Everlasting Desire (12 page)

Megan spent Monday morning curled up on the sofa. She felt numb inside, as if her body had lost the ability to feel. She had no appetite, no desire to get dressed. No desire to do anything. Shirl had offered to stay home from work, but Megan had said thanks, but no thanks. All she wanted was to be alone with her grief. Rhys was alive, she thought, and let out a harsh laugh. Not alive, but Undead. Either way, he was lost to her.

She replayed his last visit over and over again, wishing it had ended differently, wishing…what? That she had asked him to stay? That she had told him his being a vampire didn't matter? If only it didn't!

She blinked back her tears. How could she have fallen in love with a vampire? Let him kiss her? Make love to her? How could she not have known what he was? Maybe she had. Maybe her initial fear and distrust had been some innate sense of self-preservation, a warning she had refused to heed. But honestly, who knew vampires were real? Sure, in the last few weeks there had been stories on the nightly news that hinted at such things, but no one took such stories seriously. You couldn't believe everything you heard on the news. Vampires terrorizing New York and Los Angeles? Yeah, right. Who could worry about mythical creatures when there were so many real monsters roaming the streets, gunning down innocent women and children, kidnapping college kids while they were on spring break, raping children.

Heartsick and depressed, she slept most of the day away. But there was no escaping Rhys in her dreams, either…

He came to her, an apparition dressed all in black, his dark blond hair glowing like a halo in the darkness. His voice whispered over her skin like a caress.

“Megan.” Just her name, filled with such longing it brought quick tears to her eyes.

“Rhys. I wish…”

He covered her mouth with his hand. “Don't say it. I can't change what I am. I can't give you the life you deserve. I only wanted to make love to you one last time.”

She shook her head. “This isn't real.”

His gaze burned into hers. “It's as real as you want it to be.”

And because she wanted to hold him, love him, she closed her eyes and surrendered to his touch. His hands glided over her body, each stroke a symphony played by a master musician. She clung to him, wanting to be closer, closer, to believe it was more than a dream.

She shivered when his tongue slid along the tender flesh below her ear, moaned softly as his teeth grazed her skin.

He was biting her! For one endless moment of time, she gave herself up to the sensual pleasure of it. It was, after all, only a dream.

Wasn't it?

As from far away, she heard Shirl calling her name.

With a start, Megan opened her eyes, her heart pounding, her body warm and tingling from his touch.

Jumping off the sofa, she ran into the bathroom. Holding her hair away from her neck, she turned her head to the side and looked in the mirror, her stomach knotting when she saw the truth reflected in the mirror.

There, on the left side of her neck, two tiny bites and a single drop of blood.

 

“It had to be a dream,” Shirl said.

They were sitting at the kitchen table, eating the Chinese takeout Shirl had brought home for dinner.

Megan pointed at the bites on her neck. “Do these look like a dream to you?”

“What?” Shirl leaned forward. “I don't see anything.”

Megan frowned. “There were two bites there just a few minutes ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure.” Jumping to her feet, Megan ran into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. She turned her head this way and that, but her skin was smooth and unblemished.

Frowning, Megan went back into the kitchen and resumed her seat. “I was so sure….” She shook her head. Maybe it had been a dream. But what if it wasn't? “Okay, so I imagined the whole thing. You're the vampire expert. How can I keep him out of the house?”

“Well, according to lore, you have to rescind your invitation.”

“How do I do that?”

“You need to say that you take it back, that he's not welcome here anymore.”

“Don't I have to say it to his face?”

“No, I don't think so. Just do it.”

Feeling a little foolish, Megan said, “Rhys Costain, I revoke my invitation. You are no longer welcome in my home.” Was it her imagination, or did the house seem to sigh? “How do we know if it worked?”

“I don't know,” Shirl said, shrugging. “Wait and see, I guess.”

 

It took all the energy Megan possessed to get up and get ready for work Tuesday night. She didn't want to go to Shore's, but she didn't want to spend another day curled up on the sofa, brooding, either.

Because it suited her mood, she wore a black sheath to work. Black was the color of mourning, after all.

And of vampires…

She shook the thought from her mind. She would not think of him.

She was surprised when Drexel came into the shop shortly after ten.

“Hey, babe,” he said. “How are you?”

“I'm doing all right. I'm sorry about Kenny. I know how close the two of you were.”

“Yeah, Ken was with me when we first started.” He cleared his throat. “Best songwriter I ever knew. We're gonna miss him.”

“How about you?” she asked. “No ill effects from the fire?”

He shrugged. “My throat was sore for a few days. Nothing major.” He lifted his arm, which was bandaged from elbow to wrist. “The burn turned out to be worse than they first thought. Doc says I'll probably have a nasty scar.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “But it could have been worse. Anyway, I came by hoping that dude who was with you might be here. I want to thank him for getting me on that ambulance when he did.”

“I'm sorry, he's not here.”

“Well, give him my thanks when you see him, will you?”

“Yes, of course.” She blinked away the tears scorching the backs of her eyes. “Can I show you anything tonight?”

“Just your gorgeous self,” he said with a wink.

Megan shook her head. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too, babe. My proposal still stands, anytime you want to say yes.”

For one mad, crazy moment, she was tempted to accept. Why not? Rhys was gone, and she was tired of being alone. Drexel was cute; he was rich; he was famous. If she married him, she could have anything her heart desired—houses, luxury cars, expensive clothes and jewelry. Anything she wanted. Except the man she loved.

“We're going on tour day after tomorrow, but I'll stop in when I get back.” Leaning forward, Drexel kissed her cheek. “See you soon, babe.”

With a farewell wave to Mr. Parker, Drexel left the store.

Megan stared after him. She had always been fond of him, but there was a subtle difference in their relationship now, born of the fact that they had shared and survived a terrifying experience.

The rest of the night crawled by. Megan waited on several customers, but she felt as though she was moving through quicksand, as if time itself had altered somehow since that night in the park.

She was grieving for Rhys as if he had passed away, she thought, or maybe she was mourning the loss of their relationship. But she'd get over it.

“Are you all right, Megan?” Mr. Parker asked, coming up beside her.

She nodded. It wouldn't be easy, but her heart would heal, in time.

 

Rhys stood outside of Shore's, his presence cloaked from passersby as he gazed through the window, watching Megan move about the store.

He had tried to stay away, told himself they were both better off. In spite of the lies he had told himself, he had known from the beginning that, sooner or later, she would discover what he was and that knowledge would put an end to their relationship. He just hadn't expected it to happen so soon, or to hurt so damn bad.

He stared at her, hungering for her like a starving man deprived of food. He could smell the enticing scent of her hair and skin, hear the siren call of her heartbeat. He felt her lingering horror at discovering what he was, her feelings of confusion and betrayal. He had known she would never be able to accept the truth, yet the knowledge aroused his anger. Damn her! It wasn't his fault he had been turned into a monster. He understood her feelings, knew she had every right to be afraid of him, to be repulsed by what he was, but it did nothing to ease his anger. He could have drained her dry, turned her, killed her, but all he had done was love her. And he had thought she loved him.

She loved the man,
taunted a little voice in the back of his mind.
No woman could love the monster.

Hadn't he learned that lesson centuries ago from Josette? He would be wise to remember it in the future.

For the first time in his long existence, he hated what he was. Monster. There was no escaping it, no point in trying to be anything else.

“Vampire!” The word hissed between his teeth as he spun away from the window. Driven by a rage that would not be contained, a hunger that would not be denied, he fled into the darkness.

Tomás Villagrande strolled down Hollywood Boulevard, bemused by the steady stream of humanity that hurried by, never knowing there was a killer in their midst. The scent of their blood was intoxicating. For a moment, he was tempted to throw off the thin veneer of humanity he wore and let them see him for what he was. He could terrorize the puny mortals around him like a wolf raiding a flock of sheep. He could make a game of it, see how many he could drain in, say, ten minutes.

Somewhat reluctantly, he shook the thought away. Perhaps another night. For now, he wanted to explore the city. Costain resided here. According to vampire etiquette, Tomás knew he should make his presence known to the Master of the West Coast Vampires, and perhaps he would, at some later date. But for now, he kept his presence cloaked, and he would continue to do so until he knew the lay of the land.

And so he continued to stroll along the sidewalk. How times had changed, he thought. In his day, decent women had dressed demurely and never ventured outside without a chaperone. True, women had bared a great deal of cleavage, but little more. Only the lightskirts had flashed so much skin, behaved so brazenly. A gaggle of teenage girls went by, cell phones pressed to their ears, their rounded arms and flat bellies bared to his gaze, their shorts barely covering their nicely curved bottoms. It made his mouth water just to look at them.

A couple of teenage boys cruised the boulevard in a silver convertible with the top down, music blaring from the car's speakers.

Across the street, a man dressed as a woman waited for the light to change. Farther down the street, Tomás saw a woman dressed as a man. Insanity, he thought. What was the world coming to?

With a rueful shake of his head, he continued to stroll along the city streets, enjoying the cool kiss of the night air, the faint scent of the sea carried to him by an errant breeze.

And then, as he approached a tall, glass-fronted building, he caught the distinct scent of vampire.

Megan yawned behind her hand as she laid out a new shipment of Armani dress shirts. She had been miserable the last few days, and it was all because of Rhys. Even when she managed to keep him out of her head during the day, he haunted her dreams at night.

She had just finished ringing up a sale for one of her clients when Mr. Parker came out of his office, his expression grim.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Some man named Greg is on the phone for you.”

“Greg?” Why on earth would he be calling her at work? “Did he say what he wanted?”

“I think you'd better talk to him.”

A sudden coldness gripped Megan as she hurried into the office and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Megan, it's Greg. I'm at Mercy Arms Hospital with Shirl.”

“The hospital! Good Lord, is she…?”

“She's unconscious.”

“What happened? Were you in an accident?”

“No, we went out dancing after dinner. She said she wasn't feeling well, and we decided to come home early. I'd just turned off the freeway when she collapsed.”

“I'll be there in ten minutes.”

Mr. Parker appeared in the doorway when she got off the phone. “Bad news?”

“My roommate, she's in the hospital,” Megan said, grabbing her coat and her handbag. “I've got to go.”

He nodded. “I hope she'll be okay.”

“She will be,” Megan said. She refused to think otherwise.

She made it to the hospital in record time.

Shirl was in a private room on the third floor. Greg looked up when Megan entered the room. It was easy to see from the look on his face that their relationship was a lot more serious than Shirl had let on.

“How is she?” Megan asked, hurrying to Shirl's bedside.

“About the same.”

“What does the doctor say?”

“Not much at the moment. We're waiting for the results of some tests.”

Megan took Shirl's hand in hers. Even unconscious, her face almost as pale as the pillowcase, Shirl looked beautiful. “She's always been so healthy.” Megan looked across the bed at Greg. “Except for her headaches…” Her breath caught in her throat. “You don't think…” Megan couldn't finish the sentence.

Feeling suddenly weak, she dropped into the chair beside the bed. All those headaches…In the movies, it always meant something awful, like cancer or a brain tumor. Fear congealed in the pit of her stomach.

She looked at Greg, seeking hope, but judging from the bleak expression on his face, he was entertaining some pretty morbid thoughts of his own.

She was surprised that no one told them to leave. Nurses came and went all through the night, their rubber-soled shoes making little or no sound as they took Shirl's vitals, her blood, changed the IV.

It was near four
A.M
. when Megan came awake with a start. For a moment, she forgot where she was, but only a moment. The distinct smell of disinfectant reminded her that she was in the hospital. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she glanced around the room. Greg slept in the other chair, snoring softly.

Ignoring the ache in her back and shoulders caused by sleeping in a hard plastic chair, Megan rose. She smiled when she saw that Shirl was awake. “Hey, girl, how do you feel? Can I get you anything?”

“You can get me out of here.”

“I will, as soon as the doctors say you can leave.”

“No, Meggie, now, today.” Shirl grabbed Megan's hand so hard Megan feared the bones might break. “Megan, please get me out of here. I don't want to die in this place, hooked up to a bunch of machines, tubes everywhere!”

“Shirl, calm down. You're not going to die.” As gently as she could, she pulled her hand away, then took both of Shirl's hands in hers. “You're going to be fine.”

“No.” Shirl lifted a hand to her head. “I have a tumor.”

“You can't know that,” Megan said, forcing a note of calm into her voice that she was far from feeling. “Greg said they're waiting for the test results.”

“I know, Meggie. It's been there for a long time.”

“What?” Megan stared at her. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Tears welled in Shirl's eyes and dripped, unchecked, down her cheeks. “I've known for over a year. It's what's causing my headaches. I never should have gotten involved with Greg.”

Megan shook her head. “I don't know what to say.”

Shirl squeezed her hand again. “I'm afraid, Meggie.”

“I know. I know. There must be something they can do.”

“It's inoperable.” Shirl quickly dried her eyes on a corner of the sheet when Greg woke with a low groan.

Rising, he kissed her cheek. “Hey, beautiful, how are you feeling?”

“Better. I'm going home.”

“What? But, the tests…the doctor…”

Shirl glanced at Megan. “Could you leave us alone for a few minutes?”

“Sure.” Megan looked from Shirl to Greg. “I'll be right outside.”

Megan paced the hospital corridor, her mind refusing to believe that Shirl was dying. How could her friend have kept such a secret from her? It wasn't fair. Shirl was young and beautiful, at the top of her career, and in love for the first time in her life. Why had this happened to her?

When Megan reached the end of the corridor, she blinked away her tears, then started walking back toward Shirl's room. She bit down on her lower lip when Greg stalked out of the room and headed for the elevators.

Heaving a sigh, she went to offer Shirl what comfort she could.

 

In spite of what everyone, including her doctor had to say, Shirl insisted on checking out of the hospital.

At home, Megan tucked Shirl into bed, made sure she was comfortable, and then went to her own room. After undressing, she went into the bathroom, stepped into the shower, and turned the water on full blast so Shirl wouldn't hear her crying. Shirl was more than her roommate; she was the sister Megan had always wanted.

Megan stayed in the shower until she had no tears left. After drying off, she pulled on a pair of sweats and went downstairs to fix blueberry waffles for breakfast. She put the plates on a pretty tray and carried it upstairs, only to find that neither of them had any appetite.

Megan set her plate on top of Shirl's on the nightstand. “Do your parents know?”

“Yes.”

Megan stared out the window, trying to imagine what it would be like to know your only child was dying. Was Shirl's mother remembering what Shirl had been like as a little girl, regretting the fact that she hadn't been a better mother, that they hadn't spent more time together?

“I broke it off with Greg,” Shirl said, her voice barely audible. “He said it didn't matter, that he wanted to stay with me, but it's for the best.”

Megan nodded. What did you say to someone whose time was running out? Everything she thought of sounded trite or silly. Instead, she found herself remembering late night pillow fights and all the times they had shared confidences over a cup of hot chocolate. She was going to miss those times, Megan thought, blinking back her tears.

Silence hung heavy in the room for several minutes before Shirl said, “Meggie, will you do something for me?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Would you get in touch with Rhys?”

“Rhys? Whatever for?” Megan asked, and then, as comprehension dawned, she shook her head. “No, Shirl, don't even think about it.”

“He's the only one who can help me now.”

“Shirl…there has to be another option. Maybe another doctor would give you a better prognosis. At least get a second opinion.”

“I've gone to three different specialists, Meggie. They all say the same thing. It's inoperable.”

Megan sighed. “You don't want to be what he is, Shirl. Believe me, I've seen it. It's not a pretty sight.” She shook her head. “I watched him attack a man. I saw him with his mask down, his eyes red and glowing, his fangs stained with blood….”

“I don't care. I don't want to die.”

“Think of what you're saying, what you'll be giving up…” Megan bit down on her lower lip as she realized the futility of that argument.

“I'm giving up death for a new life,” Shirl said. “My mind's made up, Meggie. I've been thinking about it ever since you told me Rhys is a vampire.”

“I can't.”

“If you won't do it, I'll just go to his club. I know what I'm doing.”

“It's the reason you broke up with Greg, isn't it?”

“Yes. Living with someone who's dying is one thing. Asking him to share his life with a vampire…I couldn't do that.”

“What are you going to tell your parents?”

“I don't know. I'll worry about it later. I wonder if it hurts—becoming a vampire, I mean.”

“I don't know,” Megan said. Being bitten didn't hurt. In fact, it felt wonderful, but maybe it was different when you were being…what was the term? Turned?

“So, will you contact him for me?”

Megan nodded. “If that's what you want.”

“I do.”

Even though she didn't agree with Shirl's decision, Megan couldn't still the little shiver of excitement that curled in the pit of her stomach at the thought of seeing Rhys again.

 

Megan called Mr. Parker that afternoon to ask for the night off. He told her not to worry about it, asked how Shirl was feeling, said to be sure to let him know if there was anything he could do, and hung up.

Shirl slept most of the day, which left Megan with little to do except think about seeing Rhys again. She grew increasingly nervous as the hours went by, until, finally, it was time to get ready to go. She dressed with care, chiding herself for taking pains with her hair and makeup, but she couldn't help it. This would probably be the last time she saw him, and she wanted him to remember her at her best.

Shortly after sundown, she drove to Rhys's apartment, only to find that he wasn't home. Returning to her car, she sat there a moment, her fingertips tapping nervously on the steering wheel. Where else would he be? The nightclub, of course.

Her heart was pounding wildly by the time she pulled into the parking lot of
La Morte Rouge.
She sat behind the wheel a moment, willing her pulse to stop racing. Was she nervous at going into the club alone, she wondered as she opened the car door, or afraid of seeing Rhys again? Probably both, she decided as she stepped out of the car and locked the door behind her.

She glanced around as she walked toward the front of the building. The parking lot was nearly empty.

She hesitated at the entrance. From out here, the place looked closed. What if Rhys wasn't there? Only one way to find out, she thought, and knocked on the door.

It opened almost immediately, and she came face-to-face with the same man who had opened it when she'd come here with Rhys. If he recognized her, it didn't show in his expression.

“I'm sorry, miss, the club doesn't open for another hour.”

“I'd like to see Mr. Costain.”

He lifted one thick brow. “Is he expecting you?”

“No, but I think he'll see me.”

The man looked her over a moment, then said, “Of course. Come in. Please wait here.”

Standing just inside the door, Megan glanced around. The room was empty save for a red-headed woman seated at the piano, her fingers moving languidly over the keyboard.

The man returned a few minutes later. “This way, Miss DeLacey.”

She wondered how he knew her name as she followed him across the floor and up a short flight of stairs. She hadn't given it, and Rhys didn't know she was coming.

Megan stared at the door in front of her, her heart pounding wildly with the sudden realization that The Red Death wasn't a Goth club at all. It was a hangout for the Undead.

She jumped when the door opened.

“Are you coming in?” Rhys asked. “Or have you changed your mind?”

“How did you know I was out here?”

“I always know where you are.”

Well, that was disconcerting, to say the least.

He took a step back. “Come in.”

Feeling like Daniel going into the lion's den, Megan followed him into the room, which turned out to be a large office.

He gestured at an overstuffed chair upholstered in dark red velvet. “Sit down.”

She sat, her gaze darting around the room. The walls were papered in a dark red and gold stripe, giving the room the look of an old-fashioned brothel. The floors were polished hardwood. A pair of antique oak filing cabinets stood against one wall. The chair behind the desk was black leather. There were no windows in the room. She thought the state-of-the-art computer and the chrome-and-glass desk looked out of place.

He sat in his chair, watching her, his face devoid of expression. She couldn't help noticing he was wearing one of the navy-blue pinstriped shirts he had bought from her.

She clasped her hands tightly in her lap to keep them from shaking.

“So,” he asked, “why are you here?”

“Shirl wants to see you.”

Megan felt a little thrill of satisfaction. He hadn't seen that coming.

“Indeed? What for?”

“She wants to be a vampire.”

Disbelief danced across his features, and then he laughed.

“It's true,” Megan said. “She's dying.”

His laughter stilled, and he leaned forward, his arms crossed on the desk. “You're serious?”

“Of course! I wouldn't make jokes about something like that.”

“No, I meant the part about her wanting to be a vampire.”

“She's afraid to die.”

He grunted softly. “What's wrong with her?”

“She has a tumor. In her brain. It's inoperable.”

He leaned back in his chair, his elbows resting on the arms, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

Megan forced herself to look at him. Forced herself, she thought ruefully. What a lie that was. She couldn't stop staring at him, couldn't stop remembering the touch of his hands, his lips, the way his body felt against hers. Couldn't stop wishing…She slammed the door on her thoughts. He was what he was, and there was no changing it, no wishing away the truth. She had lost him, just as surely as she was going to lose her best friend.