Everlasting Desire (26 page)

Thoughts of going home brought Shirl to mind. Thinking of her former best friend brought the sting of tears to her eyes. She quickly wiped them away before Mr. Parker could see them. The last thing she wanted to do was explain why she was crying. She could hardly tell Mr. Parker the truth, and she wasn't in the mood to think up a plausible lie.

“Well,” Mr. Parker said, coming up behind her. “If we do this well tomorrow night, I guess Mary Lou will get that cabin in Big Bear after all.”

Mary Lou was Mr. Parker's wife. She was fifteen years younger than he was. They had been married for twelve years, had two sets of twins, and seemed very happy together. Megan couldn't help envying them.

“Come on,” Mr. Parker said, as he did most every night. “I'll walk you out.”

With a nod, Megan grabbed her coat and handbag.

“I don't think I ever realized just how valuable you are to the business,” Mr. Parker remarked as he unlocked the back door. “Two of our best customers said they wouldn't be back until you were. I'd hate to think what would happen if you quit.”

“Well, I don't see that happening anytime soon,” Megan said. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Take care.”

Megan waved at him; then, with a sigh, she unlocked her car and slid behind the wheel.

A scream clawed its way out of her throat when she realized she wasn't alone. “Rhys!” She pressed a hand to her thundering heart. “Good Lord, are you trying to scare me to death?”

She took several slow, deep breaths, her fear quickly replaced by the sheer joy of seeing him again. Her heart did a little somersault when she saw that he was wearing clothes she had sold him. He was as breathtakingly handsome as always, and she reveled in the sight of him.

After the first rush of happiness, anger reared its ugly head. “What are you doing here?”

“I'd think that would be obvious.”

“Oh?” She clasped her hands in her lap to keep from reaching for him. “Why is that?”

“I know you're upset with me.”

“Upset? Why on earth would I be upset?” She could hear her voice rising, but she couldn't help it. What right did he have to leave her without so much as a word of good-bye and then just reappear as if nothing had happened?

“Megan…”

“Would you please get out of my car?” When he didn't move, she wondered if cars were like houses. Could she rescind her invitation?

His gaze moved over her face, as warm and tangible as a caress. “That's not what you want.”

She glared at him. “Quit. Reading. My. Mind.”

“Listen, I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have taken off the way I did. I know that.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Dammit, Megan, I couldn't look in your eyes and tell you good-bye. Leaving you was hard enough as it was.”

“Daisy told me you left because my life would be in danger as long as you and I were together. So, what's changed? You're still a vampire, and I'm still human, and unless you've figured out a way to become human again…” Her voice trailed off. “Please, Rhys, just go away. I can't do this again.”

“Megan.” He caressed her cheek, ever so lightly. “I don't want to go on without you. I was alone for a long time and content to be so, until I met you. I'm in love with you. That hasn't changed, and it never will. I know you love me. I know it's risky for you to stay with me, but maybe if we leave LA, go to a small town where there aren't any other vampires…” He shrugged. “Maybe we could start over, pretend we're like any other couple.”

It was tempting, so tempting. But what if it didn't work out? Did she want to try again? Risk her heart again? What if some other maniac vampire showed up? “I don't know.”

“I promise I won't ever leave you again, unless you tell me to go.”

And still she hesitated.

“Megan.”

She bit down on her lower lip. How could she resist the love she heard in his voice, the longing in his eyes? She had agreed, perhaps rashly, to marry him not long ago. Did she still want that? Did she really want to spend her life with a man she would never understand? Did she want to give up the chance to have a family and live a normal life?

He was reading her mind again. She could see it in the clenching of his hands, the tightening of his jaw.

“I'm sorry I bothered you,” he said, his voice tight. “It won't happen again.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding. He was leaving. What if she never saw him again? Did she want to spend the rest of her life without him?

Preternatural power filled the air, and she knew that in moments he would vanish from her sight.

“Good-bye, Megan.”

“No!” She grabbed his arm, realizing in that moment, when he was about to leave her, perhaps forever, that she couldn't live without him. “Don't go!”

She frowned as a slow smile spread across his face. Pulling her hand away from his arm, she glared at him. “That's so unfair!”

“What?”

“Oh, I hate you! You were reading my mind again, weren't you? You knew I wouldn't let you go!”

Chuckling softly, he reached for her, but she pulled away. “No, not until you promise to stop reading my mind.”

“I'll do better than that,” he said, still grinning. “I'll teach you how to block me.”

“There's a way to do that?” she exclaimed. “Why didn't you tell me that before?”

He shrugged. “Because I like reading your mind,” he admitted. “I like knowing what you're thinking about me.”

“So, can you read everybody's mind?”

“Pretty much. In the beginning, it took a lot of concentration to block them all out.”

“Can all vampires do it?”

“As far as I know.”

“So, how do I block you?”

“You have to erect a barrier around your mind. Visualize it as a brick wall, or a dam, or some other structure that's solid.”

“And that works?” she asked skeptically.

“It takes a lot of practice, but that's the only way I know.” Seeing the look of concentration on her face, he took her hands in his and gave them a gentle shake. “Do you have to try it now?”

“I guess not.”

“So, what do you say we go to your place? I'll grovel at your feet until you forgive me, and then we can indulge in some hot make-up sex.”

Megan laughed as she fumbled with her keys. “You're incorrigible.”

“I know.” His hand curled over hers. “Leave your car here. I've got a lot of groveling to do, and I want to get to the huggin' and kissin' before dawn.”

Before she had time to say ah, yes, or no, they were in her bedroom. Rhys was sitting on the foot of the bed, and she was on his lap.

“Vampires,” she muttered.

Rhys fell back on the mattress, carrying her with him. When they landed, they were lying face-to-face. “Be honest, would you have me any other way?”

“No.” She might wish for him to be human, but if he was, he wouldn't be the Rhys she had fallen in love with.

“You promised to marry me, remember?” His hand slid slowly up and down her back, a gentle caress.

“Hmm, I'm not sure that promise is still valid, since you went off and left me.”

“No?”

“No.”

He pulled her body closer to his. “I want you.”

She could feel the hard evidence of that want against her belly.

“And you want me.” His voice was a low purr in her ear.

“Are you reading my mind again?”

“No. I can smell it on you.”

“You cannot.”

“It's a sweet, musky scent, guaranteed to drive a man wild.”

She grinned. “Are you wild?”

“Baby, you'd better believe it.” He bared his fangs. “Want me to show you?”

“Oh, Grandma, what big teeth you have.”

He leered at her. “That ain't all that's big.”

“Are you gonna show me that, too?”

“You bet.”

“Will I like it?”

“I've never had any complaints.” Rhys swore softly when she went suddenly quiet. Damn. He didn't have to read her mind to know she was wondering how many women he had known, how many he had loved. He hoped she wouldn't ask, but since she was a female, it was inevitable.

“Rhys?”

He blew out a sigh. Here it comes.

“Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want to.”

“You can ask me anything.” He was only surprised she hadn't asked before.

“Have there been a lot of…Never mind. I don't think I want to know.”

“There's only been one other woman who ever meant anything, Megan.”

“Did you love her very much?”

“I thought I did. I was a young man, a young vampire back then. I'm not sure how much of what I felt for her was love, and how much was lust, but it was nothing compared to what I feel for you. So, are you still willing to marry me, pretty Megan?”

Cupping his face in her hands, she closed her eyes and whispered, “Read my mind.”

Megan turned slowly in front of the triple mirror. The dress, long and off-white with fitted sleeves and a square neck edged with lace, made her feel like a fairy-tale princess. What would Rhys think of it?

They hadn't talked about when or where they would get married. Hadn't decided whether to run away to Vegas or stay in town and have a judge perform the ceremony. Either way, she was going to be ridiculously overdressed. Still, a girl only got married for the first time once, and she had always dreamed of a dress exactly like this.

It was a little after four when she left the bridal shop, the wedding gown in hand. After laying the dress in the backseat of her car, she walked across the street to 31 Flavors and ordered a hot fudge sundae with extra whipped cream and a cherry. Tonight, she and Rhys had a lot to talk about. When and where to get married. Who, if anyone, to invite to the ceremony. Where they would live. As for what would happen when the difference in their ages became impossible to ignore, she refused to think about it. She loved Rhys, and he loved her, and that was all that mattered.

Megan was smiling when she left 31 Flavors. Humming softly, she started across the street toward her car.

A loud screech of brakes was her only warning. She screamed once. And then everything went black.

 

Rhys jackknifed into a sitting position, Megan's scream still ringing in his ears, but when he tried to link his mind to hers, he found only emptiness.

 

Stone-faced, Evelyn DeLacy stood at her daughter's bedside, one of Megan's hands held tightly in her own. George stood on the other side of the bed, tears streaming down his cheeks. Evelyn tried not to look at her husband, tried not to hear his sobs. She had to keep her emotions under control. If she didn't, she knew she would shatter into a million pieces and, like Humpty Dumpty, they would never be able to put her back together again.

A drunk sixteen-year-old boy driving a stolen car had hit Megan as she crossed the street. Megan had been in surgery for seven hours. The doctors had told Evelyn and George that if Megan survived the next twenty-four hours, there was a chance that she would recover, though it was unlikely she would ever walk or use her left arm again.

Evelyn didn't care about that or anything else. All she wanted was for Megan to wake up. Tears stung the backs of her eyes as she gazed at her daughter's battered face, at the casts on her legs and arm, at the bandages that covered numerous wounds, at the tubes and wires that hooked her to beeping machines.

As she brushed a lock of hair from Megan's brow, Evelyn murmured a silent prayer, asking, begging, for a miracle.

She looked up, startled, as a tall man with dark blond hair and impenetrable dark brown eyes appeared in the doorway. Something about him made her take several steps forward, putting herself between the stranger and her daughter's bed. “May I help you?” she asked.

Rhys paused in the doorway when he realized Megan wasn't alone. He had been so intent on getting to her, he hadn't bothered to scan the room for anyone else. There was no doubt that the stranger was Megan's mother. She was a pretty woman with reddish-brown hair and blue eyes. The man was tall with brown hair just going gray at the temples. His eyes were the same shade of brown as Megan's.

Rhys inclined his head slightly in the woman's direction. A quick search of her mind told him her name was Evelyn. The tearful man standing across from her was Megan's father, George.

Rhys stepped farther into the room. “I've come to see Megan.”

“Are you a friend of hers?” Evelyn asked.

“You could say that.”

George DeLacey wiped his eyes, his narrow gaze assessing as he looked Rhys up and down. “Who are you?”

“Rhys Costain.”

George shook his head. “She never mentioned you.”

Rhys looked past Megan's parents to where she lay, a slim, pale-faced figure swathed in bandages. He had followed the scent of her blood to this place. Try as he might, he had been unable to link with her mind. The thought that she might never regain consciousness frightened him in ways nothing else ever had.

He took a deep breath. “I just want to see her,” he said quietly. Nothing they said or did would stop him, but he would try to get their permission first.

Evelyn and George exchanged glances, then George nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Alone,” Rhys said.

George shook his head. “No way.”

Swallowing his irritation, Rhys moved toward the bed. “What do the doctors say?”

“Nothing very hopeful,” George replied, his voice thick. “Even if she wakes up, she won't walk again.”

Rhys took one of Megan's hands in his. “What happened?”

“She was out shopping for a wedding dress. A drunk driver hit her when she was crossing the street.”

“Where is he?”

“In jail.”

Rhys nodded. If Megan died, all the cops in the world wouldn't be able to protect the kid who had done this to her.

“How do you know our daughter?” Evelyn asked.

“We met at Shore's. We've been dating for several months.” Rhys swallowed hard. “I asked her to marry me, and she said yes.”

George and Evelyn exchanged glances again. George looked incredulous.

“She never told us,” Evelyn murmured. She looked at her husband. “Why didn't she tell us?” she asked, and burst into tears.

George put his arm around his wife's shoulders and guided her, gently, toward a chair. When she was seated, he knelt beside her.

Rhys moved swiftly to Megan's side. Taking her hand in his, he tried once again to join his mind with hers. It hadn't worked from a distance; he prayed it would work now.
Megan?
He squeezed her hand, silently willing her to respond.
Megan, can you hear me?

“Dammit, Megan,” he whispered urgently. “You've got to hear me!”

But silence was his only answer.

 

Rhys wandered the dark streets, heedless of where his feet carried him. Nothing mattered now but Megan. Four days had passed since the accident, and she was still lost to him, locked in a coma. He had gone to see her every night. Her parents no longer questioned his right to be there. Not wanting Megan to be left alone, her mother and father were taking turns staying at her bedside. Evelyn stayed during the day, George at night. Rhys arrived at the hospital late at night, after exhaustion and worry had taken their toll and her father finally succumbed to sleep.

And now Rhys again stood at her bedside. Unmindful of her father, asleep in a chair, Rhys held Megan's hand, speaking softly of his love for her, of the life they would have together if she would only awaken. Even though he wasn't sure she heard him, he went on, reminiscing about the nights they had spent together, the times they had made love.

“Megan, my sweet.” His fingertips brushed her cheek, traced the curve of her lips. Her face was as pale as the pillowcase beneath her head, her skin as cool as his, her breathing shallow. How much longer would she lie there, unmoving and unaware, before he lost her for good?

His gaze moved to her throat, to the pulse slowly beating there. If he brought her across, would it restore her to good health?

Or condemn her to spending an eternity in the horrible state she was now in?

And how was he to know?

 

Three long weeks passed. Fear and concern for Megan drew Rhys and her parents together. Rhys found himself genuinely liking George and Evelyn. They were good, honest people, openly expressing their gratitude to the doctors and nurses caring for their daughter. Rhys knew they were naturally curious about the man who claimed to be engaged to Megan, but their questions were tactful, and they didn't pursue subjects he was reluctant to discuss.

He knew they wondered why he always arrived after dark, even on the weekends, why he never went for coffee with George or accepted any of the donuts or homemade treats Evelyn sometimes brought to the hospital to share with the staff. He considered telling them what he was but, in the end, years of discretion kept him silent. It was one thing for Megan's parents to think of him as somewhat mysterious, another entirely for them to know the truth.

George and Evelyn spent hours talking to Megan or reading to her. A radio played constantly in the background in the belief that it might stimulate a response.

Rhys continued to speak to her as well, sometimes vocally, sometimes mentally, but there was no response. She didn't speak, didn't open her eyes, didn't move. Some of the bandages had been removed, revealing ugly bruises on one side of her face and along her right arm.

Earlier that night, the doctor had called Megan's parents into his office. Curious to hear what the physician had to say, Rhys had dissolved into mist and followed them. The news hadn't been good. As gently as possible, the doctor had explained that, with every passing day, it became more unlikely that Megan would regain consciousness. He also advised them that there was a possibility she would regain consciousness but be in a vegetative state, meaning she would have lost all cognitive neurological function. She could be awake and appear normal, but if the cognitive part of her brain ceased to function, she would be unable to respond to her surroundings.

Distraught, Evelyn had sobbed, “It would be better if she died! She wouldn't want to live like that.”

“There's always a chance she'll wake and regain all her faculties,” the doctor said. “But I thought you should be prepared for the worst as well.”

With a nod, George led Evelyn out of the doctor's office.

Rhys had been back at Megan's bedside when they entered her room.

He was there now, his hand lightly stroking her brow. It was almost two in the morning, and the hospital was quiet save for the soft shushing of rubber-soled shoes as the night nurses checked on their patients, and the ever-present wheezing and beeping of life-support machines. Megan's father slept in one of the chairs, his brow furrowed with worry even in sleep.

As he had every night, Rhys tried to connect with Megan's mind. Tonight, fear and a sense of doom caused by the doctor's gloomy prognosis drove him to persist longer than usual. Intent on the task at hand, he did not notice as the minutes and hours passed, until he felt the warning tingle that signaled the rising of the sun.

He was about to kiss her good-bye when her voice sounded in his mind.

Rhys?

Megan!
Hope flared in his heart and soul.
Megan, can you hear me?

Where am I? Where are you? It's dark, so dark.

Heat from the rising sun prickled along his skin. Moving quietly, he went to the window and closed the blinds.
Open your eyes for me, Megan.

I can't. What's wrong with me? Am I dying?

No, love, you're in a coma.

Then how can we be talking?

I don't know. I want to try something.

What?

I'm going to give you some of my blood.

He smiled faintly as he sensed her revulsion.
It might help heal you.

Afraid she would object, he didn't wait for a reply. He bit into his wrist, and, after gently parting her lips, he held his arm over her mouth and let a few drops of his blood trickle onto the back of her tongue, hoping they would slide down her throat.

He would have given her more, but a nurse chose that moment to pause outside the door.

Turning his back to the nurse, Rhys closed the wound in his wrist, bid the nurse good night, and left the room.

Outside, he took a quick moment to admire the sunrise before willing himself to his penthouse.

 

He was back at the hospital at sundown the following night. Earlier that day, he had touched Megan's mind. Even though she hadn't answered, he had assured her that he loved her, missed her, would see her soon. He was whistling softly when he arrived at the hospital, unable to contain the hope that his blood had worked a miracle, that he would walk into Megan's room and find her sitting up in bed, smiling and happy.

But such was not to be. Even though she was now breathing on her own, Megan lay as before, pale and unmoving. George and Evelyn stood together at her bedside. The weeks had taken their toll on Megan's parents. Her father's hair had turned completely gray; deep lines of worry bracketed his mouth. Her mother, too, had aged in the last month. Evelyn never smiled now; the dark shadows under her eyes were evidence of sleepless nights and anxious days.

Two to four weeks, the doctor had said. If Megan didn't come out of the coma in that time, the odds were she would lapse into a vegetative state and never recover.

Taking her uninjured hand in his, Rhys bent down, his lips brushing her cheek, her eyelids, the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat.

“Fear not, my love,” he whispered. “I won't let that happen to you.” She didn't respond, of course, and because he wanted her to know he was there, he reached for the link between them; he found only emptiness.

In that moment, he made up his mind. No more waiting. No more hoping and praying for a miracle that might never come. Tonight, he would bring her across. But not here. If it worked, she would wake with a ravenous thirst. It wasn't something doctors or nurses were equipped to handle, nor was it something he wanted her parents to see.

He glanced at George and Evelyn. It would be cruel to take Megan away without warning them beforehand. They had suffered enough.

His decision made, he closed the door to Megan's room. “George, Evelyn, why don't you sit down? I have something to tell you.”

They exchanged glances, then sat side by side, holding hands. Evelyn's cheeks were damp with tears. George looked mildly curious.

Rhys dragged his fingers through his hair. “I'm not sure how to say this except to say it straight out. I'm a vampire.”