His Dark Embrace (13 page)

Read His Dark Embrace Online

Authors: Amanda Ashley

Tags: #Fiction, #General

BOOK: His Dark Embrace
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She closed her eyes, moaning softly as Kaiden rained butterfly kisses along the side of her neck. She had never known lovemaking could be so wonderful, never dreamed she was capable of such passion. With Nick, she had been shy, inhibited, and unfulfilled.
With Kaiden, she felt free, alive. Desirable. There was no need to be afraid or embarrassed to tell him that she needed him, that she wanted him more than her next breath. Love, she thought, this was what love felt like. Warm and safe with nothing held back. She ran her hands over his arms, his back, his chest, reveling in the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips, the way his muscles flexed at her touch, his low groan of pleasure as she caressed him.
She whispered his name, and then, wanting to see his face as his body melded with hers, she opened her eyes.
For a moment, she could only stare at him, too stunned to move, too dumbfounded to believe what she was seeing.
“Your eyes,” she gasped. “They’re ... they’re red!” She blinked, certain she must be seeing things. “Red,” she repeated. “And glowing!”
“Skylynn ...”
She might have dismissed the strange glow in his eyes as a trick of the light from the flames, but his fangs ... yes, real fangs ... couldn’t be explained away. With sudden clarity, she realized that the fangs she had seen on that long-ago Halloween night hadn’t been plastic.
“Skylynn, listen. I can explain ...”
She shook her head in disbelief. There was no need for an explanation, not with the truth staring her in the face. Sam had been right all the time!
With a shriek, she brought her knee up, hard and fast, catching Kaiden square in the groin.
He let out a harsh groan and rolled onto his side.
Scrambling out of the bed, Sky ran out of the bedroom as if all the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels. She descended the stairs two at a time and hit the first floor running. She paused in the entry only long enough to grab Kaiden’s long black coat and wrap it around her nakedness before she bolted out the door and ran across the street.
Safely inside her own house, Sky shut the door and turned the lock, then stood there, her heart pounding, her breath coming in painful gasps, while the word
vampire
screamed in her mind, over and over again.
 
Grimacing, Thorne sat up. Well, the cat was out of the bag now, he thought bleakly. And all because he couldn’t control his lust or his hellish thirst. He groaned as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Damn! She sure knew where and how to cool a man’s ardor. If he had been a normal man, he would probably never get an erection again.
Grunting softly, he eased off the mattress and limped into the bathroom. In the shower, he turned on the taps and let the hot water sluice over his back and shoulders while he considered his options. He could pack up and leave town and never see her again. He could get dressed and go across the street and try to explain. Or he could simply wipe everything that had happened between them from her mind.
Leaving town held no appeal.
Explaining the last eight years might take a lot of ... explaining.
As for erasing everything that had happened between them since he’d returned to town, he decided to keep that option open until he had tried door number two.
Stepping out of the shower, he went to the bedroom window and glanced at the house across the street.
It looked like every light in the place was on. All the curtains in the front of the house were closed. He was pretty sure all the doors and windows were locked up tight, too. Well, he couldn’t blame her for being scared. She was only human, after all, reacting the way any mortal would when confronted with a monster.
Not much point in going over there tonight, he thought with a rueful grin. She would never invite him in. Of course, since she had invited him in once, he didn’t have to ask for her permission. Or go through the door. But it was unlikely she was aware of that.
Thorne raked his fingers through his hair. He could just imagine Sky’s reaction if he suddenly appeared in her living room. Especially in his current state of undress!
Dammit! He had known better than to take her to bed, known it would be dangerous when he wasn’t fully in control of his restored vampiric powers, his thirst, or much of anything else. But it was hard to think straight when the beat of her heart sang to him, when the scent of her blood enflamed him, when a single kiss went through him like chain lightning.
How was he ever going to repair the damage he’d done?
 
 
Sky went through the house a second time, making sure all the doors and windows were locked, then paced the living room floor, trying to remember everything she had ever heard about vampires, but all she could recall was that they drank blood and slept in coffins.
Only one place to find the answers, she thought. Thank goodness for Google! Sitting at her computer, she quickly typed “vampire” into the search engine, then sat back, stunned by the number of hits that came up. Good grief, there were hundreds, maybe thousands, of vampire Web sites.
She picked one at random, clicked on vampire traits, and quickly scanned the list. Vampires could transform themselves into mist, bats, and wolves. They couldn’t cross running water, were repelled by garlic and crosses, were burned by silver and holy water, and didn’t cast a reflection in a mirror.
She frowned. That couldn’t be true. She had seen Kaiden’s reflection when they danced together.
Another site noted that the Undead couldn’t enter a dwelling without an invitation. A footnote at the bottom of the page explained that such an invitation could be revoked by merely saying the words.
“Could it be that easy?” Sky muttered. Feeling a little foolish, she took a deep breath, then murmured, “Kaiden Thorne, I hereby revoke any and all invitations, past and present, whether extended by myself or my grandfather ...”
Her grandfather? Had he known about Kaiden? Of course he did. She remembered the night she had crept down to the lab and heard the two of them talking. Granda had been experimenting on Kaiden, she was certain. It explained so much.
“By myself or my grandfather,” she repeated, And then, as an afterthought, she added, “Or Sam.” She nodded once. “That should cover it,” she said, and resumed her research.
Every country in the world had legends about vampires. In the old days, unexplained sickness and death were often attributed to the work of the Undead. A plague in the village? Must be a vampire on the loose. Did your cow suddenly dry up? Could be a vampire in the neighborhood.
Sunlight would destroy a vampire. Which explained why Kaiden mowed his yard in the dark. But didn’t explain how he had been able to do it during the day only weeks ago.
Other ways to destroy a vampire included lopping off its head or driving a wooden stake into its heart. The best way was to employ both methods, then burn the body and scatter the ashes.
Sky shuddered as she imagined chopping off Kaiden’s head. Had people really done that? Her stomach clenched just thinking about it.
If you couldn’t bring yourself to chop off the creature’s head, it was believed that driving a stake through its heart and into the ground would keep the thing from rising again. Burying it facedown was also recommended to keep the Undead in the ground where they belonged, the belief being that if they tried to dig their way out, they would only dig themselves deeper into the earth.
She skimmed several other Web sites, but most of them said basically the same thing. Vampires were evil, soulless creatures, parasites who survived on the blood of humans. Until Bram Stoker published his now-famous book, vampires had been pretty much off the radar. The story of Dracula had revived people’s interest in the paranormal and the occult. Then Bela Lugosi came along and portrayed the infamous count in a movie. Anne Rice wrote a bestseller. Frank Langella played Dracula. His sexy portrayal on the Broadway stage had women swooning in their seats. Sky had seen the movie version. It took very little imagination to picture Kaiden Thorne in the role. No acting required.
Kaiden was a vampire. He had been a vampire when she went trick-or-treating at his house. He had been a vampire when she drew all those silly hearts on the cover of her notebook. He had been a vampire when he kissed her ... and when she kissed him back.
Pushing away from the desk, she went into the living room and peeked out the front window. There were no lights showing in the house across the street. What was he doing? What was he going to do with her?
The thought made her shiver. She was pretty sure that he didn’t go around telling people what he was. She hadn’t seen any mobs with pitchforks lately, but if there were vampires, there might still be vampire hunters. Did vampires dispose of mortals who inadvertently discovered their secret? Or did they turn them into monsters like themselves? She supposed it was wishful thinking to hope he would just go away.
Lordy, what should she do? Call the police? She shook her head. What could the cops do? What to do, what to do? Search the phone book for Vampire Hunters R Us? Stock up on holy water? Carry a wooden stake and a hammer in her back pocket?
She crossed her arms over her breasts and took several deep breaths.
“Calm down, Sky, you’re getting hysterical.” But she couldn’t help it. It all seemed so Stephen King-ish. Ordinary girl meets monster in small town.
It was late, she thought, yawning. She should go to bed. “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen tonight,” she muttered.
Smothering another yawn, she went into the living room, then settled down on the sofa and snuggled under a soft, furry blanket.
She would watch TV tonight.
She could sleep in the morning.
Like the vampire across the street.
Chapter 13
 
Girard sat on the sofa in his hotel room, a cup of coffee cooling on the table beside him while he thumbed through the battered notebook he had compiled over the years. It held the names of all known existing vampires, vampire slayers, and vampire hangouts.
As might be expected, big cities had the highest concentration of vampires and vampire clubs. It was easier for the monsters to hide in towns with large populations, easier to hunt in big cities. There were more transients in big towns, which meant fewer people who would be missed. Another draw was that in cities like L.A. and New York, people tended to ignore those who were a trifle bizarre in their behavior or appearance.
Girard grunted with satisfaction when he found a Goth club only a few miles away. He knew he was taking a chance, approaching a vampire and asking for the Dark Gift, but what the hell, life was a crap shoot. If his father had been a doctor instead of a slayer, Girard had no doubt that he would have learned how to wield a scalpel instead of a wooden stake and a mallet.
Going into the bedroom, he changed into a pair of black slacks and a long-sleeved black sweater. He slicked back his hair, swearing softly as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He had been a handsome man in his youth, his skin smooth, his hair thick and black, his shoulders broad and unbowed. Now, his hair was thin and gray, his skin as wrinkled as the hide of an elephant, his shoulders stooped, his eyes pale and sunken. McNamara’s potion hadn’t restored his youth, but it had restored his vigor, taken the gray from his hair, smoothed his skin, put the starch back in his posture.
Dammit! Becoming a vampire wouldn’t restore his youth, either, but it would give him immortality and the strength of twenty men.
A last glance in the mirror and he went to the minibar. He poured himself a good stiff drink, downed it in a single swallow before grabbing his keys and heading out the door.
 
 
The Scarlet Cabaret was exactly what it looked like—a hangout for Goths and vampires, real or make-believe. Girard thought of all the alternative lifestyles of the last fifty years—the rockers of the fifties, the long-haired, antiwar, peace-loving hippies of the late sixties, the punk movement in the seventies. None had lasted as long as the Goths. The Goth crowd loved all things dark and Victorian.
Girard paused at the club’s entrance, weighing the wisdom of what he was about to do. Chances were good that there was at least one dyed-in-the-wool vampire inside. He hoped it was a young one who had never heard of Girard Desmarais.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he paced away from the door. There was no discounting the danger of what he was contemplating. A young vampire could inadvertently kill him while attempting to turn him. An old one who suspected who he was would likely kill him out of hand. There was, after all, no love lost between vampires and slayers.
Putting his fears behind him, Girard walked quickly back to the entrance, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Lit only by candles, the large room was very nearly dark. The air reeked of perfume, perspiration, and weed. As was to be expected, black was the dominant color of choice for décor, clothing, and makeup.
Girard was aware of several covert glances as he moved toward the long, narrow bar and ordered a shot of whiskey, neat. Men and women at the bar edged away from him as if he were a leper. He wasn’t offended. He was new here and these people were suspicious of strangers, and rightly so.
He remained at the bar, quietly observing the patrons. As far as he could tell, only mortals were present. He ordered another drink, and then another.
Girard was about to call it a night when the atmosphere in the room changed. He noticed it first as a sort of tingle that skittered over his skin, raising the hair along the back of his neck. It was evident that the others in the club felt it, too. There was an instant when all movement came to an abrupt halt, when everyone’s attention swung toward the entrance.
The vampire was female. Even in the subdued lighting, Girard could see that her hair was dark brown, her eyes a brilliant green against the alabaster of her skin. She drifted into the room, her steps so light he had to look twice to see if her feet were touching the floor. She wore black, of course, the silky stretch pants clinging to her lower body like a second skin, the black shirt a whisper of silk covering just enough for modesty’s sake.
Girard was an old man, but not so old he couldn’t appreciate a beautiful woman. Or imagine taking her to bed, which was certainly what every other male in the room was fantasizing about.
He was startled when she moved purposefully to his side. His heart seemed to skip a beat as she gazed at him through the veil of her lashes. A faint smile played over her crimson lips.
Girard had never considered himself to be a coward, but the intensity of her regard brought a cold sweat to his brow. “What do you want?” he asked brusquely.
“You were looking for a vampire, were you not?” she asked in a deep, velvety voice.
“How ...” He cleared his throat. “How did you know that?”
She shrugged, as if the answer should be obvious. “I can give you what you want.” Her eyes flashed red as she placed the tip of one well-manicured fingernail over the rapidly beating pulse in the hollow of his throat. “Are you ready?”
He swallowed hard. Was he ready? He closed his eyes while his mind reviewed his options: grow weaker, older, and die, or live forever with a vampire’s strength and preternatural power? There really was no choice.
He opened his eyes, his gaze meeting hers. “I’m ready.”
A smile that could only be called wicked played across her lips as she took his hand in hers and led him out of the club.
Before he could ask where they were going, they were there.
Girard shook his head. “What happened? Where are we?”
“My place, of course. Do you like it?”
“What’s not to like?” he muttered as he glanced around. The room could only be described as opulent. The walls were white, the furniture deep red velvet, the tables black lacquer. A big-screen TV hung from the wall over a low, white marble fireplace. Black and red candles of every shape and size adorned the mantel, the tables, a bookshelf. His feet made no sound in the plush deep gray carpet as she led him out of the room and down a narrow hallway into a large bedroom that was just as sumptuous as the living room.
The round bed in the middle of the floor was topped by a thick black quilt and six or seven pink and white throw pillows in varying shapes and sizes. Candles were plentiful in this room, too, their yellow flames casting the room in a soft, golden glow. A chaise lounge covered in black velvet occupied one corner.
She dropped onto it, then patted the place beside her. “Come, Girard.”
His feet felt weighted with lead as he crossed the thick burgundy carpet toward her. This was it. The end of one life and the beginning of another. Unless ... He shook the thought from his mind. Surely, if she was going to kill him, she wouldn’t have brought him to her home. Would she?
He was trembling uncontrollably when he sat beside her.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she murmured, stroking his cheek. “When you rise tomorrow night, you will be strong again, virile, vital. Isn’t that what you want?”
He nodded, suddenly incapable of speech as her eyes went red.
She smiled, revealing a hint of fang and then, with the speed of a striking cobra, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her fangs in his throat.
He cried out once, the instinct to survive overwhelming all other thoughts until, suddenly, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. The world faded away as he grew weaker, weightless. His eyelids closed, seemingly of their own accord, and he imagined he was swimming in a tranquil sea of bright crimson.
And then everything went black.

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