He grinned faintly, thinking it was too bad for the NYPD that Daisy and her family had given up hunting.
Thoughts of Daisy brought Megan to mind, not that he needed help to think of her. Megan had been uppermost in his mind since that first night. He wondered what she was doing this evening, since Shore’s was closed on Sundays and Mondays.
Curious, he went into his bedroom to change clothes. Before he’d met Megan DeLacey, his wardrobe had been sparse—a few pairs of good slacks, a dozen shirts. But now…He shook his head. His closet held enough outfits to clothe three or four men for a year.
Until Megan, he had never given much thought to what he wore. Now, he found himself wondering what she would find most appealing.
Exasperated, he pulled on a pair of black slacks and a dark gray shirt, stepped into a pair of black boots, and made his way to the underground garage and his private parking place. Being the owner of the building definitely had its compensations, he thought, as he slid behind the wheel of the Jag and backed out of the garage.
Moments later, he pulled up in front of Megan’s house.
Lifting his head, he expanded his senses, swore softly when he realized the place was empty. After rolling down the window, he sniffed the air, sorting through the myriad scents that swirled through it for the one he sought.
It didn’t take long. With a wry grin, he put the Jag in gear and followed her scent across town to the multiplex.
He parked next to her car, then hurried inside, only to come to an abrupt halt when he entered the darkened theater. He hadn’t detected the scent of anyone else in her car, but what if she had come here to meet another man? Hands clenched, he searched for her. With his preternatural vision and enhanced sense of smell, it took only moments to locate her.
On silent feet, he slid into the empty seat beside her.
Megan didn’t have to see Costain’s face to know he was there. She didn’t even wonder why he had come, or how he had known where she was. Quite the contrary. It seemed perfectly natural that he should appear, seemingly out of thin air. One minute she had been thinking of him, and the next he was there beside her, as if her thoughts had summoned him.
“Did I miss much?” he whispered, leaning toward her.
“Only the first hour,” she whispered back, and suddenly the depression that had sent her to the movies was gone as if it had never been, and all because of a man she hardly knew. “How’s your arm?”
“What? Oh, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“Would you like some popcorn?”
He wrinkled his nose at the smell of butter and salt. “No, thanks.”
She wondered what he would say if she suggested they leave. The only reason she had come to the theater was because she hadn’t wanted to stay home alone. She hadn’t wanted to interact with anyone, either, so coming to the movies had seemed the ideal solution. She could sit in the dark, surrounded by people, without having to say a word. And hopefully forget about last night. But now Rhys was here, and everything had changed.
She was thinking about asking him if he wanted to leave when he beat her to the punch.
Leaning toward her, he whispered, “What do you say we get out of here?”
“Let’s.”
She dumped her popcorn in a trash can on the way out.
“Where would you like to go?” Rhys asked when they were out on the sidewalk.
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s go to my place.”
“I don’t think so.”
He grinned at her. His teeth were very white, even in the darkness. “I didn’t mean my house. I meant my club.”
“Oh. All right.”
He smiled inwardly as they walked to the parking lot. Although she didn’t know it, she wouldn’t be any safer in his club than in his lair.
“Nice car,” Megan murmured as he opened the passenger door for her.
“Yeah, it’s not bad.”
“Not bad?” The Jag was beautiful. Smoke gray in color, it seemed to glow in the moonlight. When she slid into the seat, the soft leather seemed to enfold her. “Oh! What about my car?”
“We can pick it up later.”
Megan was wondering if she had made a mistake as Rhys pulled onto the highway. In minutes, they had left the city behind. Hands clenched in her lap, she looked out the window, her tension growing as the miles slid by. She had expected his club to be located closer to home, not out on some deserted stretch of road. Her uneasiness increased when he pulled up in front of a place called LA MORTE ROUGE.
“The Red Death?” she murmured.
“I told you, it’s a Goth hangout.”
She nodded, not at all reassured by his explanation.
He turned to face her, his dark eyes glittering in the light of the dash. “Have you changed your mind?”
She swallowed hard. “I…”
“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll take you home if that’s what you want.”
She knew that would be the smart thing to do, but she didn’t seem to have much sense when it came to Rhys. Besides, she was suddenly curious to see the inside of the club. “Let’s have a drink first.”
Smiling, he switched off the engine.
As she watched him walk around the front of the car to open her door, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was Little Red Riding Hood and he was the Big Bad Wolf.
A tall man clad in a black suit, an impeccable white tie, and a long black cloak opened the door. Inclining his head, he murmured, “Good evening, Mr. Costain,” and bowed them through the doorway.
Megan took a deep breath before following Rhys inside. A narrow hallway illuminated by candlelight opened onto the club’s main floor. Megan glanced around, noting a long bar at the far end of the room. High-backed booths lined one wall. A grand piano stood on a raised platform in the far corner.
As was to be expected, the lighting in the club was subdued. Music filtered through the sound system; though it was low, it had a dark, sensual beat. Several couples sat at the small tables located at intervals around the room. Each table was covered with a black damask cloth; each held a blood-red rose in an ebony vase. Dark red paper covered the walls. She noticed several numbered doors, but hesitated to ask what lay behind them.
The women she passed as she followed Rhys were all beautiful, and they all wore provocative clothing, mostly black, which she supposed wasn’t all that unusual considering this was a Goth club. Megan thought it was odd that the women all wore broaches inscribed with their names, and that all the names were French—Monique, Angelique, Capucine. The men, too, wore mostly black. She noted they also sported tags with French names. Maybe they were all into role-playing, she thought, and the names were those of the characters they played.
“So, what do you think?” Rhys asked as he led her to a booth in the back corner that she suspected was reserved for his use only.
“It’s…I don’t know. I’ve never been in a Goth club before.”
She slid into the booth, and Rhys slid in beside her. The high, curved back provided them with a good deal of privacy.
A waitress arrived at their table almost before they were seated. “What can I get for you tonight, Mr. Costain?” she asked in a deep, throaty voice.
Rhys looked at Megan. “What’ll you have?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
Megan didn’t miss the subtle shake of Costain’s head as he ordered a glass of red wine for her and one for himself. She wondered what it meant. Was he telling the waitress to put something in her drink?
Megan tapped her fingernails on the tabletop. If she asked him to take her home, would he still be agreeable? Why had she wanted to come here? Across the way, a couple rose and went into room number six.
“Megan?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice.
“Are you all right?”
“I…Yes, of course.”
“You look a little pale.”
“Do I?” She lifted a hand to her f
orehead. Of course, she could plead a headache. Wasn’t that the excuse women always fell back on? “Now that you mention it, I am feeling a little under the weather all of a sudden.”
“Maybe the wine will make you feel better,” he suggested. “If it doesn’t, I’ll take you home.”
The waitress arrived with their drinks a short time later. Megan stared at the glass the woman placed before her. Was it drugged?
Rhys didn’t miss the worried look in Megan’s eyes. A quick brush of her mind with his explained everything. She had seen the look he’d given Lena and assumed it was some silent order to drug her drink. As if he would have to resort to drugs if he had anything nefarious in mind. His unspoken communication to Lena had merely been to alert her to the fact that he also wanted wine and not his usual. Now, how to assure Megan she had nothing to worry about without arousing her suspicion?
Before he could decide, Megan reached for her drink. And knocked it over.
“Oh, how clumsy of me!” Grabbing her napkin, Megan dabbed at the dark stain spreading over the tablecloth.
“Nothing to worry about,” Rhys said. “Here, have mine.”
He slid his glass across the table before she could object.
She looked up, her eyes narrowed.
Rhys smiled benignly, curious to see if she would pull the same stunt twice.
Megan hesitated a moment, and then, with a murmured, “Thank you,” she picked up his glass and took a sip. She wasn’t much of a wine connoisseur, but she thought she tasted a hint of cherries and cinnamon.
At his signal, the waitress arrived with a fresh tablecloth and another glass of Pinot Noir.
Rhys leaned back in his chair. She was as nervous as a kitten in a den of coyotes. Bringing her here probably hadn’t been the best idea he’d ever had. But it wasn’t just her surroundings. She was still upset over what had happened at the store last night, although she didn’t want to admit it, even to herself.
With his preternatural power, he reached out to her, willing her to relax.
Megan didn’t know if it was the wine or the heat in Costain’s eyes, but after a few sips, she suddenly felt lethargic.
“Maybe I should take you home so you can get some sleep,” Rhys said, and taking the glass from her hand, he led her outside to the car, buckled her seat belt, and drove her home.
A light burned in the window. Inside, Shirl had left a note saying she wouldn’t be home until morning.
“Are you going to be all right, here alone?” Rhys asked.
“Yes, of course,” Megan replied.
“Would you feel better if I stayed a while?”
She hesitated a moment before asking, “Would you mind?”
“No. Go on up to bed. I’ll stay until first light.” He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to be alone. After all, she’d had a hell of a scare last night.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep the bogeyman away.”
With a nod, Megan went upstairs and, after a moment’s indecision, locked her bedroom door. Better to err on the side of caution, she thought, and then shook her head, certain that, if he wanted in, no locked door would keep him out. She still couldn’t believe she had asked a man she scarcely knew to spend the night.
She brushed her teeth, combed out her hair, slipped into a pair of pj’s, and crawled into bed, asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Rhys made himself comfortable on the sofa. With his preternatural hearing, he could track Megan’s movements as she went from bathroom to bedroom. He heard the rustle of sheets as she slid under the covers. For a moment, he considered going upstairs, mesmerizing her with a look, sliding into bed beside her, taking her in his arms, and making love to her, but it was only wishful thinking. When he took Megan DeLacey to bed, he wanted it to be her idea. A short burst of preternatural energy brought the TV to life. He surfed through the channels—game shows, reality shows, world news. Muttering an oath, he switched it off. He sat there a moment, fingers drumming restlessly on the arm of the sofa.
Getting to his feet, he wandered around the room. It was totally feminine, from the pale yellow walls, flowered sofa, and colorful throw pillows, to the knickknacks on the mantel and the fancy curtains at the window. He stopped in front of a bookshelf and spent a few minutes perusing the titles. Her taste ran to mysteries and romances, neither of which appealed to him.
He was about to turn the TV on again when a muffled cry reached his ears. Megan!
A thought carried him up the stairs to her room. The door was locked, but he had yet to come across a lock that could keep him out when he wanted in.
A whisper of preternatural power opened the door, and he stepped into her room. A quick glance showed it was just as feminine as the living room. The walls were pink, the carpet a deep mauve. Flowered curtains hung at the single window. A matching quilt in colors of pink, mauve, and forest green lay folded over the foot of the bed. An antique dresser stood against the wall opposite the bed; a small desk occupied one corner, the seat cushion on the chair covered in the same material as the curtains.
On silent feet, he made his way to Megan’s bedside. She looked incredibly young and innocent lying there, her hair like a splash of reddish gold silk across the flowered pillowcase, the blankets pulled up to her chin. Of course, everyone seemed young and innocent when compared to him and the life he had led, he mused ruefully. No one could do the things he had done, see the carnage he had seen, and remain innocent.
Megan moaned softly. Caught in the throes of a bad dream, her body moved restlessly beneath the covers.
“Megan.” He whispered her name as he toed off his boots. After stretching out beside her, he drew her body against his, one arm holding her close while he lightly stroked her hair. “It’s all right, darlin’. I’m here. No one will hurt you,” he promised. Not even me.
Still asleep, she quieted at the sound of his voice, and then she snuggled against him, her body warm and soft and oh, so alive. And in that moment, as her scent enveloped him, he knew that, for better or worse, he wanted more from Megan DeLacey than her life’s blood.
He stayed at her side until a familiar tingling along his spine warned him of dawn’s approach.
Rising, he pulled on his boots, then rained featherlight kisses along the alluring curve of her slender throat. A thought took him to the theater parking lot where they had left her car the night before.
Taking time to drive her car home was cutting it close, he mused. He parked her car in the driveway, left her keys on the kitchen table, then slid behind the wheel of the Jag and put the pedal to the metal.
She was sweet, he thought, as he sped toward his penthouse. So sweet. And one day soon, she would be his in every way that mattered.
Chapter 5
It was near midnight when Rhys transported himself to his second lair. The house was little more than an empty shell. Except for three large, tan leather sofas and a couple of overstuffed chairs, there was no furniture in the room. No pictures on the walls. No lights save for a large wrought-iron candelabra. A medieval sword hung over the fireplace. The grip was made of wood covered in shagreen leather. It wasn’t merely for decoration. Rhys had used it on more than one occasion. He had, in fact, used it to take the head of the vampire who had recently betrayed him. Rhys used the house as a meeting place to conduct vampire business; on occasion, he took his rest in the walk-in pantry that had been converted to serve that purpose, but not often. There’d been a time when he’d kept a Mastiff to guard the house, but someone had poisoned the dog and he hadn’t gotten around to finding another one.
Tonight, he had called a meeting of the West Coast Vampire Council to see if any of the members had information on the killings in the East. A rogue vampire was bad news for all of them. He didn’t summon the Council to LA unless there was trouble of one sort or another brewing. And the killings in the East smelled like trouble. Big trouble.
While waiting for the Council to arrive, he let himself th
ink of the night past. He had held Megan in his arms until just before dawn. It was a testament to his self-control that all he did was hold her when his body had urged him to take her while she slept, while his hunger had urged him to feed. Monster he might be, but to take advantage of Megan while she slept was unthinkable. Tempting as she was, he wouldn’t defile her in such a despicable way.
He tucked thoughts of Megan safely away as the members of the Council arrived.
Five members of the Council had been destroyed not long ago. Damon had been killed by Erik Delacourt. Saul had been destroyed by Daisy. Tina and Craig had been terminated by Daisy’s brother, Alex. Rhys had destroyed Mariah for her betrayal. News of her destruction, which had been slow and painful, had spread quickly through the vampire community, a warning to others who thought to betray him.
Rhys surveyed the remaining members of the original Council. The handsome vampire with dark, slicked-back hair and a thin mustache was Rupert Moss. He reminded Rhys of a young Valentino. Rupert kept his lair in Idaho.
The tall, angular vampire with wispy gray hair and pale blue eyes was Nicholas. He had been turned when he was in his late seventies, something Rhys had always found a little creepy. He could understand why humans didn’t want to die, but to be immortal at seventy? What was the point? Nicholas spent most of his time in Arizona.
Julius Romano was a California boy who had started dealing drugs in high school. Of medium height, with brown eyes and short brown hair, he had been turned when he was twenty-three. A red-and-black snake tattoo ran the length of his left arm.
Rhys had appointed four new members of the Council shortly after he’d destroyed Mariah.
Adrianna made her home in New Mexico. She was fire and ice, that one, with her flaming red hair and cold blue eyes. She had a penchant for diamonds and furs and was rarely seen without one or the other. She had been a vampire for one hundred and fifty years, and she reveled in it. Rhys didn’t like her and he didn’t trust her, which was why he had brought her into the Council where he could keep an eye on her. If there was one thing about women he was certain of—it was that the female was always deadlier and more cunning than the male. Mariah had been proof of that.
Everlasting Desire Page 4
