Everlasting Desire (11 page)

Megan stared, uncomprehending, at the scene before her. She looked at Rhys, but it was a Rhys she had never seen before. His body was taut and even from a distance, she could feel the power rolling off him. When he glanced her way, his eyes blazed red. She closed her eyes a moment and then looked again. His eyes were still red. It was no trick of the light this time.

The man standing across from Rhys was huge. He was dressed in black from his hat to his shoes. Megan took a step forward, her eyes narrowing. Was he holding a gun? And a wooden stake?

The man moved toward Rhys. And Rhys snarled at him, revealing…Megan blinked at him, and blinked again. Fangs?

She was dreaming, she thought, she had to be dreaming.

Without taking his gaze from the other man, Rhys shouted. “Megan, get the hell out of here! Now!”

Before she had time to think or respond, the man in black fired the gun. Rhys doubled over, hissing through clenched teeth as his hands pressed against his stomach.

The man in black lunged forward, the stake raised in his right hand. A low cry rose in his throat as he plunged the stake into Rhys's back. She watched in horror as Rhys slowly sank to the ground and toppled onto his side, his hands still pressed to his stomach. In the dim light, the blood leaking through his fingers looked black.

What to do, Megan thought frantically. She took a step forward, driven by her need to go to Rhys, to offer aid, comfort, something, but before she could clear her mind, the man turned toward her.

Fear for her own life sent Megan running back toward the concert area. Safety in numbers, she thought frantically, even as she tried to block the horrific scene from her mind. But the carnage played over and over again, each time more chilling than the last.

A police officer stood on the edge of the crowd. Gasping for breath, Megan hurried toward him. Her mother had always told her to look for a cop if she was in trouble. And she was definitely in trouble.

“Officer!”

He looked up as she came running toward him. “Can I help you, miss?”

“Yes! My…my boyfriend and I had a fight, and I don't have any way to get home and I'm afraid….”

“Is he still here?” the officer asked, glancing behind Megan. “Did he hurt you? Threaten you in any way?”

“No.”

“Where is he?”

“Over there.” She gestured toward the deserted section of the park. “Stay here until I get back.” He pulled a flashlight from his belt and ran back the way Megan had come.

Megan stared after him. Had she done the right thing? What if the man who had killed Rhys killed the police officer, too? It would be her fault. Lordy, what if the killer came after her? She had witnessed his crime.

Grabbing her cell phone from her pocket, she punched in Shirl's number.

Shirl answered on the second ring.

“Hey, Megan, what's up?”

“Shirl, I need you to come and pick me up. Hurry, please!”

“What's wrong?”

“I can't talk now. I'm at the concert area of the park.”

“I'll be there as soon as I can.”

The police officer returned moments after Megan ended the call. “There's no sign of him,” he said. “Do you want to file a report?”

“No, I just want to go home.”

“Is there someone you can call?”

“I did, thank you. I'm sorry to have bothered you.”

“No bother at all,” he said with a smile.

It took twenty minutes for Shirl to get to the park. They were the longest twenty minutes of Megan's life. Why hadn't the policeman found anything, she wondered, and then answered her own question. The killer had probably taken Rhys's body away.

After climbing inside Shirl's car, Megan locked the passenger door, then huddled against the seat, her arms wrapped around her waist, shivering.

“Girl, what did that man do to you?” Shirl asked. “You're white as a ghost.”

“You were right,” Megan whispered. “You were right.”

“Yeah? About what?” Shirl asked.

“Rhys. He's…” She couldn't say the word out loud. Doing so would make it real, and it couldn't be real. And yet there was no denying the proof of her own eyes.

“Meggie, you're scaring me. What did he do to you?”

“Not now. Can't you drive faster?”

It seemed to take forever to reach home. Megan glanced out the back window before getting out of the car, racing up to the porch, and unlocking the door. “Hurry, Shirl!”

Once her friend was inside, Megan locked and bolted the door, then ran through the house, making sure the windows were locked, closing all the curtains.

Looking worried, Shirl followed her from room to room. “Megan, if you don't tell me what's going on right this instant, I'm going to…to…I don't know what!”

When she was sure the house was secure, Megan returned to the living room and curled up on the sofa. She couldn't stop shaking.

“Meggie, what's wrong? What did he do? Should I call the police?”

“You were right.” Megan stared up at her friend. “You were right about him. He's…” She took a deep breath. “He is a vampire.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” She couldn't say it again.

“Why do you think he's one of the Undead? What happened?”

“We were at the concert. He said he needed to go for a walk and I…I followed him. I saw him and another man. They were staring at each other, almost like they were sizing each other up. The other man had a gun and a wooden stake. I must have made a noise, because Rhys turned and looked at me. His eyes, they were blood red, and he…he had fangs. He shouted for me to get out of there, but before I could move, the other man shot him.” She shuddered with the memory. “And then the man drove the stake into Rhys's back, and…Rhys collapsed.” Sobbing, she buried her face in her hands. “The man looked at me, and I ran away.”

How could she have been so cowardly? She should have stayed. She scrubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to get warm. What if Rhys wasn't dead? What if he had needed help? She shook her head. What if he had? What kind of help could she have given him? She didn't know anything about fighting vampires or slayers. The other man had had a gun, for crying out loud. And Rhys had…She swallowed hard. Fangs. Sharp white fangs that had glistened in the moonlight. And what did she have? A set of acrylic nails.

Shirl turned on the heater and lit a fire in the hearth, then sat beside Megan. “Calm down, sweetie. You're safe now.”

“Am I?” What if that man had followed her home? Had she put Shirl's life in danger?

“Are you sure about this, Meggie? I mean, geez, I was kidding when I said he was a vampire. I never thought it was true. Good grief, who knew such things really existed?”

“What if he's not dead?”

“Whether he is or isn't, there's nothing you could have done.”

A burst of hysterical laughter rose in Megan's throat. Of course he was dead. She didn't know much about vampires, but she had seen enough horror movies to know that a wooden stake through the heart was foolproof. She had been right to run, she thought. If she had stayed, the man might have killed her, too. After all, she was the only witness. So, why did she still feel so guilty?

Shirl looked at her, eyes wide. “Meggie, you don't think…I mean, if vampires are real, maybe there are were wolves and trolls and…and…who knows what else?” She pressed a hand to her heart. “I think I could use a drink! How about you?”

 

Megan lay in her bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Rhys clutching at his stomach, falling to the ground. All the booze in the world couldn't erase that image. Or change the fact that she had made love to a vampire.

She lifted a hand to her throat. Had he fed on her?

Vampire.

It explained everything.

And nothing.

She flopped over onto her stomach. She didn't know what to think, how to feel. All she knew was that there was a hole the size of the Grand Canyon in her heart that no one else would ever fill. Vampire or not, she had loved him.

Tears stung her eyes. She had loved him, and now he was gone. It seemed odd to grieve for a man who had already died once, but she couldn't help it. Had he loved her, as well? Or had he only been using her for…what? Had he been planning to feed on her? He could have done that at any time. To turn her into what he was? She recoiled at the thought.

Unable to sleep, she got out of bed, pulled on her robe, and went downstairs. After turning on the light in the room they used for an office, she booted up the computer and did a Google search for vampires. There were hundreds of sites. Every civilization in the world, both ancient and modern, had its own vampire myths and legends. Transylvania had turned the Dracula legend into a lucrative business.

Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of movies had been made about vampires, everything from horror flicks to comedies and cartoons.

And then there were the Goths—men and women who emulated the vampire lifestyle. They dressed in black, wore black contact lenses, and sported fake fangs. The women wore black or blood-red lipstick, and decorated their homes in the Victorian manner. Red wine was the drink of choice, although there were some who—gag!—drank blood from willing donors.

Megan shuddered at the mere idea.

Reading on, she learned that many people were introduced to vampires by way of the role-playing game, “Vampire: the Masquerade.”

Psychic vampires fed on energy—some fed during sex, others by mingling with large crowds of people, while still others fed on nature itself. Then there were psychotic vampires who were believed to have some kind of sociopathic mental illness that caused them to behave in bizarre fashion. Megan grimaced as she read about Elizabeth Bathory. Elizabeth had been a countess back in the 1500s. It was generally accepted that she had been a psychotic vampire. Beautiful and vain, Elizabeth had tortured and killed hundreds of young girls, then bathed in their blood, believing that doing so would keep her forever young.

Inevitably, one of the sites listed ways to destroy a vampire. A stake through the heart was high on the list. Reading the words made Megan's stomach churn, but she forced herself to keep reading. After all, if there was one vampire, there might be more.

Another sure way to dispatch a vampire was by beheading, or exposing the creature to sunlight. Garlic and crosses were supposed to repel them. Holy water and silver burned their flesh. A small footnote mentioned that there could be only one Master Vampire in any given territory at one time.

Megan sat back in her chair, her mind reeling, her eyes gritty from lack of sleep. She needed to go to bed, yet how could she expect to sleep now? She had no doubt that Rhys was—she blinked back her tears—had been…a vampire. She had seen his eyes glowing red, seen his fangs. He didn't eat; she had never seen him during the day. In all the times he had come to Shore's, he had never once looked in a mirror. Now that she thought about it, he had gone out of his way to avoid them.

Vampire. Nosferatu. Undead creature of the night.

The tears came then. Rocking back and forth, she wept for Rhys and for the burgeoning love that had died with him.

Rhys pressed one hand over the ragged wound in his belly. Though his body had cast off the silver slug, it had burned like fire going in and coming out. Dark red blood dripped through his fingers as he stared at the body of the hunter sprawled facedown on the grass. He didn't know how the man had found him. Dumb luck, he supposed. Or maybe the hunter had been tracking him, although Rhys thought it unlikely. He might have been preoccupied with Megan the last few weeks, but he hadn't gone deaf, dumb, and blind.

Until tonight.

It had taken what little strength he had left to veil his presence and that of the hunter from the police officer who'd been snooping around earlier. Rhys had no doubt that Megan had sent the cop. Whether she wanted the officer to help him, or make sure he was dead, was anybody's guess. One thing he knew for sure, she had been terrified by what she'd seen, but he could hardly blame her for that.

He winced as he explored the wound in his back. This was the second time someone had staked him and missed his heart by inches, he mused. First Daisy, and now this hunter. If he wasn't careful, his luck was going to run out.

Rhys swore softly as the scent of the hunter's blood drifted on the breeze. He needed blood to heal the wounds the bastard had inflicted, but drinking from the dead, even the newly dead, was distasteful.

But there was fresh prey nearby. Moving through the shadows, he found a couple of teenaged boys sitting off by themselves, sharing a joint.

They looked up when they saw him, their expressions showing first surprise and then fear as he drew closer. Fear that turned to terror when they realized they couldn't speak, couldn't move.

Rhys took what he needed, wiped the memory of what had happened from their minds, then slipped into the shadows, enjoying a mild high from the drug in their blood.

He had to see Megan. Even knowing that she would recoil from his presence, he had to see her again. She knew him for what he was now, and the knowledge had horrified her. He had seen the revulsion in her eyes before she fled the scene. Not that he blamed her for taking off. Hadn't he told her to go? Of course, she was a smart girl, and, considering what she had seen, she likely would have run anyway.

A thought took him to her house, another to her bedside.

She slept with a light on. After what she had been through that night, he wasn't surprised. For a moment, he could only stand there, thinking how beautiful she was, her red gold hair as soft as silk, her skin the color of rich cream, her lips, pink and perfect and slightly parted.

Curious to know what she dreamed of, he let his mind brush hers.

She was dreaming that they were walking along the beach arm in arm. In her dream, he wasn't a vampire.

“Megan.”

“Rhys?” Still caught up in her dream, she smiled—until she opened her eyes and saw him standing beside the bed. Suddenly wide awake, she bolted upright, the sheet clutched to her breasts as if it would protect her, the smile on her face fading, the color draining from her cheeks. “How can you be here? I thought…that man…he shot you. I saw him drive a stake into your back.”

He shrugged. “As you can see, I'm fine.” He clenched his hands at his sides. He could hear her heart beating wildly, taste the fear that tainted her skin. “Dammit, stop looking at me like that!”

His anger stoked her own. “I'm sorry if I'm scared, but what do you expect? It's not every day I see a man killed in front of me. Almost killed.” She made a vague gesture with her hand. “Whatever! Why didn't you tell me what you were? What you are.”

“Maybe because I didn't want to see that look in your eyes.”

Her gaze slid away from his.

“You've nothing to fear from me,” he said, his voice gruff. “I only came to make certain you were all right.”

Still not looking at him, she murmured, “I'm sorry I ran away.”

“What the hell do you have to be sorry about? I told you to go.”

“I should have stayed.”

He laughed softly. “And done what?”

She looked up at him then, her gaze meeting his. “What did you do to that man?”

“Just exactly what you think I did.”

“You killed him.” It wasn't a question. “Did you…?”

“No.”

She looked surprised. “Why not?”

“I prefer it warm.” His gaze moved to the hollow of her throat. “And fresh.”

If possible, her face went even paler.

“I won't bother you anymore. I just came by to make sure you got home all right. Good-bye, Megan.”

He didn't wait for her to reply. Calling on his preternatural power, he vanished from her sight.

For a moment, he stood on the sidewalk below her window. She was lost to him now, that was for damn sure. He tried to comfort himself with the thought that it was just as well, and failed miserably. He had never intended to fall in love with her. Perhaps he should have told her the truth, he thought, and then shook his head. Had he done so, he would have just lost her sooner. His one regret was that she had seen him at his worst.

One regret, he thought bleakly. Hell, he had a million of them.

Muttering an oath, he went in search of prey.