and never found any better woman than my brother's cold, foolish bride? Yes, Isabelle was pretty. And I did make overtures toward her. Certainly, it would have been far easier to dispose of my idiot brother if I could have enlisted her aid. But no, Isabelle wouldn't listen to reason."
Meghann stared down her nose at him. "Pardon me, Lord Baldevar, but rape is not reason."
Simon raised an eyebrow. "Rape? Oh, you're talking of Roger finding us that night… No, precious, I was referring to when I first came home. I did my best to seduce that cold piece, and informed her that any wealth in the family—her new jewels, her pretty gowns—was the result of my labors. But Isabelle… She quivered, and quoted the Bible at me, that foolishness about Cain. So I knew she was a lost cause, but still, I had no choice but to marry her. I wasn't about to have her take my wealth and lands to some new husband."
Meghann continued to glare suspiciously. "Even assuming I believe your tale of the marriage merely being one of convenience, which I don't, why did you try to rape her?"
"First, if I wanted to have her, there would have been no 'try' about it." Simon laughed mirthlessly. "Dear girl, you are still so naive. The rape was planned… as was Roger coming home earlier than expected." Meghann's eyes widened, and Simon grinned. "Oh, yes, one of his guards was in my employ. I had the man arrange for him to come home that night. Think, Meghann. Would my brother be able to fight me with his senses reeling in shock from seeing me on top of Isabelle? Roger was rash with his sword… and I was calm, eagerly awaiting my opportunity. The bumbling dolt gave it to me, and I severed his head from his shoulders." Simon got up and paced his lair while he continued to tell Meghann his twisted story. "So I married Isabelle, and, yes, I beat her. My God, I had to have some diversion. Do you know the silly wench actually prayed while I attempted to make love to her? And what a chore that was… done only in the hopes of an heir, which she managed to bleed away."
"So you made her life hell."
"Of course… She had displeased me and I was stuck with the damn albatross and no chance for legitimate issue." Simon shrugged. "She ruined my chances of children… so I saw no reason why she should be allowed to keep her son. Do you think I spent my entire life earning money, dealing with the danger of travel, and then wooing an elderly, vain, difficult queen so I could see it all go to Roger's son? Perhaps if I were already a vampire, I might have allowed the child to live."
Listen, Meghann O'Neill. That is what you are in love with… this abomination, this evil man who feels no shame for what he has done. "And Nicholas? He gave you your greatest gift… immortality… and you murdered him."
"Meghann, how can you say I don't love you? Do you think I've ever allowed anyone else to sit in judgment of me? Yes, my dear, I am an evil man. My love for you does not change that."
"I can't love an evil man."
Simon's lips compressed into a grim line. "But you do love me, sweetheart. Look at how you cling to me and weep when you think another woman might have meant more to me than you do. What you mean to say is you cannot admit to loving me."
"That's semantics. I'll never admit it and I'll never accept it, either. Do you think I could ever find solace in the arms of a man who tortured me?"
"You found quite a bit of solace tonight, I would say. Or will you deny feeling safe and sheltered when I held you? Precious child, if I ever wanted to torture you, you would know it. I chastised you when you misbehaved. But you see, I couldn't bring myself to damage you permanently."
For a minute, she simply gaped at him. "Never damaged me… you lying fiend! You would have let the sun destroy me if I didn't beg you—"
"After all this time, has it ever struck you as odd that Trevor appeared at the same moment you cried out? Sweetheart, I sent him up there for you before you reached out to me. I couldn't let you die… not then and not now."
Simon left the table and filled a silver chalice with blood, pressing it to Meghann's lips. She tried to twist away, but he forced her to drink it, and she nearly choked. "That tastes t
errible. What the hell is in it?"
"Belladonna… among other things," he told her.
"Are you trying to poison me?"
Simon took her face in his hands. "Merely strip away your ability to lie about your feelings. Tell me you don't love me, and I'll let you walk away forever, Meghann."
She tried to avoid his searching gaze, but she couldn't. "I don't," she tried to say, "I don't… Damn it!" she cried in confusion. "All right… I love you, Simon! God help me. I love you so much! Damn you." She cried against his chest. "I don't want to love you… I don't."
She wanted to beat her fists on the stone walls. Why did she love Simon Baldevar? What twisted, venal part of her soul responded to him? Was the link between them so strong it could make her ignore good and evil? She wished again that she had died rather than allow this monster to transform her. God forgive me, she thought bitterly, because I'll never forgive myself for this.
Meghann started giggling and crying at the same time. "You know what happened last night?" she asked the fiend rhetorically. "I had this patient whose husband beats her. Nothing like you, of course—no boiling water, crucifixions, or dead partners. And I had the nerve to advise her!" Meghann screamed shrilly at the top of her lungs, tears still pouring down her face. "The unmitigated gall to tell her that if it were me, I would certainly never love anybody who hurt me or snatched my dignity." She cackled, completely hysterical. "I said it's not love if it makes you miserable… and that's all you do, Simon Baldevar! My life has been nothing but one miserable episode after another since I met you. That is not love!" Now she was crying again. "But if it's not, why do I want you so much? Why can't I say I don't love you and mean it? What the hell is wrong with me? How can I love some sociopath with no conscience? What does that say about me?"
Simon laughed, swinging her around in a circle. "I knew you were my fit consort! It's not your scruples or your conscience that is bothering you—it's your pride, that same delicious pride I always loved in you." He kissed the tip of her nose, her lips, and her forehead. "What an adorable creature you are. If you were Isabelle, what I do to others would disturb you. But that is not what bothers my precious girl—you are bothered by your vanity, the blow to your ego in realizing you can't resist me."
"Stop that! Put me down! And I am bothered by what you do to people—I want no part of it!"
Simon did put her back on the table, but he was still grinning that annoying, self-satisfied smirk that made her want to claw him. "Perhaps it does upset you, but you cried for yourself first, not my victims. I've told you before what you've always resisted—you are no saint, sweetheart. Stop trying to live up to sanctimonious ideals and become what you were meant to be—my consort."
Simon saw the uncertainty in her eyes, and pounced. "Let me feed that vanity, little one. Let me tell you why you love me in spite of that conscience you should learn to ignore. You're a very privileged girl, Meghann. No other vampire spends the day in my arms. I do not hold other women close, soothing their fears away, or take them for moonlit walks. You love a side of me no one else is allowed to see. Do you think I care if any other woman's eyes light up when I touch her? I want to see you happy, Meghann. Let me take all that misery from you and give you joy in its place." He was mesmerizing her—it seemed like those golden eyes and the soft voice filled the entire world.
Suddenly her body felt heavy, languid. Meghann wasn't as upset… Instead, she felt dreamy, soft, and feminine. Very feminine, she thought hazily… and never had such lust consumed her. It was like she was on fire… like there was something inside her. But it didn't scare her; it felt so good. Fight it, she thought dizzily. Can't give in… no. But she felt so peaceful and languid. What was in her?
"You feel the presence of the goddess entering your body. I knew the belladonna would bring her to you—that and your gift for summoning." Simon helped her lie down on the table. "It's Beltane tonight. Will you be my priestess?"
The potion was making her mind swirl. She tried to fight down the passion she felt, but she found herself holding her arms out to Simon. She knew what he wanted—even though she'd never attempted this before. He gave her that potion to invoke—but that wasn't his only reason. Without it, she could have refused to acknowledge those repressed feelings she had for him.
Vaguely she felt Simon peel the gown off her; she yelped when she felt a sting. "I need your blood for this rite, Meghann… and mine." She opened her eyes and saw him slash the vein in his left wrist… the same spot where he cut her. Then he mixed their blood together along with some oil and started drawing some seals on her body with a silver dagger. The cold touch of steel made her moan with desire. Everything—her knowledge of Simon, heartbreak, anxiety, hurt—was leaving her. Even her own ego, her awareness of herself, was fading. She was merely a vessel for the goddess now.
She had read about this ritual—wondered what it would be like to have a deity use her body. She felt very removed from what was happening. She also felt a wonderful warm presence inside… and it seemed she could almost hear it thank her.
And she felt something else in Simon, some other presence touching her. When she looked into his eyes, she saw a force even more powerful than he was.
Abruptly awareness came flooding back. It was just the two of them once more. Why lie? If she missed anything about Simon, it was his slow, careful attention, the way he seemed to worship her flesh. No one else made her feel so adored—he did know how to use pride and lust to bind her to him. Alcuin had been wrong. Even love was Simon's weapon—he had smashed every defense she had and made her accept him again. Why couldn't she die rather than cry out for him?
"Your pride again, my love. Is death truly preferable to the pleasure you feel now?"
She moved beneath him, finding the same wonderful rhythm they always shared together. One thing was different—he had never been this tender before.
"I told you I want you to be happy. Meghann, forget everything else for one moment. Hate me tomorrow if you must—but let me give you pleasure for one sweet moment."
She heard herself whisper, "You are giving me pleasure." She ran her hand over his chest, stopping short at the small, star-shaped scar a few inches over his heart.
He took her hand and whispered, "That's right, Meghann—the mark of the stake is one scar a vampire bears for eternity."
"I did that," she said, entranced by the mark she put on him.
His hand tightened over hers. "Don't give yourself too much credit, child. I still cannot believe I was so clumsy that night. It won't happen again."
No, she thought, such luck would not strike twice. She could not take her eyes or hand away from the scar—it mesmerized her. Without thinking about it, she put her lips to the mark and kissed it.
Shivering, Simon grabbed her close. "I forgive you, sweetheart."
A small part of her longed to spit on the mark and tell him she didn't want his damn forgiveness. But she was also overwhelmed by the need to give herself to him, to call him her master once more. What a fool she was to think she could play mind games with him and win.
Give yourself to him, some cursed treacherous voice told her. Let him possess you. Meghann arched her neck and heard herself cry out, "Bite me!"
Ecstasy and triumph lit his amber eyes at her words. He kissed her neck, then plunged his blood teeth into her. She screamed with the pain and pleasure no mortal man had ever been able to give her.
She heard Simon cry, "Now, Meghann! Tell me you're mine… Be mine!"
In that moment, she would have cut out her tongue if she could. But she could not stop herself from screaming, "I love you… I belong to you, Master!" She felt her soul reach out to touch his and forge an indestructible link between them.
Charles paced the living room of Meghann's home restlessly. His nerves were stretched to the breaking point with grief and fear. He had discovered Alcuin's charred body a few hours ago. Where was Meghann? God, he prayed, please don't make me lose my best friend as well as my mentor. Bu
t why hadn't Simon killed her? Was it to torture her at his leisure? Be all right, Meghann, please be all right.
Jimmy Delacroix staggered into the room. He had the classic look of a human transforming—the pasty, colorless skin and hideous purple circles. What am I supposed to do? Charles wondered. Last night, when Jimmy came staggering back to warn them of Simon's arrival, he hadn't looked this awful. Charles had put him to bed, and that's where he had remained until now. But it was plain to see the infection was advancing steadily. The man had at most three more days before it killed him. Should I transform him? But how can I watch over the transformation when Meghann may need my help any minute? On the other hand, what will she think if she discovers that I let him die?
Jimmy went to the bar. He didn't bother pouring a drink—he started swigging from a gin bottle. "That will weaken you," Charles warned.
Jimmy glared, then flung the bottle at him. It missed, shattering against the wall.
"You should know all about weak, you sonofabitch," Jimmy snarled at him. "Sitting here last night like the chickenshit faggot you are—while Maggie was stuck with that bastard. Why weren't you there? Why didn't you help her?"
With difficulty, Charles restrained himself from slapping Jimmy and telling him everything was his fault. They'd all warned Jimmy: don't leave the house at night. And what did he do? Stormed out of the house in a childish rage. He played right into Simon Baldevar's hands. Alcuin would still be alive and Meghann would be safe if it hadn't been for Jimmy Delacroix.
But Jimmy wasn't the only one at fault—I never should have listened to Alcuin last night, he thought for the thousandth time. This man is right; I should have been there. But he had felt Simon's power just as his master had. Would his presence have mattered, or would his own headless corpse be on the beach right now?
