Midnight Embrace

by Amanda Ashley

"Do you think we've been kidnapped?" Analisa asked. Since they hadn't been robbed, that seemed to be the most logical explanation. She knew Alesandro would pay whatever was asked to get them back.

  Mrs. Thornfield squeezed her hand. "I hope so."

  "But you don't think so?"

  "I think—"

  The words died in the housekeeper's throat as the door opened. A tall figure stood in the doorway.

  "What do you think, Elisabeth?" he asked.

  "How do you know my name?"

  He shrugged, but made no reply.

  Mrs. Thornfield squared her shoulders. "I think you had better let us go before it's too late."

  His laughter filled the room. It was a dark, ugly sound, like dry bones rattling in a grave.

  "Rodrigo." Analisa whispered his name.

  He bowed from the waist. "You remember me. I am flattered. I, of course, remember you." He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

  "What are you going to do with us?" Analisa demanded, and immediately wished she hadn't.

  Rodrigo looked at her and through her, and she knew in that moment that she was as good as dead, and Mrs. Thornfield as well. They were simply pawns in an endless game of revenge.

  "Alesandro—"

  "He will not save you," Rodrigo said. "This is my home, and he cannot enter uninvited. Surely you know that?" His smile could only be described as fiendish. "He can prowl the outside, he can pound on the walls. He can listen while you scream. But he cannot come inside."

  Rodrigo lifted his hand toward Analisa's cheek. She recoiled, only to find she could not move. Helpless, she could only stare at him in horror, a horror made worse by the fact that she could see her revulsion in the mirror, but no sign of the vampire. His hand caressed her cheek. She felt the coolness against her skin, and then he leaned forward, letting her feel his fangs against her throat.

  "Do not worry," he said, his breath like hellfire against her skin, "I will not take you now. Not until he is here."

  "Please, don't—"

  "It is not personal, you understand?"

  She grimaced with repugnance when his tongue slid over her neck.

  "But I am fortunate," he went on, glancing at Mrs. Thornfield, "to have the company of the two women he cares for most." His eyes narrowed. "I think I shall dine on the elder first, and save the younger for dessert."

  Releasing Analisa from his hold, he glided toward the other woman, his fangs gleaming in the light of the fire, his eyes as red as the coals in the hearth.

  Mrs. Thornfield screamed and ran toward the door, her nails clawing at the wood, her cry rising in horror as Rodrigo's hand curled over her shoulder, his fingers sinking like talons into her flesh.

  Analisa hurled herself at the vampire's back, her own safety forgotten. She cried out in fear and pain as the vampire reached behind him, took hold of her neck, and threw her across the room. Her head slammed into the wall, and everything went black.

  Alesandro stalked the dark shadows of the night, his cloak billowing behind him like the shadow of death. Where was she?

  His mind searched for her, called to her, but silence was his only answer. In desperation, he sought a link with Elisabeth. As soon as he established the link, her terror slammed into him.

  Rodrigo! Alesandro swore under his breath. He should have known! By damn, he should have known!

  Elisabeth's fear shone in his mind, bright as the sun at noonday. It was a simple thing to follow it, to follow the sound of her screams as Rodrigo savaged her throat. But he had no sense of Analisa. Was he already too late?

  Analisa woke to the sound of a groan, only to realize it was coming from her own throat. Afraid of what she might see, she opened her eyes. Closed them. And opened them again.

  She was in a dungeon, her arms chained over her head.

  A wrought-iron wall sconce held a single candle. The walls and floor of her prison were cold gray stone. The air was musty. In the flickering flame, she could see that she wasn't alone. Mrs. Thornfield was chained on the opposite wall, held upright only by the manacles on her wrists. Her head lolled forward. Her hair had come loose; it fell forward, hiding her face. As far as Analisa could tell, the housekeeper wasn't breathing. There was dried blood on her neck, on the shoulder of her dress.

  "Mrs. Thornfield? Mrs. Thornfield! Elisabeth!"

  No answer.

  Analisa bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from screaming. This couldn't be happening. It had to be a nightmare. Soon she would wake and find herself curled up on the sofa in front of a fire in Alesandro's study, or safe in her own bed, anywhere but here.

  She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, only then realizing that her ankles were shackled as well. Her arms ached. Her shoulders ached. Her neck… oh, Lord, he hadn't bitten her, had he?

  She stared at Mrs. Thornfield, felt panic rise up inside her. The woman was dead, she knew it; she was chained in a medieval dungeon with a dead woman. Did Rodrigo intend to leave her here to die?

  Alesandro! Her mind shrieked his name as horrible morbid images filled her mind. Images of herself going slowly insane as Mrs. Thornfield's body began to decompose. Images of herself slowly starving to death while rats gnawed her feet…

  The fear inside her was a living, breathing thing, feeding on itself.

  She tugged against the chains that bound her wrists until her skin was raw and red, until blood trickled down her arms.

  "Alesandro!" She cried his name aloud, tears running down her cheeks. "Come to me. Please come to me!"

  Soft mocking laughter filled the air, and then Rodrigo materialized before her, his eyes a hellish red, his fangs gleaming in the light of the candle.

  He laughed again, her terror exciting him, arousing his hunger, and his lust.

  She pressed against the wall, but there was nowhere to go, no way to escape from the monster who stood before her, watching her as avidly as a cat at a mouse hole.

  "Call him again," Rodrigo urged. "Let him hear your fear, the way your heart pounds in terror." He threw back his head and closed his eyes, his expression bordering on rapture. "Soon my vengeance will be complete," he murmured. "Soon my Serafina will be avenged, and I will… Listen! He is here."

  Alesandro circled the house, his frustration growing with each passing moment. Analisa was inside, and he could not go to her. He tried to open the door, both physically and mentally, but entrance was denied him. He tried to speak to Analisa's mind, but she was blocking him. When had she learned to do such a thing? he wondered, and then realized it was not Analisa's doing, but Rodrigo's.

  In his mind's eye he could see the other vampire bent over Analisa, his fangs lightly raking her throat. It was Rodrigo keeping him out. He could hear the other vampire's mocking laughter in his mind, hear his voice as clearly as if he spoke aloud.

  I have won! At last my Serafina will be avenged. And you, my old friend, will know the pain I have suffered these four hundred years!

  "No!" Alesandro prowled the perimeter of the house. Such an odd house, with no windows and only one door. He cursed savagely. Had there been a thousand doors, each one open, he could not have entered the house unless bidden.

  He came to an abrupt halt, his mind seeking Elisabeth's. She was lethargic, on the very brink of death.

  Elisabeth! Elisabeth, listen to me. You must invite me into the house. Now! Before it is too late.

  Alesandro?

  Yes. Hurry.

  But it's not my house.

  It doesn't matter. You are, in a manner of speaking, a guest in the house. Hurry!

  Alesandro… you are… welcome here.

  He was at the back of the house now. There was no door here, but that was no longer necessary. He moved through the wall with ease and found himself in the dining room. There were no lights burning in the house, but he needed none. He moved through the house as if he had been there before, following Analisa's scent.

  A tall, narrow door led to a flight of circular stairs. He followed
them down, paused at the bottom, somewhat surprised to find himself in a dungeon. There were empty cells on one side, ancient instruments of torture on the other. A rack, an Iron Maiden, a wooden table stained with the blood of eons past. In passing, he saw that it held an array of knives, a garrote, several pairs of shackles.

  The flickering of a candle lit the far end of the room. He moved toward it on silent feet, surprised that Rodrigo had not detected his presence.

  And then he saw the other vampire. He was bent over Elisabeth's throat, lost in the rapture of feeding. Analisa was watching him, her face as white as parchment, her eyes wide with horror. He felt a surge of anger when he saw that her hands were chained above her head. She had tried to free her arms. There was dried blood on her wrists where the rough metal had cut into her flesh.

  Elisabeth! He spoke to her mind, but there was no response, only the barest flicker of life.

  With a wild cry, he hurled himself at Rodrigo's back, his hands curling around the vampire's throat, his fangs driving toward his neck.

  He heard Analisa's scream, but he shut it out of his mind. If he lived, she would live. But, for this moment, there was nothing in all the world but the vampire struggling in his grasp.

  Analisa's hands clenched into tight fists as she watched the near-silent battle. Of similar height and weight, the vampires seemed well matched as they lunged at each other, broke away, and lunged again, their hands formed into deadly claws, their lips drawn back to reveal bloodstained fangs.

  She spared a quick glance at Mrs. Thornfield. The housekeeper's head lolled forward, and Analisa feared she was really dead this time.

  Rodrigo screamed what was surely an oath at Alesandro, and her gaze darted back to the two vampires. They were horrible to see, but there was a kind of graceful beauty to their deadly ballet. Faces pale, eyes burning with the hatred of four hundred years, they circled each other. They seemed to float above the floor, cloaks billowing like dark wings behind them.

  She gasped as Rodrigo's fangs sank into Alesandro's shoulder, tearing away cloth and flesh. Blood spouted from the wound, spraying over the other vampire's face.

  With a wild cry, Alesandro wrenched free and hurled himself at Rodrigo. He drove him back, out of the cell, down the damp corridor.

  Analisa leaned forward as far as the chains would allow, but she quickly lost sight of them. Heart pounding, she listened for some sound that would let her know how the battle was going, but for several minutes there was little to be heard other than an eerie silence punctuated by a curse or an occasional grunt of pain.

  Sweat trickled down her spine, dripped from her brow. Every muscle grew tense with worry and fear for what would happen if Alesandro lost the fight.

  Alesandro, Alesandro, I love you.

  She repeated the words over and over again, hoping that somehow he would feel her love and gain strength from it.

  A shrill scream filled with rage and excruciating anguish rose in the air, reverberating off the high ceiling, the walls, the floor, ringing like a death knell in Analisa's ears.

  And then there was only a silence as deep as eternity.

  She stared at the entrance to the cell, waiting, wondering if it would be life or death that walked through the doorway.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Ears straining, heart pounding, Analisa stared at the door. She heard nothing, but suddenly a tall form appeared in the doorway. His eyes were aglow with hatred and the heat of battle, his mouth stained with crimson. His white shirt was splattered with dark red blood.

  She felt her breath catch in her throat, then escape in a long sigh of relief. It was Alesandro.

  She whispered his name as he drew near.

  At a word, the shackles on her hands and feet fell away. Moving toward Mrs. Thornfield, he released her as well. Catching her in his arms, he laid her gently on the cold stone floor, then turned toward Analisa once again.

  " 'Lisa?" His fingertips moved over her neck, lingering where Rodrigo's fangs had penetrated the skin.

  "I'm all right." Her gaze moved over him. He was pale. There were deep scratches on his face. Blood flowed from the wound in his shoulder, dripped from a dozen other gashes on his arms, his neck, his chest. "You are not."

  He drew her into his arms. "Do not worry for me."

  "Is Mrs. Thornfield dead?"

  "Soon."

  "You've got to save her, Alesandro. We can't just let her die."

  "She has very little blood left for me to take, and I fear I do not have enough to give her."

  "We have to do something! Can't you take my blood and then give it to her?"

  "You would be willing to do that?"

  Analisa glanced at Mrs. Thornfield, remembering the woman's kindness. "Yes, of course. Hurry!"

  He considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "It is not safe for you."

  "Why not?"

  "Fighting with Rodrigo has left me weak. I need blood."

  She could see that for herself. His skin was pale, his eyes burned with hellish need. He was afraid for her, she thought, afraid he would not be able to stop, afraid he would take too much.

  Analisa glanced down at Mrs. Thornfield. She couldn't stand by and let her die. The housekeeper had been kind to her. She had taught her to read and write. And she loved Alesandro as much as Analisa did.

  "Do it, Alesandro."

  "You are sure?"

  She nodded, hoping she would not regret her decision. Alesandro needed blood to heal, to replace what he had lost in the fight, what he was losing even now from the wounds Rodrigo had inflicted. She knew he usually healed rapidly, sometimes immediately. Why did the bite of a vampire take longer to heal?

  She closed her eyes when she felt Alesandro's fangs at her throat. What if he couldn't stop in time?

  Her apprehension quickly faded, replaced by the sensual pleasure of his touch. She could feel the change in her heartbeat as it slowed to beat in time with his. His breath was warm on her skin, his hands masterful yet gentle as they clasped her shoulders, holding her close. She felt the pain of his wounds. They burned like fire, as if someone had poured acid on his skin. But the pain was receding, growing less with each passing moment. The thought pleased her.

  She moaned softly when he lifted his head.

  "Analisa?"

  Her eyelids fluttered open and she stared up at him, her gaze unfocused.

  "Lie still," he said.

  She nodded, surprised to find herself lying on the floor beside Mrs. Thornfield. She watched through half-closed eyes as he lifted the housekeeper into his arms. She saw his face, his gaze intent as he bent over the other woman. Mrs. Thornfield cried out, whether in fear or pain or protest Analisa could not say, as Alesandro's fangs pierced her skin.

  For the first time, Analisa wondered if they were doing the right thing. Would Mrs. Thornfield be pleased by their decision, or appalled? Analisa blinked, trying to clear her mind. How would she feel if someone made such a decision for her? Would she choose to live as a vampire if the alternative was death? Could she drink blood to survive? The thought filled her with revulsion. As much as she loved Alesandro, she had no desire to become what he was.

  Analisa lifted up on one elbow. "Alesandro, wait…"

  But it was too late.

  And then a new fear insinuated itself into her consciousness. Smoke! She smelled smoke.

  Rolling onto her hands and knees, she crawled toward Alesandro and grabbed his arm.

  He turned on her, his eyes blazing, his face the face of a stranger. Seeing her, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, it was Alesandro looking back at her. "What is it?"

  She clutched his arm. "I think the house is on fire."

  He lifted his head, nostrils sniffing the air, and then he swore a vile oath. "We've got to get out of here. Can you walk?"

  She nodded, her heart pounding. Would this horrible nightmare never end?

  Rising, he lifted Mrs. Thornfield and draped her ove
r his shoulder, then helped Analisa to her feet. "We must go. Now."

  She followed him, none too steadily, out of the cell, down the dark corridor, and up the stairs. Smoke filled her nostrils and stung her eyes.

  Alesandro put his hand on the latch, only to find the door locked from the other side.

  Cursing Rodrigo, he slammed his fist against the wood, and the door shattered.

  Analisa followed him through the opening. The smoke was thicker here. Coughing, she followed Alesandro, who made his way unerringly through the dark toward the front door.

  She slammed into his back when he came to an abrupt halt. "What is it?"

  "We cannot go out the door. The fire was started there."

  Analisa wiped her eyes. "How will we get out?" she asked, fighting down the panic that threatened to overtake her. "There aren't any windows!"

  "Follow me." Pivoting, he hurried down the hallway, looking into each room he passed until he came to the library.

  She followed him into the room.

  "Close the door," he said.

  She did as he asked, fear spreading through her as she looked wildly around. There were no windows in this room, either. It was hopeless. Coming in here might prolong the inevitable, but there was no way out. They were going to die, all of them. Even preternatural flesh couldn't withstand fire.

  "Alesandro?" She reached out for him. If she had to die, at least she could die in his arms.

  He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and hugged her tight. "Do not be afraid."

  Not be afraid? Smoke was seeping under the door, burning her eyes, searing her throat.

  "I am going to take Mrs. Thornfield out, and then I will come back for you."

  "Out? How?" He might be able to carry her through the night with supernatural speed, but he couldn't carry her and Mrs. Thornfield through walls made of brick.

  "The fireplace." He kissed her gently. "Do not be afraid."

  Before she could argue, he was gone. She stared after him, ashamed of herself for wondering why he took the other woman first. She could hear the crackle of flames as the fire ate its way toward her.

  "Alesandro, hurry!"