After Sundown

by Amanda Ashley

  A last will and testament, and the badly burned body of a man who thought he was a vampire. Had he intended to kill himself? It was the only answer that made any kind of sense, even though it made no sense at all. Why would he want to kill himself? Why would he put her name in his will? He didn't even know her.

  She looked around, wondering where he kept his coffin. And suddenly it all seemed too possible, too real.

  Shivering, she ran up the stairs as fast as she could and slammed the door behind her. What should she do now? Call the police? She dismissed that idea even as it crossed her mind. How could she explain her presence here? What if they accused her of killing him?

  What if he really was a vampire?

  People killed vampires, at least in the movies. They dispatched them by driving wooden stakes through their hearts, or cutting off their heads, or both. They burned them, or drenched their bodies with holy water. Driving a stake through a vampire's heart was always depicted as very messy, with the vampire waking up, screaming and hissing, while great fountains of blood gushed every-where. Not that she was likely to find a stake lying around, especially in a vampire's house.

  What should she do?

  She went back into the bedroom in search of something to wear. Opening the closet, she found the sweater and jeans she had been wearing the night she decided to kill herself. How long ago that seemed now!

  She found her sandals under the bed. She dressed quickly, ran her fingers through her hair, and hurried out of the house. Only to come to a stop once she reached the sidewalk. She had no idea where she was.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The house loomed behind her, looking ominous somehow. Maybe it was the windows, tinted dark to block the sun. Maybe it was the gothic architecture. Maybe it was knowing there was a body in the cellar.

  She looked up and down the street, wondering which way to go, turned left for no reason except that it put the sun behind her.

  Her pace increased until she was running, running like a woman being pursued by demons.

  Ramsey woke with the setting of the sun, his body feeling as if it were on fire. With a groan, he rolled onto his side. For a moment, he lay there, hands tightly clenched, trying to breathe through the pain.

  He knew the woman had been in the cellar. Her scent was all around him. He knew, just as certainly, that she was no longer in the house.

  He rose up on his hands and knees, head hanging, panting like a dog. He stayed that way for several minutes; then, with one hand braced against the wall, he gained his feet.

  Every breath, every movement, was a new adventure in pain.

  It seemed to take forever to climb the stairs. When he reached the top, he sat down, feeling as though he had just climbed Everest.

  Feeling dizzy, he stood up and staggered down the hallway to his bedroom. Feeling as though he were moving through thick mud, he changed into a long-sleeved shirt to cover his burned arms, and a pair of soft, loose-fitting trousers. The touch of cloth against his seared flesh was agonizing. He found a pair of dark glasses to shield his eyes. A hat, pulled low, kept his face in shadow.

  Taking a deep breath, he left the house.

  He needed help.

  He needed blood.

  He needed Chiavari.

  Chapter 11

  Chiavari was waiting for Ramsey on the front porch. "Come in," he said.

  "I can't take this anymore," Ramsey said. "I want you to end it, now."

  "We've already had this discussion," Chiavari said curtly.

  "Look at me!" Ramsey removed his hat and glasses, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "Damn it, look!"

  "What the hell happened to you?"

  "What do you think?"

  "Spend a little too much time in the sun, did you?"

  Ramsey swore. "I tried to kill myself. I want out of this life. I will not live like this! I have become what I hated, what I hunted. It has to stop. Now!"

  "Six months, Ramsey. That's all. To a man with eternity before him, six months should not be too difficult."

  "You don't understand! You wanted to be a vampire. I don't! I hate what they are. I hate what I have become." He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers encountered burnt flesh. "I found a woman. I kept her a prisoner in my house. Do you understand? I tied her up and I fed off of her like a damned leech. What kind of depraved monster does that?"

  "Come in and sit down, Ramsey," Chiavari said quietly. "You are in pain. You are not thinking clearly."

  "I don't want to…"

  "Come in the house. We can't talk out here."

  With a sigh of resignation, Ramsey followed Chiavari inside.

  Chiavari gestured at the sofa. "Sit down."

  "I don't need a lecture."

  "I know what you need better than you do." Chiavari sat down beside Ramsey and extended his arm. "Old blood is the best blood. Go on, take what you need."

  Ramsey met Chiavari's gaze and shook his head. "No."

  "Do it."

  Ramsey glanced around. "Where's Marisa?"

  "She went to the theater with an old friend from work. You need not worry, she won't be home for hours. Drink, Ramsey." His voice was low, soothing, almost hypnotic. "Drink."

  He wanted to refuse. There was a great intimacy in the sharing of blood between vampires. He did not want to accept Chiavari's blood again, did not want to be further in the man's debt, but his need was too great, the pain and the hunger beyond bearing, the promise of relief too tempting. With a low growl, he took hold of Chiavari's arm and sank his fangs into his wrist.

  And drank.

  And drank.

  Power flowed into him, sweeping through his body and limbs like a great healing flood, washing the pain away in a scarlet tide. He saw flashes of Chiavari's life… his childhood in Italy… his wife, Antoinette… his son and his daughter, who had been slain by Alexi Kristov. And, like a rapidly fast-forwarded videotape, glimpses and images of Chiavari's prey down through the centuries. And over all, the scent and the taste of the blood, reminding Ramsey of the night when Chiavari had needed blood to survive. Their roles had been reversed then. It had been Chiavari drinking voraciously.

  "Enough!"

  Chiavari's voice penetrated the red haze that surrounded him.

  "Ramsey, enough."

  Sated with the vampire's ancient blood, the roaring hunger within him stilled and slept, the pain receded, a dim shadow of what it had been. Ramsey glanced at Chiavari and looked away. They had ever been enemies, yet this alliance, the blood bond they shared, was a bond as intimate as that of mortal lovers. A bond first formed as an uneasy alliance to hunt Kristov. Kristov, who had wooed Chiavari's wife behind his back; Kristov, who had slain Chiavari's children and changed Antoinette into a mindless creature caught between life and death, with no will of her own.

  In a brutal act of kindness, Ramsey had taken Antoinette's head and heart and put her tortured soul to rest, a deed that haunted him still. He looked at Chiavari again. "Do you think she suffered?"

  Chiavari did not have to ask who he was talking about. "I don't know. I pray not. I owe you an eternal debt for…" His voice broke. "For releasing her. If, in six months, you still wish to be destroyed… I will repay that debt."

  Touched by the soul-deep pain in the vampire's voice, Ramsey laid a comforting hand on Chiavari's shoulder.

  Chiavari's surprise showed in his eyes.

  Realizing what he had done, Ramsey jerked his hand away.

  Chiavari smiled faintly before he raised his arm to his mouth and ran his tongue over the twin holes in his wrist. "Can you think more clearly now?"

  "If you mean, have I changed my mind, the answer is no. But as you said, six months is only a moment in the life of a vampire." Ramsey stood abruptly. "I'll be back in six months to collect on that debt."

  "I will be here."

  Ramsey nodded curtly. "I would rather you didn't tell Marisa about this."

  "Are you still in love with her?"

  Ramsey met
Chiavari's unblinking gaze. "I will always be in love with her. Good night.'' He took a deep breath. "And thank you."

  Leaving Chiavari's house, Ramsey stalked the dark streets of the city. He fancied he could feel the other vampire's blood flowing through his veins, mingling with his own. He could certainly feel the results. Strength flowed through him; the pain of his scorched flesh lessened with each passing moment. Had he not hated what he had become, he would have rejoiced in his power. The blood of three ancients flowed in his veins. But for that, the sunlight would have killed him instantly. Pity he had not thought of that sooner. He would not try such foolishness again. Somehow, he would endure the next six months, and then he would go back to Chiavari and demand that the vampire destroy him, as promised.

  And until then, what?

  He stopped and sniffed the air. Kelly had passed this way recently. He would know her scent, her heartbeat, anywhere. Following the Siren call of her blood, he crossed the street, his yearning for her carrying him swiftly across town. He paid no heed to his surroundings; the fact that he was now in a part of town considered dangerous by ordinary men did not register on him at all. Her scent drew him relentlessly until he found himself standing outside a seedy boardinghouse.

  He sensed the street punk before he saw him— smelled the metal of the knife in his hand, the drugs that clung to his clothing and clouded his mind.

  He turned to face him, his teeth drawn back in a feral snarl.

  The boy was no more than fourteen or fifteen. His eyes widened when he saw Ramsey's expression; his face paled when he realized he was no longer the hunter but the prey. He took a step backward, the knife falling from his hand, clattering on the sidewalk.

  "No." The word whispered past his lips as the vampire's hand closed around his throat.

  Ramsey gazed into the boy's eyes. Sheer horror stared back at him. The stench of the boy's terror filled Ramsey's nostrils, stirred his hunger. A low growl rose in his throat; his fangs lengthened.

  "No."

  A sob, a barely audible plea for mercy.

  With a cry of self-disgust, Ramsey thrust the boy away.

  The boy stumbled back, turned, and fled.

  Ramsey stared after him, appalled by what he had almost done, by the blood lust that had engulfed him. He had just fed. How could he hunger again so soon? Six months. How could he go on like this for six months?

  The breeze shifted, carrying the scent of earth and trees, the strong aroma of fried food, the stink of unwashed bodies. The breeze shifted again, teasing his nostrils with the scent of jasmine.

  The sound of applause drew his attention.

  "Bravo!"

  Turning, he saw Khira crossing the street toward him. She was beautiful, he thought, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. She wore a black cloak over a wine red gown.

  "Is this how you pass your time?" she asked with a throaty chuckle. "Frightening little boys?"

  "I guess you would have killed him."

  She shrugged, a graceful movement of her slim shoulders. "Perhaps. Certainly even you can see he would have been no great loss. When he gets over his fright, he will be on the hunt again. We vampyres can perform a useful service to society, you see, by preying on the predators." As was her habit, she linked her arm with his. "Come, walk with me."

  Ramsey glanced over his shoulder. Kelly would have to wait.

  "Slumming, are you?" he asked.

  "I was going to ask you the same question." She shuddered with mock horror. "What brings you to this dreadful part of town?"

  "I was going to visit a… a friend."

  She looked at him, her blue eyes filled with laughter. "You cannot lie to me, Edward."

  "All right, I came to see a woman."

  "The woman whose life you saved and nearly took. I see." She stopped walking. "Do you wish to go back?"

  He shook his head.

  Khira patted his arm and started walking again. "So, man ami, how do you like being immortal?"

  "I hate it."

  She looked truly surprised. "But why?" She flung out her arms and twirled in a circle, her long gown swirling like flames around her ankles. "It is so lovely to be immortal on a night such as this! Look around you, Edward. The world is yours for the taking."

  "You mean the night is mine for the stalking."

  "That, too," she replied, as if it were the most wonderful thing in the world. "To be immortal is to be free!"

  "Is it? Do you never miss the light of day, the taste of food and drink, the love of a man? A home, children?" He hesitated. "The warmth of the sun on your skin?" He had reveled in its touch for a moment, until pleasure turned to excruciating pain.

  She frowned at him. "You wasted no time on those things when you were mortal. Why do you yearn for them now?"

  The truth of her words slammed into him. He had never fully appreciated the world around him. He had eaten when he was hungry, slept when he could find the time. He had never noticed the beauty in a sunrise or a sunset. The rising sun meant only that the undead would go to ground; the sunset meant they would be abroad, hunting the night. He had lived out of his car, slept in motels, his only friends other hunters. As for women, he had loved only two. Ironic, he thought now, that the first had been killed by a vampire, and the second had married one. He hadn't had a home since he was sixteen, had never wanted a home or a wife or children, knowing they would only tie him down or become pawns in a dangerous game. His whole life, his whole reason for living, had been to destroy vampires.

  His thoughts turned back in time to his first successful hunt…

  "Take him." Grandfather Ramsey handed Edward a sharpened stake made of ash, and a mallet made of oak. "One quick blow."

  Edward took the stake from the old man's hand and placed it over the vampire's heart, lifted the mallet, and drove the stake into the sleeping vampire's chest. For all their powers and physical strength, vampires were remarkably fragile while resting. The stake pierced the vampire's flesh. Blood had gushed from the wound, spraying Edward's face and hands and arms…

  "Edward? Edward, such a gruesome thing to be remembering, and on a night such as this!" Her voice was lightly chiding, but with an edge of malice.

  He shook the grotesque image from his mind. "Perhaps, like most people, I had to lose what was truly important before I realized what I had lost."

  "Forget all that for now. Come, let us hunt the night."

  It was in his mind to refuse. Hunting with Khira was always dangerous, he mused ruefully, and then he grinned. Perhaps, while prowling the night with her, he would find an end to the horror that his life had become.

  She looked at him and smiled. "There is always risk, of course, mi amour. But that only makes it all the more delicious, does it not? Are you ready?"

  He nodded, wishing she would stay out of his mind.

  "Let us go, then." Tightening her grasp on his arm, she whisked them across town.

  Somewhat stunned by the suddenness of it, Ramsey glanced at his surroundings. They were in a house. A mansion, he amended, with shimmering crystal chandeliers and polished marble floors. The room, as large as a football field, was filled with men and women clad in evening attire. An orchestra was playing Rachmaninoff.

  He leaned toward Khira. "What are we doing here?"

  "Visiting an old friend," she replied. "Here's our host now."

  Ramsey turned to see a tall, slender man striding toward them. He had short brown hair, brilliant blue eyes, and appeared, outwardly, to be in his mid-thirties.

  He was a vampire—of that Edward had no doubt.

  "Good evening, Khira," the man said. He bent over her hand in a gallant old-world gesture. "How good of you to come."

  "It's good to see you, too, Kyle."

  Kyle's gaze moved over Ramsey, coldly assessing. "And who is this?"

  "This is Edward Ramsey. Edward, this is Kyle LaSalle."

  Shock, disbelief, rage. They all flitted through the vampire's eyes. "Ramsey! You brought a vampire
hunter into my home!"

  "Calm down, Kyle. He is one of us now."

  Ramsey knew a moment of surprise when he realized the other vampire had not detected what he was. He felt LaSalle's power push against him. For all his years, Kyle LaSalle was weak, his power easy to brush aside. Ramsey effortlessly resisted the other vampire's attempt to probe his mind. He compared LaSalle's power to Chiavari's as he sidestepped LaSalle's puny efforts to slip past his defenses. Comparing LaSalle to Chiavari was like comparing a snowball to a blizzard. Keeping his face impassive, he unleashed his own power.

  LaSalle took a step backward. He stared at Ramsey, his eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

  Khira placed her hand on Edward's arm. "He is mine," she said, and Ramsey heard the fine edge of steel beneath the soft velvet of her voice. "My blood runs in his veins, as does the blood of Grigori."

  A hiss whispered through LaSalle's clenched teeth. "Why have you brought him here?"

  "If we are not welcome, you have only to say so."

  "Of course you are welcome." LaSalle bowed stiffly from the waist. "Please, make my home yours."

  "That is my intention," Khira replied.

  LaSalle smiled, but it was cold, forced. "As you wish. If you will excuse me, I must see to my other guests."

  Khira lifted a graceful hand, dismissing him.

  "I guess I must be a little confused," Ramsey remarked. "What just happened here?"

  "Kyle will be moving out, and I will be moving in."

  "Here?" Ramsey exclaimed. "You're moving in here?"

  "Yes. It's a nice place, don't you think?"

  "He's leaving, just like that?"

  "Of course."

  Ramsey shook his head. "I still don't understand."

  "It is quite simple, really. I have decided to stay in the city for a while."

  "Getting a straight answer out of you is like pulling teeth," Ramsey muttered.

  "Such an amusing choice of words." She smiled sweetly. "But my answer is simplicity itself. I am staying. He is leaving."

  "What if he had refused to go?"

  "He could challenge me, of course, but he would lose, and he knows it. He has never been strong. He is not even strong enough to challenge you, mi amour."