Shadowing the Beast

by Beyond the Page Publishing

  Julie shook her head, tried to reconcile in her mind the fact that her lover had experienced childhood not as she had, in the nineteen eighties and early nineties in New Orleans, but long ago, in another world entirely. “Did you spend your boyhood years playing on the cliffs of Normandy?” she asked softly, visualizing the Allied invasion that had stained the beaches below with blood more than forty years before her birth.

  Of course he hadn’t. At least not then. By D-day, he’d have been a man—possibly fighting with the French underground against the Nazi invaders or . . .

  Julie used her colored pencils to fill in the hills and valleys of Stefan’s face, record the high cheekbones and strong jaw, the most minute details of his elegantly set ear, each laugh line around his soft, well-shaped lips. His neck was thick and corded with muscle, yet long and elegant, paler than his shadowed jaw. A prominent vein—no, that was an artery—lay just under the surface of his skin, its tone darker, blue-red beneath the satiny surface.

  Did vampires feed on each other as a matter of course, or did they restrict their diets to mortals’ blood except during their mating dance?

  There was so much Julie didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the inexplicable, irresistible attraction that had brought her together with Stefan d’Argent. She wanted to survive. Wanted a lifetime to learn about the vampire she loved, to share his triumphs and sorrows. She wanted to be his, for all eternity.

  Stefan had already lived four hundred fifty years. He’d have been a child in the late sixteenth century, possibly a very young adult vampire when her mother’s ancestors had been among the first settlers of New Orleans over a hundred fifty years later.

  Standing now, sketching the full length of his magnificent body on a new sheet in the sketchpad, she tried to imagine how it must have been back then, in France. Tumultuous, if she recalled her history correctly. Stefan would have cut a fine figure in the time of the French classic artists like de la Tour, Poussin, and the famed landscape painter Claude Lorrain, whose classical Italian garden scenes had influenced landscape gardening throughout Europe for more than a century.

  Julie concentrated on capturing the power as well as the beauty of her beloved vampire. Admiring the well-developed musculature of his upper body that, even at rest, promised great strength and agility, she noticed once more how he slept yet apparently never fully let down his guard. He’d have learned young to be cautious, she imagined, for suspicion had most likely been the order of the day during his childhood, fed by the Huguenot uprisings. She couldn’t conceive of the carnage he must have seen, recalling the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre. The regent, Catherine de Medici, had authorized that butchery.

  Julie shuddered. Vampires would have been reviled during that time, feared even more than the Protestants whose blood had been spilled in the streets of Paris and throughout the French countryside. Taking a charcoal pencil, she drew in the shadows cast through the linen on the sleek lines of his body, portraying the way his broad chest tapered to a narrow waist. Thank God the fates had spared Stefan to grow to manhood. To touch her life now, more than four hundred years later.

  She admired his magnificent body, caressing him in her mind as she’d stroked him earlier with her hands and mouth. His sex lay at rest against his ridged belly, curving gently to the right, its tip almost nudging the indentation of his navel. Its head, darker than the pale column of his shaft, flared, ending in a perfectly shaped round, apricot-colored crown just a shade lighter than his large, smooth scrotum. Julie took special pains to record every detail . . . each square inch of Stefan.

  Her artwork might be all she’d have of him once he vanquished the evil Reynaud. Her only concrete testimony that for a few wonderful days, a very special vampire had touched her life.

  No. She wouldn’t give him up. Julie closed her eyes, imagined how they’d spend their days—and nights—if she could only persuade him to make her like him. Turn her and take her as his mate.

  A beautiful male . . . one she wanted for her own.

  For hours Julie sketched Stefan, first from one angle and then from another, mixing the colors until she got each tone perfect, each shadow at precisely the right depth. As she did, she imagined herself with him, embracing the darkness, taking her nourishment not from the bounty of the land but from the blood of mortals like herself. Living in a shadowed world cloaked in centuries of mystery.

  Living for hundreds of years. She shuddered at the alien thought, then smiled at the sleeping vampire in her bed. If he turned her, she’d be living for centuries, not decades. Living with him. Loving him. Bringing up a vampire child if they were blessed. Concepts she’d have found incredibly bizarre before he came into her life now seemed very possible . . . desirable.

  “What has you looking so serious?” Stefan’s sleepy, husky voice drew Julie out of her daydreams, back to the here and now.

  She closed her sketchpad and set it on the edge of the bed. Standing and stretching out the kinks in her shoulders and arms first, she returned the pencil she’d been holding to the box with all the others and looked his way. The curve of his back drew her eye as he sat in the middle of the bed, legs apart, one knee bent slightly more than the other. The dimmed light filtering through her makeshift shade shadowed the hollow of his throat, his injured cheek. He looked incredibly sexy.

  He also looked as though he belonged there on her bed, gloriously naked . . . deliciously aroused. Julie couldn’t resist. Sitting beside him and stroking the strong line of his jaw, she returned his smile. “I was thinking . . . thinking of painting you. I’ve been making sketches of you while you slept.”

  With greater interest than she’d imagined he’d display toward her efforts—he’d never struck her as being vain, though he certainly exuded self-assurance—he picked up the sketchpad. When he flipped it open to the first page, he gasped. And stared, apparently taking in each detail, scrutinizing every pencil stroke of what Julie had thought a reasonably accurate rendition of his handsome features. “I know it’s rough, but—”

  “No. You’re incredibly talented. I’ve noticed and admired your paintings, including the one here above the bed. It’s just . . .” He hesitated, his emerald gaze still focused on the colored sketch as though he couldn’t tear it away. “It’s just that I’ve never seen a likeness of my own face until now.”

  “I-I don’t understand. Surely—”

  “I’m a vampire, not a mortal. As I told you before, my eyes are extremely sensitive to light. Looking at light reflecting off a mirror blinds me.”

  “But you shave. Brush your hair. How can you, if you can’t see what you’re doing?”

  “I can see shadows but not details when I look at my reflection on polished furniture, so I can tell if my hair’s too badly askew or in need of trimming. As for brushing it and shaving, I’ve had years of practice. And I’m eternally grateful to whoever invented the electric razor. It’s saved me many a time from spilling my own blood.” He smiled then looked again at the sketch. “I had no idea that I look so much like Alexandre.”

  Julie was struck by Stefan’s obvious feelings of wonder, now that she realized he was looking for the first time at his own image. How would it feel, being able to see yourself only through others’ eyes?

  If you persuade him to take you, make you one of his kind, you’ll learn. The voice in her head spoke softly. Not as a warning, but as a bemused reminder of the many consequences that would result if Stefan turned her.

  “Your cousin?” she asked, dragging her thoughts back to Stefan’s comment. “The one you told me nearly got tried for that murder in Montana?”

  “Yes. Alex’s reckless streak will be the death of him, his mother always says.” With one finger, he traced the length of the half-healed wound on his cheek as if he expected to feel discomfort from touching the same wound on the paper. “Vampires’ wounds usually heal quickly. Unless they’re inflicted by other vampires. This one looks pretty rough. No wonder seeing it upset Alina wh
en I met with her last week.”

  “It doesn’t look as though it’s infected, but it might be a good idea if I cleaned it and applied some antibiotic cream. Because you can’t see it for yourself,” Julie amended when he shot her a questioning look.

  “I don’t respond to mortals’ remedies any more than I fall victim to their illnesses. From the look of this, though, I think it would benefit from another thorough cleansing.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The sap from the aloe plant on Julie’s bathroom window felt surprisingly soothing when she applied it to Stefan’s injured cheek. Cool and slick, it seemed to form a barrier he hoped would facilitate the healing process. Even if it didn’t, it wouldn’t hurt, and it seemed to please Julie to believe she was taking care of him.

  While Julie dressed, Stefan tried to reach Claude telepathically. Then he picked up his cell phone and called the other vampire’s hotel room. No answer. Where was his young uncle? Just then Noodles began to yap furiously at the front door. “I’ll see who that is.” His guard up, Stefan hurried to the door, zipping his slacks as he walked. He lifted the little dog in his arms and looked through the peephole.

  “It’s okay, girl. There’s no one there.” When he opened the door, he saw it. The white rose, its long stem wrapped in green waxed paper. Reynard’s warning. Stefan picked it up, cursing when a thorn dug into his finger, drawing blood.

  His blood. He wouldn’t allow the bastard to draw Julie’s. As if doors would keep the Fox at bay, Stefan slammed it closed. He held the bud at arm’s length, the way a squeamish mortal might handle a poisonous viper. His heart, normally quiet, pounded in his chest. Adrenaline rushed through his body like a river of red, life-giving sustenance, suffusing his muscles, flushing his skin.

  “What’s wrong?” Julie clamped down on her lower lip when she saw the rose. Her eyes widened, and she began to tremble. “He sent it, didn’t he?”

  He nodded, not knowing what to say, though he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to throw open the door, snarl a challenge. Make Reynard come to him, fight it out as decent men should, rather than involving the beautiful, fragile creature before him.

  “You—I don’t want you to get hurt.” Her gaze went to his cheek, to the wound she’d dressed moments earlier.

  Fear showed in her eyes, dilating the pupils even more than was justified by the dim lighting in the foyer. Damn it, he hated having her worry about him, hated more the necessity of admitting he couldn’t deal with one crazed, murdering vampire on his own. “Come here,” he said gruffly, holding out his free hand and pulling her into the circle of his arms. “Let’s get rid of this. It’s time for me to call in the reserves.”

  He headed for the kitchen, determined to feed the obscenely beautiful flower to the garbage disposal, the way he’d watched Julie do earlier with a banana peel. Jabbing himself once more with a thorn, he shoved the blossom into the drain chute. “Where’s the switch to turn this on?”

  Julie reached over and turned the water on. “Here.” She flipped a switch to the right of the sink and the disposal started to grind away. She watched as though transfixed as the thorny stem slowly disappeared in a stream of clear, clean water. “I wouldn’t have wanted to touch it. Thank you.”

  “I only wish it were as easy to be rid of the maniac who sent it.” Stefan stepped back from the sink.

  “We could go away. Far away. You could make me like you . . . move us through space . . .” She held his gaze, pleading, offering him forever, however short that time might be.

  Stefan didn’t want to lose her. Not to Reynard and not to her world of mortals. If he gave in, took what she offered so sweetly . . . she would no longer be totally helpless against Reynard. They could fly away together, and he could ensconce her behind the dark, cool walls of his castle overlooking a stormy sea, a place where d’Argent women had gone for refuge over the centuries. She’d be safe from attack from even the strongest of their kind while he—

  What was he thinking? What sort of fiend would turn a mortal then abandon her in an alien world while he resumed what might well be a fatal quest? Particularly the woman who owned his heart? Stefan reached out, stroked the skin along Julie’s jaw with the pads of his fingers. So he’d have the sensations etched into his mind long after he was gone, he memorized the satiny texture, the sensual heat of her mortal blood pulsing within her flesh. “Because I love you, my darling, I cannot.”

  For a moment he considered abandoning duty, keeping vigil over Julie in his ancestral home while others pursued Reynard. Denying his honor for his love. But he could not, for if he did, he’d not be worthy of her love . . . or his own ancient, respected name.

  Tilting her chin up, he took her lips and allowed himself to sample what he must not claim. How would he walk away? Storing memories that would have to carry him through the dismal, lonely days of a future without her, he let her carry him away mentally to a place without Reynard, without danger. A place where mortals and vampires might coexist in peace together.

  He felt a gentle but stubborn strength in her slender arms when she clasped his waist, drawing him into her as surely as if they were lying naked in bed. Her rapid, shallow breaths tickled his cheek, his upper lip. With her smooth, wet tongue, she traced his lips, enticing him to take her . . . make her truly his.

  “Stop, Julie. When this is over, I’ll go, and you’ll forget we ever met.” But he’d remember. Remember and regret, for the centuries of life that stretched before him—unless he challenged the killer vampire and was destroyed.

  “You may leave me, but I’ll never forget you.” Her eyes widened, as though she’d suddenly realized the meaning of his words. “You—you wouldn’t steal my memories. Surely you couldn’t be so cruel.”

  “Wiping out your memories will be a kindness. I wish I could wipe away my own, for they will haunt me . . .” Stefan almost hoped Reynard would destroy him, save him from the prospect of living on for centuries without Julie. Almost. Preserving her mortality was more important than serving his happiness. To ensure that he must destroy her would-be killer, not be destroyed himself.

  The doorbell rang, its shrill tone piercing the silence. Julie’s muscles tightened beneath Stefan’s hands, and she inhaled deeply, as though drawing strength from the air around her. Noodles trotted toward the door, the tone of her bark more threatening than welcoming. “Stay here. I’ll see who’s at the door.”

  She threw an even look at him over her shoulder. “All right, but don’t you dare think this conversation is finished.”

  Stefan had never in his life been so grateful to see his cousin Alex—or so annoyed to see Claude, who hung back as though afraid to face him. He glared at both of them. “Don’t tell me you didn’t see which way Reynard went after he dumped that rose on this doorstep. Damn it, Claude, you should have been able to track him.”

  Alex shook his head. “Take it easy, cousin. We’ve known since the second or third of the murders that Reynard can make himself invisible when he wants to. Just because he doesn’t do it often doesn’t mean he can’t. Obviously the bastard had made Claude, and he didn’t care to be tailed today. We saw him placing the order with the florist before he vanished. He never came anywhere near Julie’s door. If neither you nor I can follow him when he does his disappearing acts, how can we expect Claude to keep up with him?”

  Despite the defense, Claude hung his head, stared down on his dark brown deck shoes. “I fucked up. I’m sorry, Stefan.”

  Claude’s heart was in the chase, and even with his limited experience he’d proven himself a hunter worthy of respect. Stefan ran a hand over his face, got a grip on his anger. After all, it wasn’t his young uncle who deserved his fury. He stepped back, waved the two inside. “You did nothing wrong, Claude. Both of you might as well stay here for now. Come on, I want you to meet Julie.”

  • • •

  Louis laughed. His ruse had worked, and he’d lost the d’Argent bastard who’d been dogging his every footstep for the past four
days. Not only him but the other one—the one he’d left for dead in Buenos Aires who now looked disgustingly healthy. While he lurked, invisible, he watched the florist’s boy lay the single white rose at Julie’s door. Though he’d hoped his intended victim would answer the door, it was d’Argent who had picked up the dewy bud. A few minutes later Louis watched the same one open the door again to let in his confederates.

  Good. So Louis had primed Alina well with his latest letter. She’d taken the bait and sent three of her best out to challenge him. Let them come. Let them all come. He’d destroy them, fling their lifeless bodies across the ocean, deposit their severed heads at Alina’s feet. The more the better.

  But first Louis had to feed. It would take all the strength he could muster to take on three d’Argent pups at once, destroy them, and claim his bloody prize.

  • • •

  Sitting around Julie’s kitchen table, they looked like ordinary, extraordinarily handsome young men, Stefan’s cousin and uncle. Only their paleness and—in Claude’s case—such prominent fangs that no one could help noticing them would make an unknowing observer wonder if they were vampires. She started to offer refreshment, hesitated, then opened the refrigerator door and set out the remaining carton of blood she and Stefan had brought home from the vampire bar.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to share,” she said, putting a small crystal tumbler in front of each vampire. “Or . . .”

  “Don’t even think of offering yourself, chérie.” Stefan’s tone brooked no argument.

  Claude grinned. “Was that a pizza I saw in the freezer when you were getting out the ice? If so, I’ll take that. Stefan and Alex are welcome to share the Vampire Delight.”