Night's Surrender

“Irresistible, too.”

“You are.” Gazing deep into her eyes, he murmured, “How did I live so long without you? I look back at all those empty years . . .” He shook his head. “But now you're here and it's like I've been reborn.”

Abbey looked up at him, her throat thick with unshed tears. “Was it really so awful?”

He drew her down on the grass beside him, then pulled her close to his side. “You have no idea. After Mara left me, I wandered aimlessly from place to place. I hated what I'd become and yet—I probably shouldn't be telling you this—I loved the blood. The taste of it on my tongue, the power of it! I loved the hunt, and yet, at the same time, I hated it....

A WHISPER OF ETERNITY
AFTER SUNDOWN
DEAD PERFECT
DEAD SEXY
DESIRE AFTER DARK
NIGHT'S KISS
NIGHT'S MASTER
NIGHT'S PLEASURE
NIGHT'S TOUCH
NIGHT'S MISTRESS
NIGHT'S PROMISE
IMMORTAL SINS
EVERLASTING KISS
EVERLASTING DESIRE
BOUND BY NIGHT
BOUND BY BLOOD
HIS DARK EMBRACE
DESIRE THE NIGHT
BENEATH A MIDNIGHT MOON
AS TWILIGHT FALLS
BEAUTY'S BEAST

 

ZEBRA BOOKS

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Abbey Marie Cordova stood on the balcony of her small New York apartment. Gazing at the bright lights of Broadway, she admitted what she had suspected for some time—she wasn't cut out to be an actress, great or otherwise. All those acting classes had been a waste of time and money. She just didn't have the necessary drive or the ruthless ambition to claw her way to the top, nor was she willing to surrender her morals for a bit part in a movie.

She could have asked Uncle Logan to grease the way for her. He had produced a dozen hit movies, even won an Oscar. He wielded a lot of influence with several major Hollywood producers and directors. But she didn't want any favors, not from her family or from anyone else.

Standing there, she knew giving up her childhood dream was the right decision. She had heard too many horror stories of talented young actresses who had made it to the big time, then slid down the slippery slope of fame and fortune into drug addiction, or worse. She had seen their photos splashed across the nightly news, read their obituaries.

Twenty-six years old, Abbey thought with a sigh, and what did she have to show for her years of study? Nothing. No career. No job. No special someone in her life.

Truth be told, she had been feeling blue ever since attending Derek's wedding last month. The whole family had been there to see Mara's son marry the woman of his dreams—the DeLongpres, the Blackwoods, the Cordovas—all of them looking blissfully happy and deeply in love.

All of them vampires.

Until the wedding, Abbey hadn't been home for three or four years and it had been a bit of a shock, seeing her parents and the others and realizing that she now looked the same age as her father; in time, she would look older than her mother.

At the reception, her father had taken her aside and asked, without actually saying the words, if she had given any thought to becoming a vampire.

As a teenager, Abbey hadn't thought much about accepting the Dark Gift. After all, she was young and healthy. She had plenty of time to decide if she wanted to be a vampire. But she wasn't a young girl any longer. She aged with every passing day. Did she want to wait until she was in her thirties? Her forties? Her fifties? She suppressed a shudder. Who wanted to look old forever? Of course, she didn't have to get a day older. Her mother or father would gladly bestow the Dark Gift on her. The whole family took it for granted that Abbey would eventually become one of them. The only thing was, she wasn't certain it was what she wanted.

Going into the bathroom, she studied her reflection in the mirror. Her skin was still taut and smooth and clear. Her hair, the color of dark chocolate, fell past her shoulders in thick waves. She ran her hands over her breasts and down her hips. Her figure was still firm, but for how long?

Frowning, she switched off the light, her steps heavy as she went into the bedroom. After changing into her favorite sleep shirt, she crawled into bed. But sleep wouldn't come. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her hair thinning and turning gray, her skin growing wrinkled and spotted, her energy waning, until, in the end . . .

She bolted upright, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She told herself people weren't meant to live forever, that growing old and passing on was the natural order of things. The way life was meant to be.

Unless you were a vampire . . .

He had been a vampire for over two thousand years. As such, he was one of the oldest of his kind. Only Mara, the so-called Queen of the Vampires, had survived longer.

For centuries he had searched for her, but to no avail. He had to admire her skill at eluding detection, whether by hunters or those of her own kind.

She was a legend among the Nosferatu—fearless, stronger, more powerful and more cunning than any of them. It was rumored that she had regained her humanity, that she had given birth to a child, but he had dismissed both possibilities out of hand. Such things were impossible, even for the Queen of the Vampires. No doubt she had spread the rumors herself, knowing it would only add to her mystique.

But he couldn't ignore the niggling voice in the back of his mind that wondered if it could be true.

He stared at the goblet in his hand, at the thick red liquid it held. What would it be like to be able to consume something besides blood after so many centuries? To sample the various foods and drinks he saw advertised on TV and in magazines? To eat something that required chewing? He often sat in restaurants, sipping a glass of wine, watching men and women as they ate, envious of the culinary pleasure he read on their faces. Just once, he thought, just once he would like to bite into a thick, juicy steak.

Mara was the answer. If she had truly found a way to regain her humanity—no matter how briefly—he wanted to know how she had accomplished it.

And if it was impossible, what then?

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He had lived as a vampire long enough. He was ready to die, but as one of the Nosferatu, his options were not pretty. He could let a hunter stake him or take his head. Or he could walk out into the light of a new day. As old as he was, he wasn't sure it would even be fatal. He could always set himself on fire.... Grimacing, he quickly discarded that alternative.

Better to become human again if at all possible, and spend his final years as a mortal before he breathed his last.

He sipped his drink. It all came back to Mara. She was the answer. If she couldn't restore his humanity, then she could grant him a quick, painless death.

She owed him that much.

And a helluva lot more.

Tossing the want ads onto the kitchen table, Abbey blew a stray wisp of hair from her brow. She had learned to use a computer in high school, though she had no real aptitude for anything beyond the basics. She wished now she had paid more attention, since it seemed every job required at least some degree of computer savvy, and she was woefully lacking. All her friends were into the latest social media, but she had never gotten the hang of finding her way in the digital world. As for texting . . . Abbey shook her head. She much preferred talking to people face-to-face.

With a sigh of resignation, she phoned for a cab. Her father had offered to buy her a car, but she had no real need for one. Most of the places she had to go were within walking distance of her apartment.

Even after all the years she had lived in New York, the sights and sounds of the city filled Abbey with excitement. After paying the cab driver, she stepped out of the car and quickly became part of the crowd. These days, most stores were open 24/7, so whether it was day or night, the streets were swamped with cars that drove themselves, the sidewalks packed with people who were always in a hurry—rushing to get to work or eager to go home, dashing off to see a movie, a Broadway show, a free concert in the park.

Hitching her handbag over her shoulder, Abbey stared at the gleaming glass-fronted façade of the computer store. Her knowledge of digital devices started and ended with her iPod, which was nothing like the current high-tech phones, iPads, and computers. She could find music, text when she had to, and read the latest news on her iPod; anything else was beyond her.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped into a world that was totally unfamiliar to her.

A quick glance around showed computers in all types and sizes—small towers with enormous screens, monitors that didn't need a tower, wireless laptops, and devices that were no bigger than a cell phone.

You could buy a keyboard if you were old-school, but newer computer models responded to voice commands. She had heard that, in another year or so, those would be obsolete and man and computer would communicate with thought waves.

Shelf after shelf held nothing but computers, monitors, keyboards, software programs and gadgets, and stacks of technical manuals. It looked like geek heaven, she mused. All around her, people chatted enthusiastically about the latest software, the newest addition to this or that. They might as well have been speaking a foreign language, because Abbey didn't understand a word they were saying.

With a shake of her head, she turned and headed for the exit. Maybe she could get a job in Beverly Hills as a house sitter or a dog walker. Cash only. She wouldn't need any computer skills for that! She could stay in Hollywood with Mara and Logan until she found a place of her own.

Lost in thought, Abbey didn't see the man coming through the door until she slammed into him. It was like crashing into a mountain.

“Whoa, girl,” he exclaimed. “Are you on your way to a fire?”

“I'm so sorry. I wasn't . . .” Abbey glanced up—and up. He was a
tall
mountain. Blinking up at him, she took a step back. She was used to handsome men, but this guy . . .

He looked like the
GQ
Hunk of the Month with his long black hair, broad shoulders, trim waist, and vibrant blue eyes.

He reached out a hand to steady her. “Are you all right?”

“What? Yes. No. I mean, of course.”

He grinned, sending her temperature rising and her pulse racing. It was disconcerting, the effect he had on her. She had met a lot of good-looking men. None of them had made her feel like throwing herself into his arms.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked. “There's a club just down the street. Dante's. Do you know it?”

“Yes.” She knew it all too well. Dante's catered mainly to out-of-work musicians and down-on-their-luck actors and screenwriters.

“Shall we?”

It was a tempting offer—sharing a drink with an incredibly handsome man. But gorgeous or not, he was a stranger.

He cocked his head to the side. “Is there a problem?”

“No.” What could go wrong? Dante's was just two blocks down, the sidewalks were crowded with people. She had a .22 semi-automatic in her purse—a going-away gift from her father. Smiling up at him, she said, “Lead the way.”

He took her hand as they threaded their way down the street to the club. The touch of his fingers twining with hers made her heart race and her toes curl with pleasure.

Inside, he guided her to a small table in the back, held her chair as she sat down. “I'm Nick.” His voice, deep and whiskey-rough, moved over her like a caress.

“Abbey.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Abbey.”

“Even though I almost knocked you down?”

A laugh rumbled deep in his throat. “I don't think I was in any real danger from a little thing like you.”

She would have been offended if any other man had called her a “little thing,” but the way he said it, the admiration in his dark blue eyes, made it sound like high praise.

Their waitress arrived then. Abbey ordered a dry martini, Nick ordered a glass of Pinot Noir.

When the waitress left to turn in their order, Nick leaned forward, his forearms crossed on the table, his gaze intent upon Abbey's face. “Tell me about yourself.”

“There's not much to tell. I wasted the last five years trying to be something I'm not cut out for.”

“Oh? What's that?”

“I thought I wanted to be an actress, but I recently came to the realization that I just don't have what it takes.” She shrugged, thinking how good it felt to finally admit it out loud. “I guess I just don't want it bad enough to make the tough choices.”

He nodded. “So, what are you going to do now?”

“I'm not sure. Go back home, I guess.”

“Where's home?”

“Northern California. My parents have a ranch there. But enough about me. What about you? What do you do?”

“Nothing much. You might say I'm footloose and fancy free. No job. No family. No prospects.”

Abbey bit down on her lower lip, uncertain how to reply. Was he recovering from some horrible tragedy? An entrepreneur down on his luck? Or just some incredibly handsome drifter with no goals and no ambition?

She was still trying to think of a suitable response when the waitress arrived with their drinks. Nick smiled at the woman, tossed twenty-five dollars on the tray, and told her to keep the change.

He might be a drifter, Abbey thought, but he didn't appear to be strapped for cash.

“What were you looking for in the computer store?” he asked.

“Nothing, really. I was thinking about getting a job and thought I should try to get up-to-date on the latest technology, but . . .” She smiled self-consciously. “I have no talent in that area, either. It's all Greek to me. I have trouble remembering to charge my cell phone. The new computers . . .” She shook her head.

He laughed softly. “Maybe I can help with that. I know a bit about computers and software.”

“You do?”

“I was a computer programmer in another life.”

“Really?” She would never have pegged him as a computer nerd. “Well, I'd appreciate any help you could give me. Of course, I'll have to buy a new computer first. I'm afraid mine is woefully archaic and past repair.”

“Well, when you're ready to make the plunge, just let me know.”

Abbey sipped her drink. Who was this man, really? He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, yet there was something about him that made her think he was older. Perhaps it was his eyes—they seemed world-weary, and wise beyond his years.

The silence between them made her uncomfortable. She was scrambling for something witty to say when the DJ selected a love song.

Nick set his glass aside. “Care to dance?”

Abbey's heartbeat kicked up a notch at the thought of being in his arms. She nodded, her throat suddenly dry as he took her by the hand and led her onto the tiny dance floor.

He drew her into his arms, holding her far closer than was proper between strangers. His arm around her waist was solid—protective, not imprisoning. His thighs brushed hers, his breath was warm when it caressed her cheek.

She looked up and his gaze met hers—intense and deep blue. For a moment, she imagined him probing her mind, uncovering her deepest secrets. For a moment, she imagined she could read his thoughts in return, imagined that he was alone and lonely, that only she could ease his pain.

Blinking rapidly, she looked away, and now she was acutely aware of his body pressed so close to hers, of how intimately he held her. Only a breath apart, she mused. And it was too far. His hand lightly stroked her back, up and down, and she sighed with the sheer pleasure of his touch, of being in his arms. She felt warm and achy in the deepest part of her being and she wished suddenly that they were alone in her apartment. In her bed . . .

Blushing furiously, she glanced up at him, grateful that he couldn't read her mind.

He smiled at her, his arm tightening around her waist as the music ended and they returned to their table. “If I asked you out, what would you say?”

“Ask me and see.” She had intended for her reply to be saucy and flirtatious; instead, it emerged as a husky whisper. What was there about this man that she found so irresistible? It was more than his devastating good looks, more than the rich timbre of his voice. Something primal within him called to something wild and untouched within the deepest part of her being in ways she recognized but didn't understand. She was meant to be his, she thought, as he was meant to be hers.

“Would you go out with me tomorrow night, Abbey Marie?”

“I'd love to.”

“Pick you up at eight?”

Nodding, she pulled one of her business cards from her wallet and handed it to him. His fingers brushed hers as he took the card.

“Eight,” she said breathlessly.

It wasn't until Nick had put her in a cab and she was on her way home that Abbey stopped to wonder how he knew her middle name.

 

 

Nick lingered on the sidewalk long after Abbey's cab was out of sight. She was a lovely young woman with an air of innocence that was remarkably rare these days. That she was human, he had no doubt. And yet the scent of vampire clung to her, almost too faint to detect, but there nonetheless, which led him to wonder if she was in the habit of associating with vampires, or if she had simply, unknowingly, been in contact with one earlier that day.

He grinned wryly as another thought crossed his mind. Unlikely as it seemed, she might be a hunter.

His grin turned to laughter as he pictured a little bit of a thing like Abbey trying to take down an angry vampire, or lop the head off a sleeping one. Of course, anything was possible. He hadn't lived this long by underestimating his enemies, however unlikely they appeared.

He would do well to remember that, Nick mused as he strolled down the street. In recent months, the vampire community had again gone underground. Several prominent hunters had been slain, among them Louise McDonald and her sister. He had never had any contact with Lou McDonald, but she had been a legend among the Undead—ruthless in the hunt, merciless in the kill. A group of hunters had recently put out a contract on whoever had killed her and her sister. Odds were good that it had been a vampire, though no one in their community had come forward to claim the honor.

He paused at the corner, his gaze drawn to a group of young adults exiting a dance club. Their combined scents stirred his hunger. And his memories. Memories that shamed him now. There had been times, in the distant past, when he would have preyed upon them all, drained them dry and tossed the empty husks aside without a qualm.

Those days were long gone, but the ubiquitous need to feed remained. Nick fell into step behind them as they moved on, laughing and weaving down the street. Had he ever been that young, that carefree? His days in mortality had been spent trying to keep body and soul together.

He fell back a little as one of the couples broke off from the others. His hunger spiked as he trailed soundlessly behind them.

They never realized he was there, never suspected they were in danger until it was too late.

Back at home, he poured himself a glass of red wine and settled into his favorite chair. Thoughts of days gone by had tempted him to drain the couple dry. Doing so in the past had become an addiction. For his kind, taking a life was a high like no other—to drink a man's life, his memories, his strength—the rush was indescribable. And he had been sorely tempted. But he hadn't killed in centuries unless it was in self-defense. These days he took only what he needed and moved on.