After Sundown

by Amanda Ashley

  "Where are we going?"

  "To the movies."

  "Now? It's ten o'clock."

  She looked at him and laughed. "So what? We have all night. Let's go."

  It was his first date with a woman since Katherine.

  The theater seemed to press in on him, his nostrils filling with the mingled scents of soap, perspiration, shampoo, toothpaste, a hint of marijuana, chocolate candy, soft drinks, popcorn and butter, chips and cheese… and blood. The scent of it surrounded him, yet it was the scent of Kelly's blood that called to him, beckoning him with the promise of sweet relief.

  Why did the need to take blood from others repulse him and leave him hungering for more, yet a few drops of Kelly's blood taste like the sweetest nectar on his tongue, soothing his hunger, calming his tortured soul?

  As though she read his thoughts, she turned to face him. His gaze met hers, hot and hungry—not for blood but for the taste of her kisses.

  Slowly, so slowly, he closed the distance between them, and when she didn't back away, he claimed her lips with his.

  He had expected her to slap him, or push him away, or scream in revulsion because a vampire was kissing her. Instead, her hand slid around his neck to cup his nape.

  It was not his first kiss. He was, after all, forty-two years old. But even Katherine's first kiss had not affected him as profoundly as did this one. He was stunned when Kelly's tongue met his. It was a kiss that went on forever and ended too soon.

  "Oh, Edward," she murmured.

  "Forgive me," he stammered, "I didn't… I don't know what got into me. I…"

  She laughed softly. "Don't apologize, Edward," she whispered as she drew his head toward hers. "Just do it again."

  The movie, the theater, the people around him: all were forgotten as her lips touched his. Soft, warm, yielding, more intoxicating than whiskey had ever been. He felt like a teenager on his first date: clumsy, uncertain, his hormones raging. She murmured his name, clinging to him as though she might never let go.

  He never remembered what the movie was about, or even who was in it. All he remembered from that night was Kelly sitting beside him in a dark theater, and the intoxicating taste of her lips on his.

  He drew back, somewhat embarrassed, when the lights came on.

  After the movie, they went for a long drive. Not much was said, but the silence between them was easy, comfortable.

  When they returned home, he kissed her good night in the living room, stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring after her like a lovesick schoolboy until she was out of sight.

  So many hours until dawn. Taking off his coat, he tossed it over a chair, frowned as someone knocked on the door. He knew a moment of trepidation. He had no friends in this town, no acquaintances to speak of save Chiavari and Marisa, and he didn't think they would be calling at this hour of the night.

  Chiding himself for jumping at shadows, he opened the door. "Khira!" She was a vision of shining silver hair and a whisper of black silk.

  She smiled her most beguiling smile. "May I come in?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Surely you are not afraid of me?" she chided.

  He shrugged.

  Khira glanced past him. "Such a quaint little place," she said, laughing softly. "Will I find Barnabas Collins lurking in the hallways?"

  "Very funny." He stepped outside and closed the door behind her. "What brings you here?"

  A pretty pout teased her lips. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

  "Sure."

  "You've been with a woman." Her nostrils flared. "She's here. That little mortal you were playing with."

  "So?"

  She glided toward him. Reaching up, she dragged one fingernail over his cheek, hard enough to break the skin. "I told you before, I don't like to share. Not territory. Not anything."

  He grabbed her wrist, forcing her hand away from his face. "I don't like jealous women."

  She ignored his grip on her arm. Rising on tiptoe, she licked the blood from his cheek. "Who is she?"

  "No one."

  Her gaze burned into him like blue fire. "You've fallen for her, haven't you?"

  "Of course not."

  "I'm in the mood for a little fun," Khira said. "Come, hunt with me."

  He wanted to refuse, but it seemed wiser to do as she wished. And so he smiled back at her and followed her out into the night.

  Khira quickly found a young man to her liking. He was tall and blond, with green eyes and a trim, athletic build. Her hunger was a palpable thing as they followed her prey into a nightclub.

  Ramsey sat back and watched her, mildly amused as she flirted with the young man, plying all the tricks of an old-fashioned Southern belle. The man was polite but uninterested, and Ramsey's amusement quickly turned to revulsion as Khira slid into the man's mind, bending his will to hers.

  Ramsey followed her outside, trailing behind as she led her prey down a dark street. He watched as she toyed with him, making him kneel at her feet. He kissed her hand and declared she was the most beautiful woman in all the world. Like a queen granting favors, she placed her fingertips on his shoulders and bade him rise, and then she gathered him into her arms— arms that could easily have broken him in two—and buried her fangs in his neck.

  The man struggled against her, and Ramsey knew she had released control of his mind, that the man knew her for what she was. His eyes were wide with horror as he looked death in the face, his voice high-pitched with terror as he realized there was no hope of escape.

  The rapid beat of the man's heart echoed in Ramsey's ears. The scent of terror, of blood, filled his nostrils, and he had an overpowering urge to join her, to feast upon the man's terror.

  His fangs lengthened as the Hunger surged to life within him, and he took a step forward, and then another, the lust for blood thrumming through his veins.

  Khira looked up, her bright-blue eyes glowing hotly, her lips and fangs stained crimson.

  The man was barely breathing now. His face was ashen, his heartbeat slow and heavy in his chest. He looked at Ramsey, hoping for a savior. "Help… me…"

  Khira's laughter rolled through the darkness like smoke from a funeral pyre.

  Ramsey halted, sickened by what he saw, by his eagerness to be a part of it.

  "You can be a man with a peculiar lifestyle, or you can be a monster.…" He heard Chiavari's voice echo in the back of his mind.

  "Please," the man gasped. He held out his hand in a feeble gesture of entreaty. "Help… me…"

  Khira caressed the man's face with one pale hand. "There is no help for you, my handsome one," she said. "No escape." She smiled at Ramsey. "Come, join me."

  He shook his head and backed away.

  "Come, Edward; it is time to accept what you are. Finish him."

  "No." Since becoming a vampire, he had thought of himself as a monster, but there was only one monster here, and it was Khira. She was like Kristov in her thinking, and that sickened him. Once, he had thought all vampires were evil, but he knew now that he had been wrong. Chiavari had told him he could be as good or as bad as he desired. Looking at Khira, he knew she was evil disguised in beauty.

  He took a last look at the man imprisoned in the vampire's arms. There was no way to save him, except to bring him across. He was too far gone.

  "Edward! Do not defy me. Edward!"

  "No."

  He spoke softly, but Khira felt his power ripple through the air. He was very powerful for a newly made vampire. Even more powerful than she had first suspected. But then, considering his bloodline, that was not surprising. She wondered if he had any inkling of the strength he possessed.

  "You fool!" she hissed. "It is time to accept who and what you are!"

  He shook his head. One last look at her, at the blood dripping from her fangs, and then he was gone, speeding through the night toward the only one who seemed to care. Kelly.

  "You cannot run away from what you are!"

  The sound of Khira's voice chased him
down the street.

  Chapter 14

  Marisa glanced at the clock as the knock came again. "Who on earth can that be?"

  Grigori kissed her cheek as he rose from the sofa. "It's Ramsey."

  Marisa glanced at the clock. It was almost two A.M. People did not make social calls at such an hour. Of course, for vampires, two in the morning was not considered late.

  She felt a shiver of unease. Ever since his last visit, she had been troubled about Edward. She thought she might be picking it up from her husband, who, on more than one occasion, had alluded to the new vampire's unexpected power and constant mental turmoil. During the hunt for Alexi, Edward had often come to see her. It was unsettling to think of him now, roaming the night like those he had once hunted.

  She heard muffled voices as Grigori opened the front door, then their footsteps: Grigori's, light, almost soundless; Ramsey's, heavier, more determined.

  "Hello, Edward," she said when he entered the room.

  "I'm sorry to come calling so late. Or so early."

  "Vampire social hours," she said, smiling. "We were just watching an old movie."

  He matched her smile, with no hint of loathing or pain. She observed him closely. He looked different somehow, though she couldn't put her finger on it. Perhaps it was just that he was "aging" as a vampire, that he was becoming more comfortable with what he was. Once, she would not have noticed him in a crowd; now, he exuded a sense of power and self-confidence that he had not possessed before.

  "Please," she said, "sit down."

  Ramsey sat on the love seat, his fingers drumming on the arm. Grigori resumed his place beside her on the sofa. Almost before he was settled, Ramsey stood up and began to pace.

  Marisa looked at Grigori, a question in her eyes.

  "Ramsey, did you come here to wear a path in our carpet?" Grigori asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

  Ramsey paused in midstride to glare at Chiavari. Then, blowing out a sigh of exasperation, he sank down on the love seat again. "Khira," he said heavily. "I've angered her."

  Chiavari nodded slowly. "Not a pretty sight when she's angry."

  Ramsey grunted softly.

  "What happened?" Marisa asked.

  As quickly as possible, Ramsey related his activities with Khira: the hunt, the victim, Khira's insistence that Ramsey finish the poor devil off. He glanced at Marisa. She looked pale. How could such things bother her so much when she lived with a vampire? Vampires survived by feeding off the lives of others. Chiavari was no exception; he had fed from her on more than one occasion.

  "She wanted me to kill him," Ramsey said, "but I just couldn't do it."

  "So, he's still alive? That man?" Marisa asked hopefully.

  "No. Khira loves killing too much to be merciful. Besides, he was too far gone…"

  "There's something else," Chiavari said. "Something you are not telling us."

  "The other night, she wanted me to…" Ramsey cleared his throat. "The other night…"

  "Go on," Chiavari said, "What did she want you to do?"

  "Soon after she got here, she took me hunting." Ramsey glanced at Marisa, then looked away. "And then she took me to bed. I don't know what I was thinking! I guess maybe I wasn't thinking. The other night, I refused." Ramsey glanced at Marisa again. "She seems to think that I belong to her now."

  Grigori slid a sidelong glance at his wife and sighed heavily. "Khira does not take rejection well," he said. "As I recall, she is not accustomed to having anyone tell her no. About anything."

  Ramsey nodded.

  Marisa met her husband's sideways look with one eyebrow raised. "You seem to be speaking from experience."

  "'Twas in another country," Grigori said, and smiled wryly. "And besides, the wench is… Do you really want me to answer that?"

  "That's some kind of quote isn't it?" she asked.

  "Yes, from The Jew of Malta. Marlowe. Khira was determined I know all the arts, become a polished gentleman. Now, I ask you again, do you really want me to answer your question?"

  "Yes," Marisa replied, and then shook her head. "No, I don't want to know."

  "Khira has always been impulsive," Grigori remarked. "She is a very sexy, very sensual creature. I suspect she was that way before the Dark Gift. Totally self-absorbed. And with the power she has now…" He shrugged. "She has no need to consider anything but her own gratification. She often acts without thinking." He shook his head. "One would think she would have gained a little maturity, a little self-control, over the ages."

  "She scares me," Ramsey admitted.

  Chiavari chuckled softly. "Smart man. I should stay out of her way until she cools off, if I were you."

  "That's my plan," Ramsey muttered. "Damn, I don't have a hope in hell of defending myself against her."

  "There is an unwritten law among our kind: Vampyre does not kill Vampyre," Chiavari said.

  "You killed Kristov."

  "Yes. It happens from time to time. Khira killed the one who made her. And I suspect she has killed others who got in her way."

  "She killed Dracul," Ramsey said. "She told him to leave town. Apparently he refused."

  Chiavari nodded. "She is a law unto herself. I suspect she has destroyed LaSalle, as well. I no longer sense his presence in the city."

  "He's gone. She told him she wanted his house. And he gave it to her, just like that."

  "It is a wise man who gives her what she wants."

  Marisa laid her hand on Grigori's arm. "Perhaps we should leave town."

  "Is that your wish? To leave here?"

  "No, but I don't want her coming after you."

  "She has always had a, shall we say, a fondness for me," Chiavari said wryly. "I do not believe she will do me any harm."

  Ramsey glanced at Marisa, then turned his attention to Chiavari once again. "She may be fond of you. But what of Marisa?"

  "To harm what is mine is to harm me," Chiavari said.

  "Do you think you could take her in a fight?"

  "I don't know," Chiavari grunted softly. "I hope I never have to find out."

  "Me, too," Ramsey said fervently.

  "Be careful, Edward," Marisa said. "Promise me."

  "Careful is my middle name," he said, rising.

  Chiavari stood up. "I'll see you out."

  "Good night, Edward," Marisa said.

  "Good night." Ramsey followed Chiavari out onto the porch. "So?"

  "Be careful of Khira. She can be ruthless and utterly cruel."

  Ramsey nodded. "I know. I've seen what she's capable of. I'm no match for her."

  "Perhaps not yet," Grigori said, "but you are not helpless or weak. Only young in the ways of the Dark Gift. There is powerful blood in your veins, Ramsey. Mine. Alexi's. And Khira's. She will find it difficult to destroy you if you keep your wits about you. If she threatens you, reach deep down inside yourself and call on the power that is there."

  "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

  "You did not need to know before. You were far too interested in being destroyed then. Now that someone else may want you dead, you seem to have a new interest in staying alive. The longer you survive, the stronger you will become. And you are surprisingly strong already. You did refuse her, after all. Twice. And you are still alive."

  Ramsey stared at Chiavari, his mind reeling as he sought to understand what he'd just been told. Almost against his will, he felt a flash of hope. "Am I as powerful as she is? As you are?"

  "To my knowledge, no Vampyre who still lives is as powerful as Khira. As for myself…" Grigori shrugged.

  "Is there any way to keep her from reading my thoughts?"

  "You can learn to guard your thoughts. It takes practice and a good deal of self-control, but it's like anything else. The more you do it, the easier it becomes."

  "Can I block you, too?"

  "Try."

  Grigori focused on Ramsey. "You are thinking of a woman. Kelly. She sleeps in your house. You are afraid she may be in danger. From Khira
. And from yourself."

  "If I can't block you, how can I hope to block Khira?"

  "The bond between the two of us is more immediate and therefore stronger. Try again."

  Ramsey imagined himself building a wall between his mind and Chiavari's. A thick concrete wall. It took every ounce of concentration.

  Chiavari laughed softly. "Well done."

  Ramsey grunted.

  "As I said, it will grow easier with practice. Do not hesitate to call on me if I can be of help."

  "You're telling me the truth? About blocking you?"

  "You did surprisingly well, considering it was your first attempt. Practice."

  "I will." He hesitated, then added, "Thank you."

  "Good night."

  Ramsey thought about what Chiavari had told him as he walked home. He could have transported himself there with a thought, but he had always enjoyed walking. The night was cool and crisp, with a hint of fall in the air. With his vampire eyes, he saw the world so clearly— the beauty, the ugliness.

  "There is powerful blood in your veins." Chiavari's words echoed in his mind. Powerful blood. It eased his fear of Khira a little to know he wasn't completely helpless, completely at her mercy.

  He let his mind expand, reached down inside himself. He could feel the power resting deep within him, waiting to be summoned. It frightened him even as it filled him with a sense of exultation.

  Even if he couldn't beat her, he would give her one hell of a fight.

  Chapter 15

  The next few days passed swiftly. Ramsey soon grew accustomed to having Kelly in the house. She quickly adjusted her schedule to his so that she could share the long hours of the night with him.

  Upon rising, he showered and dressed, then met her upstairs. She was understandably nervous the first few times he took her blood. Exerting all the willpower he possessed, he took her gently, always careful to take no more than a few small sips. And though he yearned to do so, he avoided kissing her again. Under the circumstances, it seemed like a further violation somehow.

  He left the house immediately after feeding, not wanting to meet her gaze, afraid of what he might see there.

  It seemed miraculous to him that a few drops of her blood so quickly eased his insatiable craving, made it possible for him to stay rational while he hunted—to take only what he needed from his prey, to leave them alive and unhurt.