Everlasting Desire (27 page)

Evelyn blinked at him.

“This is no time for jokes,” George said angrily. “My daughter is dying.”

“Do I look like I'm joking?”

Clenching his fists, George started to rise. There was no doubt in Rhys's mind that the man was looking for any excuse to hit something. He had been through hell in the last month, and, up to now, he had managed to hold it all together.

Drawing on his preternatural power, Rhys forced the man back into his chair.

“What the hell!” George exclaimed. “Who are you?”

“I told you, I'm a vampire. Do you need more proof?” And so saying, Rhys bared his fangs and unleashed the monster within him. He knew what they saw. He had seen enough of the Undead to know that his face took on a hardness no human's ever wore, that his eyes were blood red.

Evelyn opened her mouth to scream, but no sound emerged.

George stared at him. “Why are you telling us this? Are you going to…” His face paled.

With a shake of his head, Rhys retracted his fangs and willed the beast back inside. “I'm telling you because I'm going to take Megan to my place. I'm going to bring her across. I think it's the only way to save her.”

“You want to turn my daughter into a vampire?” George shook his head emphatically. “I won't hear of it.”

“George, let him do it.”

“Are you out of your mind, woman?” George exclaimed. “He wants to make her into a monster!”

“I don't want to lose Megan.” Evelyn turned pleading eyes on Rhys. “Do it. If it will bring Megan back to us, do it.”

George brought his fist down on the arm of the chair. “Dammit, Evie, you don't know what you're saying!”

But Evelyn wasn't listening to her husband. Her gaze was focused on Rhys. “Please,” she said, “save her for me.”

“I'll do my best, but there are no guarantees.”

Evelyn bit down on her lower lip, obviously disturbed by the implication that something might go wrong. And then she squared her shoulders. “You're our only hope.”

“Megan wouldn't want this,” George said. “And if she knew what you were, she wouldn't want you, either.”

“She knows.”

George stared at him, all the fight gone out of him.

“I'm taking her out of here tonight,” Rhys said quietly. “I want you to go talk to her doctor and tell them you've decided to take her home to die. I'm sure they'll try to talk you out of it. Just stand firm. Sign whatever papers you have to.”

George nodded, though it was clear from the look on his face that he was against it.

“When that's done, I think the two of you should go home. There's nothing else you can do here.”

Evelyn clutched her husband's arm, her expression growing even more anxious. “But you'll bring her to us, after? You swear it?”

Rhys nodded. “When she's ready to see you, I'll bring her home. You have my word on it.”

After the necessary papers were signed, Megan was wheeled out to the curb to a waiting ambulance. Once the nurse who had accompanied Megan returned to the hospital, George dismissed the ambulance. Evelyn sobbed quietly as she kissed Megan's cheek.

Rhys lifted Megan from the gurney. “We need to go.”

“Remember your promise,” Evelyn said. Sobbing now, she kissed Megan's cheek.

George stared at Rhys. “I don't care who you are. I don't care what you are.” His voice broke.” If anything happens to my daughter…”

Rhys nodded. “I hear you.”

Since George and Evelyn knew what he was, there was no need for subterfuge. Rhys removed the casts from Megan's legs, then willed the two of them to his penthouse.

Doubts plagued him as soon as he laid her on his bed. What if it didn't work? What if he took too much and killed her? What if his blood brought her out of the coma but left her body unable to move, her mind unable to function?

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he ran his knuckles along her check. She was cold. Cold and unresponsive.

Guilt burned through him. No matter how you sliced it, this was all his fault. If he had stayed out of her life, she wouldn't have been looking for a wedding dress on that fateful day, wouldn't have been crossing the street at just that moment. Wouldn't be lying here, more dead than alive.

His fingertips slid down the side of her neck to rest in the hollow of her throat. He could feel the faint beat of her heart, hear the sluggish flow of blood wending its way through her veins, the labored sound of her breathing.

“If you're gonna do it,” he muttered, “you'd damn well better do it before it's too late.”

Murmuring, “Forgive me for breaking my promise, my love, but I can't let you go,” he drew her into his lap and brushed the hair away from her neck.

He didn't realize he was crying until the red of his tears dripped onto her cheeks.

“Forgive me,” he said again, and lowered his head to her throat.

She didn't respond when his fangs pierced her skin.

He drank, and her blood was warm and sweet and more satisfying than anything he had ever known.

He drank until the spark of life within her guttered and then, biting into his own wrist, he held it over her mouth, lightly stroking her throat in an effort to make her swallow.

“Drink, my love,” he pleaded. “You've got to drink.”

Nothing. No movement, no fluttering of her eyelids, no change in her breathing or heartbeat.

“Megan!”

His blood dripped into her mouth, slid down her throat.

Slowly, so slowly that at first he thought he was imagining it, her skin grew warmer, color returned to her cheeks, her heartbeat grew stronger, steadier.

“That's it! Come on, darlin', fight!”

When she swallowed, he placed his wrist closer to her mouth. Relief poured through him when her hand came up, grasping his wrist to hold his arm closer.

“Megan.” Murmuring her name, he caressed her cheek with his free hand. “Drink, Megan. Take as much as you want,” he said fervently. “As much as you need.”

 

Megan reached upward. It was like rising from the bottom of a deep, dark pit with nothing to guide her. She had no recollection of how she had fallen, no explanation for the pain that engulfed her, no memory of anything but a shadowy figure with blazing red eyes….

“Rhys?”

“I'm here.”

She tried to open her eyes, tried to follow the sound of his voice, but the smothering darkness dragged her down again.

“Fight, Megan! Come on, love. Come to me.”

His voice rang in her mind. Rhys. If she could find him, if she could just touch him, everything would be all right.

She struggled through the thick blackness, clawing her way toward his voice, and slowly, ever so slowly, the inky blackness faded to a dark gray that gradually grew lighter even as her body felt lighter, almost weightless.

“Yes, that's it. Come to me, Megan, my love. I'm here, waiting for you.”

“Rhys!” She fought her way toward him until, with a final burst of energy, she opened her eyes. “Rhys!” she cried. “Oh, Rhys, I had the worst nightmare! I tried and tried to wake up, and I couldn't.”

Gathering her into his arms, he murmured, “I know, love.” He rained featherlight kisses on her cheeks, her chin, the tip of her nose.

“Why is my arm in a cast? What are all these bandages? Why am I wearing a hospital gown?”

“Don't you remember what happened?”

“No, I…” She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time, then frowned. “You look different somehow.” Turning her head slowly, she scanned the room. “Everything looks different.” She wrinkled her nose. “Smells different.”

“Megan—”

“What's happened to me? Why is everything so strange? Why do I feel so funny?”

“One thing at a time, love. You were hit by a car. You've been in a coma for almost a month.”

“A coma!” She stared at him, disbelief in her eyes, and then shook her head in denial. “No, it was just a bad dream.”

“Then how do you explain the cast and the bandages?”

Confusion flickered in the depths of her eyes. “I don't know.”

“Like I said, you've been in a coma. The doctors weren't hopeful that you'd recover. They said there was a good chance you'd be in a vegetative state for the rest of your life, and if you recovered, you'd never walk again.”

She stared at him. “If I was as bad off as all that, why aren't I still in the hospital?”

“Megan, wiggle your toes.”

“My parents must be worried to death. Good Lord, what must they think?”

“They know everything. I spent the last few weeks at the hospital with them.”

“You did?”

Rhys nodded. “When we realized you weren't going to recover, I told them what I was—”

Megan's eyes widened. “I don't believe you!”

“I told them I was going to take you out of the hospital and bring you here.”

“And they agreed?” she asked skeptically.

“Megan, wiggle your toes.”

With an exasperated sigh, she stretched her legs out and wiggled her toes. “Happy now?”

Uttering a wordless cry, he cradled her to his chest, a silent prayer of thanks rising in his heart.

It took him a moment to realize she had gone rigid in his embrace.

“You turned me, didn't you?” she asked, her voice brittle as memories of Shirl and how her friend had changed after being turned jumped to the forefront of her mind. “That's why I feel so funny, isn't it! How could you do such a thing without asking me?” She pushed off his lap, then stood staring down at him. “How could you?” she repeated, her voice sharp with accusation and anger. “You promised…”

“Would you rather be back in the hospital, unconscious?”

“No, of course not, but…” She glanced around the room, only then realizing she could see everything clearly even though the lights were off. She could smell the oil and gasoline from a passing truck, the scent of garbage from somewhere down the street, the hint of rain in the air.

Maybe she wasn't a vampire. There were all kinds of stories about people waking from comas with abilities they hadn't had before.

Turning on her heel, she walked out onto the balcony. She couldn't be a vampire, didn't want to believe it was true. But why would Rhys lie?

“Vampire.” She grimaced as she murmured the word. Was that why she felt so strange, so unsettled? So empty inside?

“You're hungry,” Rhys said, coming up behind her. “You need to feed.”

Feed? Visions of a cheeseburger and a chocolate malt rose in her mind, and with it the knowledge that she would never again enjoy any of her favorite foods. She was a vampire now. No more onion rings. No more spaghetti and meatballs. No more hot, fresh bread from the bakery. No more lemon meringue pie. And even as the thought crossed her mind, she realized she had no desire for any of the foods she had once loved.

Vampire.
She repeated the word in her mind.
Vampire. Vampire.

She was hungry, and she was a vampire.

Hungry vampires didn't eat hamburgers and French fries.

They drank blood.

“Megan?”

She turned, ever so slowly, to face him. “I'm a vampire.”

He nodded. “Hate me if you like. Destroy me if it will make you happy. But I can't be sorry for what I've done.” He smiled faintly. “I couldn't bear to think of the world without you in it.”

“You said my parents know everything. Does that mean they knew what you were planning to do?”

He nodded again.

“And they didn't care?” she exclaimed incredulously.

“They believed it was the only way to save you.”

“I'll never see them again.”

“Of course you will. I promised to take you home when you were ready, but there are a few things you need to learn first.”

“Like how to…to hunt?”

“Exactly.”

She shook her head. “I don't think I want to learn. I don't think I want to be a vampire.”

“I'm afraid there's no going back.”

She stared at him, trying to determine how she felt. She should be angry or sad or curious or something. But she didn't feel anything. Only a strange kind of numbness. Maybe it wasn't surprising, since she was no longer human. “I don't want this.”

“I know, but why don't you give it a try before you make up your mind?”

“It's not like buying a new dress,” she said bitterly. “I can't take it back if it doesn't fit.”

“Being a vampire isn't all bad. I know you're worried about the blood part. You're probably thinking it'll be repulsive and you won't be able to do it. But trust me, it won't be as bad as you think.”

“Was it that easy for you to accept being a vampire? One day you were human, and the next you weren't?”

“Exactly. I wasn't particularly happy with it at first, but I knew it couldn't be undone and so I decided to make the best of it. And I've never been sorry.”

“You've never wanted to be human again? Not once in five hundred years?”

“No.” It wasn't entirely true. Not long ago, he had thought he would gladly give up being a vampire to spend one mortal lifetime with this woman. But now that she was nosferatu, they could have many lifetimes together, if she would accept what had happened and move on. He held out his hand. “Come hunting with me.”

“What if being a vampire brings out the worst in me?”

“It won't.”

“How do you know? I don't want to be like Shirl!” Her eyes grew wide as a new thought occurred to her. “She was like Villagrande's slave. He told her to kill you, and she would have done it. She would have killed me if he'd told her to. It was like he was her master and she didn't have any will of her own.”

“He was a strong vampire,” Rhys said quietly. “And she was new. It was easy for him to influence her.”

“You're a strong vampire,” Megan retorted. “And I'm new.”

“That's true. The difference is, I love and respect you. I'm not looking for a sex slave or a sycophant. I just want to make this as easy for you as I can.” Once she had accepted being a vampire, he would take her to meet what was left of the Council so they would know she was under his protection. He had contacted them soon after Villagrande had been destroyed and informed Rupert, Nicholas, and Julius that he was staying on the West Coast. Odd, that the three who had been with him the longest had survived the latest conflict.

“So, what do you say?” he asked. “Are you ready to go out and face the world?”

“No, but let's get it over with.” She wouldn't admit it to Rhys, but she couldn't deny that she was curious. Of course, Rhys being Rhys, he was probably reading her mind even now.

If she decided to stay with him, she was going to have to practice blocking him or she would never have any privacy, she thought irritably, and then frowned.

If
she stayed with him.

That was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, wasn't it?

 

After removing the cast from Megan's arm and the last of the bandages, they made a quick trip to Megan's house. There, she changed into something a little more appropriate than an open-in-the-back hospital gown, and then Rhys took her hunting down by the beach.

Megan felt surprisingly calm as they strolled along the boardwalk, perhaps because none of it seemed real. This had to be a continuation of her nightmare, some sort of extended fever dream, and she would soon wake up in her own room, in her own bed.

She followed Rhys into a small tavern, stood near the entrance as he studied the men and women inside. When he asked her which patron she fancied, she pointed at a young man with black hair and dark blue eyes. Moments later, Rhys left the tavern, and the young man followed him down the street into the shadows. Megan trailed behind them. Rhys hadn't spoken to the man or signaled to him in any way that she had seen; nevertheless, the man followed at his heels like a well-trained puppy. When Rhys came to a stop, the young man stopped, too.

Rhys looked at her over the man's head; then, slowly and deliberately, he bit the man's neck.

The coppery scent of fresh blood wafted through the air, warm and fragrant. The smell teased Megan's nostrils, bringing the world around her into sharp focus, and her hunger with it. The numbness that had gripped her, the odd sense of unreality, all faded away, and she wanted nothing more than to take the young man in her arms.

She looked askance at Rhys, who nodded once.

And Megan took the dark-haired man into her embrace, lowered her head to his neck, and drank his life's blood as if she had been doing it for years.

 

“Will I be able to be awake during the day, the way you are?” Megan asked.