Midnight Rose

by Shelby Reed

  Ah, the book. The instruction manual, with its vehement and unarguable laws. Years had passed since he’d touched it. It was the enemy, the cruel tormentor to his gossamer hopes.

  Stepping back into the pool house, he retrieved a key from the top of a narrow secretary, opened the cabinet, and withdrew a small, leather-bound manual. The cover was cracked with age, its pages brittle. He searched the fine print with inhuman speed, vision rapier-sharp as he peered through the darkness and found the verse he sought.

  ….And through the blood of St. Xanthia shall the cursed find salvation, and having clothed himself in the ways of the righteous, drink from the vial and sustain no injury, and be made whole, the soul restored. But commit a single infraction before consuming the sacred essence, destroy another creature even for the sake of sustenance, and the blood of Xanthia will deliver the darkness of death, and it will come like a slow oppressor, visiting much agony upon the perpetrator until the end, when God and soul shall be forever parted.

  Gideon closed his eyes and pressed the book against his heart. He was the sinner, the soulless one for whom the warning was intended. In the agony of passion he’d destroyed another creature, maybe not directly, but Caroline had died in the end.

  Unable to help himself, he’d tasted her, touched her, planted the seed within her that blossomed and drained her life force, day by day, until her fragile human body could serve one purpose only—to deliver their son into a world that proved painful and cruel.

  Death had come to Gideon’s wife like a slow oppressor, delivered at his hand. And it would visit him a thousand times more horribly if he drank the vial. There were no amendments to the law of St. Xanthia.

  He gingerly returned the book to its keeping place, closed the secretary, turned the brass key and slid it behind the ornate scroll at the top of the cabinet.

  Nothing could redeem him now.

  * * * * *

  “Amazing. Utterly amazing.” Kate squinted at the dark-haired adolescent sitting across from her. “Are you this good with all your school subjects?”

  Jude shrugged, pushing back from the table to regard her with a hauntingly familiar expression. So like Gideon, especially in the dim light they used to study by. “I’m okay at most stuff. I like algebra best, though.”

  Clicking her pen, she glanced at the eighth-grade mathematics textbook in front of him. He’d made mincemeat out of every challenge she’d thrown his way. “Ever tried geometry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Aced it?”

  A smile crept across his mouth. “Sorta.”

  “How about trigonometry? Or calculus?”

  “Dad says I could do both if I tried. But none of my other teachers thought anything about it.”

  “How many other teachers came before me?” she asked, watching him carefully.

  He shrugged. “Maybe eight or nine.”

  Eight or nine?

  The look on her face must have betrayed her astonishment, because he smiled a little. “You probably wonder what I did to scare them off.”

  She gave a helpless laugh. “I have to admit I’m curious.”

  “I get sick too often to keep a teacher. Dad ends up having to let them go.” His dark gaze darted to hers. “But will you stay, even if I can’t study sometimes? Even if I get too sick to have lessons? Because I always get well again. So you’ll stay, right?”

  Kate paused, lost for an answer. “I don’t know the future, Jude. If you get sick again and your dad decides I’m not needed, then I’ll have to go. But not for three months,” she added quickly when disappointment darkened his face. “I can guarantee three months of my special brand of torture, and some nightmarish trigonometry assignments with your name on them.”

  The humor returned to his features and the tension left his thin shoulders. “I’m ready for some good math,” he said, pushing away the eighth-grade text with a discriminate finger. “Not this easy stuff.”

  “Then your wish is granted.” She scrawled a reminder across the back of her notebook to search for a more advanced text for him. He was, undeniably, gifted. “I don’t have a math skills test that suits your level, so let’s move on to reading comprehension, and I’ll make a run into Christiansburg to see what I can find this weekend.”

  Jude perked up. “Dad’ll let you borrow his car when he gets back from the convention tomorrow night.”

  The thought of slipping behind the sleek sedan’s steering wheel dampened Kate’s palms. “Or maybe Mrs. Shelton will let me use hers.”

  “Dad’s is cooler.”

  “No doubt,” she said dryly.

  Rubbing at a smudge on the gold inlaid table, Jude sighed. “I wish I could go to Christiansburg. Just…walk outside and get in the car and drive away.”

  Kate watched him with a carefully blank expression, while inside, her heart thudded with sympathy and a strange relief. With very little effort on her part, he opened up more with each passing hour. He was obviously lonely, tired of being so singular and isolated. “If we went after dark, do you think your dad would let you come with me?”

  The light faded from his eyes. “He’d say no. I’ve been too sick lately.”

  She offered him a sad smile. “You can go with me another time, Jude. And if you just feel like getting out of here sometime, maybe we can take an evening drive.”

  “There’s nothing to see in the dark.”

  She didn’t bother to argue. He was right; this far out in the country, their activities were sorely limited. “Do you like to swim?” she asked. “You’ve got that great big pool all to yourself.”

  He shrugged. “It’s okay. The underwater light hurts my eyes so I have to swim in the dark, and last time I jammed my finger against the side of the pool. But sometimes I do play tennis with my dad. We use glow-in-the-dark balls.”

  “Good for you,” she said, making a mental note to dig out her racket. “I play, too, but I could definitely use some practice.” She slid aside the book and propped her chin in her hand, treading carefully. The growing intimacy between them was fragile, and she knew Jude wanted to trust her. “What other kind of sports do you like?”

  He rolled his eyes in speculation. “I like soccer. Basketball’s okay. And definitely football.”

  “Of course.”

  “Miami rules.”

  She blocked the statement with a raised palm. “I beg to differ, hailing from the Pittsburgh area originally. And I’m not about to tell you what team I root for.”

  “Gee, that’s a real mystery,” he said, laughing. “But too bad, so sad. You have to like Miami if you’re going to live in this house.”

  “Says who?” she demanded with mock indignation.

  “Says my dad.”

  They exchanged smiles, and for the hundredth time in the last few days, Kate caught a glimpse of the beautiful man Jude would soon become. He was extraordinary, and thank God he didn’t know it yet.

  “Okay, quit distracting me. We’re going to read Lord of the Flies.” All business again, she slid the book across the table to him. “Here’s your copy.”

  Scowling, Jude flipped through the paperback. “It looks weird.”

  “It is weird. And spooky, and interesting. Go to it. You don’t have to read in the living room. Read wherever you’re comfortable, and when you’ve finished two chapters, I want you to sum up each chapter in your new literature journal. A complete paragraph, okay? Do I need to refresh you on what that is?”

  “Opening sentence, three body sentences, and a closing sentence. I know.” He stood, dragged the novel from the table, and ambled toward the foyer. “I’ll be in the conservatory,” he said with a heavy sigh.

  Kate didn’t miss a beat. “With Professor Plum? Or Colonel Mustard?”

  “With Miss Scarlet,” he said over his shoulder. “She’s hot.”

  She watched him go with a smile of satisfaction. Even this spooky old house wasn’t enough to dampen the joy of breaking down Jude Renaud’s defenses.

  * * *
* *

  “God, Gideon, I thought you’d forgotten about me,” Delilah purred into the phone. “You could’ve spent the night with me when you were in Haileton this week. That’s a mere thirty miles from me. Should I feel rejected?”

  Gideon sat down on the edge of his bed, telephone receiver caught between ear and shoulder as he tied his running shoes. “Rejected? Never. Believe me, I thought about you. But I was there for a convention. All work and no play.”

  “Ah, well. It’s not just my loss, darling, and you know it.” She paused for effect. “Are you ever going to invite me to see your new home?”

  “When things settle down. We’re still adjusting.”

  “Say no more,” she said drolly. “Maybe you could sneak me out there. Jude wouldn’t have to know. We could do one of those dangerous daylight rendezvous we were so adept at when you lived in Massachusetts.”

  “I thought you were playing it safe with the daylight.” He stood and removed his watch, laid it on the valet by the bathroom. “It takes an awfully long time to bounce back from the kind of burn you suffered last year.”

  “Thanks for the reminder, Mr. Self-Righteous. All you have to do is slip on a pair of sunglasses and you’re absolutely mortal again.”

  “Sunglasses aren’t perfect protection.” Duly reminded, he grabbed a pair from the dresser and happened to glance at the photograph of Caroline that sat by his change holder. She looked so young in the picture, as she had when they’d first met. Before bitterness had twisted her features, before hatred had rendered her into a stranger to him. He’d known better than to fall in love with a mortal, but he hadn’t had a choice. Even now, just looking at her photograph, a surge of wistfulness caught him unaware and he closed his eyes, wishing away the memories.

  “You there, Gid?”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’d like to see you, Delilah.”

  “You’d like to, or you need to?”

  “Both,” he said flatly, and heard the smile in her husky voice.

  “Name the time and place, and I’ll do my best to accommodate you, my love.”

  “How about tonight? I’ll come there. We can take in a movie.”

  “Why bother? I know what you want.” The desire in her tone wound around him, sinuous and breathtaking in its ability to arouse him. “I want it, too. Not a movie, not a night out on the town. Just you.”

  “Spoken like a true seductress,” he murmured.

  “I was one, once.”

  “A courtesan.”

  “But of course.”

  “And you sucked dry every aristocratic neck you could sink your teeth into.”

  “You know me too well,” she said, laughing.

  Gideon smiled. “Let me go. I’ll see you tonight. What time?”

  “Surprise me,” she whispered. “I’ll be waiting. Balcony doors unlocked.”

  “Hmm. Going to make me work for it, huh? I haven’t climbed a fire escape in years.”

  “It’ll be worth the effort, I promise. Ciao, darling.”

  Downstairs, he paused in the living room and listened for the soft, undeniable thrum of blood through human veins. Mentally he searched the house, reaching with his finely honed senses. Betty was alone in the kitchen, heart racing from too much coffee and the thirty extra pounds she carried on her stout frame. The day maid was doing laundry in the basement utility room; Martha had the day off. He bowed his head, closed his eyes, straining to hear…and then a curious smile curved his lips and he started toward the conservatory.

  “No way,” he heard Jude exclaim as he passed through the billiard room and peeked through the doors to the conservatory. The vast, elegant interior was shadowed for once, every drapery drawn. Huddled on the bench, heads together in the paltry glow from the piano lamp, Kate and Jude stared down at the keys.

  “Oh, yes, I can,” Kate said staunchly. “Just because it’s called ‘The Minute Waltz’ doesn’t mean it takes sixty seconds to play it.” She cracked her knuckles with finesse. “Not if you’re a pro like I am.”

  “Fine.” Jude crossed his arms and squinted at her. “I’ll count in my head.”

  She gave an indelicate snort. “Oh, whatever. That’d totally be cheating. Get a stopwatch and then we’ll talk.”

  “You’re going to scare off the ghosts,” Gideon said from the doorway. “Especially if you desecrate this noble chamber by pounding out ‘The Minute Waltz’ in forty-five seconds flat.”

  Kate glanced up, and the instant their gazes locked, Gideon sensed the surge of blood that moved through her veins…and realized he’d inadvertently eavesdropped on her pulse’s reaction to him. He tried not to smile as he withdrew his awareness from the sensuous workings of her body.

  “You’re going out?” she asked with practiced casualness.

  “I’m going for a run.” He glanced at Jude, who softly fingered the keys without looking back. “How’s it going with Lord of the Flies, J?”

  He shrugged. “Okay.”

  “You’d think I was torturing him,” Kate said dryly. “He’s done for the afternoon.”

  “Good.” Gideon studied the dance of shadows along the right side of her face. Every aspect of her features satisfied him. She was solidly, undeniably beautiful. Not sultry like Delilah, nor earthy, as Caroline had been. No, Kate was…balanced. Whole. And just a single look into her soft brown eyes brought a rush of desire so astounding, he backed up against the doorframe. Don’t ask her. Don’t do it.

  “Do you run, Kate?”

  “Three times a week like clockwork until I moved out here.”

  “Then you’re due. Why don’t you come with me?”

  She slanted him a doubtful look. “How far do you go? I’m no marathon runner. Three miles is about the max for me.”

  “Three miles will take us around to the back of the estate, and we can cut through and walk home via the rear acreage.” He fought against the cacophony of warning bells in his conscience. Lies, over and over. Everything about him was a lie. Even running. Running cloaked him in normalcy, but he could jog around the earth and never feel exhaustion, or breathlessness, or the salty drizzle of perspiration rolling down the sides of his face.

  He presented Kate this latest lie without blinking. Normal men ran to stay in shape. Normal men sweated, ate three square meals comprised of food, got sleepy, weary. He tried to remember what any of it felt like, and couldn’t. Over a century of lies, and they were as much a part of his reality as the blood that sustained him.

  Kate had risen from the piano bench and started toward him, a little shy, maybe, and flushed with anticipation. Gideon’s senses embraced her without his control. His pulse thrummed in tandem with hers. His body stirred and hardened where hers had gone soft and damp.

  “I’ll go change,” she said, suffusing the air around her with the fragrance of soap and sensuous female as she moved by him.

  He waited until she’d left the room, then crossed to the piano where his son sat with head bowed, gently pressing the keys. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Jude said petulantly.

  Gideon raised his eyebrows and leaned an elbow on the edge of the instrument. “You like Ms. O’Brien, don’t you?”

  “Why does it matter?” He jabbed at middle C and the note rent the air, harsh and brassy. “You obviously do and as usual, that’s all that counts, right?”

  “Whoa.” He ducked his head to see his son’s expression. “Is there a problem?”

  “I watch the way you talk to her and I see how she looks at you. She likes you or something, and it’s your fault. But I know, Dad, that you’ll hurt her feelings. And then she’ll leave, and we’ll start all over, and I’m sick of it. I like this one. I want something to stay the same for once, so leave her alone.”

  Gideon waded through his astonishment for a reply and came up empty-handed. It wasn’t until Jude closed the lid and stood that the words came to him.

  “I won’t hurt her feelings,” he said simply, because it was all he could
promise.

  Jude stared back at him with an intensity that both disconcerted and impressed him. “I’d rather have Delilah around here all the time, every day, than for you to make Ms. O’Brien mad enough to leave.” Drawing his thin shoulders back, he swerved around his father and headed through the door, leaving Gideon alone in the conservatory, with only phantom strains of chamber music for a paltry finale.

  * * * * *

  The soles of their running shoes crunched rhythmically in the gravel as they ran, side by side, in silence.

  Kate turned her head to stare at Gideon’s profile and frowned. She’d expected the amiable, breathless exchange of fellow joggers between them, maybe more of that delicious banter she’d come to anticipate from him, but he was quiet, his dark eyes hidden behind a pair of reflective sunglasses.

  His gait was brisk, steady, graceful. He didn’t pant or wheeze or make any of the respiratory noises that begged to burst from her own chest. He wasn’t even sweating.

  Annoyed, Kate wiped the back of her hand against her damp forehead and dropped back to a defeated walk. It took a few more paces before Gideon seemed to notice she no longer kept up with him. Turning backward, he jogged in place and waited for to her to catch up.

  “Tired?” he asked, his expression impassive.

  “Confused.” Anger quickened her gait and she strolled right past him, the momentum swinging her arms. “You invited me to run with you. Did you do it to be polite?”

  “I did it because I wanted your company.” He gained on her and fell into step beside her. “I’m sorry. Jude and I had words after you went up to change. I can’t quit thinking about what he said.”

  Kate glanced at him, then away, then back again, her brows lowered. “Well? Are you waiting for me to ask what the argument was about?”

  Gideon sighed, scraped his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “He thinks…” He cleared his throat. “He thinks you like me.”

  “I do like you,” she said, knowing immediately where the conversation was headed. “Shouldn’t I?”