Midnight Kiss

by Nancy Gideon

  And the consequences were quick and terrible.

  Excruciating pain. Everywhere at once. He made a soft sound of surprise and dropped back onto the bed beside Arabella, powerless against the punishing agony. He could feel it streak through his system, absorbed into his bloodstream, racing like wildfire, consuming all in its path like liquid flame. He, who had been so fearful of the fires of dawn, incinerating from an internal blaze of his own making. Frantically he tried to signal Takeo, but the heat flooded his brain, scorching conscious thought to a cinder. And with blackness came a sudden welcomed cooling, a chill that turned to numbness and then to nothingness.

  JUST AS AN ANIMAL can scent a sudden change in weather, Louis had always been able to smell dawn. Even safely sealed within his resting place, he knew the moment the sun lifted to chase shadows from the world. And that was what woke him.

  He was still stretched out atop the bedsheets with Arabella snuggled against his side. Her dark head pillowed upon his shoulder, and her palm rode the sudden jerky agitation of his middle. He was dazed, and for a time, too disoriented to move. Then he found himself watching a thread of increasing brightness seeping around the seams of the closed draperies. And with a tremendous shock, he realized it was daylight and he was totally exposed.

  There was no time to dash for his below-stairs hideaway. He was trapped out in the open with nothing but the curtain fabric between him and the sun’s rays.

  He shoved Arabella away from him. He’d seen others of his kind go up in a howling burst of scarlet crackling flame as unnatural flesh ignited and burned with roaring intensity right down to fine ash. It had been his one consuming terror, dying like that. For three hundred years, he’d existed under the intimidation of those flames.

  “Oh, God, be merciful,” he cried out, he who had never heeded pleas for mercy from his victims, and his hands covered his face in desperation.

  Heat. Louis felt its flare then an even glow. He didn’t dare to breathe, waiting, dreading that first snap of combustion.

  Master!

  Gingerly, Louis inched his hands down, peering apprehensively between the spread of his shaking fingers. “Takeo, I—I am alive.” Such a marveling wonder in that breathless claim.

  But the dawn—it’s daylight!

  “I know.”

  Are you all right?

  “I think so.” Louis looked at his hands. His skin was hot and reddened, as if from prolonged exposure to the sun. He was bathed in sweat and a rash of discomfort. Howland’s potions were protecting him, but for how long and to what extent, he didn’t know.

  You should go below, Master, just to be safe.

  Louis was about to nod his agreement when he glanced to his side and caught Arabella’s fixed stare.

  She was wide awake and fully aware. And when she spoke, there was a hush of horror in her tone.

  “What are you?”

  His first thought was to blank her mind, to absorb the memories and dismiss them, thus protecting himself. He even went so far as to raise his hand. The words Remember nothing were at his lips, but he couldn’t command them. Time his wife had an answer to her question.

  “Takeo, leave us.”

  But, Master—

  Arabella heard Takeo and she was speechless.

  “Please. Do as I say.”

  There was a quiet resignation to his voice, a weary inevitability that touched the heart of the boy. He looked to Arabella, concentrating hard. Remember that he loves you. Then he bowed properly and withdrew.

  “I heard him,” Arabella whispered. “I heard him speak. In here.” She touched her temple, then focused again on her husband, wondering over his red flush of color and his look of long suffering.

  Can you hear me?

  Yes... but how is that possible? What are you?

  “What do you think I am?” He posed that casually, as if everything wasn’t depending upon it.

  “I—I don’t know. Louis, tell me.”

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  “Yes—no.” He reached out his hand. She shrank back. “Yes!”

  He withdrew the gesture, expression saddened. “Do you love me?”

  Her answer was faint and painfully candid. “I don’t think I should.”

  Louis smiled slightly. “That was not an answer.”

  “I would like mine first.”

  She was huddled against the headboard, covers tucked up defensively beneath her chin, about as well protected as a kitten beneath the talons of a hawk. She regarded him with distrust and wariness, but not yet with terror. And oh, how he loved her for that glorious show of spirit. He allowed a small smile and felt her begin to respond to it with a slight softening. Then the edge of caution returned to her posture. He could delay the worst no longer.

  “I am a demon that stalks the night. I am the haunter of graveyards living beyond the boundaries of death. I am the legend whispered of in dread in cultures since time began, the dark god to whom Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans prayed, the fiend spoken of from China to the Carpathians. I am the nightmare that shadows the door of Christendom—”

  He broke off because she was struggling not to smile.

  “Oh, Louis, how very dramatic.” And he could see she wasn’t believing a word of it. So he stopped the eloquent rhetoric and cut to the definition.

  “Every culture has a name for what I am. I am called vapir, vepir, veryr, vopyr, upier, wampiti, vampyr. It all means the same: A blood monster, a vampire.”

  She was no longer smiling as her hand rose reflexively to the injured side of her neck. He could see the shadows building in her lovely gaze, a fear of realization rising like the dawn. In an unnaturally husky tone, she accused, “You are making this up, Louis. Why? Why are you trying to frighten me? There are no such things—”

  “Then how do you explain Bianca and Gerardo?”

  Arabella swallowed hard. She’d never been able to explain them within the rational confines of her thoughts. They were vague, menacing beings, but she didn’t want to call them vampires. Because that would mean that Louis, too, was—

  “But you can’t be,” she protested with a quavering logic. “It’s daylight, and vampires cannot survive the dawn.”

  “With my help, your father has discovered a remedy for the sun sensitivity, and for the other—more unattractive symptoms of my condition.”

  “My father knows about this?” Somehow, she couldn’t picture the sensible, scientific Stuart Howland dabbling in witchcraft and folklore and the like. But she knew that he was, and that everything Louis was telling her was the absolute truth. And tears were standing in her eyes when she asked in a fractured voice, “Then how could you marry me without telling me all this?”

  Louis stared at her for a moment, at a loss. That was her only complaint? That he hadn’t been truthful?

  She went on in that wounded tone. “I told you you could trust me with anything, and you swore that you did. This secret is a little more serious than a habit of deep play at cards or a fondness for creatures of the stage. Louis, why didn’t you tell me?”

  He looked at her through emotion-clouded eyes. “I did not want to lose you.”

  She made a choking sound, her hand rising to cover her mouth as if to hold it in.

  “Bella—please believe me. I—I—” He broke off, his breathing suddenly labored, his features running wet with perspiration.

  “Louis?”

  His eyes had shut, squeezing tight, as if to ward off pain. A faint tremor through his shoulders evolved into a body-wracking shudder.

  “Louis, what’s wrong?”

  “The light... is too strong. I must... I must get below before I—I—”

  When he put his hands down on the sheets to support himself, Arabella watched in horror as the ends of his fingertips seemed to
smoke and smolder.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Without thinking, she flung the blanket over the top of him, shielding him from the source of his torment.

  “Takeo!”

  The boy burst in at her shrill cry.

  “Help me! The sunlight—”

  Takeo needed no further explanation. Between the two of them, they got Louis on his feet and hurried him, carefully covered, down the stairs. He staggered, moaning horribly, and Arabella sobbed, holding him in her arms as Takeo opened the door to the cool cellar. Louis broke free to stumble down into the darkness, falling to hands and knees at the bottom. He was up moving on his own by the time Takeo opened the lower door, and lurched across the dirt floor between the stacked crates. Arabella followed with the lamp, shivering in shock as she saw him roll into one of the boxes and stretch out flat upon his back. She approached with reluctance, not sure she was ready for such a sight, of her husband laid out upon burial silk, his vital functions slowing to a minimal whisper, already sinking into his heavy daytime slumber.

  Instead of finding a horror, she was arrested by his serene beauty. The burning flush had left his cheeks and his eyes were a deep sultry green as they dragged down in sleep. He looked suddenly so vulnerable as his hands folded gracefully upon his abdomen. She couldn’t help but touch the long, cool fingers and didn’t withdraw as they curled gently about hers.

  Louis struggled against the pull of lethargy, blinking slowly, fighting to speak. His fingers massaged hers restlessly.

  “Bella... Bella, I love you. Must explain. Don’t... leave me.”

  Then his eyes closed and his hands relaxed. And she found herself weeping uncontrollably.

  After long minutes passed and the chill of the dank room had her shivering, Takeo touched her shoulder tentatively.

  You go upstairs now, Mistress. You need rest. He will sleep until dusk, and so should you.

  But when he reached for the lid to close it over Louis, Arabella gasped in protest. “Do you have to—shut it?”

  Takeo bowed to her wish and was taking his hands down when she noticed the mark on his wrist. Two discolored puncture wounds. He saw the direction of her stricken stare and made no attempt to cover the bites. His smile was sympathetic.

  He has never, in the years I’ve been with him, tried to hurt me.

  “Then how do you explain that?” She gestured to the swollen holes with a sudden anger. How dared Louis take advantage of a child in his protection!

  As if he’d heard her disgusted conclusion, Takeo shook his head. No. This was not for him. It was for me. So I could speak, so we could talk together. It is a link between our minds. I begged him to do it. You have no idea how good it feels to express myself to another after being trapped in silence all my life. To have the words caught inside.... He looked down, but not before she saw the frustration etched upon his face. And she could understand.

  “And that is how I can hear you? Because Louis has—” She couldn’t quite speak it.

  Because we are both one with him.

  And as much as she didn’t want to be, Arabella was soothed by that idea. One with Louis. She hadn’t thought they could be any closer after making love that first time. But she’d been wrong. She looked down at the still figure at rest.

  “Does he know I’m here?”

  Takeo nodded.

  She reached out a hand that trembled to lightly touch his face. His beautiful face, so cool and composed. His mouth, so soft and sensuously made. She leaned down to kiss him, just a brief press to assure herself that he was not dead, laid out there in his coffin. His lips were warm and pliant, as they would be in sleep. And she whispered against them, “I do love you,” before quickly straightening. She hugged her arms about herself, shivering with the massing need to weep.

  Please, Mistress. Come up where it’s warm before you fall ill.

  Finally, she responded to the logic of Takeo’s plea. She was freezing, and still far too weak to support herself for much longer. She allowed him to lead her away from Louis, depending upon his assistance to climb the stairs. She continued up to the room she shared with her husband, and by then the delayed shock of it rattled through her. As she crossed the floor in a daze, her foot kicked against something shiny. Looking down, she saw the silver cross her father had given her. As she picked it up, she remembered his odd words—not so odd now, considering. And she fastened the slender chain about her injured throat.

  Curled beneath the covers, Arabella tried to rest, but she couldn’t close out the questions—the questions that wouldn’t stop coming. She looked back with a new perspective, trying to be analytical in her thinking as she pieced together the confusion with what she now knew. It made a horrible picture. Louis coming to her father to cure him of a blood disorder... she almost laughed at that. Such a wry sense of humor he had. His restraint with her, and the pull neither of them could resist. His insistence that they not give in to it until—until he was cured. She understood that now. He’d been trying to protect her from what he knew himself to be. A—a vampire. Her mind recoiled from it even now.

  But the man who’d wed her and had taken her to their marriage bed hadn’t been some undead ghoul. He’d been—alive. He’d been mortal. The transfusion had altered him. So what had happened? What had thrust him back into his nocturnal existence?

  Gradually, her body’s weakness overcame her, and as she settled into sleep, she was suddenly bemused. Because it never occurred to her, not once, to flee from this house, or from the creature slumbering below.

  LOUIS OPENED HIS eyes and instantly vaulted out of his resting place. He could still feel the heat of Arabella’s kiss and hear the sweetness of her words, I do love you. If that was so, then there was a chance, a chance that she could accept him as he was. It was almost too much to hope for, yet he trembled with anticipation. If she loved him, if she would listen to him, perhaps she would stay. Perhaps he hadn’t lost everything.

  Then he emerged from his subterranean vault, and the first thing he saw was Takeo’s pinched features. The boy’s gaze swam in distress. Louis said nothing for a moment. Instead, he reached out with his sharpened senses, scanning the house, room by room. Finding them empty. Only then did he ask in a strained voice, “Where is she, Takeo?” And he heard the words that destroyed all hope.

  Master, she’s gone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “GONE?” LOUIS STARED at him rather blankly. “What do you mean, gone? Gone where? When?”

  I don’t know. She was asleep in your room, and when I went up to check on her, she was not there.

  “How could you let her slip by you? Takeo, I placed her in your care! How could you be so—” He broke off because the boy had tears welling up in his eyes and looked miserably close to wailing. Louis took a deep breath to cap his own panic and put his hand atop the dark head. “It’s all right, Takeo. We’ll find her.”

  But in the back of his mind was the nagging fear. She’s left me. She’s run and she won’t return. That, coupled with the other dangers preying upon the night, created a terror for the woman he loved that was hard to suppress. He couldn’t bear to think of her alone and vulnerable out on the streets, streets hunted by his merciless enemies. And it hurt so deep and made him so disconsolate to think that she would desert him without hearing all he had to say.

  She would go to Howland, of course. But as fine a man as her father was, he hadn’t the ability to protect her from the likes of Bianca and Gerardo. Whether she liked it or not, Louis meant to bring her back beneath his roof. She could hate him if she wanted to, but she would be alive to do so. He would not allow her to be harmed by him or because of him.

  From his position in the center of his entry hall, Louis closed his eyes and reached out to forge a telepathic link with his errant wife. And he was met with a puzzling void. He tried again, focusing his concentr
ation, communicating his will across the distance. Again, a confusing blank. Either Howland’s powders had drained his mental powers... or he was no longer able to enjoin with Arabella’s mind. Which would mean she was dead.

  That possibility had just begun to sink in cold and clear when the front door opened and Arabella bustled in, weighted down by parcels. She drew up short when she saw him. He wasn’t sure what he read in her eyes. Not fear, exactly, but a judicious caution. And he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to sweep her up into his arms, or throttle her for the scare he’d suffered.

  “My lord,” she began with a stiff formality. “I did not mean to be so late. I’m sorry if I distressed you with my absence.”

  With the same neutrality, he murmured, “You are here now, and that’s all that matters.” Then he contradicted himself by demanding, “Where have you been?”

  “There were some things I wanted to purchase before nightfall, but there was a terrible snarl of conveyances and it took forever to get back.” She moved into the parlor, keeping a wary eye on him over her shoulder as he followed. She was setting down her bags and boxes when Louis came a step closer, then reared back with a jerk of his head, as if she’d waved vinegar beneath his nose.

  “What have you got there, Bella?”

  “A few precautions to keep trouble at bay.” And she laid out for him an assortment of silver crosses, ropes of garlic, bunches of the herb wolfsbane, lengths of whitethorn, one of which was whittled to a point, and a decanter of clear water.

  His smile was small and somewhat tragic. “Are those to keep us safe from the threat outside our walls, or to keep you safe from the threat within them?”

  She regarded him with complete candor, her gray eyes huge within her all-too-pale face. “Perhaps both.”

  “How very resourceful of you, my love. And where did you learn of such things?”