Amanda Ashley (12 page)

It was a pleasant fantasy and she dwelled on it for several minutes before extinguishing the lamp and crawling into bed. The blanket smelled faintly of Alexander. She ran her hand over the pillow, imagining him lying there beside her, his big body sheltering hers.

Sleep was a long time coming.

Alexander paced the floor, his muscles taut as he pictured Kara in his room, lying in his bed, her head on his pillow. He had not stayed here for any length of time in years. Long ago, it had been his haven, a place of refuge, of safety. Now he came here only on rare occasions.

He prowled the room for several minutes, then wandered down the corridor. Pausing at Kara's room, he pressed his ear to the door, comforted by the soft, steady sound of her breathing.

Whirling away from the door, he went outside and stood on the ledge that overlooked the fertile valley below. Lifting his arms overhead, his face turned up to the night sky, he absorbed the moon's pale silver light as another might bask in the golden glow of the sun.

Seconds lengthened into minutes. Eyes closed, he drew the moon's energy deep within the core of his being. The coolness of the light rejuvenated
him; the faint whisper of the wind as it blew over the mountaintop filled him with a sense of peace. Of home . . .

Alexander swore softly. Why had he thought that? He had not thought of home in years. Now, a flood of memories spilled into his mind—recollections best forgotten, remembrances that could, after all these years, still cause him pain.

AnnaMara . . . AnTares . . .

Their names whispered through the corridors of his mind like the breeze filtering through the leaves of the trees. His arms felt suddenly heavy and he lowered them to his sides.

So many years had passed since he had last seen his home. So many years since he had last seen the dark mountains that surrounded the city where he had been born, their jagged peaks like the teeth of a sloe-eyed boar. He could almost hear the distant rumble of thunder as one of ErAdona's many dry storms passed overhead. And, if he closed his eyes, he could almost hear AnnaMara humming softly as she worked in the garden. Sweet, gentle Anna-Mara . . .

“Alexander?”

With a start, he whirled around to find Kara standing in the moonlight. Clad in a long blue gown, she looked like a goddess bathed in quicksilver and shadow.

“Did you need something?” he asked.

“I had a bad dream and I . . . When I looked for you, you were gone.”

“I was just getting some fresh air.” He saw the curiosity in her eyes and wondered if she would put her question into words.

She hesitated for the space of a heartbeat. “Why
were you standing in the moonlight like that?” For a moment, it had looked as though he had been absorbing the essence of the moonlight into his body, but that was ridiculous.

“Like what?”

“I don't know. Almost like you were . . .” She shrugged. “I don't know. It looked pagan, somehow.”

“Indeed? Are you afraid I might be planning to sacrifice you to some heathen god?”

“Of course not.” In spite of her bold words, she took a step backward, folding her arms over her breasts in a protective gesture that was as old as time.

“You're quite safe, I assure you.”

“When I couldn't find you, I went looking for another bedroom, but there isn't one. I didn't mean to put you out of your bed.”

We could share it, you and I.
The words, though unspoken, hovered between them.

Kara's gaze locked with Alexander's. Heat radiated from the depths of his black eyes, warming her as effectively as a furnace. She felt her limbs grow heavy, her knees weak. Her heart seemed to slow to a stop, and then it began to beat rapidly, as though she'd been running for miles in the hot sun.

“Kara . . .” His voice was low and rough, almost raw.

She tried to look away, but at that moment, no power on earth could have drawn her gaze from his. Desire blazed in his eyes, awakening an answering hunger deep within her being, making her yearn to be in his arms.

Alexander swore under his breath. It was wrong, and he knew it. But he reached for her anyway. And
she stepped into his embrace willingly, a sigh of contentment escaping her lips as his arms closed around her.

“Alex?”

She tilted her head back, and he gazed into her eyes, beautiful blue eyes that were smoky with desire. Her lips parted invitingly; a faint flush pinked her cheeks.

With a groan, he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her. A distant rumble of thunder echoed the hammering of his heart as he drew her closer, felt her body fit itself to his.

He drank from her lips, savoring her sweetness. She was warm in his arms, warm and willing. It would be so easy to take her, to sweep her into his arms and carry her to bed, to bury himself deep within her. So easy . . . and afterward, she would hate him for it, hate him for what he was, for not telling her the truth.

With an effort, he wrenched his mouth from hers and drew back. “Kara . . .”

“Don't talk. Just hold me.”

And because he couldn't bear to let her go, he closed his eyes, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head. He would hold her as often, and as long, as she would let him. And how long would that be, he wondered, when she knew what he was?

He didn't know how long they had been standing there when he felt her shiver against him.

“You're cold,” he said, and lifting her into his arms, he carried her into the cavern.

He held her easily in one arm as he closed the door, and then he carried her into the main room and sat down on the sofa.

Kara closed her eyes, her head nestled against
Alexander's shoulder. She felt a sudden warmth, and when she opened her eyes again, there was a fire in the hearth.

Kara lifted her head and stared at Alexander. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Light the fire.”

“It was already lit.”

“No, it wasn't.”

Alex went suddenly still and, for a moment, Kara thought he had stopped breathing. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he settled her on the sofa and stood up.

“What's wrong, Alex?”

He looked into her eyes, those dreamy blue eyes that had captivated him from the beginning, and knew he couldn't deceive her any longer.

“There's something you need to know,” he said heavily. “Something I should have told you a long time ago.”

Kara's hand flew to her throat as an icy coldness spread over her. He
had
been hiding something from her. She had known it all along. Something about her condition, whatever it was. And from the look on his face, it wasn't good news. Dear Lord, had he brought her up here to tell her she was going to die?

She stared up at him, her heart pounding heavily. “What is it, Alex?”

Alexander swore a vile oath. Where to start?

“Alex, tell me!”

“Kara, do you remember I told you once that you must never love me, or trust me?”

“Yes.” She frowned, wondering what that had to
do with whatever it was that was wrong with her blood.

“Kara, I'm not from here.”

She frowned. Not from Eagle Flats? What did that have to do with anything?

Alex shook his head. “I mean I'm not from Earth.”

She stared at him blankly. She heard the words, but they made no sense. Not from Earth? What was he talking about?

“I came here more than two hundred years ago from a distant planet.”

“Alex, this is no time for jokes.”

“Believe me, I am not joking.”

Kara grimaced. “Alex, please . . .”

“It's the truth.”

Speechless, she continued to stare at him. It would have been easier to believe he was a vampire. At least vampires were, or had been, human. . . .

“You were right, Kara,” he said quietly. “There's nothing wrong with your blood. Nor is there anything wrong with my blood.”

He paused, and Kara stared at him, her breath trapped in her throat.

“There's nothing wrong with my blood,” he repeated, and his voice was infinitely sad, “except that it's alien blood.”

Alex ran a hand through his hair, determined to tell her the truth, or at least as much of it as he thought she could handle at the moment.

“Did you know Gail came to me when you were in the hospital? She thought I could help you. I don't know what drew me to your side that night, but I felt compelled to give you some of my blood. Even now, I'm not sure why.”

He paused, his hands clenched into fists. “The same compulsion drew me back the next night. Then, when you were in the hospital in Grenvale, I learned there'd been some sort of drastic change in your blood, and I knew it had to be the result of mingling my blood with yours. The night I took you to my house, I caught a rat and fed it poison. When it was near death, I injected the rat with some of my blood. It recovered in less than a minute.”

He paced the length of the floor, then stopped and stared into the fire. “Something in the air of your earth, the water, I don't know what, must have caused some kind of chemical mutation in my blood. I don't know what. I don't know why.”

Kara couldn't speak. She could only stare at him. The rational part of her mind insisted that his story was simply too bizarre to be believed while another part, some tiny totally illogical part, had to smile. If Alex was to be believed, then Gail had been right all along. There were aliens. Perhaps there were vampires as well. Maybe Nessie did exist. And Bigfoot.

Slowly, she shook her head. “I don't believe you. It's impossible.”

“Maybe you'll believe this,” he said, and turning away from her, he removed his shirt and trousers.

Kara stared at Alexander's back. Part of her mind registered the fact that he didn't wear anything underneath his clothes, that he was tall and broadshouldered and perfectly formed, but even as she found herself admiring his well-muscled physique, she felt herself recoiling from the visible proof staring her in the face. A dark, diamond-shaped pattern ran down the length of his spine, feathered across
his buttocks, and continued down the backs of his legs.

It reminded her of the kind of skin peculiar to the alien invaders she'd seen on an old TV series.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Convinced?” His voice was hard and cold and flat.

“What . . . is that?”

“It's perfectly normal.”

“Normal?”

“Indeed.”

Hardly aware that she was moving, Kara stood up and approached him. Hesitantly, she ran one fingertip over his spine, exploring the raised ridge of flesh that ran the length of his back. It felt coarser, thicker, than the rest of his skin, almost like soft leather. The dark stripe grew lighter in both color and texture as it continued below his waist and down the backs of his legs.

Repelled, yet curious, she touched him again, felt him shudder as her fingers brushed against his spine. Thinking she had hurt him in some way, she withdrew her hand.

But she couldn't tear her gaze away from his broad back, from that peculiar ridge of inhuman flesh. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. Alien. And even as she stared at his back, at the strangely compelling pattern on his spine, she found herself wondering if he was different from earthly men in other ways.

Riveted to the spot, she watched the play of muscles in his back as he slipped on his shirt and trousers.

Unable to help herself, she backed away from him when he turned around to face her.

“You're afraid of me now,” he said, and there was
a wealth of sadness in his voice.

Incapable of speech, Kara shook her head.
Alien. Alien.
The words repeated themselves in her mind.

The fear in her eyes pained Alex far more than he had anticipated.

“I won't hurt you, Kara,” he said quietly. “I'd swear it on everything I once held dear if I thought you would believe me.”

She swallowed hard, wishing she could think of something witty or brilliant to say. Instead, she felt her throat grow thick, felt the sharp sting of tears behind her eyes.

“Kara, say something.”

She lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “Gail will be thrilled to know she was right,” she murmured, and burst into tears.

He took a step toward her, wanting, needing, to comfort her, but her outthrust hand held him at bay.

“Don't touch me!” On the verge of hysteria, Kara turned and ran out of the room, sobbing.

He stared after her while shards of pain splintered through him. The sound of her voice seemed to reverberate off the walls:
Don't touch me! Don't touch me . . . Don't . . .

A coarse oath escaped his lips. He hadn't let himself care for anyone in two hundred years. Not that he had lived like a monk. Though he wasn't human, he was still a man, with a man's hungers, a man's needs. Needs that, since coming to earth, had been gratified only after a cash transaction. The women who had satisfied his lust had been willing to do whatever he asked. A few had thought it odd that he insisted the room they met in be kept completely dark; most had thought it strange that he refused to let them see him naked, but he hadn't cared. He had never spent more than fifteen minutes with any of them. He had satisfied his lust and left their beds,
ashamed of the need that had driven him to seek them out in the first place. Never, in two hundred years, had he trusted another living soul with the knowledge of who and what he was. He had lived on the edge of humanity, alone but never really lonely, until he gazed into Kara Crawford's dreamy blue eyes.

Now, for the first time, he had found a woman whose touch he craved. He had risked letting her know who he was, had shown her what he was, and she had looked at him with horror and revulsion. It shouldn't have hurt. It was exactly the reaction he had expected, but that didn't lessen the pain.

His steps were heavy as he left the cavern. He stood in the yard, hardly aware of the rain as he pondered what to do next. He couldn't take her home. She wouldn't want to stay here, not with him, not now.