Midnight Embrace

by Amanda Ashley

  She tilted her head back so she could see his face. "Would you rather I were a vampire, as you are?"

  He had thought of it many times, but it was the first time she had mentioned it. The idea filled him with excitement, and horror.

  "It would make things easier in many ways," he admitted, "but I would not see you changed, Analisa. I love you as you are."

  "But I won't always be like this."

  He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek, ran his thumb back and forth across the velvet smoothness of her skin. "You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen," he said quietly, "but I am not in love with your appearance, 'Lisa. I love the gentleness of your heart, the bravery of your soul."

  "So you would love me just the same if I were old and wrinkled?"

  He nodded.

  "And it would make no difference when we made love?"

  "Perhaps I would blow out the candles."

  She made a face at him, and then she laughed.

  "It is good to hear you laugh." He brushed a kiss across the crown of her head, then drew her up hard against him. "What am I do to with you?"

  "Marry me, my lord," she said, "as you promised." As soon as they were wed, she would order him some new coats, she thought. Of course, he looked elegant in black, but she thought he would look equally gorgeous in blue to match his eyes.

  "You have but to name the day," he assured her, then rested his chin on the top of her head. "Rodrigo has bequeathed the Dark Gift to another."

  "When? Why?"

  "Last night. I do not know why." He frowned. "Who can say why that madman does what he does? Perhaps, like me, he grows weary of being alone."

  "A good guess, Dr. Avallone."

  Alesandro whirled around to face the intruder standing just inside the barn door. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

  "I have come to settle what is between us once and for all," Rodrigo replied. His gaze moved slowly, insolently, over Analisa, and then he licked his lips. "And she will go to the victor."

  Alesandro stepped in front of Analisa, shielding her with his body. She could feel the tension radiating from him like heat from a roaring fire.

  "I would kill her before I saw her at your mercy," he said, his voice as cold as winter frost.

  "Would you?" Rodrigo swaggered into the barn. "I wonder."

  "Be gone from here," Alesandro said. "This is neither the time nor the place to settle what is between us."

  "This is the perfect time," Rodrigo hissed. "The last time."

  Analisa took a step backward, fear stealing the breath from her body.

  Alesandro moved toward Rodrigo. The two vampires seemed to grow larger in her sight, blocking everything else from view.

  They circled each other slowly, their mutual hatred crackling like lightning between them. Rodrigo bared his fangs.

  Alesandro focused all his energy on his enemy. He had no thought for Analisa now. For this moment in time, she did not exist. If he were destroyed, she would die. And he could not let her die the death Rodrigo would surely give her.

  He launched himself at Rodrigo, fangs bared, hands curled into claws. The suddenness of his attack took the other vampire by surprise, and he knew a moment of satisfaction at drawing first blood.

  Rodrigo quickly met his attack with one of his own, his fangs ripping through Alesandro's shoulder. The scent of blood filled the air.

  The horses thrashed in their stalls, disturbed by the battle, by the scent of blood. Alesandro's stallion kicked the stall door with such force, it flew open. With a toss of his head, the horse raced out of the barn.

  Analisa pressed herself against the back wall, her fist pressed to her mouth to keep from screaming as she watched the vicious battle. She stared at Alesandro. There was blood everywhere—on his face, his arms, his shirt front.

  How much longer could it go on? And where was Dewhurst? If he came in now…

  But there was no time to worry about Dewhurst, not now. In a move too quick for her to see, Rodrigo had managed to drive Alesandro to the ground. He bent over him now, fangs bared, his hands locked around Alesandro's throat.

  Unable to watch, she squeezed her eyes shut, only to open them again as an inhuman howl rang in her ears, sending shivers racing down her spine.

  Rodrigo and Alesandro stood facing each other now. Both were panting heavily. Blood poured from a deep gash in Alesandro's throat, gushed from a wound in Rodrigo's chest.

  So much blood. How much longer could they go on?

  A movement at the door drew Analisa's attention, and she saw Mrs. Thornfield standing there. For a moment, Analisa stared at the housekeeper. She looked the same, yet not the same. Her hair was thicker, the gray gleaming like spun silver. She looked vibrant, almost youthful. How had she explained the sudden change in her appearance to Frannie and Dewhurst and Cook?

  Alesandro and Rodrigo both noticed the other vampire at the same moment. Alesandro shook his head to warn her off, but he was too late.

  With a cry, Rodrigo flew to the housekeeper's side and buried his fangs in her throat, drinking deeply. She struggled in his grasp, but she was a young vampire and no match for Rodrigo, even wounded and bleeding as he was.

  A low growl rose in Alesandro's throat. Eyes blazing, he started toward Rodrigo.

  Rodrigo thrust Mrs. Thornfield in front of him, his hands gripping her shoulders. He glared at Alesandro, dark red blood dripping from his fangs. "Stay there, or she dies!"

  Alesandro came to an abrupt halt, his eyes narrowing as Rodrigo dipped his head and drank again.

  Analisa stared, unable to believe her eyes. She could see Rodrigo growing stronger, his wounds closing, the color returning to his face.

  "Alesandro!" She took a step forward as she called his name.

  He looked at her, his need horrible to see. His face was drained of color, his cheeks sunken, his eyes ablaze with pain. His gaze narrowed, focused on the pulse throbbing in her throat.

  He took a step toward her, and suddenly Rodrigo was there. Strengthened by the blood he had taken, he drove Alesandro back against the wall, his fangs buried in Alesandro's throat, his hands clawing at Alesandro's chest.

  Analisa felt the bile rise in her throat. For a moment, she stood rooted to the spot, frozen in horror. She looked to Mrs. Thornfield for help, but the housekeeper was lying on the floor, gasping for breath.

  Analisa glanced frantically around the barn. She had to do something. If she didn't, they would all die at Rodrigo's hand.

  Almost before she realized it, she was moving, her hand reaching out, her mind refusing to accept what she was about to do.

  "Lord forgive me," she murmured, and drawing back her arm, she drove the pitchfork into Rodrigo's back. The tines of the pitchfork pierced the vampire's back with remarkable ease.

  Rodrigo whirled around, shrieking with pain and rage, the tines sticking out of his chest. Blood dripped from the points. He lunged at her, his hands reaching for her.

  She screamed as his hand closed on her arm. And then, like the shadow of death, Alesandro rose up behind him. With a feral cry born of fear and rage and pain, he lunged at the other vampire, his body shimmering, changing. A savage growl rose in his throat.

  Rodrigo spun around. Too late. Too late to flee, too late to do anything but cry out as the huge black wolf drove him down to the floor and ripped out his throat.

  Analisa stared at the wolf growling over the body of the vampire, at Mrs. Thornfield, who was just now struggling to sit up, at the blood that stained the wolf's fangs and fur. It was too much, too much.

  The floor rushed up toward her, and then everything went black.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty-one

  The sun shining in her eyes roused Analisa. Sitting up, she glanced around, surprised to find herself in her own bed, in her own room. How had she gotten here?

  "Good mornin', miss. 'Tis a lovely day."

  Analisa stared at Frannie. How could the maid be so cheerful after what had happ
ened last night?

  "I'll bring your chocolate directly," Frannie said. She opened the chest of drawers and withdrew a set of clean undergarments. "Will you be wantin' breakfast?" she asked, placing the garments on the foot of the bed.

  "What? Oh, no." Analisa lifted a hand to her neck, felt the familiar warmth that always lingered when Alesandro had taken nourishment from her.

  "It was so good to see Mrs. Thornfield lookin' so fit after her ordeal," the maid went on.

  "Yes. Yes, it was."

  "Imagine, retirin' to Milano! I've never been to Italy. I hear it's a lovely place. I'd have thought she'd stay until you found a suitable replacement, though."

  Analisa nodded. "Yes, but she was anxious to go." How would she endure the hours until she could see Alesandro again?

  "What will you be wearin' today?" Frannie stood at the armoire, waiting.

  "It doesn't matter. The green wool will do."

  Frannie pulled it from the hanger and laid it on the bed. "I'll be gettin' your chocolate, then," she said, and left the room.

  Rising, Analisa went to the window and stared into the yard below. Had it all been a dream?

  Shrugging into her robe, she left her room, hurried down the stairs and out into the yard.

  Dewhurst looked up from the trough he'd been scrubbing. "Mornin', miss," he said, obviously startled to see her outside in her nightclothes.

  "Good morning."

  "Is there something I can do for you, miss?"

  "No, I…" She shoved her hands in the pockets of her robe, wondering what excuse she could give for rushing outside in her night rail. "I was wondering if you could give me riding lessons." It was a weak excuse, but all she could think of.

  "Of course, miss."

  She nodded. "This afternoon, then? Say three o'clock?"

  "Very good, miss."

  She glanced at the barn. If she went inside, would she find blood on the floor? Would Deuce's stall be empty? It must have been a dream, she thought. All of it, else Dewhurst would not be out here as though nothing had happened.

  "I was wonderin'," Dewhurst said, "will you be hiring a new coachman?"

  "What? Oh, yes." She forced a smile. "I suppose I shall have to see about a new housekeeper, as well."

  "One more thing, miss. Will we be returning to Blackbriar soon?"

  "I don't know. Is there some reason you need to go back?"

  A red flush swept into the groom's cheeks. He cleared his throat, then shook his head. "I was just wonderin'."

  Most curious, Analisa thought, her anxiety over Alesandro momentarily forgotten. Whatever could have a man of Dewhurst's age blushing like a schoolgirl? The answer came with amazing clarity. A woman, of course. Dewhurst must have a woman in the village.

  "I'll ask Lord Alesandro what his plans are when I see him."

  "Thank you, miss."

  Turning, she made her way back to the house.

  She moved through the day, dressing, eating, speaking when spoken to, yet she felt as though she were watching everything from a great distance. She let Dewhurst give her a lesson in riding sidesaddle, yet when the hour was over, she remembered nothing of what she had learned.

  She took tea at four, then spent an hour reading, yet she could recall nothing of what she'd read when she put the book aside.

  Would night never come?

  Where was Alesandro? Where was Mrs. Thornfield? Was Rodrigo truly dead?

  After what seemed an eternity, the sun began its slow descent.

  Analisa paced the floor of her room, her nerves drawn taut, as she waited for Alesandro.

  And suddenly he was there, as tall and handsome as ever. No trace of the battle of the night before remained. There were no scars on his skin, no telltale signs of the life-and-death struggle of the night before.

  She looked up at him, her gaze searching his face. His expression was impassive, betraying nothing of what he was thinking or feeling.

  "My lord?"

  " 'Lisa."

  "Did it happen? Is he dead?"

  "He is dead." There was a great sadness in his voice. "And with him, my last tie to my home, to my past."

  Analisa stared at him, astonished that he grieved for one who had caused him so much pain. "I'm sorry," she murmured, but though she regretted that she had been partly responsible for Rodrigo's death, she could not be sorry he was dead. He had been a vile, evil creature, bent on their destruction. And yet she could not escape the horror of what she had done. She had tried to kill a man.

  Something shifted in Alesandro's expression. "What will you do now, 'Lisa?"

  "Do?" she asked, confused.

  "I am leaving here."

  She looked at him blankly. "Where are you going?" He shook his head. "I know not. I care not."

  "But… I… you said we were to be married."

  He laughed, a short bitter sound. "I was a fool."

  "Alesandro, what has happened? I thought you loved me."

  "I am selling this place," he said. "I have made arrangements for you and the staff to return to Gallatin Manor on the morrow. I will speak to my solicitor and have the deed placed in your name. You will receive a monthly allowance. If it is not sufficient, you have only to let him know, and the amount will be increased."

  She put her hand over her mouth, stifling the urge to beg him not to leave her. When she had her emotions in check, she took a deep breath. "That will not be necessary, my lord," she said, pleased that her voice did not betray the fact that her heart was breaking. "I thank you for all you have done for me, but I want nothing from you." She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "Goodbye."

  Knowing she had nowhere else to go, he was taken aback when she refused his offer. It would be useless to play upon her greed, he mused, when she had none. But he knew her weakness, and he took advantage of it shamelessly.

  "I am closing Blackbriar. I had hoped to send Blackbriar's staff to Gallatin. If you refuse, not only will Frannie and Dewhurst and Cook have to seek other employment, but Annie and Elton, as well."

  She glared at him. "Very well. Thank you for your generosity," she said curtly, and swept out of the room with all the dignity she could muster.

  Please, she prayed, please let him follow me. Please.

  But he did not.

  Alesandro watched her go, his brave Analisa, her back straight, her head high. He knew he had hurt her deeply. It took every ounce of his considerable self-control to keep from going after her. She seemed to take the light with her, leaving him in darkness as black as his soul. He had been a fool to think they could have a life together. He had brushed aside the doubts she had expressed from time to time, determined to have her in spite of his own doubts. He had been alone so long, he had told himself he deserved her, but last night…

  He muttered a pithy oath. His sweet Analisa had driven a pitchfork into Rodrigo's back. No matter that she had done it to save his life. The darkness of his life had touched hers, driving her to an act of violence. Only moments ago, he had sensed her horror at what she had done. It was better to leave her, to take himself out of her life, her world.

  He would go abroad, or perhaps he would go to ground and sleep for the next hundred years. Lost in the Dark Sleep, he would not be tempted by the thought of silky black hair and warm brown eyes, by soft skin and softer lips…

  He grunted softly. He would make the necessary arrangements to insure that Analisa would be well provided for, and then he would bury himself deep in the earth, where he belonged. Perhaps, in a hundred years, he would forget her.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Analisa stood at the parlor window gazing out into the night. Six months since she had last seen Alesandro. She had spent the first month weeping, the second raging, the third learning to accept his absence, the fourth in a flurry of redecorating the house. She had hired painters, bought new furniture, replaced the carpets and drapes, the silver and china, determined to rid the house of anything that would remind her of the time
they had spent together. The only room she had left untouched was his bedchamber. She had not entered it since the night he left, save for the day her wedding gown arrived from Womack's. She had taken the gown into his room and closed the door. She had grieved for him that day, grieved for all they had lost. Sitting on his bed, her gown clutched to her breast, she had wept until she had no tears left, and then she had thrown the gown into the hearth and watched it burn. When she left his room three hours later, she had locked the door, wishing she could as easily lock him out of her heart.

  Life was peaceful at Gallatin. She had hired a new housekeeper, Mrs. Dinsmore, who, if not as efficient as Mrs. Thornfield, made up for it with boundless energy and enthusiasm. Mrs. Dinsmore had a married daughter and five grandchildren who lived nearby, and she was grateful to have employment close to home. Analisa also hired a new coachman. Carlin McLeod was a handsome young man with dark red hair and roguish brown eyes. Frannie had taken one look at him and been smitten. Though Analisa did not begrudge Carlin and Frannie their happiness, it pained her to see the two of them together, to see the love in their eyes, the smiles they shared. With Analisa's permission, the pair planned to stay on at Gallatin after they married in the fall.

  Analisa had run into Geoffrey Starke on one of her infrequent forays into the city. When he had learned that her marriage had been called off, he had invited her to a ball at the home of one of his companions. Since that night, he had been her escort on more than one occasion. She had danced with dozens of handsome young men, exchanged pleasantries with well-dressed, well-bred young women, even hosted a small party herself. She had received and refused two marriage proposals. But nothing touched her. She went through the motions, experiencing it all as if she were seeing it from a distance, watching it from outside herself. Her future seemed as dark and empty as the night outside.

  With a sigh, she turned away from the window, gasped when she saw Alesandro standing just inside the door.

  He inclined his head in her direction. "Good evening, Analisa."