Midnight Rose (32 page)

“I want this,” she told him, reading the uncertainty in his face. “I want you, Gideon. I need you.” With a shaken sigh, he nudged her against the shower wall, his hands sliding around her back to protect her skin from the cold marble.

His lips nuzzled her temple. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered, the tortured words half-lost under the hiss of the showerheads. “I love you, Kate.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to reach his mouth. He’d smiled at her that first night, when he stood naked in the moonlight and she, on the balcony, stood paralyzed by his beauty.

Her eyelids slid closed as an image of that moment passed before her, and the sense of loss nearly brought her to her knees.

If Gideon knew she was crying, he didn’t show it. He kissed her, tilted his head and found a new angle to caress her mouth, his tongue hungry, hands worshipful as they slid over her water-slicked skin.

They stood entwined beneath the steady beat of the water, letting it wash away the shadows between them until their need for each other consumed all sense of caution and futility. Then Gideon reached to turn off both sprays, opened the door, and wrapped Kate in a soft terrycloth robe he’d retrieved from a brass hook by the stall.

Broken, she stood with head bowed, let him draw the sleeves over her arms and close the garment across her breasts. A deeper sense told her this night would end badly, with hearts and hopes and expectations crushed, but she couldn’t help herself. Love cloaked her in denial and silky desire; it spawned hope where only disillusionment had existed. She clung to his neck when he picked her up in his arms and carried her like a child into the bedroom.

“You’re wet,” she whispered, sliding her palms over the slick expanse of his shoulders as he laid her on the sheets.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of the robe and brushed between her thighs. “So are you.” Arching into his touch, she let the garment fall open and drew him down to her, welcoming the cool, damp press of his body, the tiny droplets of water dripping off his hair and onto her shoulders, where his lips sipped them away.

His palm enclosed her breast, gently kneading, as though he held her very heart in his hand. His mouth scalded a path down her throat to the other breast, where he caught her nipple between his lips and suckled it until she ached with the fire shooting like a direct line to the center of her femininity.

Love and tenderness and pain melded together and rushed through her, sent the tears slipping down her temples to be lost in her hair. How could a darker reality exist beyond the piquant joy of this moment?

She wanted to open her eyes and awaken from the nightmare, pull Gideon from its clutches. But love was all that bound them, and it seemed a paltry spark in the huge black void that stood between them.

Holding his face, Kate drew him up to brush her lips over his eyelids, nose, cheeks, lips. She breathed in his delicious scent and stored it in her memory to take with her. Memories of the man, Gideon. Not the inhuman creature the surreal truth painted him to be.

His hands were so gentle on her breasts, her hips, molding her, arching her to his touch. His mouth drifted down her body, spreading tiny kisses in a path to the soft, yearning place between her thighs.

And Kate’s pleasure, so shameless and uncontrolled, was fed by the sadness flowing between them. It fueled her urgency, drove her desire to new, treacherous heights.

“Put your mouth on me,” she whispered. “Make me forget everything. Make me come.” When Gideon knelt before her, nudged her legs apart and leaned to taste her sensitive, swollen flesh, she gripped the pillow behind her and closed her eyes. His bold caress washed over her and she strained toward fulfillment with each slow drag of his tongue over her clitoris, until her body quivered uncontrollably and she held her breath, poised on the edge of a fathomless plunge.

As though sensing her impending climax, he rose over her, found her with the sleek tip of his penis, and thrust inside her body, again, again. Smooth. Rhythmic. Relentless. Pounding into her until the headboard rattled, until her heartbeat exploded, until she dug her fingers into his buttocks and screamed, shattering around him. Then, inexplicably, he withdrew, his muscles tight and trembling as he slid down and rested his cheek against her belly.

“Gideon…” Drowsy with fading pleasure, Kate reached to stroke the damp strands of his hair. “Come back inside me.”

“I’ll lose myself if I do.” But after a quiet moment, he moved up, his cool skin gliding against her fevered body, to stare into her eyes.

She read the despair in his face and sought to comfort him in the most primal way. Her fingers slipped between their bodies and encircled his erection as she nipped at his throat, tasting soap and desire.

“Please.”

Gideon fought the inevitable, his struggle stamped in the tight lines of his face, the clench of his jaw. Then with a whispered curse, he covered her hand with his and guided himself between her thighs. “How can I let you go?” The anguished words wrapped themselves around her heart as he slid inside her again, filling her. “How can I, after this?” Kate cradled his head between her palms and sought his kiss when a reply wouldn’t come. Beneath him her body yielded, soft absorbing hard, man sinking into woman, ecstasy swallowing grief.

“Oh…” he whispered, lips by her ear as he drove into her, then her name, like a chant, with every thrust.

“Kate. Kate.”

She squeezed her eyes closed and listened to the harsh sound of his breathing against her neck. The mattress shook with the rocking motion of their bodies, harder, faster. She sensed his orgasm as it coiled within him, felt it in the tightening of his muscles, the hard, relentless piston of his hips.

A ripple shivered up Gideon’s spine, then another, beneath her hands. Electricity danced on the air, and the bedside lamp flickered.

He faltered, lost his rhythm.

“Gideon.” She clutched him tighter, sought his lips, but he turned his face away and released a low, drawn out curse.

“Let go, Kate.”

She couldn’t see his face. Confused, she caught his chin, forced him back to look at her. Fear instantly stole the breath from her chest. “Oh, my God. What…” His eyes glowed with an inhuman light, pupils swallowed by swirling darkness, the bones in his face reorganizing into a nightmarish mask.

Kate could only stare. This was the monster. Horrible and inevitable and true.

Jerking from her grasp, Gideon backed off and buried his head in the sheets, fists gripping the cotton material to hide himself while every vein stood out in his hands, his arms. The muscled planes of his back bunched and stretched as though they had a mind of their own, and eerie, torn rasps escaped his throat.

Grieving sounds of a wounded animal.

“Get dressed.” His words, however muffled, sounded like a feral growl. “Go. Get out of here.” It snapped her from her paralysis. “Gideon…”

“Do you want to die?” He raised his head and stared at her with those strange, unearthly eyes. Colors drifted through them now, crimson and smoky gray and the ochre of brimstone. The windows to hell. The pointed tips of fangs flashed between his lips as he spoke. “Get out of here before I forget who you are. Hurry.” Breath coming in frantic gasps, Kate stumbled from the bed, grabbed the robe and threw open the door.

It crashed behind her as she dashed into the hall, but not before she heard the muffled, anguished cry of the creature she left behind.

Locking herself into her bedroom across the house, she huddled in a dark corner, listening for the sound of inhuman steps while her breath rent the air in short, frantic pants.

Silence reigned in the aftermath of the nightmare. The mansion seemed to sigh, and resign itself to sleep once again, and somehow she knew that whatever dwelled behind Gideon’s bedroom door wouldn’t be coming for her.

Eventually she forced herself to uncurl from her hiding place. Gathering her courage, she dressed and called a cab, then hauled her luggage downstairs to the foyer in one clumsy trip, so blinded by tears that it was a miracle she didn’t fall on the staircase.

Nothing stood in her way now. The halls and stairs were deserted. Doors opened as they should, and the phantoms stayed behind when she stepped out into the night and sucked in greedy lungfuls of air.

The taxi rolled to a stop in front of the mansion in record time, and Kate scrambled into the back seat while the driver set her suitcases in the trunk.

“Please hurry,” she called, eyeing the house’s darkened entrance as though an army of ghouls and ghosts would spill out any moment.

I won’t look back, she told herself as the cab pulled away from the mansion and around the circular drive. But she did, through blurry, aching eyes, and saw Jude standing in his bedroom window, palms pressed to the glass. A white face surrounded by darkness. Then the passing trees swallowed the estate, and Kate faced forward, wondering how she’d managed to get out with every part of her safe and unbroken, except her heart.

The blood of Xanthia will deliver the darkness of death, and it will come like a slow oppressor, visiting much agony upon the perpetrator until the end, when God and soul shall be forever parted.

“No…” Kate jerked against the pillow, grappling to wake, but she couldn’t escape the horrific scene unraveling before her.

Fire, flashing ochre and crimson, smoke thick and cloying. Gideon, face twisted with agony, flesh melting away under the raging heat. Beautiful face pulverized.

Blinding light pierced the shadow of Kate’s nightmare and brought her too quickly to the surface. With a jolt she sat up, confused, mind spinning with memories and reality jumbled together. Then Mike’s lanky, fair-haired figure swam into view. He stood at the foot of the bed with his hands on his hips, sunlight pouring between the curtains he’d thrown open.

With a groan, she fell back against the pillows and buried her throbbing head under the covers. “Go away.”

“Get up, girl.”

“Go away.”

“Get up.”

“Mike,” she said belligerently, her voice muffled. “I’m serious. Just let me sleep a little longer.”

“That’s all you’ve done for a solid month.” Marching around the side of the bed, he pulled the pillow from her embrace and tugged her into a sitting position. “I know I told you all you had to do was sleep and grieve, but this is ridiculous. If you love him that much, go back to him.” “I can’t.”

“Then it’s time to snap out of it. Face the real world, and get on with life.” He sounded like her late, great mother. Brutally matter-of-fact.

Glaring at him, she climbed out of her warm nest and pushed by him to the bathroom, where she came to a grinding halt and stared at herself in the vanity mirror. “Oh, my God,” she groaned. “When did I get so old? I look like a hag.” “That’s because you’re too thin and you get no fresh air.” Mike followed her and pulled open a drawer, retrieved the toothpaste, and squirted a healthy glob on the toothbrush she held in limp fingers. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Brush your teeth and get dressed. We’re going out.” Outside, the early autumn sun sat high and piercing in a cornflower sky. Mike’s apartment was a converted brownstone in The Fan, a historic and chic area of Richmond for up-and-coming professionals. All his friends and ex-lovers lived within blocks, and Mike spent much of his time floating from apartment to apartment, tending to his social life the way a gardener waters and feeds his flowers.

“Where are we going?” she muttered as he led the way down the sidewalk, past row houses and wrought iron fenced parks.

“To the shelter, to buy you a dog. They’re better than men. Less moody. More loyal.”

“I don’t want a dog.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “If they’re so great, how come you don’t have one?”

“I was going to get one, but then I met Tony.” Tony was the svelte Latin lover Mike had always dreamed about but never believed truly existed until they met four weeks ago. Tony could Salsa dance and despite his fashionably conservative appearance, reportedly had body piercings in interesting places.

“Where would I keep a dog?” Kate jogged to keep up with his long strides.

“In your own apartment.”

“I live with you right now.”

“For about one more minute. We’re finding you your own place, Kate. Today.” Chagrin washed her face with heat and she caught his sleeve to halt his stride. “Oh, Mike. Yuck! Why didn’t you tell me I’d overstayed my welcome? I thought we’d agreed to always be honest with each other.” He laughed, hooked an arm around her neck and kissed her forehead. “Katie, you’d never wear out your welcome in my home. You cook and clean and like to watch fly-fishing on TV. How rare a combination is that? But you’re not going to get over this guy until you stand on your own feet and make a new life. Staying with me makes it too easy. And Tony can’t sleep over when you’re there.” She poked a finger in his chest and bit back a smile. “That’s the real reason you’re kicking me out, isn’t it?” “You know I hate staying in other people’s beds. Even Tony’s.” He made a face. “Especially Tony’s.

He’s such an incredible slob. His bathroom…my God. He lives in a petri dish.” They hopped a bus and got off in the suburbs, a healthy distance from Mike’s apartment, but not so far that Kate would feel totally isolated. Scouring the classifieds over bagels and coffee in a strip mall deli, they circled a few inviting possibilities and began their trek.

By the middle of the week, Kate had a new one-bedroom apartment, a beagle-mix puppy from the animal shelter, and a fresh lease on life. She signed on as a substitute teacher, shopped for a new, moreteacherly wardrobe, and ended up spending most of her allotted funds on chew toys for Ferdinand, whom she’d named in honor of the ghostly hound in the painting at Sister Oaks.

She plowed through the hours in this efficient fashion, cleaning out the cobwebs of her life, setting aside her memories of Gideon and Jude and leaving them in the past with childhood stories and sinister fairy tales, where they belonged.

At night, though, she still cried, her heart filled with homesickness for the spooky old house and its bittersweet enigma. For the man and the boy, as they were before she’d discovered their ghastly secrets.

Ferdinand, who didn’t understand, flopped on top of her and lapped at her tears with his tongue. His ears were velvety soft, his face so humorous, she found herself laughing through her tears when she looked at him. He was a bright spot in an otherwise gray, foggy existence.

Eventually she tried dating again. First, the handsome neighbor who offered a friendly hello every time she passed him on the stairs. His name was John Smith, and it turned out he had the personality to go with the nondescript name.