Everlasting Desire (23 page)

In minutes, the slow, steady beat of her heart told him she was asleep.

He switched off the bedside light, then sat beside her, staring into the darkness. Dawn was only a few hours away.

He was leaning against the headboard, his eyes closed, when Megan bolted upright. “Rhys! Rhys!”

“I'm here.”

She stared at him, her eyes wild, then slumped back on the pillow. “I was having a nightmare.”

“I'm not surprised.”

“Shirl's really dead, isn't she?”

Rhys nodded. Guilt was an emotion he rarely suffered, but it flayed him now. Because of him, Megan had killed her best friend. “I'm sorry.” He blew out a breath. “Are you all right?”

“I will be. I couldn't let her destroy you, and…” Her fingers worried the edge of the blanket. “It wasn't really Shirl that I…” She couldn't bring herself to say the word
killed
out loud. “Villagrande twisted her thinking somehow. Or maybe it was just what you said before, that being a vampire brings out the best or the worst in people. I guess in her case it brought out the worst. And being with Villagrande didn't help.”

“You should hate me.”

Her eyes widened. “Why? It wasn't your fault. It was mine. I'm the one who asked you to turn her. Or maybe it was Shirl's fault. She begged me to ask you. None of us knew it would end like this.”

“I put too much faith in Erik's magick,” Rhys muttered. “I never should have left you alone.”

“It wasn't your fault. Erik's magick worked just fine.”

“Then how…?” Rhys looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “Tell me you didn't invite Villagrande inside.”

“Of course not!” Megan said, scowling at him. “Shirl tricked me. She came to the house, all bloody and pale, and told me Villagrande had beat her up—”

“And she invited him in,” Rhys finished for her. He brushed a lock of hair from her brow. “It's over now.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he drew the covers over Megan, then kissed her cheek. She was too good for him by half, her heart too pure, too forgiving.

“Stay with me and keep the nightmares away?” she asked sleepily.

Nodding, he took her hand in his, his heart aching with tenderness. Foolish girl, didn't she know he was the biggest nightmare in her life?

He sat beside her, watching as sleep claimed her again. He had come close to losing her tonight. Too damn close.

In spite of the fact that she was human and he wasn't, he had hoped they could have a life together. He should have known better. Relationships between vampires and mortals never ended well. Every minute he spent with Megan put her life in danger. Even if he managed to destroy Villagrande, which seemed doubtful, he had other enemies who wouldn't hesitate to use her to get to him.

If he had never turned Shirl, Megan's life might not be in danger now. But Megan had found the courage to destroy Shirl and save his life, and Villagrande wasn't one to forgive and forget.

Adrianna was proof of that.

He dragged a hand through his hair. He didn't know how he would be able to leave her when this was over, didn't know if he wanted to go on existing without her. But he couldn't go on putting her future at risk. She deserved to live a long and happy life surrounded by people who loved her. Getting out of her life was the best thing he could do for her.

But first, he had to destroy Villagrande. It was the only way to protect Megan.

And when it was done, he would tell her good-bye.

Megan woke slowly, certain that something was wrong. And then, between one breath and the next, memory came flooding back. She had killed her best friend last night. She remembered it all now, the horrible encounter with Villagrande on the boat, then traveling, vampire-style, to the Delacourt house in Boston.

But all of that was swallowed up in a wave of guilt and grief. Shirl was dead. The words repeated in her mind over and over again. Shirl was dead. It hadn't been a nightmare. She had plunged a wooden stake into her friend's back and pierced her heart.

Megan bit down on her lower lip as hot tears stung her eyes and cascaded down her cheeks. Conscious of Rhys sleeping beside her, she tried to muffle her sobs, but it was no use. Memories of the fun she and Shirl had once had swam to the surface of her mind. She remembered all the good times they'd had visiting their favorite day spa, going to the movies and shopping, the shared confidences, the foolish hopes and dreams they had confessed to each other late at night in front of the fire, Shirl's excitement when she was accepted by the top modeling agency in the city.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured. “Oh, Shirl, I'm so sorry.” She glanced at Rhys. If she had never met him, Shirl might still be alive. Yet, even as the thought crossed Megan's mind, she knew it wasn't true. As cliche as it sounded, Shirl had had a date with death. Becoming a vampire had just postponed it a few weeks. Maybe you couldn't cheat death. Maybe, when it was your time to go, the Grim Reaper would find you one way or another….

Megan shook the morbid thoughts from her mind, then used a corner of the sheet to wipe away her tears. What was done was done, and there was no going back. Shirl had changed once she became a vampire, and not for the better. Megan had been forced to make a choice last night. She hadn't had time to think it over or to weigh the consequences. Her best friend had been about to kill Rhys, and Megan's heart had made the decision.

Trying to ignore the guilt that still gnawed at her, Megan slid out of bed, turned on the bedside lamp, and glanced at her surroundings. The curtains, a pale sage green, matched the walls. The ceiling was white, the floor was polished hardwood. The furniture looked like antique mahogany. The bathrobe and gown she had worn the night before were nowhere to be seen.

Feeling the need to relieve herself, she went into the bathroom and closed the door. Clean towels had been laid out, as well as two bathrobes, a pink one for her, a black one for Rhys. A pair of toothbrushes, still in the packages, and a new tube of toothpaste sat on top of the towels. Megan couldn't help grinning. It had never occurred to her that vampires brushed their fangs.

After brushing her teeth, she wrapped up in the fluffy pink bathrobe and tiptoed down the hall toward the stairs.

She passed two doors, both closed. Were Erik and Daisy sleeping in twin coffins behind one of them?

Belting the robe tighter, Megan made her way down the stairs. She wandered through the house—living room, family room, dining room, bathroom, laundry room. Daisy's taste ran to bright colors. There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to indicate that a pair of vampires lived in the house and yet, even though Megan was sure it was only her imagination, the rooms seemed eerily silent.

“Like a tomb,” she muttered. Which she supposed it was, since there were three of the Undead resting here.

She paused in the kitchen doorway, wondering what the odds were of finding anything to eat in the refrigerator. Moving across the floor, she reached for the handle, then hesitated, hoping it wasn't filled with bottles of blood. After taking a breath, she opened the door, and breathed a sigh of relief. Inside, she found bacon, a dozen eggs, a carton of butter, a package of Swiss cheese, another of ham, and a quart of milk. She found small jars of mayonnaise, ketchup, and mustard on the counter, along with a loaf of bread, a small frying pan, and a spatula.

Daisy was indeed a good hostess. She had obviously gone to the store late last night so Megan would have the fixings for breakfast this morning and lunch later in the day.

Concentrating on the task at hand, Megan fried bacon and scrambled eggs for breakfast. She ate in the living room. In an effort to keep her grief at bay, she focused her thoughts on Daisy Delacourt, wondering how long she had been a vampire and whether she missed being mortal. If it wasn't for the blood thing and not being able to be outside during the day, being one of the Undead might not be so bad. Not so bad? What was she thinking? Vampires killed people. Being Undead made formerly normal, fun-loving young women like Shirl into monsters….

Megan set her plate on the coffee table as fresh tears scalded her eyes. She cried for what she had done, for what Shirl had become, and for Shirl's parents, who would never know what had happened to their daughter. She cried because she loved Rhys with all her heart, because she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life, and because she was sorely afraid she was going to lose him.

Gradually, her tears subsided. Depressed and lethargic, she curled up on the sofa and fell asleep.

When she woke, the sun was going down. Feeling stiff, she sat up and stretched her arms over her head. She heard the faint sound of hushed voices from the next room. Her ears perked up when someone—Daisy?—mentioned her name. Megan frowned. Why were they talking about her?

Rising, she tiptoed toward the door. She didn't approve of eavesdropping, as a rule, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“What makes you think she'll be safe without you?” Daisy's voice, her tone slightly impatient.

“He could have killed her,” Rhys said. “He damn near got me.”

“Listen,” Erik spoke up. “Between us, we can look after her. We'll get Alex to come and stay here during the day. Daisy's dad, too, if necessary. With all five of us guarding her, she should be okay.”

“And what if she isn't? How am I supposed to live with myself if she gets killed because of me?”

“It's that serious, huh?” Erik asked, a note of wry amusement in his voice.

“I asked her to marry me.”

“Really?” Daisy exclaimed. “Did she say yes?”

Megan had had enough. Before Rhys could reply, she stepped into the room. “Why don't you ask the prospective bride?”

They all turned to look at her.

“Eavesdropping, were you?” Rhys asked.

“How else am I going to find out what's going on around here?” She marched toward him. “Just going to walk out on me, were you?” She stabbed a finger at his chest. “Don't I have anything to say about it?”

“Megan…”

“I know you're worried about me. I'm worried, too. And scared to death. But I don't think your leaving will make me any safer. Villagrande has a score to settle with me, too, remember? His last words were ‘this isn't over.' Sure sounds like a threat to me.”

“I agree with Megan,” Erik said.

Rhys swore softly. “I was going to give him the city,” he muttered. “None of this was necessary.”

“Well, it doesn't matter now,” Daisy said. “Sounds like Villagrande's after both of you.”

“So, it's settled then.” Erik took Daisy by the hand. “If you'll excuse us, we need to go out for a while.”

“We won't be long,” Daisy called over her shoulder.

After Delacourt and Daisy left the house, Rhys pulled Megan into his arms. “I'm sorry I got you involved in all this.”

“It's not your fault.”

“Isn't it?”

“Rhys, stop blaming yourself. I'm with you because I want to be. Every relationship has its problems.”

He snorted softly. “Is that what you call Villagrande? A problem?”

“Well, a mighty big one, and…oh! I need to call Mr. Parker and tell him I won't be in tonight.”

“Or any night, as long as you're in danger,” Rhys said, reaching into his pocket. “Here, use my phone.”

Megan stared at the BlackBerry in her hand, noting, absently, that it was top of the line. But that was immaterial at the moment. Once again, her life had been turned upside down because of Rhys Costain. This time, it could cost her her job. Being a glorified saleswoman wasn't the greatest job in the world, but she enjoyed working at Shore's, and she got along well with Mr. Parker. Still, business was business. How much time could she take off before he decided to let her go?

“Megan?”

She looked up at Rhys, nodded, and punched in Mr. Parker's private number.

Shoulders hunched, Tomás Villagrande sat atop the Hollywood sign, letting the cool air soothe the burns scattered over his face, hands, chest, and shoulders. His clothing had been no protection against the hellish embers that had burned through cloth and skin alike. He hadn't hurt so badly in centuries, and it was all that red-haired tart's fault. Once his initial pain and anger had subsided, Tomás realized his power had been kept at bay by some supernatural spell. The woman wasn't a witch, which begged the question: Who had worked the enchantment? And the only logical answer was Erik Delacourt.

Tomás swore softly. Not long ago, he had done Delacourt a favor by sparing his life. And then, in an uncommon burst of charity, he had spared the lives of Daisy's father and brother, as well.

“Just goes to show you,” Tomás muttered. “Sooner or later, every good deed comes back to bite you in the ass.”

He lifted a hand to his face, grimacing as his fingers encountered puckered flesh. What foul curse had Delacourt conjured, Tomás wondered, that prevented his injuries from healing overnight?

Yes, Delacourt had much to answer for.

And then there was the matter of Shirl's destruction. It surprised him to realize that he missed her. He had been drawn to her from the first moment he saw her, captivated by her ethereal beauty. She had enjoyed being a vampire, reveled in her preternatural power. He had been charmed by her exuberance when she was on the hunt, puzzled by her reluctance to take a life.

And now the lovely Shirl was gone, her existence snuffed out before he had fully savored her. Before he had tired of her. The tart would pay for that, too, he mused, though he wasn't sure what form his vengeance would take. A life for a life? Perhaps.

Or perhaps he would destroy Costain and make the whore his slave, subject to his every whim. He would humble her, degrade her, until she had no will of her own, and then, when she no longer amused him, he would drain her dry and toss her aside, an empty husk.

But first, he had to find her.