Masquerade (5 page)

He covered her mouth with his, drinking deeply of her innocence. "Don't come here tomorrow night, or any other night," he said and before she could ask why, he turned away, taking the stairs two at a time.

From the window in the living room, he watched her drive away, wondering if she had any idea of the danger she had been in.

She called him the following night. At her request, he had bought an answering machine several days ago. Now, listening to the sound of her voice as she asked what she had done wrong, tugged at his heart.

She called several times the next day, and for three days thereafter, her voice filled with tears and confusion, and then she stopped calling.

* * *

Jason sat in his favorite chair in front of the fireplace in the den, his hands clenched into tight fists as he listened to the soundtrack from
The Phantom of the Opera
. The haunting words of the Phantom's plaintive cry as he pleaded for Christine's love filled the room, echoing the need in Jason's heart.

The Phantom's music of the night might be a ballad of love and longing, Jason thought, but his own song was a requiem of blood and death, of darkness as deep and wide as eternity, as bottomless as the bowels of an unforgiving hell.

The Phantom of the Opera lived in the darkness of life, Jason mused bitterly, but he was trapped in the everlasting darkness of his own soul.

He shuddered to think how close he had come to wrapping Leanne in his lethal embrace, to satisfying his unholy hunger by stealing the essence of life from a creature who was pure and undefiled.

He could not see her again. He loved her too much to put her life in danger, to risk turning her into the kind of monster he had become. He could not imagine her stalking the dark streets, preying on others to prolong her own life.

There was no hope for him, but he would not condemn Leanne to share his fate. She was a beautiful young woman with her whole life ahead of her. She had been born to walk in the light of the sun, to find love in the arms of a mortal man who could share her whole life, bear his children.

A hoarse cry rose in Jason's throat, a cry that became an anguished scream of denial as he imagined her in the arms of another man, one who could spend his days at her side, who could make love to her when the sun filled the sky. A man who didn't live his life in the shadows.

A man who didn't thirst for that which made him a thief of the worst kind, stealing the very essence of life, and sometimes life itself.

* * *

For the next week, he tormented himself by going to the theater, watching her perform on stage, hearing the sweet magic of her voice.

He listened to the Phantom's anguished cries with renewed pain. Just once, he thought, just once he wanted to see Christine turn her back on the handsome Vicomte de Chagny and give the Phantom of the Opera the love he yearned for, the love only she could give.

When the show was over, he lingered in the deep shadows to make sure Leanne made it safely to her car. It was the worst kind of torture, watching her from a distance, hungering for her touch, yearning to hear the sound of his name on her lips.

Each night, he watched her search the crowd waiting at the stage door, the hope in her eyes fading when she couldn't find him.

And now he stood in the shadows again, a tall figure dressed all in black. Couples strolled past him, never knowing he was there. Frustrated beyond reason, hating what he was because it kept him from the woman he loved, he needed every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep from destroying the innocent creatures who passed him by. He was torn by the desire to lash out, to hurt others as he was hurting.

A young couple passed by and it was all Jason could do to keep from sinking his fangs into the man's throat, to turn the man into a monster so that the woman at his side would look at him with fear and loathing instead of desire.

He fought down the growing lust for blood as he saw Leanne coming down the sidewalk. She was late tonight, and he wondered what, or who, had detained her at the theater. Jealousy swept through him, as bitter as bile at the thought of her with another man. A living, breathing mortal man.

His hands curled into tight fists as he watched her cross the street. More than anything, he wanted to go to her, to take her in his arms and hold her, for just a moment. But he stayed where he was, knowing it would only cause them both pain.

Jason's eyes narrowed when he saw three dark shadows disengage themselves from a doorway and follow Leanne into the parking lot.

He lost sight of her as she turned the corner. And then he heard her scream.

In an instant, he was across the street. He took in the scene at a glance – one of the men was fondling Leanne while the other two rummaged through her handbag. Silent as a shadow, Jason's hands closed around the throat of the thug holding Leanne. The man's choked cry alerted his companions and they whirled around to face him. One held a knife; the other a pistol.

Jason heard Leanne scream his name as the gunman fired three times in quick succession. Oblivious to the impact of the bullets, Jason tossed the first man aside, then lunged forward, a hand locking around the neck of each of the assailants. Slowly, so slowly, his fingers tightened around their throats. He would have broken their necks without a qualm if Leanne had not been there. The sound of her sobs penetrated the dark red mist that hovered in front of his eyes. With a muttered curse, he released the men. They fell in a soundless heap at his feet.

"Jason!" Leanne ran toward him, her face pale, her eyes wide with fright.

"I'm all right." His gaze moved over her in a quick assessing glance. "Did they hurt you?"

"No." She stared at the bullet holes in his coat. Unable to believe her eyes, she touched each one with her fingertips, then looked up at him, her face as pale as the moon.

Hating himself because he had to deceive her, he fixed her with his hypnotic gaze, willing her to forget that the man had fired his gun, to remember only that he had come to her rescue. He left her spellbound while he went to his car, removed his coat, and replaced it with a jacket he had left in the back seat.

Returning to her side, Jason released her from his spell.

"Come," he said, taking the keys from her hand. "I'll drive you home."

Leanne blinked up at him, then glanced at the three men sprawled on the pavement. "What about them?"

"Leave them."

"Aren't you going to arrest them?"

"No, I'm going to take you home."

"But..."

"Very well. Let's go back to the theater. We can call from there."

Twenty minutes later, a black and white pulled into the parking lot. After the three suspects were handcuffed and tucked into the back seat of the patrol car, Leanne gave the officers her name and address and told them what had happened. Jason corroborated her story.

The police officer who took Jason's statement frowned as he examined the gun. "This weapon's been fired," he remarked, opening the chamber. "Three rounds."

"I don't remember any gunshots," Leanne said, looking from the police officer to Jason. "Do you?"

Jason shook his head. "No."

The cop scribbled something in his notebook, thanked Leanne for her time, advised her to be more careful in the future, assured her they would get in touch with her if they needed more information, and bid the two of them goodnight.

"I've never been so scared," Leanne whispered, and as the knowledge of what could have happened hit her, she began to tremble uncontrollably.

"It's over," Jason said, wrapping her in his arms. "Don't think about it."

"I can't help it. I know this kind of thing happens all the time, but I never thought it would happen to me."

He nodded. "Come on, let's get out of here." Keeping one arm around her shoulders, he unlocked her car door and helped her inside, then went around to the driver's side.

"What about your car?" she asked.

"I'll get it tomorrow."

After he pulled out of the parking lot, Jason took Leanne's hand in his and held it tight.

"Jason, could I spend the night at your place? I don't want to be alone."

Not a good idea, he thought, but he didn't have the heart to refuse her. "Sure."

"We could go to my place, if you'd rather."

"My place is fine."

Sighing, she rested her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, they were pulling into Jason's driveway.

She was still trembling when she got out of the car. "Nerves, I guess," she murmured, then gasped as Jason swung her into his arms and carried her swiftly up the stairs and into the house.

Inside, he placed her on the sofa and poured her a glass of chardonnay, then went into the bathroom to fill the tub with hot water.

"You'll feel better after you've had a bath," he said, taking the empty glass from her hand.

With a nod, she went into the bathroom and shut the door. A good hot soak was just what she needed. Undressing, she sank into the tub, willing herself to relax, to forget the terror that had engulfed her. She could have been robbed. She could have been killed.

Reaching for the soap, she washed vigorously, knowing she would never wash away the fear, or the vile memory of being touched by an unwanted hand.
Thank God for Jason
, she mused, and never thought to question what he had been doing in the parking lot.

Jason paced the floor in the living room, his keen hearing easily identifying the sounds Leanne made as she undressed, then stepped into the tub. It was so easy to picture her lying there, the water moving over her, caressing her, as he so longed to do...

With an oath, he threw his wine glass into the fireplace, feeling a sense of satisfaction as the glass shattered, falling onto the stone hearth in a shower of glittering crystal shards. If only he could destroy his accursed need with such ease.

He prowled the room, his fists shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his desire clawing at him with each step. So easy, he thought, so easy to take her, to make her his, to bind her to him forever, body and soul.

The sound of the bathroom door opening echoed in his mind like thunder.

Leanne gasped as Jason whirled around to face her. The heat in his eyes seemed to engulf her so that she felt suddenly hot all over, as though she were standing in front of a blazing fire.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you." She smiled faintly, wondering if she had imagined the unnatural red glow in his eyes.

"Would you care for more wine?"

"No. I..."

"What is it?"

"I'm awfully tired. Would you mind if I went to bed?"

"Of course not. You won't be comfortable sleeping in your clothes."

A faint flush brightened her cheeks. "I don't have anything else."

"I'll get you something."

He went into the bedroom, his gaze lingering on the bed. He had lived in this house for twenty years, he mused, and no one had ever slept in that bed. It pleased him to think of Leanne lying there, her hair spread on the pillow, her scent permeating the sheets, the very air he breathed.

Going to the dresser, he opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a green silk nightgown. He had bought it because the color reminded him of her eyes, because for one irrational moment, he had pretended he was an ordinary man buying a gift for the special lady in his life. He had bought it and put it away, as he had put away his dreams of sharing her life. Holding the gown in his hands, he was reminded of the silk of her hair, the softness of her satin-smooth skin.

"Is that for me?"

He turned to see that Leanne had followed him as far as the bedroom doorway.

He lifted one brow. "Who else would it be for?"

"I thought..." Lifting her chin, she took a deep breath. "When you sent me away, I… You stopped coming to the theater, I thought you might have found someone else."

He shook his head. "There will never be anyone else, Leanne."

"Then why? Why did you send me away? Why haven't you come to see me? Did I do something wrong?"

"No." He thrust the gown into her hands, then left the room, firmly closing the door behind him. He never should have brought her here, never agreed to let her spend the night.

He stood in the living room in front of the fireplace, fighting the urge to go to her, to sweep her into his arms and satisfy the awful lust that was roaring through him, the lust to possess her, to drink and drink of her life-sustaining sweetness, and then give it back to her.

She was a beautiful woman. She would be even more stunning as a vampire. The Dark Gift would magnify the deep green of her eyes, add luster to her hair and skin.

He clenched his hands into tight fists, wondering if he had the strength to continue seeing her and not possess her. He knew, at the very core of his being, that their joining would be everything he dreamed of, everything he yearned for.

It would be so easy to take her blood, to bind her to him for all eternity, and end the awful loneliness of his existence, but he recoiled at the very idea of condemning her to the kind of life he led. To do so would be the worst kind of betrayal. Leanne was youth and beauty, a child of the light. She had brought laughter back into his life, had drawn him out of the depths of despair and given him a reason to rise in the evening. To condemn her to a life in the shadows would be the worst kind of cruelty.