Amanda Ashley
Authors: Deeper Than the Night
Tags: #Vampires, #Horror, #Contemporary, #General, #Romance, #Fiction, #Paranormal
“Kara. . . .”
She leaned forward, waiting for his next words, hoping he would tell her that he had missed her, that he had spent his every waking moment thinking only of her.
He was watching her closely, his gaze fixed on her face. She could feel the heat of it, the power of it. At that moment, she would have told him anything he wanted to hear, done anything he asked. Though they weren't touching, it was almost as if he were stroking her hair, caressing her cheek.
And then he took a step back, releasing her from his gaze.
“Alexander.” Her voice was shaky, uncertain.
“What do you want from me, Kara?”
“Want?”
“I've been much in your mind these past weeks.”
Kara stared at him. How had he known that?
“I hear your thoughts. I feel your loneliness, your restlessness.” He clenched his hands to keep from reaching for her. “What do you want of me?”
Other books by Amanda Ashley:
Sunlight, Moonlight
Embrace the Night
A Darker Dream
Shades of Gray
Midnight Embrace
After Twilight
(Anthology)
The Captive
A
MANDA
A
SHLEY
EEPER
THAN
THE
N
IGHT
DORCHESTER PUBLISHING
Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
200 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10016
Copyright © 1996 by Madeline Baker
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Trade ISBN: 13: 978-1-4285-1661-8
E-book ISBN: 978-1-4285-1657-1
First Dorchester Publishing, Co., Inc. edition: August 1996
The “DP” logo is the property of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Printed in the United States of America.
Visit us online at
www.dorchesterpub.com
.
For TXVampire. SummerName. GayleWilly. and MiHauf.
Better known as Linda, Karin. Gayle and Michele.
Thanks for all the kind words and encouragement.
From whence comes forth the melody
Whispering love to piercing eyes
Dreams sprinkled with stardust
Are hidden in her sighs.
He yearns to hear the winsome song
Amidst the bittersweet refrain
But furrowed scorn upon his brow
Recalls ashes in the rain.
Come closer, bids persuasion
Turn not from tender woes
These anguished depths of yearning
Will move the tempered soul.
Magnificent the union
Of hearts in deep embrace
The bonding of two souls
Which time cannot ease.
âLinda Ware
D
EEPER THAN
THE
N
IGHT
Chapter One
“I'm looking for the vampire.”
Alexander Claybourne stared down at the young girl standing on his front porch. She was a cute little thing, maybe nine years old, with curly blonde hair, brown eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
“Excuse me,” he said, “but did I hear you right?”
“I need to see the vampire,” the girl said impatiently. “The one who lives here.”
Alexander fought the urge to laugh. “Who told you a vampire lives here?”
The girl looked up at him as if he were slow-witted.
“Everyone
knows a vampire lives here.”
“I see. And why do you want him?”
“My sister, Kara, is in the hospital. She was in a car accident.” The girl sniffed noisily. “Nana says she's going to die.”
Alexander frowned as he tried to follow the child's line of reasoning.
The girl stamped her foot. “Vampires live forever,” she said, speaking each word slowly and distinctly, as if he were very young, or very stupid. “If the vampire would come to the hospital and bite my sister, she would live forever, too.”
“Ah,” Alexander exclaimed, comprehending at last.
“So, is he here?”
“You're quite a brave girl, to come here alone, in the dark of night. Aren't you afraid?”
“N . . . no.”
“What's your name, child?”
“Gail Crawford.”
“How old are you, Gail?”
“Nine and a half.”
“And does your Nana know where you are?”
Gail shook her head. “No. She's at the hospital. They won't let me visit Kara, so Nana made me stay with Mrs. Zimmermann. I snuck out the back door when she wasn't looking.”
Gail stared up at the man. Was
he
the vampire? He was very tall, with long black hair. He stood in the deep shadows of the house so that she couldn't see his face clearly, but she thought he had dark eyes. He didn't look like any of the vampires she had seen in the movies. They always wore black suits and frilly white shirts and long capes; this man wore a black sweater and a pair of faded Levi's. Still, everyone in Moulton Bay knew that a vampire lived in the old Kendall house. . . .
Shivering, Gail wrapped her arms around her waist. She had come up here lots of times with her friends, trying to peek in the windows to catch sight
of the vampire's coffin. She'd never really been scared in the daylight; after all, everyone knew vampires were harmless during the day. But now it was night.
Leaning to the side a little, she slid a glance past the man. The interior of the house looked dark and gloomy, just the kind of place where a vampire would live.
Feeling suddenly very much alone and more than a little afraid, she took a step backward. The porch creaked under her weight. It was a creepy sound.
Gail summoned her rapidly waning courage. “Will you come and save my sister?”
“I'm sorry, Gail,” Alexander said with genuine regret, “but I'm afraid I can't help you.”
The girl lifted her shoulders and let them fall in an exaggerated gesture of disappointment.
“I didn't
really
think you were a vampire,” she confessed, “but it was worth a try.”
Alexander watched the girl as she ran down the stairs, headed for the narrow dirt path that meandered through the woods. The path was a shortcut that led to the main road.
Courageous little thing, he mused, to come out here all alone.
Looking for a vampire.
He watched her until she was out of sight, until even his keen hearing could no longer discern the sound of her flight, and then he closed the door and leaned back against it.
So, everyone knew a vampire lived here.
Perhaps it was time to move on. And yet . . . Pushing away from the door, he walked through the dark house. It was a big place, old and creaky, with vaulted ceilings and wooden floors and leaded
windowpanes. The house sat alone on a small rise surrounded by trees and brambles. His nearest neighbor was almost a mile away. It was, he thought, exactly the sort of place a vampire might choose to live. It was exactly the reason he had chosen it. He had been comfortable here, content here, for the past five years.
But perhaps it was time to move on. One thing he didn't want to do was draw attention to himself. Until now, he'd had no idea people speculated on who, or what, lived in this house.
Going into the parlor, he rested one hand on the high mantel and gazed into the hearth. There was something primal about standing in front of a roaring fire. It answered an elemental need deep inside him, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it had something to do with the smoky scent of the wood and the hiss of the flames, or maybe it was the surging power held at bay by nothing more than a few bricks.
He stared into the hearth, mesmerized, as always, by the life that pulsed within the flames. All the colors of the rainbow danced within the flickering tongues of fire: red and yellow, blue and green and violet, a deep pure white.
Moving away from the fireplace, he wandered through the house, listening to the rising wind as it howled beneath the eaves. The branches of an old oak tree tapped against one of the upstairs windows, sounding for all the world like skeletal fingers scratching at the glass, as if some long-banished spirit were seeking entrance to the house.
He grinned, surprised by his fanciful thoughts, and by the recurring urge to go to the hospital and
have a look at Gail Crawford's older sister.
Hospitals. He had never been inside one. In all the years of his existence, he had never been sick.
Forcing all thoughts of Gail and her sister from his mind, he went into the library, determined to finish the research needed for his latest novel before the night was through.
It was after four when he admitted he was fighting a losing battle. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't think of anything but the brave little girl who had come to him looking for a miracle.
Scowling, he stalked out into the night, drawn by a force he could no longer resist, his footsteps carrying him swiftly down the narrow dirt path that cut through the woods to the thriving seaside town of Moulton Bay.
The hospital was located on a side street near the far end of the town. It was a tall white building. He thought it looked more like an ancient mausoleum than a modern place of healing.
A myriad of scents assaulted his keen sense of smell the moment he opened the front door: blood, death, urine, the cloying scent of flowers, starch and bleach, the pungent smell of antiseptics and drugs.
At this time of the morning, the corridors were virtually deserted. He found the Intensive Care Unit at the end of a long hallway.
A nurse sat at a large desk, thumbing through a stack of papers. Alex watched her for a moment; then, focusing his mind on one of the emergency buzzers located at the opposite end of the corridor, he willed it to ring.
As soon as the nurse left the station, he walked
past the desk and stepped into the Intensive Care Ward.
There was only one patient: Kara Elizabeth Crawford, age twenty-two, blood type A negative. She was swathed in bandages, connected to numerous tubes and monitors.
He quickly perused her chart. She had sustained no broken bones, though she had numerous cuts and contusions; a gash in her right leg had required stitching. She had three bruised ribs, a laceration in her scalp, internal bleeding. Amazingly, her face had escaped injury. She had fine, even features. A wealth of russet-colored hair emphasized her skin's pallor. Indeed, her face was almost as white as the pillowcase beneath her head. She had been in a coma for the last four days. Her prognosis was grim.