Bryan Longstreet was waiting for her on the sidewalk in front of the bar. He was dressed in a green shirt, a pair of beige Dockers, and tan loafers.
"Am I late?" she asked.
"No." He smiled a little sheepishly as he took her arm. "I was early."
He was a handsome young man, tall and lean with a great tan. It didn't take more than a few minutes in his presence to realize he was just what the doctor ordered.
The Driftwood was a nice place. Catering mostly to tourists, it was decorated with seashells, pieces of the wood from which it derived its name, and colorful paper lanterns.
Sitting in a booth sharing a Mai Tai with Bryan, Tracy learned that he loved movies and that he was a big Star Wars fan, as was she. He liked Elvis and rock and roll, his favorite color was red, and he confessed that, if he had to, he could live on pizza and Coke forever. His father was a police officer in Washington, D.C, and his mother was an accountant. He had four brothers—all older and all cops—and an older sister who was in the Air Force. He had just turned twenty-one to her twenty-six.
"Does it bother you?" he asked. "My being younger?"
"I guess not. It's only five years." She grinned at him. "When I'm eighty and you're seventy-five, it will hardly matter."
There was a pause in their conversation while the waitress brought them another drink. Tracy glanced out the window. The street was crowded with men and women. She thought it odd that most of them wore black, then shrugged. Maybe they were into the Goth thing. She saw very few teenagers, practically no children. But, as she had told Bryan earlier, this was an artsy town, not a family community, so maybe it wasn't so strange after all.
As the evening wore on, Tracy found herself liking Bryan Longstreet more and more. He was easy to be with, easy to talk to. Not like Dominic, she thought. There was something about Dominic that bothered her, and it was more than the strong sexual attraction that sizzled between them. It was unsettling, the way he sometimes went still, his gaze resting on her face, his dark eyes hot. At such times, she felt like a very small mouse being stalked by a very large, very hungry cat.
But there was nothing about Bryan to arouse either fear or suspicion. He was as open and outgoing as a puppy. She couldn't remember when she'd had a more pleasant evening.
Later, they went to an outdoor cafe and ordered cheeseburgers and French fries and talked about their favorite movies.
He liked Bullitt and Airplane and Rambo. And Star Wars, of course.
She liked Ladyhawke and The Princess Bride and Gladiator. And Star Wars, of course.
"All right," he said, waving a French fry in the air. "Who's your favorite character?"
"Han Solo, of course," she replied, wiggling her eyebrows. "What a silly question."
"Figures," he muttered.
"Who's yours?"
"Obi-Wan."
"In which episode?"
"All of them," he said with a wide grin. He swung an imaginary light saber over his head. "You have much to learn, young Jedi."
"So tell me, oh wise one, how do we get rid of Jar Jar?"
"Any way we can!"
She laughed at that and so did he.
Later, they went window shopping, stopping to point out which things they would buy if they had a million dollars.
They were nearing the end of the block when Tracy felt a prickling down her spine. Someone was watching her! Casually, she glanced up and down both sides of the street, but saw no one. Still, the feeling persisted.
Bryan took her arm as they crossed the street.
The feeling of being watched grew stronger.
And then Dominic materialized out of the shadows. "Good evening," he murmured. He spoke to Tracy but his gaze was fixed on Bryan, and there was nothing friendly in it.
Tracy swallowed a sudden sense of guilt, though she had no idea why she should feel guilty. She wasn't doing anything wrong. "Hi."
She glanced from Dominic to Bryan and back again. The tension between the two men was thick enough to cut. "Dominic, this is Bryan Longstreet. Bryan, this is Dominic St. John."
Bryan stuck his hand out. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. St. John."
"Indeed." Dominic hesitated only briefly before taking the other man's hand.
"Bryan's a lifeguard," Tracy said. "I met him on the beach this afternoon."
"How fortunate." There was no mistaking the sarcasm in Dominic's voice, or the fact that he was making an effort to control his anger. "I went by your house earlier."
She didn't miss the accusation in his tone. "I didn't know you were coming."
He lifted one black brow, then bowed his head in a gesture of contrition. "Forgive me. I did not have time to contact you earlier."
She told herself there was no reason to feel guilty because she hadn't stayed home waiting for him. Just because he had come to see her every night for the past two weeks didn't mean she couldn't see anyone else, or that she had to sit around waiting for Dominic, wondering if he was going to show up.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "It was nice seeing you, Dominic. Good night."
He was not accustomed to being dismissed. It was obvious in the tightening of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes.
"Good night." He inclined his head in her direction, but his gaze never left Longstreet's.
Bryan cleared his throat, clearly disturbed by Dominic's scrutiny. Tracy couldn't blame him. The look in Dominic's eyes was cold enough to freeze boiling water.
"Good night. Sir." Taking Tracy by the hand, Bryan hurried her down the sidewalk. "Who is that guy?"
"Just an acquaintance."
"He's spooky as hell."
"What do you mean?"
"His eyes! I felt like he could see clear through me. How well do you know him?"
She shrugged. "Like I said, he's just an acquaintance." Acquaintance was hardly an adequate description, she thought, remembering the passionate kisses and intimate embraces she and Dominic had shared.
"Does he know that? He looked mighty jealous to me."
Was that it? Was Dominic jealous? She was surprised to find herself pleased by the idea. And now that she thought about it, she decided Bryan was right. Dominic had looked jealous. And angry.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw he was standing where they had left him. Even from this distance, she could feel his gaze burning into her.
Come to me.
She took one step toward him and then another and then stopped abruptly. What was she doing?
"Tracy, hey, Tracy, are you okay?"
She glanced over her shoulder. "Yes, why?"
"You looked kind of funny there for a minute."
"I'm fine. Let's go have a nightcap, shall we?"
A shiver of unease slithered down Tracy's spine as she climbed the porch steps. Why hadn't she left a light on? Why hadn't she ever noticed how ominous the house looked at night with the lights out and the moon shining down on it? The thought that it resembled one of Count Dracula's domains crossed her mind yet again. Maybe Dominic was really the infamous Count. Maybe he had decided to leave the mountains of Translyvania and take a vacation on the coast of California.
Shaking off her foolish thoughts, she unlocked the door and stepped into the entryway.
The words, dark as a tomb, leaped to the forefront of her mind.
"Enough!"
The word seemed to echo off the walls… enough… enough… enough.
She flipped on the light switch. Hurrying into the living room, she turned on all the lights, then went into the kitchen, turning lights on as she went.
She paused at the foot of the stairway, her heart pounding as she stared at the darkness at the top of the second floor landing.
Blowing out a deep breath, she turned and went back into the kitchen. A cup of peppermint tea was just what she needed to settle her nerves. She filled the pot with water and put it on the stove, then closed the curtains on the window over the sink.
Sitting down at the table, she crossed her arms over her ch
est and tried not to listen to the small, creaky sounds the house made. Instead, she thought about Bryan and what a good time she'd had with him. He had asked for her phone number, promising to call her in the next couple of days. She looked forward to going out with him again…
You will not, my best beloved one. You are mine.
My best beloved one. Why did those words sound so familiar, so welcome? Dominic had never said them to her, and yet it was his voice she heard in the back of her mind, so loud and clear that she turned around, expecting to see him standing there behind her.
But there was no one else in the room.
Or was there?
As strange as it seemed, she no longer felt as though she was alone in the house.
Rising, she opened a drawer and pulled out a butcher knife. "Is someone there?"
She practically jumped out of her skin when the shrill whistle of the teakettle sounded behind her.
Muttering an oath, she dropped the knife on the counter and turned off the stove, then sagged back against the countertop. When her breathing returned to normal, she put the knife back in the drawer, dropped a tea bag in a cup, and filled it with hot water.
"Geez, girl, get a grip," she muttered as she stirred a spoonful of honey into her cup. "There's nothing to be afraid of."
But she couldn't shake the feeling that there was someone else in the house. Someone else in the kitchen.
Standing with her back to the counter, she slowly perused the room. Was that something there, near the doorway? She turned her head slightly to the right and from the corner of her eye, she seemed to see something shimmery, something in the vague shape of a man.
Fear congealed in the pit of her stomach. Her mouth went dry. She reached for the knife again, even though she knew that it would be useless against anything that wasn't flesh and blood. And that strange, shimmering, silvery image was definitely not human.
A ghost, perhaps? That seemed the most obvious. This was an old house. It was entirely possible that someone had died here, that some restless spirit haunted the rooms. Previous occupants had sworn the place was haunted. Tracy didn't believe in ghosts or goblins, but there was definitely an unseen presence in the room. The certainty of it shivered over her.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice shaking so badly she hardly recognized it. "What are you?"
There was no answer, of course.
And then it—whatever it was—was gone.
Dominic materialized in his rooms below the house. She had been aware of his presence, had known he was in the kitchen, but how? If he had taken her blood, they would have shared a telepathic bond, but he had never taken her blood. Time after time, in every life, he had ignored his ever-growing need and respected her wishes in that regard.
He paced the floor, his long, restless strides carrying him swiftly from one end of the room to the other. So, how had she known he was there? Did she possess psychic powers in this life? Or was it because their souls had been forged together in so many lifetimes through the ages? Perhaps now, at last, they shared a bond that not even her death could break.
Tracy. Her scent still filled his nostrils—warm and sweetly feminine. His hands clenched at his sides as he caught the faint scent of the boy she had been out with earlier. It would be so easy to dispose of the competition. So easy and so tempting. He could break the interloper in half with one hand, crush the life from his frail mortal body with nothing more than a thought.
But he would not. Closing his eyes, Dominic took a deep, calming breath. He was a civilized vampire now. He no longer killed indiscriminately or merely for the sheer pleasure of draining the thoughts, the wishes, and the life's blood of a mere mortal. These days, he drank no more than he required. He left his victims alive, though he wiped his memory from their minds.
Oh, yes, he mused, he was a civilized vampire now. But now and then he missed the old days, when he had been a young vampire, new in the life, when he had gloried in his newfound strength and preternatural power, when every night had been a new adventure and every mortal a feast for his relentless thirst.
Ah, for those nights when he had hunted at Kitana's side. They had swept through the tiny villages and hamlets of the Old Country like an invisible plague, glutting themselves on the warm, rich crimson that fell on the tongue like the finest of wines, smooth and intoxicating.
They had hunted throughout the cities and towns of England and France, Italy and Spain, sweeping through docks and dark alleyways, charming their way into fancy balls and masquerades, always leaving death behind. Kitana. That she had looked at him twice had been a miracle to him. Her body was as supple and slender as a willow tree, her dusky skin smooth and unblemished, her hair a cloud of thick auburn silk, and her lips… ah, her lips were like wild, sweet honey. She had fascinated him from the moment they met, captivating him, enchanting him, until he was hopelessly caught in the web of her supernatural power, and happy to have it so. When she promised him a way to stay forever young, forever at her side, he had agreed without a second thought. The loss of the sun had seemed a small price to pay for eternity in her arms.
The transformation had been nothing like he expected. When he had seen her in her true form, her eyes red with hunger, her fangs like white ice, he had tried to run, but he was no match for her preternatural speed and she had caught him easily. She had held him in her arms, her eyes glowing like hellfire as she bent over his neck. He had struggled in her embrace, but she had held him effortlessly, his strength like that of a newborn babe compared to her supernatural power.
Surprisingly, there had been no pain as she sank her fangs into his throat, only warm, sensual pleasure. When she drew back, he had whimpered like a child taken from its mother's breast and begged her not to stop. Instead, she had opened a gash in her own wrist and pressed it to his lips.
You must drink now.
Mesmerized by her gaze, he had opened his mouth and swallowed the thick, red fluid, felt it burn a path down his throat, felt it spread through his body like liquid fire. He had grasped her wrist and sucked greedily, hissed at her when she tore her arm free.
He remembered little else of that night. She had carried him to her lair, let him spend the day in death-like sleep at her side.
When next he opened his eyes, the land lay shrouded in darkness and he was a full-fledged vampire.
Chapter 7
Tracy woke slowly, the memory of last night's dream still vivid in her mind. She had been a slave in a grand house in ancient Rome. Her master had been a senator, his wife a stern woman with no compassion for those beneath her. It had seemed so real, not like a dream at all. She had felt the cold tiles beneath her feet, smelled the scents of food and wine at the marketplace, felt the sting of the whip on her flesh. Her name had been Nysa back then.
She whispered the name aloud, shivering because it sounded so familiar on her tongue. She had dreamed of the days Nysa had spent avoiding the wrath of her mistress, the nights when she had used her wiles to avoid the advances of her master. In many ways, it had been a good life. Unlike the poor citizens of Rome, she'd had a roof over her head, enough food to eat, a soft bed to sleep in. Still, it was hard to be grateful when she had no life of her own, when her every moment was spent in servitude to a cruel mistress.
She had been in her early twenties when her master decided to breed her to one of the other house slaves.
Tracy shuddered with the memory. When she refused to cooperate, she had been beaten by her mistress. She had run away that night.
It had been a man who looked very much like Dominic who had found her cowering in the ruins of an old burned-out barn. Could it have been Dominic? His name had been the same. He had taken her to his home and given her shelter. Her new owner had kept strange hours, never rising until after sunset, always disappearing before the dawn. He made no demands on her save that she be in the house when he arrived. He provided her with the best food the city had to offer, though she never saw him eat. He clothed her in silks and fi
ne linen, treated her as the mistress of his house rather than a runaway slave. And when he took her in his arms, she offered no resistance.
Days became weeks, weeks became months, the months became a year. And in that year, she convinced herself that there was nothing odd about him, that he simply preferred to sleep during the day and pursue his life in the evening.
It was during that year that she fell madly, desperately, in love with him.
It was during that year that she discovered what he was…
Feeling a sudden chill, Tracy wrapped her arms around her middle. Was it possible that she was truly dreaming about past lives? Was reincarnation a reality even though she didn't believe in it? And if her dreams were truly recollections of the past surfacing from the depths of her subconscious memory, if they were indeed true, then it stood to reason that she had known Dominic before, and that he really was a…
Swallowing, she forced the word past her lips. "Vampire."
Oh, but that was impossible, almost as impossible as the notion that she had known him in countless lives before.
The ringing of the doorbell interrupted her reverie. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she grabbed her robe and hurried downstairs.
She opened the door and exclaimed, "Oh, my!" at the sight that met her eyes. Her front porch was covered with red roses. In vases. In baskets. In boxes. And amid the flowers were stuffed animals and balloons, all bearing notes that said the same thing. "My heart beats only to see you again."
She picked a rose from one of the vases and inhaled the heady fragrance. "Oh, Dominic," she murmured. "This must have cost you a fortune."
It took several trips to carry it all into the house. When she was finished, her living room, bedroom, and kitchen looked like a florist shop. There were cute little stuffed bears and bunnies and puppies on every chair and on her bed. Vases and drinking glasses and pitchers were filled with roses that were beautiful and smelled divine.
She found herself smiling all through the day, whether she was painting a new seascape, watering the grass, or fixing dinner… she frowned as she tossed the salad. She had never seen Dominic eat, never seen him drink anything other than an occasional glass of wine. She never saw him during the day…
A Whisper of Eternity Page 6
