Still buried deep within the warmth of her body, he held her close, listening as her breathing returned to normal. She whispered that she loved him and then, her eyelids fluttering down, she fell asleep in his arms.
So young, he thought. So trusting.
His fangs lengthened as he gazed at the pulse throbbing in the hollow of her throat. The scent of her blood filled his nostrils, teasing him, tempting him beyond endurance.
One bite. One taste. Just one. Slowly, he lowered his head to her neck, his tongue stroking her skin, tasting the salt of her perspiration.
A growl rumbled in his throat. His whole body shook as he fought the need to sink his fangs into her flesh, to swallow a single drop of her blood. Just one small drop. She need never know that a monster had sipped her sweetness.
Hating himself for his lack of self-control, he bit into the tender skin just below her ear. Her blood was as warm and sweet as he had so often imagined and he hovered over her, a dark phantom torn by a driving need to take more. The darkness inside him urged him to stop fighting what he was and seize what he wanted, what he needed. She was his for the taking; she could be his for all eternity...
She moaned softly as he brushed a kiss over the curve of her neck, and then she whispered his name.
Filled with self-loathing for what he had almost done, for what he wanted so desperately, he drew back, surprised to find that he was weeping.
"Sleep, beloved," he whispered brokenly. "Dream your young girl's dreams. You're safe from the monster tonight."
* * *
She dreamed of darkness, a vast all-encompassing darkness that shut out the light for all time. And, in the heart of that darkness, she saw a man with hair as black as ebony and eyes as blue as a midnight sky. He was dressed in black from head to foot. A cloak the color of death billowed out behind him as he walked toward her, as graceful as a panther stalking its prey, but it was his gaze that captured her; mesmerizing, haunting, his deep blue eyes filled with pain and loneliness.
She should have been afraid of him, afraid of the power in his eyes. Instead, she reached out toward him. Let me help you.
He shook his head, and she saw that he was crying, and his tears were the color of blood. No one can help me, he said, and the anguish in his voice was more than she could bear.
I'll do anything, she promised. Anything you ask, only let me ease your sorrow.
Anything? he asked.
Anything, she replied, and then he was on her, his arms like steel bands around her as he gathered her into the enveloping folds of his cloak. His eyes blazed with an unholy light as he lowered his head. She closed her eyes as his mouth covered hers in a searing kiss, and then she felt his teeth at her neck, a sharp pain, a sudden sense of lethargy.
A scream of primal terror rose in her throat, a scream that brought her awake with a start.
Heart pounding in her breast, she sat up, reaching for Jason, only to find herself alone in bed with no recollection of how she had gotten there. She glanced wildly around the room, but he was nowhere in sight. Through a crack in the drapes, she saw that it was dawn.
She sat there for a long moment and then, with a hand that trembled, she fingered the side of her neck. Was she imagining things, or did she really feel two small puncture wounds? Slipping out of bed, she started for the bathroom, only to stop when she remembered there was no mirror in the bathroom.
There were no mirrors anywhere in the house.
She shook her head vigorously, refusing to even consider the bizarre possibility that came to mind as she climbed back into bed and drew the covers up to her chin.
She was just letting her imagination run wild.
"Just a dream." She spoke the words aloud as she closed her eyes. "Just a dream."
* * *
Leanne stared at her reflection in her bedroom mirror, but all she saw were the two small puncture wounds in her neck. For the fifth time in as many minutes, she pressed her fingertips to the twin holes. As before, heat seemed to flow from the wounds and Jason's image danced before her eyes.
She had looked at those marks in the rear view mirror time and again as she drove home that morning. Looked at them and shuddered. There had to be a rational explanation.
Now, still staring into the mirror above her dresser, she tried to laugh at the ridiculous image of Jason bending over her, his teeth turning into fangs, biting her neck. Drinking her blood. She had been watching too many vampire movies, she thought, reading too many books by Rice and Herter and Gideon. She was losing her grip on reality. The marks on her neck were probably nothing more menacing than a couple of mosquito bites.
Leaving the bedroom, she went into the kitchen, grabbed an old rag, and began dusting the living room furniture. Her apartment had been sadly neglected since she met Jason Blackthorne...
Jason. He had been gone when she woke up. A note informed her that he had been called to court to testify in a case, but promised that he would meet her that night after the show.
She had never seen him in the daytime.
Leanne thrust the thought away, plugged in the vacuum cleaner, and ran it over the living room rug. She vacuumed the bedroom, then put the vacuum away, and changed the sheets on her bed. She bundled up her laundry, carried it downstairs, and stuffed it into one of the machines, then went back upstairs to fix lunch.
She had never seen him eat.
Sitting at the table, she cradled her head in her hands. It couldn't be. There was no such thing as vampires. Everybody knew that. They were just myths, stories made popular in films and novels. There had to be a logical explanation for the oddities in Jason's life.
There just had to be.
She wondered if he was still in court and then, because she couldn't wait until after the show to see him, she grabbed her car keys and drove to his house, her laundry forgotten.
She had hidden his house key under a flower pot on the front porch. A sudden unease filled her as she unlocked the massive front door. Without thinking, she dropped the heavy brass key into the pocket of her jeans, then stepped into the entry hall. Never before had she noticed how still the house was.
"Jason?"
She tossed her car keys on the small table inside the front door and walked through the house, as if seeing it for the first time. The rooms were all dark, the sunlight held at bay by the heavy drapes that covered all the windows.
Remembering vampire movies she had seen, she explored every room, every closet, looking for the secret door that led to the hidden room where Jason slept during the day.
She shuddered at the thought of seeing him lying in a silk-lined casket, sleeping the dreamless sleep of the undead during the hours of daylight. Unbidden, unwanted, came a rush of images as she recalled every vampire book she had ever read, every horror movie she had ever seen. All had vividly portrayed vampires as the embodiment of evil, preying upon unsuspecting mortals. She felt a rush of nausea as she imagined Jason stalking some helpless woman, sinking his fangs into his victim's neck...
She pressed her fingers to the marks on her own neck, grimacing as she imagined Jason biting her, drinking her blood. The thought made her gag.
With an effort, she shook the image from her mind. In the den, she paused before one of the paintings signed J. Blackthorne. Jason had told her an ancestor had painted it. She ran her fingers over the distinctive signature, and then she went into the kitchen and picked up the note Jason had left her that morning.
Returning to the den, she compared the handwriting on the note to the signature on the painting. They were identical.
With growing certainty, she continued her search. There was a laundry room off the kitchen. And a door. A locked door. She stared at it for a long moment, and then she placed her hand against the wood and knew, without a doubt, that Jason was on the other side.
Getting a chair from the kitchen, she sat down to wait.
* * *
Jason felt her presence in the house as soon as he awoke. He had been aware of
her nearness all day, aware of the turmoil in her mind. He knew he could use his preternatural power to put her at ease, to make her forget the questions and suspicions that troubled her. But he could not do such a thing. She deserved the truth, ugly as it was, and he would give it to her.
Rising, he shrugged the quilt off his shoulders. His feet felt weighted with lead as he climbed the narrow stairway and unlocked the door.
She would know the truth the minute she saw his face.
Leanne's heart climbed into her throat as she watched the doorknob turn and the door swing open. "Jason?"
A faintly mocking grin touched his lips when his eyes met hers. "Sorry to keep you waiting so long, my sweet."
"You knew I was here?"
"Of course."
She glanced past him to the darkness beyond the open door. "What's...what's down there?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"You don't believe me?" He reached behind him and flipped on a light switch. "Perhaps you would care to see for yourself?"
The thought of going down those stairs filled her with dread, but she had to know, had to see for herself.
Summoning every ounce of courage she possessed, she stepped past Jason and walked slowly down the stairs, wondering, as she did so, if she was making the biggest mistake of her life. What if he followed her? If he was truly a vampire, he wouldn't want anyone to know where he rested during the day.
She paused at the foot of the stairs and looked around, but there was nothing to see, only a patchwork quilt on the floor.
And a small mound of earth. She swallowed hard. Wasn't there some kind of vampire edict that made it mandatory for the undead to rest on the soil of their native homeland?
"What were you doing down there so long?" she asked when she returned to the laundry room.
"Sleeping."
There was no emotion in his voice, no inflection of any kind; it was merely a simple statement of fact.
"I thought..."
"You thought you'd find a coffin." He gave a slight shrug. "I tried sleeping in one once but I found it..." He paused a moment. "Confining."
"How long have you been...been a...?"
"Three hundred years."
It couldn't be true. She glanced around, thinking how bizarre it was to be having such an outlandish conversation in a laundry room. And even as she tried to tell herself she must be dreaming, she knew that everything she had feared was true. She knew it in her heart, saw the truth of it in his eyes.
For the first time, she noticed how pale he was. His skin was drawn tight over the planes of his face, there was a burning intensity in his eyes as he stared, unblinking, at her throat.
Unconsciously, she lifted a hand to her neck. "How could you keep such a secret from me?"
"How could I tell you?"
"But...we made love..." She stared at him, the horror of what she had done making her sick inside. She had made love to a man who was a…a monster.
The revulsion in her eyes sliced through him and he silently cursed Marguerite for turning him into a vampire, cursed the insatiable hunger that clawed at his vitals even now, urging him to drink from her one more time, to drink and drink until there was nothing left.
For a moment, Jason closed his eyes. Her nearness, her goodness, reached out to him. She shouldn't be here, not now, when the urge to feed pounded relentlessly through him. The remembered taste of her blood on his lips, warm and sweet, drew a groan from deep in his throat. She was close. Too close. Needing to put some distance between them, he went into the living room. Standing in front of the fireplace, Jason braced one arm on the mantle and stared at the ashes in the hearth. A blink of his eye brought the cold embers to life.
A sigh rose from deep within him. She knew what he was now, knew where he rested during the day, something no mortal save Jolene had ever known before. With that knowledge, Leanne held the power to destroy him...but it didn't matter. Losing her would destroy him as surely as the touch of the sun.
She followed him into the living room, as he had known she would, though she stayed on the far side of the room. Foolish girl, he thought, didn't she realize the danger she was in? He could be at her side between one heartbeat and the next, bury his fangs in her throat before she realized he had moved.
Leanne rubbed her fingertips over the two small wounds in her neck. "You did this, didn't you?"
"Yes."
A look of horror filled her eyes. "Am I going to...?"
"No!" He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, his fists clenching and unclenching as he fought to control the thirst raging through him. "I may be a fiend of the worst kind, but I would never condemn you to a life of darkness."
She touched the wounds in her neck again. "Then why?"
"Last night was to be our last night together." His gaze met hers, begging for her understanding, her forgiveness. "I wanted to taste your sweetness just once."
Leanne stared up at him, the thought of never seeing him again suddenly more frightening than the realization that he was, indeed, a vampire.
"Our last night?" she repeated tremulously.
"Yes."
His gaze lingered on the pulse throbbing in the hollow of her throat for a moment before returning to her face. "You'd better go now."
Wordlessly, she continued to stare at him, her eyes filled with anguish and denial.
With preternatural speed, he crossed the floor until he was standing in front of her, his eyes blazing with an unholy light.
"Go home, Leanne," he said, his voice harsh and uneven as he fought to control the rapacious hunger burning through him. "You're not safe here."
"Jason..."
A low growl rose in his throat as he bared his fangs. "Go home," he said again, his voice filled with pain and barely suppressed fury.
With a strangled cry, she turned and ran out of the house.
And out of his life.
Chapter 9
Jason slouched in his favorite chair in front of the fireplace in the den, staring, unseeing, at the flames. In his mind's eye, he saw the horror in Leanne's eyes when she thought he might have bequeathed her the Dark Gift and turned her into a loathsome creature such as himself. The sound of her footsteps running out of the house, running away from what he was, echoed like a death knell in his ears.
He stared at his hands. He had not eaten for several days; his skin looked like old parchment. He knew his eyes glowed with hell's own fury, knew that soon he would either have to go to ground and lose himself in sleep, or satisfy the awful craving that was eating him up inside.
An unquenchable thirst for blood.
A deep and never-ending hunger for Leanne.
Had it been only two weeks since he held her in his arms, tasted her sweetness, heard the sound of her laughter? Only two weeks? It seemed a lifetime.
A lifetime, Jason mused with a bitter smile. He had walked the earth for three hundred years and never had the hours and the minutes passed so slowly.
During the long lonely hours of the night, as he prowled the alleys and dark streets of the city, he seemed to hear the wind taunting him with the sound of her name. Sometimes he paused outside a house, listening to the sounds of life inside: children crying, laughing. He watched people eating, talking, arguing, sleeping. And he thought of Leanne, always Leanne, of how wonderful it would be to be mortal again, to share her life, to sit across the breakfast table from her in the morning, to make love to her in the light of a new day, to father a child.
He haunted the shadows outside the Ahmanson, torturing himself with glimpses of her face. He read the lingering sadness in her eyes, and he was filled with bitter regret because he knew he was the cause of her sorrow. She didn't smile any more, and the world was the poorer because of it.
One night, driven by an uncontrollable need to hear her voice, he slipped through the crowd, past the ticket-takers, and made his way to the balcony. There were no empty seats, but it didn't matter. He stood against the wall, a par
t of the darkness, shielding his presence from the ushers.
Oblivious to everything else, he had eyes only for Leanne. Silent tears tracked his cheeks as he listened to her sing. Her voice, while still hauntingly beautiful, lacked the enthusiasm, the joie de vive, that had once set her apart from the others in the chorus.
Leaving the theater that night, he had told himself she would soon forget him. She was young, so young, and they had spent such a short time together. Soon, she would find someone else...
Now, staring into the fire's dying embers, he gripped the arms of the chair, his nails gouging deep furrows in the wood as he visualized her in the arms of another man.
Rising, he went into the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he picked up the pillow she had slept on. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, letting her scent engulf him. In his mind, he saw her as she had been the night they made love, her beautiful body lightly sheened with perspiration, her incredible green eyes glowing and alive. He felt again the touch of her hands as she undressed him, recalled the way her fingers had trembled as she caressed him, bold yet innocent. He relived every moment, every touch, embracing the pain of remembering, the shattering sense of loss now that she was gone.
Into his mind came the last soulful cry of the Phantom as he stood alone in his underground lair, bidding a final farewell to the only woman he would ever love.
The urge to kill, to destroy, welled within Jason, growing until he could think of nothing else. Overcome with rage, he stalked out of the bedroom, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. With a strangled cry, he grabbed the fireplace poker, holding it so tightly it bent in his grasp as though it were made of straw.
With an oath, he flung it against the wall, then stormed out of the house, the lust for blood, the need to hurt someone as he was hurting, driving him beyond all reason.
He found his prey in a dark alley. The vagrant struggled in vain, his red-rimmed eyes growing wide as he stared into the remorseless face of death. With a low growl, Jason lowered his head to the man's throat. He inhaled the malodorous stench of the drunk's unwashed body, felt the violent tremors that wracked the man as he realized he was about to die.
Masquerade Page 6
