Nocturne (13 page)

“Surely you don’t blame yourself for killing those men,” Nicole said slowly. “They were the enemy, and you were defending your friend.”

“I do blame myself. Those men didn’t have to die. They had nothing but knives and muskets, which I could have knocked away before they had a chance to use them. I could have talked them down; I’d done it plenty of times before. But that’s not the worst part. There’s more to the story. There was so much blood—the tent was awash in it—and I lost all sense of myself. I dragged the first dead man outside and drank every drop of blood in his body. Once I started I couldn’t stop. Like a demon, I fed off all six of those men until I was full and bloated.”

“Oh!” was all Nicole could manage.

Michael’s face was consumed with guilt, his voice soft and low. “That’s why I left the army. That’s why I moved out west. I had to disappear again, to start over in a new, less populated place far, far away. When I saw this land, I knew I’d found my sanctuary. It was miles from anywhere. Down the back side of this ridge is a deep, protected valley that lies under cloud cover most of the year, which meant I could spend a decent amount of daytime outside. I homesteaded the property and built a cabin and . . . you know the rest.”

“Yes.”

Michael stopped a few feet away from the chaise lounge where she lay and looked at her, his expression grim. “Have I shocked and horrified you?”

Nicole swallowed hard. Parts of the story
were
incredibly shocking and horrible. Some inner voice warned her that she ought to recoil in terror from the demon he claimed to be. But her heart spoke louder, refusing to be afraid. Michael struggled on a daily basis to deal with powerful thirsts and dark temptations that she couldn’t even begin to imagine—yet it seemed that, today, he had learned to control those urges. “The parts that shock and horrify all happened a very long time ago,” Nicole said quietly.

“Some things don’t change, even with the passage of time.”

“I think they do change.” Nicole rose and moved to stand before him, earnestly taking one of his hands in hers. “
You’ve
changed a great deal, Michael. Yes, you’ve done terrible things, but you also worked hard to rise above terrible adversity and created a purposeful life for yourself. For most of that life, you dedicated yourself to helping others. You’ve done so much

“It’s kind of you to say so. But at heart I’m still that monster who craves blood; a demon who, centuries ago, murdered countless people.”

Nicole reached up and rested her hand gently on Michael’s cheek. “No. At heart, you’re not a monster at all. Not anymore. You’re a man. An extraordinarily talented, dedicated, sensitive, caring man. A man with a
good heart
.”

Michael’s hands slid around to clasp her back, pulling her to him. “Haven’t you been listening?” he cried desperately. “Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said?”

Nicole felt as if her very soul would melt under the compassion and yearning she saw in his eyes. “I have. It only helped me see who you really are. I’m not afraid, Michael. I want to prove to you that you’re no monster. I want you to prove it to yourself.”

“Nicole . . .”

“No more talking,” she insisted softly. “Just kiss me.”

CHAPTER 14

N
ICOLE DIDN’T WAIT FOR HIM to comply. She pressed her lips against his, infusing her kiss with all the affection that welled within her. Michael’s resistance crumbled. He returned her kiss immediately and with rising passion as their bodies came together and clung.

A primitive force seemed to be controlling Nicole’s hands and body as she pressed herself to him, swallowing his kisses feverishly, each one only increasing her thirst for more. One hand roamed the hard muscles of his back, the other twisted into his silky brown hair. Soon, she felt desperate to heighten their contact. The clothing that separated them was an intrusion ; she yearned to feel his bare flesh against hers.

With trembling fingers Nicole grabbed hold of the hem of his T-shirt and began to tug it upward. Michael finished the

Nicole took a step back, panting, and ripped her own shirt over her head. In seconds the rest of their clothing was gone and Michael was lowering her onto the soft cushion of the chaise lounge, his hard, naked body pressed tightly against hers, his mouth coming to hers in a hungry caress.

They didn’t speak, communicating only through touch, taste, sight, and sound. As they kissed, Michael’s hand glided up to cup her breast, shaping and kneading it, his thumb gently seeking and prodding her nipple. Desire spun through her like electricity. Nicole’s hand slipped down to knead the flesh below his navel, and then moved lower, her fingers seeking and massaging, giving him the pleasure that he was giving her. She both heard and felt his soft moan. Then his lips left hers and followed where his fingertips had been, taking her nipple deeply in his mouth and rolling it back and forth with his tongue. Nicole’s back arched in answer to the caress. Her blood seemed to be spinning through her veins, her pulse pounding in every pore of her body.

His mouth still at her breast, Michael’s hand traveled down her belly to the private sanctum between her inner thighs. With rising pleasure, Nicole received the deliberate attention of his fingertips, her own hands exploring the hard knit muscles of

The magic he worked with that tongue sent her into a delirium, filling her with liquid, molten need, bringing her almost to ecstasy. Fiercely she grabbed his muscled biceps, urging him upward, silently letting him know that she wanted him,
now
. In a fraction of a heartbeat he was above her again, spreading her legs with his body, and inside her, filling her, moving above and within her.

Nicole felt the thud of his pulse against her breasts. Her head fell back, exposing her throat to his lips. He planted tiny, hot kisses there, moving down the length of her neck. Then he paused. Nicole heard his ragged breath against her ear and she briefly froze, pulse racing, holding her breath, wondering.

But his teeth didn’t touch her tender and pliant flesh. Instead, his mouth quickly returned to hers and he buried himself more deeply within her. Nicole’s body answered, quivering with anticipation and then shuddering deeply each time he slowly thrust himself into her. Together, they moved to an unearthly rhythm. Deep down inside her womanhood she ached and throbbed. Her mind emptied. She could think of nothing but the need to give herself to the rising fire within her. Just as she heard his passionate exclamation, she gasped with pleasure, her body exploding into a million fragments of white hot sensation.

AFTERWARD, THEY LAY CLASPED in each other’s arms on the chaise lounge, faces almost touching, the moist air of the conservatory enfolding them in its luxurious warmth. Michael’s

“Do you know what I ask myself every time I look at you?”

“No, what?” she asked breathlessly.

“I ask myself: is she real? Or is she just another one of my fantasies?”

“I’m as real as you are.”

“Nicole, you are so lovely in every way, you couldn’t be more perfect if I had conjured you out of thin air.” Michael caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I can’t stop touching you. I’ve lived so long in my imagination, I still can’t believe that . . .”

“It’s never been like that for me,” Nicole whispered with similar wonder. “And,” she added with a soft, slow smile, “may I point out that you didn’t bite me.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“That’s a little victory for you, isn’t it? That you could make love and not lose control?”

“I suppose it is.”

Hesitantly, she asked, “Were you tempted?”

“Yes.”

Her brow furrowed with concern as she looked at him. “How tempted? Was it . . . difficult for you not to . . . ?”

Michael moved on top of her, his eyes smoldering as he wrapped her more tightly in his embrace. “Shall we try it again and find out . . . at a more leisurely pace this time?”

LATER, AFTER THEY DRESSED, Michael brought her home from the conservatory in the same manner in which they had arrived.

Setting her down in the mud room, Michael shut the door with his foot, his arms still around her, gazing enraptured into those bright green eyes, not wanting to let her go.

“What?” she said, her smile meeting his.

“Nothing. I’m just . . . memorizing the moment.”

He was still reeling with elation from the beautiful, incredible thing that had just happened between them. He’d told Nicole everything and she hadn’t been afraid; she’d still wanted him. Centuries ago, when he’d come to terms with his nature and made his choice of how to live, he’d given up the hope of ever being able to love a woman again. Nicole had helped him see that it was still possible. He’d just made love to her twice, and he hadn’t harmed her. It was like a miracle.

Michael couldn’t stop smiling as they hung up their heavy winter garments, couldn’t take his eyes off her as they made their way upstairs. He could admit it now—if only to himself: Nicole was everything he’d ever dreamed of in a woman. He loved her, had loved her from the first moment he saw her, and every moment in her presence since had only reaffirmed it. Was it possible that his love for her was responsible for silencing the demon that was inside him? Would it remain silent a little while longer, so he could enjoy and love her while she was here?

He knew she would only stay two more days; he couldn’t expect more than that. He knew, too, that she was still holding something back from him. Something haunted her from her past, and he suspected that it had to do with her fear of blood. He hoped that eventually she would open up to him.

Taking Nicole by the hand, he brought her to the curio cabinet where he displayed his music boxes.

“You asked about this yesterday,” Michael said, opening the cabinet and taking out the box she’d admired—the one inlaid with the red rose design and a scroll of music. “I thought you might like to look at it.”

Michael wound up the music box and handed it to her. Reverently, Nicole studied the detailed, colorful mosaic of the lid, running her fingers over its lacquered surface.

“It’s truly beautiful. The red rose is perfectly done—it looks so real, I can almost smell its fragrance.”

He smiled, flattered, and watched as she lifted the lid. Inside, the high-quality brass cylindrical mechanism began to play its tune.

“It’s lovely,” Nicole said, listening, “but I don’t recognize it.”

“Don’t you? It’s one of my favorite songs. Come, I’ll play the CD for you.”

They retreated to his study, where he built a fire in the hearth. Retrieving a CD from his collection, he popped it into his stereo and set it to play the appropriate track. It was a tender, old-fashioned Scottish song, sung by a gorgeous tenor to the accompaniment of a full orchestra.

O, my Love’s like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June.
O, my Love’s like the melody,
That’s sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I,
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till all the seas run dry.

The song went on with simple but heartrending elegance, describing a love that was fresh and everlasting. As Nicole listened, Michael strode up and wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing his lips against the radiant abundance of her long, flaming hair. Her waist was so small; she felt so delicate, feminine, and breakable beneath his hands. Nicole leaned her head back against his shoulder and sighed as the music and lyrics of the full-bodied, melodious tune filled the room. He’d heard it at least a thousand times, yet it was so beautiful and heartfelt that it always gave him a rush of pleasure. Nicole seemed to share his reaction, for when the song ended, he saw tears brimming in her eyes.

“What an exquisite song,” Nicole said, clasping her arms over his. “I can see why it’s your favorite. Who wrote it?”

“The poem was written by Robert Burns, a Scottish poet, in 1794,” Michael said, kissing her shoulder.

“I’ve heard of him. He’s famous. Didn’t he write the song ‘Auld Lang Syne’?”

“He did. Burns was so struck by the words to ‘Red, Red Rose’ when sung by a country girl that he wrote them down. Not being pleased with the air, he asked me to give it to his friend Pietro Urbani, a Scots singer, and see if he’d set the words to music in the style of a Scots tune, which Urbani did accordingly.”

Nicole spun slowly in Michael’s embrace until she faced him, her arms encircling his waist. “Burns
asked you to
... ?” She stared at him. “Are you saying you actually knew the poet Robert Burns?”

“I met Burns during the first year of my . . . rehabilitation, shall we call it,” Michael answered, “when I spent some time up in Scotland.”

Nicole let out a laugh that seemed to be half incredulity, half delight. “What was he like?”

“He was about my age—or the age I appeared to be, anyway. He was a good-looking chap, very spirited and intelligent. His eyes literally glowed when he spoke with feeling or interest. He talked about his love of poetry and about his muse. Sadly, he became ill and died soon after he wrote that poem. But it was Burns who first inspired my interest in writing.”

“Well then, the world—and I—owe a greater debt to Robert Burns than we ever knew,” Nicole said.

Her smile as she gazed at him was such a mix of wonder, affection, and admiration that Michael’s heart turned over. He kissed her, then spread small, slow kisses across her cheeks and nose. As he tenderly brushed back the hair from Nicole’s forehead, his eyes fell upon the butterfly bandage concealing the cut on her temple, which still looked angry. “Does that hurt?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“I could heal it for you right now, if you wanted.”

“Heal it? What do you mean?”

“There’s an antimicrobial protein in saliva—it’s called histatin—”

“Yes, I know—it’s said to aid in the healing of wounds.”

He was surprised she knew that, but then remembered her interest in medicine, and that she’d once considered becoming a doctor. “That’s why cuts in the mouth heal so much faster than other injuries.”

“And why animals lick their wounds.”

Michael remained silent, eyeing her meaningfully, waiting for her to make the connection.

“So what are you saying?” she asked. “That your saliva—?”

“Like everything else in my body, the healing properties of my saliva are heightened. If you’d like, I can . . .”

Nicole laughed again. “You are just one surprise after another. I never know what to expect next from you.” She beamed at him and said with a melodramatic flair, “Okay. Yes! Please, doctor! Heal me.”

Gently, Michael removed the butterfly bandage near her hairline. “This might sting a little at first, but that will pass.”

He lowered his head and lightly pressed his tongue to the wound. As he lapped against the severed ridges of her tender flesh, he felt her tense. Then a quiver ran through her body, she gasped, and her hands slid up to grip his shoulders, as if to steady herself. He continued to lick her wound with infinite slowness, feeling the subtle but steady changes as they occurred beneath his tongue.

“It did sting at first, but now it feels really . . .
really
. . . nice,” she whispered.