She sat there for several minutes, lost in thought. After drinking the last of the milk, she tossed the carton in the trash can beside the door, then walked back to the shop to get her car, which she had left in the parking lot behind the building.
She was about to unlock the door when she realized she wasn’t alone. A sliver of icy fear slithered down her spine as a man dressed in black materialized out of the shadows and stepped into a pool of light cast by the streetlamp on the corner.
Sara took a step back, every instinct she possessed warning her to run, to scream, but all she could do was stand there, as if held by some invisible power.
Travis couldn’t stop staring at the woman. She was lovely. A riot of sun-gold curls fell over her shoulders. Hazel eyes, as wide and frightened as those of a doe caught by surprise, stared back at him. He could hear the beat of her heart pounding hard and fast in her chest, smell the sweet nectar flowing through her veins, the fear on her skin.
He hadn’t meant to frighten her. “I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her from his thrall. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Sara blinked at him. He looked harmless. Had she imagined that odd sense of power that had held her spellbound? He wasn’t much taller than she was. His hair, thick and blond, brushed his collar, his eyes were a deep, dark brown. She shook her head. “It’s all right.”
He smiled at her. “Maybe I could buy you a cup of coffee as a peace offering?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I hope I see you again.” A friendly wave of his hand and he walked away.
She waited until he was out of sight, then quickly unlocked her Chevy and slid behind the wheel. Driving home, she had the weirdest feeling that she would see him again.
Keeping to the shadows, Travis followed the woman. She lived in a small white house with bright yellow shutters only a few blocks away from where she worked. He watched as she pulled into the driveway and hurried into the house.
She really was a pretty thing, but it was more than her appearance that drew him, though he couldn’t have said what it was. As a hunter, he’d had little time for women or serious relationships. As a vampire, he’d had even less. Unsure of himself, afraid of inadvertently doing or saying something that would give him away, he had avoided contact with women—except for those he preyed on. But he didn’t want to prey on this one. He just wanted to know her better.
Drawing closer, he opened his senses, nodded when he didn’t detect anyone else inside. Since she hadn’t worn a wedding ring and there was no lingering scent of a man —or anyone else—on the premises, he assumed she was single and lived alone.
The thought made him smile because he was determined to see her again.
But for now, he needed to hunt.
Shannah rolled onto her side, her fingers tracing random patterns on Ronan’s chest. He lay quiet beneath her roving hands, his eyes closed. She loved him with every fiber of her being. He had saved her life, showed her a world she had never dreamed existed. “It’s been four months,” she remarked. “Do you think he’s all right?”
“I really don’t give a damn.”
“You sired him.” Her lips followed the path of her fingertips. “I still think it was terribly cruel to turn him out with no one to guide him.”
“He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”
“But …”
“The man was a hunter,” he said irritably. “He knows enough to survive. He’ll learn the rest. And if he doesn’t …” He twitched one shoulder.
She couldn’t really blame her husband for his uncaring attitude. Jim Hewitt had attacked Ronan without provocation, fully intending to destroy him. Still, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for the hunter. He had seemed like a nice guy and she felt partly responsible for what had happened to him. Believing that Ronan was a danger to her, Hewitt had tried to warn her off. Poor man. No doubt he was feeling lost and alone as he tried to adjust to being a vampire. It couldn’t be easy, being cut off from family and friends, forced by circumstances to learn how to navigate his new life on his own. She frequently wondered where he was and how he was doing. “Is he still alive?”
Ronan turned onto his side and studied her through fathomless eyes as black as midnight. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t know. I just do.”
With a huff of impatience, he opened the blood link that bound the fledgling to him, a link that could be broken only by death.
“You can stop worrying,” he said curtly. “He’s alive.”
Travis’s head jerked up, the woman in his arms momentarily forgotten as he felt the blood link open between himself and his sire. Why now, he thought, after all this time? But before he could put the question to words, the link was gone.
Frowning, he turned back to his prey. The urge to take it all, to glut himself with his prey’s blood, was a constant temptation. Thus far, he had managed to keep his seemingly insatiable lust for blood under control—forcing himself to take only what he needed and not what he wanted. He knew, on some deep, instinctive level, that it would be easier to control his hunger if his sire had stayed with him, to guide him. Not that he could blame the vampire for abandoning him. He had tried to destroy Ronan, after all.
Travis grinned ruefully. He had done what hunters do. He supposed he should be grateful the vampire hadn’t killed him. But tonight, with the craving for blood burning hot and strong within him, he didn’t feel grateful at all.
Chapter 3
Sara slept late the next morning. Now that she had decided to open at three in the afternoon instead of ten a.m., there was no rush to get ready for the day. She took a long, leisurely shower, washed her hair, painted her nails. Instead of a quick glass of orange juice and a bagel for breakfast, she fixed French toast and sausage, lingered over a second cup of coffee. And a third.
Throughout the day, whenever she wasn’t preoccupied with anything else, she found herself thinking about the man she had met, however briefly, the night before. Should she have let him buy her a cup of coffee? She could have met him somewhere. What harm could there be in meeting him in a public place? He had been nice looking and seemed like an easy-going guy. He hadn’t made any untoward moves, had accepted her decision without getting angry.
She should have said yes. She hadn’t had anything resembling a date since she moved here. Maybe if she saw him again, she would agree to that cup of coffee.
To her surprise, Sara had more people stop by that day than she’d had in the last three months. Mostly women, of course. All young and attractive. A few were friendly, most were somewhat reserved. Even more surprising, they didn’t just come in to look around, but to buy.
“Another week like this,” Sara mused, “and I’ll have to restock a few things.” Not that she was complaining!
At seven, she closed for a dinner break.
Travis stood in the shadows, his attention focused on Sara’s Sweets & Salts Shoppe. A warm wind blew down Main Street, carrying with it the myriad fragrances of sugar and soap and perfume from the store across the street. He was still trying to summon the nerve to go in and say hello when she stepped outside and hung a Closed sign on the door.
Curious, he followed her down the sidewalk to the small café. on the corner. He waited ten minutes, then followed her inside.
Sara looked up as the bell over the entrance signaled a new customer. It was him, the man she had met the night before. She smiled tentatively when his gaze met hers. Her smile faded around the edges when he came striding toward her. Was he stalking her? Maybe she’d been right to refuse his invitation.
Sara glanced around the café, reassured by the presence of a handful of other diners. Her heartbeat quickened with trepidation when he stopped by her table.
“We meet again,” he said with a friendly smile. “I’m Travis.”
She didn’t want to tell him her name, but it seemed rude not to. “Sara.”
“Nice to meet you, Sara. Enjoy your dinner.”
“You, too
, Mr …?” Best not to be on a first name basis with a total stranger.
“Black.”
She watched him move down the aisle to another table. He took a chair facing her so that every time she looked up, she saw him. Had he done that on purpose?
Sara ordered spaghetti, garlic bread, and a soda. Conscious of Travis watching her, she pulled a paperback book from her handbag and pretended to be reading so she didn’t have to look at him.
It didn’t help. She was all too aware of his presence. For some reason she couldn’t explain, she felt drawn to him.
Taking a deep breath, she put the novel aside and gestured for him to join her.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the chair across from hers. “I hate eating alone.”
“Me, too.”
He gestured at her book, a mystery by New York Times bestselling author Claire Ebon. “You like her writing style?”
“Yes. Do you?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve never read one, but I know the author.” Claire Ebon was another pseudonym used by Ronan, who also wrote in other genres under the names Eva Black and Stella Raven.
“I’d love to meet her,” Sara said, eyes sparkling with interest. “Do you think you could introduce me?”
“Believe me,” he said dryly, “that wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Really? Why not?”
“Trust me, it would be a big mistake. You’re new in town, aren’t you?” he said, eager to change the subject.
“Yes. I’ve only been here a few months. Have you lived here long?”
“About five months,” he said. “I’m originally from Nevada.”
“Oh? Why did you leave?”
He hesitated a moment, then said, “I needed to get away for a while.” This place had seemed perfect for a guy like him. “What brought you here?”
She laughed softly. “Like you, I needed to get away. My father had my whole life planned out for me. Only I didn’t like his road map.”
Travis nodded. “My life isn’t turning out quite the way I thought it would, either.”
She didn’t miss the faint note of bitterness in his voice. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” he said with a wry grin. “The choice was mine and I have to live with it, but believe me, it’s not a decision I ever thought I’d have to make.”
“I’m sorry you’re so unhappy about it.”
“What’s done is done. There’s no going back. No changing my mind.”
Sara frowned. She couldn’t help wondering what kind of choice he’d had to make. There were only a few decisions she could think of that were irreversible. “I guess you’ll just have to learn to live with it then.”
“Yeah, that’s what my grandmother used to say.”
The waitress arrived with Sara’s dinner and a glass of red wine for Travis.
“Is that all you’re having?” Sara asked.
“I … uh, dined earlier. To tell you the truth, I only came in here because I saw you through the window and …” He shrugged. “I haven’t made any friends in town and I just wanted someone to talk to. I should probably go. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“You didn’t. I don’t know anyone in town, either. To tell you the truth, I’m grateful for your company.”
He smiled at her, the first truly genuine smile she had seen. It did funny things in the pit of her stomach. She gestured at her plate. “Would you like some? There’s plenty.”
“No, but thank you.”
The next forty minutes seemed to fly by. Sara didn’t remember ever being so comfortable around anyone else so quickly, which was odd, because they were strangers, but he had a ready smile and a wry sense of humor.
“I’d like to see you again,” Travis said as she was finishing dessert. “Would you mind if I called you sometime?”
“Not at all.” Reaching into her bag, she withdrew one of her business cards and handed it to him.
Sara paid for her meal with her credit card. He paid cash for his wine and they left the restaurant together.
“Thanks for this evening,” he said. “Be careful going home.”
“I will. Good night, Mr. Black.”
He watched her get into her car and drive away. Then, whistling softly, he strolled down the street. He didn’t know how or why she had picked this town. He couldn’t say for certain, of course, but he was pretty sure she didn’t know what kind of people resided in Susandale.
But her being here suddenly made everything look brighter.
Although he had fed earlier, it hadn’t satisfied his thirst. It was said older vampires didn’t need to feed as often. He hoped like hell that was true, because even though he didn’t find the taste of blood repulsive, he hated what he had to do to get it.
Hunting within the town limits was forbidden, so he went to the next city, which was about ten miles away. It still amazed him that he could outrun a moving train.
He had spent the first few weeks after he’d been turned trying to learn how to use the preternatural powers that were now his, but he’d had little success so far. He knew vampires had the ability to transport themselves from one location to another merely by thinking about it, and that they could dissolve into mist, both talents he had yet to master. It was mostly fear that kept him from trying to dissolve into mist. What if he got caught halfway between vapor and solid form? Or if he turned into mist and got stuck there?
Now and then, when he was holed up in his lair before the dark sleep claimed him, he thought about all the vampires he had destroyed in the past. As a hunter, he had never thought of them as people. They were monsters, the enemy, nothing more. He had hunted them and killed them without a qualm. Now, he wondered how many had chosen to be turned out of a desperate desire to cheat death. And how many of them had been turned against their will. Most likely all of them. Surely no one in their right mind asked to be a vampire.
He grunted softly. Some had been monsters, preying on men, women, and even children without mercy or remorse. Somewhere along the way, they had lost their humanity so that they no longer considered themselves part of the human family at all. The thought that he might someday become one of them frightened him as nothing else had.
Pushing such thoughts aside, Travis found his prey on the next street. In what had become second nature, he mesmerized the woman with a look, took what he needed to survive, and released her from his thrall, hoping, as he did so, that he would never turn into the kind of monsters he had once hunted. That he would never lose his humanity. Or his immortal soul.
Back in his lair, he stretched out on the sofa and clasped his hands behind his head. From out of nowhere, he found himself wondering what Carl Overstreet was doing these days.
Suddenly curious, he grabbed his cell phone and Googled Overstreet’s name. Links to several articles penned by Overstreet popped up, including the series Carl had written about Ronan. Travis scrolled down to the last page.
And so, dear reader, we come at last to the end of our tale. I searched for a vampire, and I found one. You may not believe me, but I swear by everything I hold dear that they do exist. I spoke to him briefly, under conditions I would rather not repeat or remember. He told me that he had been a vampire for five hundred and thirteen years and admitted that he had killed “a few hundred people, maybe more” in that time.
He said he was made a vampire against his will, that there were many vampires here, in the United States, and many others throughout the world. “More than you want to know” were his exact words.
He said there had been vampires since the beginning of time. When questioned, he said he didn’t know where the first vampire had come from, though there were some who believed that Vlad the Impaler was the father of the Undead. Whoever the first vampire had been, it’s believed that he made a deal with the Devil, trading his soul for immortality.
Our vampire said he had never turned another into a vampire but he knew how it was done.
Travis snorted. Never turned a
nother? That might have been true when Overstreet wrote the article, but not any longer. He, himself, was proof of that. And so was Shannah. With a shake of his head, he continued reading.
Indeed, he even offered to show me. You may be sure that I quickly declined.
I told him I had heard several versions of how one became a vampire and asked if he knew how it was done. He admitted that he did and even offered to show me. You may be sure that I quickly declined.
At this point, he grew impatient with my questions and the interview was over.
As for me, I hope never to see him again.
Someone once said, “Ignorance is bliss.”
Oh, how I long to be ignorant again.
Travis remembered reading the series of articles in one of the national magazines. He had read it twice, then thrown the publication against the wall.
A further search of the Net turned up a short article saying Carl Overstreet had retired shortly after the series was published.
Travis grunted softly, wondering what the writer would say if he knew his former accomplice had become what they had once hunted.
Thinking about Overstreet naturally led to thoughts of Ronan and Shannah and the last time he’d seen them. It had been like a nightmare come true. He had staked Ronan, been about to deliver the killing blow when Shannah came to the vampire’s rescue. He could still remember his shock when he’d realized that she, too, was a vampire. He had looked death in the face that night. It was a horror he would never forget. He might hate what he had become but, like he’d told Sara, he had no one to blame but himself.
He shut down his phone as he felt dawn’s approach. It was an odd feeling and decidedly unpleasant—a sort of burning sensation, as if all the blood in his body was on fire.
In his room, he undressed, then stretched out on the bed, hands folded behind his head as he stared at the narrow crack in the ceiling.
Dark of the Moon Page 2