Everlasting Desire

by Amanda Ashley

  As blood sprayed over her face and robe, Megan cowered against the bed, praying that Rhys would be the victor even as she wondered how much more punishment he could take.

  She let out a cry as Shirl struck Rhys from behind, opening a gash in the back of his head and knocking him off balance. Springing forward, Villagrande seized Rhys by the nape and slammed him to the floor, facedown; then, straddling his back, Villagrande grasped a handful of Rhys’s hair, jerked his head backward and buried his fangs in the side of Rhys’s neck.

  Megan glanced at Shirl, but one look at Shirl’s face, contorted with bloodlust, banished all thought of asking for help. Her former friend’s eyes burned with excitement as the scent of Rhys’s blood filled the air.

  Megan swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Rhys had told her that vampires rarely fed on other vampires, but Villagrande drank for what seemed like forever, then rose gracefully to his feet.

  Moving toward a small desk, Villagrande picked up a long wooden letter opener and tossed it to Shirl. “Finish him and throw him overboard.”

  Shifting his focus to Megan, Villagrande lifted a hand to his face, his fingers gingerly probing his scorched flesh. He glared at her for a long moment; then, muttering, “This isn’t over,” he stalked out of the cabin.

  Shirl stared after Tomás and then, to Megan’s astonishment, Shirl laid the stake aside and sank her fangs into Rhys’s throat.

  Megan stared at Rhys. She had to do something, but what? Clinging to the faint hope that the blood bond she shared with Rhys would somehow give her the strength she needed, she struggled against the rope that bound her wrists.

  She didn’t know whether it was the adrenaline coursing through her body, the power of her connection to Rhys, or if the ropes hadn’t been as tight as she’d thought, but one last desperate tug, and her hands slipped free.

  Moving as silently as she could, she tiptoed toward Shirl. Sending a quick prayer winging toward heaven, Megan grabbed the letter opener and plunged it into Shirl’s back, aiming for her treacherous heart.

  The wood slid through skin and flesh and muscle as easily as a needle through cloth.

  Shirl toppled onto the cabin floor without a sound.

  Megan didn’t waste time wondering if Shirl was dead. Surprisingly, she didn’t care one way or the other.

  Kneeling beside Rhys, she shook his shoulder, gently at first, and then more vigorously. “Rhys! Dammit, Rhys, I need you to get us out of here. Now!” When he didn’t speak, didn’t even twitch, she shook him again, harder. “Rhys! Don’t you dare be dead!”

  “I’m already dead,” he muttered.

  Relief washed through her when he rolled onto his back, but only for a moment. He was badly hurt. His face was swollen and discolored; blood seeped from the gash in the back of his head, staining the floor beneath him.

  “Rhys, we need to go, now.” Knowing that Villagrande could return at any moment, she glanced warily at the door.

  “I need…blood.”

  She blinked at him, then sighed in resignation. She was the only game in town. Rolling up her sleeve, she offered him her wrist.

  His gaze met hers for stretched seconds, and in his eyes she saw regret for what he was asking of her, and gratitude for her willingness to give it to him.

  She turned her head away as he drew her arm to his mouth. He drank greedily, the pull of his mouth on her skin both repellant and oddly sensual. He had tasted her before, but this was different. This wasn’t an act of love but survival.

  A growl rose in his throat and then, abruptly, he pushed her away.

  Megan watched the red fade from his eyes, the bruises vanish from his face. Moments later, he was standing over her, as silent and still as a statue. The hair raised on her arms as he drew on his preternatural power.

  “Hang on,” he said, and lifted her into his arms.

  Weak from the loss of blood, she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, her stomach roiling as the world spun out of focus. There was a dizzying sensation of movement, as if she were on an out-of-control roller coaster, a rush of wind in her ears, an overwhelming sense of disorientation, and then nothing.

  When her stomach and the world stopped spinning, she opened her eyes. And frowned. “Where are we?”

  “Boston.”

  “Boston!” She sagged against him. “What are we doing here?”

  Rhys jerked his chin toward the house behind them. “This is Erik’s place.”

  The house was small and square, with a red brick chimney, bright yellow shutters, a white picket fence, a security screen door, and white bars over the windows, upstairs and down.

  The front door opened before Rhys knocked, and Erik peered out at them, a comical look of surprise on his face. “What the hell! What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for a place to spend the day,” Rhys muttered. “Can you put us up?”

  Rhys could almost see the wheels turning in the other vampire’s head as Erik glanced from Rhys to Megan and back again. Megan looked weak and pale, and he knew Delacourt was wondering if Rhys had started to bring Megan across and then changed his mind.

  “Sure, come on in.” Erik stepped aside, then closed and locked the door before following Rhys and Megan into the living room. “Sit down and tell us what happened. Daisy, why don’t you get Megan a glass of wine?”

  With a nod, Daisy disappeared into the kitchen.

  Rhys eased Megan down on the sofa, then slipped his arm around her shoulders. Her head fell back, and her eyelids fluttered down. It worried him that she looked so pale. Had he taken too much?

  Erik lifted one brow. “So?”

  “Villagrande kidnapped Megan. I almost got there too late. I owe you a big one. If it wasn’t for that spell you worked on Megan, I think he would have killed her.”

  “She looks half-dead now.”

  “I needed blood. Villagrande beat the crap out of me.”

  “Ah.”

  Rhys ran his knuckles lightly over Megan’s cheek. “I was going to let the bastard have the city,” he said quietly, “but I never got a chance to tell him so.”

  Daisy glanced at the glass in her hand, then looked at Rhys. “Should we wake her up?”

  Rhys shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “I think you should let her rest,” Erik remarked. “She looks exhausted.”

  Megan stirred in Rhys’s embrace. “I’m thirsty.”

  Rhys took the glass from Daisy and held it to Megan’s lips. “Here you go, love.”

  Megan looked up at him, a half smile on her face as she murmured, “Wine is supposed to be good for the blood.”

  Rhys shook his head, amazed that she could find humor in the situation, then muttered, “Just drink it.”

  Megan drained the glass, then curled up against his side and closed her eyes.

  “I think she’ll be all right once she’s had some sleep.” Daisy took the glass from Rhys and set it on a side table.

  Rhys nodded.

  “I’ll make up the bed in the guest room,” Daisy said. “She’ll be comfortable there. You’re welcome to share our lair in the basement.”

  “No, I’m staying with her.”

  “Do you think that’s wise, all things considered?” Erik asked.

  “Probably not, but I’m not leaving her alone again. If Villagrande finds us, he’ll have to go through me to get to her.”

  “Looks like he already did that once,” Erik remarked with a wry grin. “Are you planning to give him a second chance?”

  Rhys glared at Delacourt.

  Daisy placed her hand on her husband’s arm. “I’m not sure you’re helping.” She looked at Rhys. “You don’t think Villagrande will come here, do you?”

  “I hope not.”

  “Well, if he does, it’ll be three against one. Four, when Alex gets home.”

  “Is he still spending my money?” Rhys had paid Alex O’Donnell two hundred thousand dollars for his help in locating Mariah. He had learned later tha
t Alex had split the money with Daisy.

  “Just as fast as he can,” Daisy said with a grin. “Or he was. He’ll he home from his honeymoon tomorrow night.”

  “He got married?”

  “Last month. They’ve been touring Spain but they’ll be home soon. I’ll have Megan’s bed made up in two shakes.”

  A short time later, Rhys carried Megan up the stairs. He waved Daisy away when she offered to help get Megan into bed. “Thanks, but I can do it.”

  Megan muttered something incoherent as Rhys eased her out of her bathrobe, noticing for the first time that it was stained with blood. Not all of it was his. He could smell Villagrande on her. “What’d you say?”

  “I need a shower. I feel dirty.”

  He nodded. If she hadn’t suggested it, he would have. The sooner they washed Villagrande’s stink off of her, the better. “Wait here, I’ll turn the water on.”

  Grunting softly, he went into the bathroom and turned on the taps. Standing there, waiting for the water to get hot, he tried to understand how she must feel, but couldn’t. He had killed when necessary and never lost any sleep over it. He knew he had a reputation for being a hard-ass, and sometimes he was, although since Megan had entered his life, he seemed to have lost a little of his edge.

  “Nothing like the love of a good woman,” he muttered as he tested the water.

  When it was warm enough, he walked Megan to the shower, closed the door after her, then turned his back, giving her some privacy. He probably should have left the room, but he wasn’t leaving her alone as long as Villagrande was a threat.

  It took him a minute to realize she was standing under the spray, crying. Well, who could blame her? She’d been through hell tonight.

  Undressing, he opened the shower door, stepped inside, and gathered her into his arms. He held her until the water started to cool, then took the soap and scrubbed her from head to foot. When he was done, he turned off the water, then wrapped her in a towel and carried her into the bedroom.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  “Nothing for you to be sorry for.” He cursed his body’s instant reaction to hers as he dried her off. It was all he could do to keep from seducing her. Like the lust for blood, battle often aroused his baser instincts. Reining in his desire, he slipped the nightgown Daisy had provided over Megan’s head, then tucked her into bed.

  “You could have been killed,” she murmured.

  “Get some sleep, darlin’.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “You need the rest.”

  “You won’t leave me?”

  “No.” He wiped a lock of damp hair from her brow. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  She looked doubtful, but obediently closed her eyes.

  In minutes, the slow, steady beat of her heart told him she was asleep.

  He switched off the bedside light, then sat beside her, staring into the darkness. Dawn was only a few hours away.

  He was leaning against the headboard, his eyes closed, when Megan bolted upright. “Rhys! Rhys!”

  “I’m here.”

  She stared at him, her eyes wild, then slumped back on the pillow. “I was having a nightmare.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Shirl’s really dead, isn’t she?”

  Rhys nodded. Guilt was an emotion he rarely suffered, but it flayed him now. Because of him, Megan had killed her best friend. “I’m sorry.” He blew out a breath. “Are you all right?”

  “I will be. I couldn’t let her destroy you, and…” Her fingers worried the edge of the blanket. “It wasn’t really Shirl that I…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word killed out loud. “Villagrande twisted her thinking somehow. Or maybe it was just what you said before, that being a vampire brings out the best or the worst in people. I guess in her case it brought out the worst. And being with Villagrande didn’t help.”

  “You should hate me.”

  Her eyes widened. “Why? It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I’m the one who asked you to turn her. Or maybe it was Shirl’s fault. She begged me to ask you. None of us knew it would end like this.”

  “I put too much faith in Erik’s magick,” Rhys muttered. “I never should have left you alone.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. Erik’s magick worked just fine.”

  “Then how…?” Rhys looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “Tell me you didn’t invite Villagrande inside.”

  “Of course not!” Megan said, scowling at him. “Shirl tricked me. She came to the house, all bloody and pale, and told me Villagrande had beat her up—”

  “And she invited him in,” Rhys finished for her. He brushed a lock of hair from her brow. “It’s over now.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he drew the covers over Megan, then kissed her cheek. She was too good for him by half, her heart too pure, too forgiving.

  “Stay with me and keep the nightmares away?” she asked sleepily.

  Nodding, he took her hand in his, his heart aching with tenderness. Foolish girl, didn’t she know he was the biggest nightmare in her life?

  He sat beside her, watching as sleep claimed her again. He had come close to losing her tonight. Too damn close.

  In spite of the fact that she was human and he wasn’t, he had hoped they could have a life together. He should have known better. Relationships between vampires and mortals never ended well. Every minute he spent with Megan put her life in danger. Even if he managed to destroy Villagrande, which seemed doubtful, he had other enemies who wouldn’t hesitate to use her to get to him.

  If he had never turned Shirl, Megan’s life might not be in danger now. But Megan had found the courage to destroy Shirl and save his life, and Villagrande wasn’t one to forgive and forget.

  Adrianna was proof of that.

  He dragged a hand through his hair. He didn’t know how he would be able to leave her when this was over, didn’t know if he wanted to go on existing without her. But he couldn’t go on putting her future at risk. She deserved to live a long and happy life surrounded by people who loved her. Getting out of her life was the best thing he could do for her.

  But first, he had to destroy Villagrande. It was the only way to protect Megan.

  And when it was done, he would tell her good-bye.

  Chapter 41

  Megan woke slowly, certain that something was wrong. And then, between one breath and the next, memory came flooding back. She had killed her best friend last night. She remembered it all now, the horrible encounter with Villagrande on the boat, then traveling, vampire-style, to the Delacourt house in Boston.

  But all of that was swallowed up in a wave of guilt and grief. Shirl was dead. The words repeated in her mind over and over again. Shirl was dead. It hadn’t been a nightmare. She had plunged a wooden stake into her friend’s back and pierced her heart.

  Megan bit down on her lower lip as hot tears stung her eyes and cascaded down her cheeks. Conscious of Rhys sleeping beside her, she tried to muffle her sobs, but it was no use. Memories of the fun she and Shirl had once had swam to the surface of her mind. She remembered all the good times they’d had visiting their favorite day spa, going to the movies and shopping, the shared confidences, the foolish hopes and dreams they had confessed to each other late at night in front of the fire, Shirl’s excitement when she was accepted by the top modeling agency in the city.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Oh, Shirl, I’m so sorry.” She glanced at Rhys. If she had never met him, Shirl might still be alive. Yet, even as the thought crossed Megan’s mind, she knew it wasn’t true. As cliche as it sounded, Shirl had had a date with death. Becoming a vampire had just postponed it a few weeks. Maybe you couldn’t cheat death. Maybe, when it was your time to go, the Grim Reaper would find you one way or another….

  Megan shook the morbid thoughts from her mind, then used a corner of the sheet to wipe away her tears. What was done was done, and there was no going back. Shirl had changed once she became a vampire, and not f
or the better. Megan had been forced to make a choice last night. She hadn’t had time to think it over or to weigh the consequences. Her best friend had been about to kill Rhys, and Megan’s heart had made the decision.

  Trying to ignore the guilt that still gnawed at her, Megan slid out of bed, turned on the bedside lamp, and glanced at her surroundings. The curtains, a pale sage green, matched the walls. The ceiling was white, the floor was polished hardwood. The furniture looked like antique mahogany. The bathrobe and gown she had worn the night before were nowhere to be seen.

  Feeling the need to relieve herself, she went into the bathroom and closed the door. Clean towels had been laid out, as well as two bathrobes, a pink one for her, a black one for Rhys. A pair of toothbrushes, still in the packages, and a new tube of toothpaste sat on top of the towels. Megan couldn’t help grinning. It had never occurred to her that vampires brushed their fangs.

  After brushing her teeth, she wrapped up in the fluffy pink bathrobe and tiptoed down the hall toward the stairs.

  She passed two doors, both closed. Were Erik and Daisy sleeping in twin coffins behind one of them?

  Belting the robe tighter, Megan made her way down the stairs. She wandered through the house—living room, family room, dining room, bathroom, laundry room. Daisy’s taste ran to bright colors. There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to indicate that a pair of vampires lived in the house and yet, even though Megan was sure it was only her imagination, the rooms seemed eerily silent.

  “Like a tomb,” she muttered. Which she supposed it was, since there were three of the Undead resting here.

  She paused in the kitchen doorway, wondering what the odds were of finding anything to eat in the refrigerator. Moving across the floor, she reached for the handle, then hesitated, hoping it wasn’t filled with bottles of blood. After taking a breath, she opened the door, and breathed a sigh of relief. Inside, she found bacon, a dozen eggs, a carton of butter, a package of Swiss cheese, another of ham, and a quart of milk. She found small jars of mayonnaise, ketchup, and mustard on the counter, along with a loaf of bread, a small frying pan, and a spatula.