Phantom Embrace (3 page)

A long moment passed.

“With such a track record,” she said softly, “I'm surprised you ventured to speak to me tonight.”

“I fear it was inevitable. I've been wanting to speak to you for a long time now,” he admitted.

Her lips curled up in a faint smile. “You have?”

“Yes. I almost
did
the night I moved here and saw you for the first time.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“You walked through a wall. I didn't realize until you did that you were a spirit.”

She stared at him, her brown eyes wide. “You see me that clearly?”

“Yes. Even knowing you were a spirit, I wished to speak to you, but past experience taught me that there is
always
a catch. I didn't want to find out what that catch might be with you.”

“Yet you spoke to me tonight. Why?”

“I couldn't bear your sadness.”

She lowered her head.

“Will you tell me the source of it?” he implored gently.

She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. “I don't wish to speak of it.”

When sadness crept back into her visage, Yuri hastened to change the subject. “Then why don't we formally introduce ourselves?” Rising, he sketched her a gallant bow. “Yuri Sokolov, at your service.”

* * *

Cat rose and smiled up at the handsome immortal warrior. “Catherine Seddon.” She executed a curtsy. “My friends called me Cat.”

“May I count myself among your friends?” he asked with a roguish grin.

She laughed. “Yes, you may.”

“Then it's a pleasure to meet you, Cat.”

“A pleasure to meet you, too, sir.”

“Yuri,” he corrected.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Yuri.” And how intimate it felt to address him so informally. When she had last been a living member of society, the rules had dictated that she address men such as Yuri by their titles.

Yuri offered her his hand.

Once more, excitement skittered through her. If he could see her and hear her so clearly, would he also be able to feel her?

It had been so long since she had experienced the touch of another.

Cat placed her hand in his. Disappointment pummeled her as her hand passed right through it. “Oh,” she breathed. “I had hoped, since you can see me so clearly . . .”

“That I could feel you, too?” he asked, sympathy and disappointment suffusing his deep brown eyes.

“Yes.”

“I hoped so, too.” He continued to hold his hand out to her, palm up. “Let us try again, shall we? Slower this time.”

Cat saw little purpose in it, but did as he requested and placed her hand over his, making sure, this time, that her hand didn't keep going and pass right through it. Again she felt no skin-on-skin contact. Did not feel the pressure of his fingers closing around hers when he attempted such.

But she did feel
something
.

Warmth. Her palm felt warm where it merged with his.

She raised her head and stared up at him in wonder.

“Can you feel me?” he asked, an amber glow entering his brown eyes.

She had to swallow before she could speak. “I feel warmth.”

He cupped his free hand over hers, encapsulating it in more warmth.

It wasn't what she had hoped. But to feel anything at all after two centuries of nothing . . . “Can you feel me?” she whispered.

“I can't curl my fingers around yours. Can't raise your hand to my lips for a kiss,” he murmured, “but my skin tingles where we touch.”

Was tingling a good thing or a bad thing? “Is it uncomfortable?” she asked.

A slow smile stretched his lips. “No. It's quite pleasant, actually.”

Butterflies fluttered in her belly as Cat found herself utterly smitten with him.

Oh, who was she kidding? She had been smitten with Yuri ever since he had moved into David's home. Tonight hadn't been the first time she had followed him on his hunt. Nor was it the first she had joined him in his bedroom.

An unpleasant thought arose. If he could see her, then he must know she had been tagging after him on his hunts and sitting with him and Stanislav while they read and reminisced.

Dismay rose.

Yuri had said he loved his privacy. And like the spirit he had found so annoying as a young man, Cat had denied him that privacy time and time again.

A bell rang.

Cat jerked her hand back and looked toward the door.

Since all of the bedrooms down here had now been soundproofed, they had been outfitted with doorbells in case knocks went unheard.

“Your friend is here to read with you,” she announced. Risking a glance up, she found Yuri scowling at the door.

“I'll tell him I'm going to be late,” he muttered.

“No,” she protested and backed away. “I'll go. Thank you for speaking with me tonight.” It had been a rare treat.

“Cat—”

Spinning on her heel, she hurried through the wall into the next room, then stopped short. “Oh!”

Roland Warbrook, the antisocial British immortal, and his American wife were making passionate love in their huge bed.
Intensely
passionate love.

Eyes wide, Cat sidled around the bed. It had
never
been like that when she had lain with her husband. Blaise had never done anything to her that would make her loose such sultry moans and cries or throw her head back and reach down to grab her husband's . . .

Face and body flushing, she raced through the wall and out into the hallway just in time to see Stanislav entering Yuri's room.

The door closed behind him with a quiet
snick
.

* * *

Cat leaned into the frame of a large window behind the massive desk in David's study. The sun's rays, almost blindingly bright and sparkling with dust motes, poured through the clean panes and passed right through her, imbuing her with warmth . . . much as Yuri's touch had.

The house around her was quiet. All the immortals slept. Many of their human Seconds slept as well, having worked until noon or thereabouts, running errands and conducting whatever business they did during the day for the immortals they served and protected.

Even David slept, exhausted by the long hours he had kept of late, aiding immortals in North Carolina and surrounding states whenever emergencies arose, then spending the moments in between poring over medical textbooks in search of any information that would help him and Seth carry Ami safely through her difficult pregnancy.

Outside, Roland's cat, Nietzsche—as cantankerous as his owner—crept toward a squirrel.

The squirrel continued to nibble on an acorn, watching the cat from the corner of its eye.

“There you are.” A pleasant male voice spoke, startling her.

Her head snapping around, Cat stared at the tall figure in the doorway.

Yuri graced her with a charming smile as he entered and closed the door behind him.

“Why aren't you asleep?” she asked, telling her treacherous heart to stop slamming against her ribs. She had never understood why she had continued to feel that particular organ after she had breathed her last breath. She never felt hunger. Never felt thirst. But her heart seemed to thump away in her breast. One of many mysteries for which she had no explanation.

“I was looking for
you
,” he said, tucking his hands in his pockets as he strolled toward her. He wore the usual garb of an immortal. Black pants. Black T-shirt stretched taut over the thick muscles of his chest, shoulders, and arms. Heavy black boots.

From what she understood, immortals and their Seconds dressed thusly so bloodstains would be less apparent to any looky-loos who saw them after a hunt.

She frowned. Was that the right phrase? Looky-loos? It sounded odd.

Regardless, the clothing suited Yuri, accenting his dark hair and chestnut eyes.

She straightened as he approached the desk.

“I've only caught the briefest glimpses of you these last few nights,” he commented.

Because she had been careful to avoid him since their talk. As soon as he had entered a room, Cat had left it. She had even resisted the temptation to follow him on his hunts.

He arched a dark brow. “Are you avoiding me?”

For a moment, Cat considered denying it. But she had told him she valued honesty. So she nodded.

“Why?” He cocked his head to one side. “Did I offend you in some way?”

Shaking her head, she glanced down. “I fear it is I who offended you.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I owe you an apology.”

His expression remained impassive. “For what?”

“Now that I know you can see me, that you've
always
been able to see me, I realize . . .” Mortified, she looked away and began to pleat her skirts with anxious fingers. “You said you value your privacy, and I denied you that on many an occasion, visiting your chamber and following you on hunts. I—”

“Cat.”

She shook her head and met his gaze. “I don't want to be like that first spirit you mentioned, the one you spoke to. I don't want to irritate you or make you uncomfortable. I—”

“You don't,” he interrupted with a kind smile. “You didn't.” He sighed as he circled the desk. “I feared this might be the reason for your absence.” Stopping a few feet away, he leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the window, careful to avoid the sun's rays. “I confess I enjoyed your presence each time you joined me in my room or on a hunt.” His smile widened. “The former more than the latter. The latter proved dangerously distracting on more than one occasion.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

“I'm not,” he said, and glanced out the window.

Cat followed his gaze.

Without warning, Nietzsche raced toward the squirrel.

The squirrel dropped its acorn and shot up the nearest tree, not stopping until it reached the highest limbs, well out of the crazy cat's reach. Spinning around, it barked a peculiar little bark at the disgruntled feline, its tail flicking wildly.

“It's been so long, Cat,” Yuri murmured, his profile drawing her gaze. “It's been so very long since I've spent time with a woman around whom I can relax and be myself.” He cast her a smile, both wry and sad at the same time. “Five hundred years or so, if you can believe it.”

She couldn't.

“Even when I was mortal, I had to hide my strange ability to see spirits. If I didn't, I was believed to be quite mad.” He shrugged. “Once I became immortal, I had a great deal more to hide.”

Surely there had been women over the centuries. Even Bastien had not remained celibate since his transformation.

“This life is not conducive to forming lasting relationships with women,” he went on, almost as though she had spoken the thought aloud. “Human/immortal relationships never end well. Most end bitterly when the human ages and the immortal does not. The human always seems incapable of believing that the immortal who loves her will continue to do so as she grows wrinkled and stooped with age. That disbelief sows distrust. The elderly human convinces herself the immortal must be seeing a younger woman on the side and launches accusations each night as he leaves to hunt. The immortal always grows bitter himself that the woman he loves has so little faith in him.”

He grew quiet, his handsome face pensive.

“Does it never work?” she asked.

“Very rarely. When it does, it always ends in tragedy when the human inevitably dies. Until Roland met Sarah, the same held true for immortal/
gifted one
relationships. Sarah is the first
gifted one
in history who actually asked to be transformed so she could spend eternity with an immortal. In the past,
gifted ones
always refused, which spawned even more bitterness.”

He faced her once more. “I suspect you were born in another era, so I hope this will not offend your sensibilities, but ... casual, meaningless sex has held no appeal for me for the past ... oh ... four hundred years, give or take a decade. After a century or so it just grew ... tiresome and interested me about as much as eating the same meal for dinner every night for hundreds of years would. Periodically one feels the need to sate the hunger, of course, but it's just the scratching of an itch. There's no real satisfaction in it. And certainly no affection.”

She fought back a blush. No man had ever spoken so plainly to her.

“I miss the company of women,” he said with something akin to apology in his voice. “And while I was a bit wary of you the first few times you joined me in my room, I soon found I enjoyed your presence there. Enjoyed the companionship you provided. Enjoyed watching your expression change as you listened to audiobooks with me when Stanislav didn't join us.”

Revelation struck. “You started listening to them for
me
, didn't you?” she asked.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I couldn't help but notice the looks of longing you cast the books on my shelves.” He glanced at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves around them. “Or these.”

What a thoughtful gift he had given her. Cat had always been a bit of a bluestocking when she had lived, burying her nose in a book whenever she could. “Thank you.”

He inclined his head. “I even enjoyed watching television with you.” He smiled. “As though we were an old married couple.”

That enigmatic heartbeat of hers quickened.

“You brought me a peace I haven't experienced in many long years, Cat. I've missed that these past few days.”