Everlasting Desire (3 page)

Ten minutes later, he pulled up in front of a brick building. The name
BLUE MOON
flashed in turquoise neon above the entrance.

Rhys came around the front of the car and opened the door for her. She hesitated when he offered her his hand, reluctant to touch him without knowing why. When he continued to stand there, his arm outstretched, she heaved a sigh, then placed her hand in his. His fingers were cool as they closed over her own.

He handed her out of the car, then stripped off his ruined coat and bloody shirt and dropped them into the gutter. Opening the Camry's rear door, he pulled out the shirt Mr. Parker had given him. After removing it from the wrapper, he shook it out and slipped it on.

“Nice,” he said, running his hand over the navy blue silk. He gestured toward the club. “Shall we?”

Megan gestured at the gutter. “What about your clothes?”

“I'll have someone from the club dispose of them.”

“Oh.”

“Shall we?”

Still somewhat dazed, Megan nodded.

The Blue Moon was a small club that catered to jazz enthusiasts. Old black-and-white photos of famous, and not-so-famous, musicians lined the walls, interspersed with pages of sheet music autographed by singers and songwriters.

Rhys guided Megan to a vacant booth and slid in beside her. He could sense the tension rolling off her in waves. A part of it was due to the incident at Shore's, but Rhys knew his presence caused the majority of her nervousness. She was afraid of him without knowing why.

He smiled inwardly. He knew why. Some mortals were sensitive to the presence of his kind. On some instinctive level, they recognized the danger he represented. Most dismissed it, overwhelmed by his vampire glamour.

He ordered a bottle of vintage red wine, then settled back against the seat. His gaze trapped hers as, ever so gently, he whispered peace to her mind, his words easing away some of the tension that gripped her.

When she relaxed, he said, “So, tell me about yourself.”

“There's nothing much to tell. I was married, but it didn't work out….”

“Why not?” It was a silly question. Few marriages lasted any length of time these days, but any man who let Megan get away was crazy.

“Oh, a lot of reasons. He was too young, not really ready to settle down. I wanted a home and a family. He didn't. He liked partying and riding motorcycles with his friends on the weekends.” She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “It was years ago. He's married now. They just had a baby. I guess I should have waited for him to grow up.”

He didn't miss the wistful note in her voice. “You never married again?”

“No. Once was enough.”

“Once burned, twice shy?” he asked with a rueful grin.

“Something like that. How about you? Have you ever been married?”

He shook his head.

“I'm surprised.”

“Oh? Why?”

“You're young, rich, handsome….” She shrugged. “It just seems like someone would have snatched you up by now.”

“You think I'm handsome?”

“In a dark, devilish sort of way, yes.”

Devilish. He laughed softly. If she only knew. “Go on,” he coaxed. “Tell me more.”

“There's not a lot to tell. I live with a friend of mine. I work.” She shrugged. “Sounds boring, doesn't it?”

“If you don't like it, change it.”

“I didn't say I didn't like it. I've always enjoyed my job and the people. At least until tonight.”

“The friend you live with…?” He waited, jaw clenched, afraid of what he might do if her roommate was a man. Just because she hadn't married again didn't mean she wasn't involved.

“Shirley. We've been friends since college. She's a high fashion model, very pretty. You'd like her.”

“I like you.”

The words, the tone of his voice, the sultry look in his eyes, sent a shiver down her spine. She took a sip of her wine, hoping it would calm her. His thigh brushed against hers, but it was more than his nearness that unsettled her.

She eased her leg away from his. “What about you? What do you do for a living?”

A smile flitted across his face before he said, “I own a little nightclub on the other side of town.”

“Oh? What's it called? Maybe I've been there.”

He laughed softly. “I doubt it.”

“Why? What kind of club is it?”

“It's a Goth hangout.”

“Goth?” she asked, frowning. “You mean those weird people who dress all in black and pretend to be vampires, that kind of thing?”

“Exactly.”

“Are they into the blood thing?”

“Some of them are.”

“Shirl dated a guy who was a Goth a year or so ago. She was really into that kind of thing for a while. You know, the whole vampire mythology, but I can tell you, she broke it off with him pretty darn quick when he said he wanted to drink her blood.” Megan grimaced. “I'm not sure vampires really exist. I mean, I've never met one. Have you?”

“Who can say? They don't advertise it, you know.”

“No, I guess not.”

Rhys refilled his glass, then looked at her, eyebrows raised. “More?”

“Yes, please.”

He refilled her glass, wondering what she would say, what she would think, if she knew a five-hundred-year-old vampire was sitting beside her, contemplating how he might steal a taste of her blood.

When the band broke into something soft and slow, Rhys set his glass aside. “Care to dance?”

“Are you sure you want to?” She gestured at his arm. “Doesn't it hurt?”

“I'm a quick healer. So, what do you say?”

She considered it a moment, then nodded.

On the dance floor, he took her into his arms without hesitation. Her body fit against his perfectly, as he had known it would. She was warm with the juices of life, supple in his embrace. He took a deep breath, his nostrils filling with the clean scent of jasmine, the musky scent of a young female. And blood.

Her gaze met his. He knew what she was going to ask even before she spoke. “I have to know,” she said, almost apologetically. “Just how old are you?”

“Twenty-five.” The lie slid easily past his lips. He was too young for her at twenty, too old at five hundred and twelve. “Relieved?”

“Yes. You look younger.”

“A blessing, don't you think?”

“Some people never seem to age. Sometimes I hate to look in the mirror, you know? The other day, I found a gray hair.” Shirl was even more afraid of growing old than Megan was, since when Shirl's looks went, so did her career.

“Not to worry,” he said with a faint smile. “You'll always be beautiful.”

“Flatterer.”

“I call 'em the way I see 'em.” He regarded her a moment before asking, “If you could stay young forever, would you?”

She considered it a moment, then shook her head. “I don't know. Growing up, growing old, it's what life is all about.”

“Yes,” he remarked. “Life.”

The song ended, and he escorted her back to the table.

Life, Rhys thought as he drove her home a short time later. Its flame burned bright within her, drawing him in, warming the cold, desolate places in his soul.

If he drank from her, he knew he would never be cold again.

 

Megan stood at the window, watching Rhys walk away. She had suggested he drive home in her car or call a cab, but he had dismissed her suggestions with a wave of his hand, saying the walk would do him good.

She had been a bundle of nerves during the drive home, wondering if Rhys would try to kiss her good night, wondering if she should let him. The knowledge that she had even considered it still astonished her. Maybe he wasn't as young as she had thought, but she hardly knew the man. Still, a hero deserved a reward, and after what he had done tonight, he was definitely a hero.

Awfully full of yourself, aren't you, Megan? Thinking one of your kisses would be ample reward for saving your life!

As it turned out, she needn't have worried. When they reached her house, Rhys walked her to the door, made sure she was safely inside, and bid her a chaste good night.

She watched him until he was swallowed up in the darkness; then, after double-locking the front door, she went through the rest of the house, making sure all the windows were closed and locked, drawing the drapes to shut out what was left of the night. Funny, that while sitting in the club with Rhys, the events at the store had seemed distant, almost as if they had happened to someone else, but here, in her own home, she was suddenly afraid. She knew there was evil and violence in the world. She saw it in living color on the nightly news, but, until this evening, she had never experienced it firsthand.

She could have been killed tonight. They could all have been killed.

Folding her arms over her chest, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Maybe it was time to buy a gun, or at least a canister of pepper spray.

After changing into a T-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms, she went into the kitchen and fixed a cup of hot cocoa. She was sitting at the table, waiting for the chocolate to cool, when Shirl shuffled into the room. Even without makeup, her blue eyes puffy from too little sleep, and her long, silver-blond hair mussed, Shirl was gorgeous.

“I'm sorry,” Megan said. “Did I wake you?”

“It's all right,” Shirl replied, smothering a yawn with her hand. “I have to be up in a couple of hours anyway.” She dropped into the chair across from Megan's. “What are you doing up so late? Or so early? Did you just get home?”

“Yes.” Megan wrapped her hands around the mug. “We had some trouble at the store tonight.”

“Oh?” Shirl stared at her, suddenly wide awake. “What happened? Did anyone get hurt?”

“No.”

“Well, come on, girl, I want details.”

With a sigh, Megan quickly told her about Shore's newest client and how he had come to the rescue. “Just like Batman,” she finished, “but without the mask, of course.”

“Too bad,” Shirl said with a grin. “I like men in masks.”

Megan had to laugh at that. It was one of things they had in common, liking masked heroes. Batman, Spiderman, the Lone Ranger. They all wore masks.

“Did he at least have a cape?” Shirl asked hopefully.

“'Fraid not,” Megan said, smothering a yawn. “I think I'm ready for bed. Do you want to go out tomorrow night?”

“I can't. I have a date.”

“You do?” Megan exclaimed. “With who?”

“Geez, don't look so surprised.”

“Well, it has been a long time. For both of us.”

“His name is Greg, and he's a patrol sergeant with the LAPD. Six-foot three, brown hair, brown eyes. Divorced. No children.”

“When do I get to meet him?”

“I don't know. We'll see how it goes tomorrow night. So, what about this guy, Rhys? Any vibes there?”

“It doesn't matter,” Megan replied, shaking her head. “He's only twenty-five.”

“So you're four years older than he is. So what?”

Megan shrugged. “I don't believe him.”

“You think he's older?”

“No, younger. A lot younger. But it's more than that. He's…” She bit down on her lower lip as she tried to find the words to describe Rhys Costain. “Different.”

“Different how? Two heads? Three arms? One eye in the middle of his forehead?”

“No, nothing like that. I don't know how to explain it. He scares me, and I don't know why.” She ran her fingertip around the edge of her cup. “You're going to think I'm crazy, but…he changed his shirt after he was shot…”

“What's so crazy about that?”

“Hush. I saw his arm when he changed his shirt and I swear—I swear!—the wound in his arm was gone. I mean, gone like it was never there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Well, I could be wrong. It was dark, but…”

“You've had a rough night, girlfriend. Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you.”

“Maybe.” Megan blew out a sigh. “Sometimes, when I'm with him, I get the feeling he's hiding something. Something dark and dangerous.”

“Hey, if you're having scary thoughts about this guy, then I'd say follow your instincts and stay away from him.”

Good advice, Megan thought as she rinsed out her cup and made her way upstairs. Good advice, indeed.

Although Rhys had little to do with the affairs of mortals in general, he made it a point to keep abreast of what was happening around the world, especially in the United States. Especially now, when he was no longer just Master of the City, but Master of the West Coast Vampires.

He grunted softly as he recalled the battle that had increased his territory. It hadn't been a battle he had sought, but he had never run from a fight. He had destroyed the other vampire without a qualm, and now his domain included Oregon, Washington, and Idaho as well as California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Montana.

He was always amazed at the violence humans were capable of. His kind were supposed to be the monsters, yet man's cruelty to his fellow beings made vampires seem benevolent by comparison.

Someone had once said there was nothing new under the sun. It was proved nightly, on the news. This evening was no different. Gang killings. Teachers having affairs with underage students. Congressmen being arrested for nefarious dealings. The rich preying on the poor. War in the Middle East. The price of gas going up and down like a yo-yo on steroids.

Rhys was about to turn off the set when the perfectly coiffed female anchorwoman said, “This just in from our sister station in New York City. The bodies of a man and a woman were discovered near the Hudson River only moments ago. According to undisclosed sources, both victims appear to have been drained of blood.”

It was the last three words that caught his attention. They seemed to echo off the walls.

Drained of blood.

Rhys leaned forward, his gaze focused on the screen. In his gut, he knew those three words could mean only one thing. There was a vampire on the rampage somewhere in the city of New York.

Switching off the screen, Rhys opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The cops would never catch the vampire responsible for the killings, just as they would never solve the crime. It would take another vampire to bring the rogue down. Or a damn good hunter.

He grinned faintly, thinking it was too bad for the NYPD that Daisy and her family had given up hunting.

Thoughts of Daisy brought Megan to mind, not that he needed help to think of her. Megan had been uppermost in his mind since that first night. He wondered what she was doing this evening, since Shore's was closed on Sundays and Mondays.

Curious, he went into his bedroom to change clothes. Before he'd met Megan DeLacey, his wardrobe had been sparse—a few pairs of good slacks, a dozen shirts. But now…He shook his head. His closet held enough outfits to clothe three or four men for a year.

Until Megan, he had never given much thought to what he wore. Now, he found himself wondering what she would find most appealing.

Exasperated, he pulled on a pair of black slacks and a dark gray shirt, stepped into a pair of black boots, and made his way to the underground garage and his private parking place. Being the owner of the building definitely had its compensations, he thought, as he slid behind the wheel of the Jag and backed out of the garage.

Moments later, he pulled up in front of Megan's house.

Lifting his head, he expanded his senses, swore softly when he realized the place was empty. After rolling down the window, he sniffed the air, sorting through the myriad scents that swirled through it for the one he sought.

It didn't take long. With a wry grin, he put the Jag in gear and followed her scent across town to the multiplex.

He parked next to her car, then hurried inside, only to come to an abrupt halt when he entered the darkened theater. He hadn't detected the scent of anyone else in her car, but what if she had come here to meet another man? Hands clenched, he searched for her. With his preternatural vision and enhanced sense of smell, it took only moments to locate her.

On silent feet, he slid into the empty seat beside her.

Megan didn't have to see Costain's face to know he was there. She didn't even wonder why he had come, or how he had known where she was. Quite the contrary. It seemed perfectly natural that he should appear, seemingly out of thin air. One minute she had been thinking of him, and the next he was there beside her, as if her thoughts had summoned him.

“Did I miss much?” he whispered, leaning toward her.

“Only the first hour,” she whispered back, and suddenly the depression that had sent her to the movies was gone as if it had never been, and all because of a man she hardly knew. “How's your arm?”

“What? Oh, it's fine. Don't worry about it.”

“Would you like some popcorn?”

He wrinkled his nose at the smell of butter and salt. “No, thanks.”

She wondered what he would say if she suggested they leave. The only reason she had come to the theater was because she hadn't wanted to stay home alone. She hadn't wanted to interact with anyone, either, so coming to the movies had seemed the ideal solution. She could sit in the dark, surrounded by people, without having to say a word. And hopefully forget about last night. But now Rhys was here, and everything had changed.

She was thinking about asking him if he wanted to leave when he beat her to the punch.

Leaning toward her, he whispered, “What do you say we get out of here?”

“Let's.”

She dumped her popcorn in a trash can on the way out.

“Where would you like to go?” Rhys asked when they were out on the sidewalk.

“I don't know.”

“Let's go to my place.”

“I don't think so.”

He grinned at her. His teeth were very white, even in the darkness. “I didn't mean my house. I meant my club.”

“Oh. All right.”

He smiled inwardly as they walked to the parking lot. Although she didn't know it, she wouldn't be any safer in his club than in his lair.

“Nice car,” Megan murmured as he opened the passenger door for her.

“Yeah, it's not bad.”

“Not bad?” The Jag was beautiful. Smoke gray in color, it seemed to glow in the moonlight. When she slid into the seat, the soft leather seemed to enfold her. “Oh! What about my car?”

“We can pick it up later.”

Megan was wondering if she had made a mistake as Rhys pulled onto the highway. In minutes, they had left the city behind. Hands clenched in her lap, she looked out the window, her tension growing as the miles slid by. She had expected his club to be located closer to home, not out on some deserted stretch of road. Her uneasiness increased when he pulled up in front of a place called L
A
M
ORTE
R
OUGE
.

“The Red Death?” she murmured.

“I told you, it's a Goth hangout.”

She nodded, not at all reassured by his explanation.

He turned to face her, his dark eyes glittering in the light of the dash. “Have you changed your mind?”

She swallowed hard. “I…”

“Hey, it's okay. I'll take you home if that's what you want.”

She knew that would be the smart thing to do, but she didn't seem to have much sense when it came to Rhys. Besides, she was suddenly curious to see the inside of the club. “Let's have a drink first.”

Smiling, he switched off the engine.

As she watched him walk around the front of the car to open her door, she couldn't shake off the feeling that she was Little Red Riding Hood and he was the Big Bad Wolf.

A tall man clad in a black suit, an impeccable white tie, and a long black cloak opened the door. Inclining his head, he murmured, “Good evening, Mr. Costain,” and bowed them through the doorway.

Megan took a deep breath before following Rhys inside. A narrow hallway illuminated by candlelight opened onto the club's main floor. Megan glanced around, noting a long bar at the far end of the room. High-backed booths lined one wall. A grand piano stood on a raised platform in the far corner.

As was to be expected, the lighting in the club was subdued. Music filtered through the sound system; though it was low, it had a dark, sensual beat. Several couples sat at the small tables located at intervals around the room. Each table was covered with a black damask cloth; each held a blood-red rose in an ebony vase. Dark red paper covered the walls. She noticed several numbered doors, but hesitated to ask what lay behind them.

The women she passed as she followed Rhys were all beautiful, and they all wore provocative clothing, mostly black, which she supposed wasn't all that unusual considering this was a Goth club. Megan thought it was odd that the women all wore broaches inscribed with their names, and that all the names were French—Monique, Angelique, Capucine. The men, too, wore mostly black. She noted they also sported tags with French names. Maybe they were all into role-playing, she thought, and the names were those of the characters they played.

“So, what do you think?” Rhys asked as he led her to a booth in the back corner that she suspected was reserved for his use only.

“It's…I don't know. I've never been in a Goth club before.”

She slid into the booth, and Rhys slid in beside her. The high, curved back provided them with a good deal of privacy.

A waitress arrived at their table almost before they were seated. “What can I get for you tonight, Mr. Costain?” she asked in a deep, throaty voice.

Rhys looked at Megan. “What'll you have?”

“Whatever you're having.”

Megan didn't miss the subtle shake of Costain's head as he ordered a glass of red wine for her and one for himself. She wondered what it meant. Was he telling the waitress to put something in her drink?

Megan tapped her fingernails on the tabletop. If she asked him to take her home, would he still be agreeable? Why had she wanted to come here? Across the way, a couple rose and went into room number six.

“Megan?”

She jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Are you all right?”

“I…Yes, of course.”

“You look a little pale.”

“Do I?” She lifted a hand to her forehead. Of course, she could plead a headache. Wasn't that the excuse women always fell back on? “Now that you mention it, I am feeling a little under the weather all of a sudden.”

“Maybe the wine will make you feel better,” he suggested. “If it doesn't, I'll take you home.”

The waitress arrived with their drinks a short time later. Megan stared at the glass the woman placed before her. Was it drugged?

Rhys didn't miss the worried look in Megan's eyes. A quick brush of her mind with his explained everything. She had seen the look he'd given Lena and assumed it was some silent order to drug her drink. As if he would have to resort to drugs if he had anything nefarious in mind. His unspoken communication to Lena had merely been to alert her to the fact that he also wanted wine and not his usual. Now, how to assure Megan she had nothing to worry about without arousing her suspicion?

Before he could decide, Megan reached for her drink. And knocked it over.

“Oh, how clumsy of me!” Grabbing her napkin, Megan dabbed at the dark stain spreading over the tablecloth.

“Nothing to worry about,” Rhys said. “Here, have mine.”

He slid his glass across the table before she could object.

She looked up, her eyes narrowed.

Rhys smiled benignly, curious to see if she would pull the same stunt twice.

Megan hesitated a moment, and then, with a murmured, “Thank you,” she picked up his glass and took a sip. She wasn't much of a wine connoisseur, but she thought she tasted a hint of cherries and cinnamon.

At his signal, the waitress arrived with a fresh tablecloth and another glass of Pinot Noir.

Rhys leaned back in his chair. She was as nervous as a kitten in a den of coyotes. Bringing her here probably hadn't been the best idea he'd ever had. But it wasn't just her surroundings. She was still upset over what had happened at the store last night, although she didn't want to admit it, even to herself.

With his preternatural power, he reached out to her, willing her to relax.

Megan didn't know if it was the wine or the heat in Costain's eyes, but after a few sips, she suddenly felt lethargic.

“Maybe I should take you home so you can get some sleep,” Rhys said, and taking the glass from her hand, he led her outside to the car, buckled her seat belt, and drove her home.

A light burned in the window. Inside, Shirl had left a note saying she wouldn't be home until morning.

“Are you going to be all right, here alone?” Rhys asked.

“Yes, of course,” Megan replied.

“Would you feel better if I stayed a while?”

She hesitated a moment before asking, “Would you mind?”

“No. Go on up to bed. I'll stay until first light.” He couldn't blame her for not wanting to be alone. After all, she'd had a hell of a scare last night.

“Thank you.”

“Don't worry, I'll keep the bogeyman away.”

With a nod, Megan went upstairs and, after a moment's indecision, locked her bedroom door. Better to err on the side of caution, she thought, and then shook her head, certain that, if he wanted in, no locked door would keep him out. She still couldn't believe she had asked a man she scarcely knew to spend the night.

She brushed her teeth, combed out her hair, slipped into a pair of pj's, and crawled into bed, asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

 

Rhys made himself comfortable on the sofa. With his preternatural hearing, he could track Megan's movements as she went from bathroom to bedroom. He heard the rustle of sheets as she slid under the covers. For a moment, he considered going upstairs, mesmerizing her with a look, sliding into bed beside her, taking her in his arms, and making love to her, but it was only wishful thinking. When he took Megan DeLacey to bed, he wanted it to be her idea. A short burst of preternatural energy brought the TV to life. He surfed through the channels—game shows, reality shows, world news. Muttering an oath, he switched it off. He sat there a moment, fingers drumming restlessly on the arm of the sofa.