Several hours later he drove back into town to check in with Hawthorne, who had agreed to man the phones at the inn, in case Sutton called in. When Evan opened the door to Zach, he looked uneasy, and Zach soon discovered why. William Christopher was seated across the room, glowering at Zach as he came through the door.
“What are you doing here?” Zach asked, frowning.
“I came to get some answers,” William said, rising to his feet with the aid of his cane, “since you didn’t see fit to come to me with this latest disaster.”
Hawthorne said, “I’ll just be outside. Give you two some privacy.”
Zach threw him a sour look as the young advertising manager slipped past him.
“What the hell is going on?” Even in his state of agitation, William Christopher cut an imposing figure with his meticulous dark suit, snowy white shirt and conservative silk tie. Zach knew that his own faded jeans and muddy boots made a less than spectacular impression.
He shrugged. “It seems your spy’s up and disappeared.” Zach crossed the room and poured himself a drink from the bottle of whiskey someone, probably Julian, had left on the dresser. “When was the last time you heard from Sutton?”
“I haven’t heard from Roland since he left the office yesterday,” William said. “He was supposed to call in last night. That’s why I’m here. When I heard he was missing…when Evan told me about his car this morning…the blood. Look, what’s going on, Zach?” he asked again, and the note of anxiety in his father’s voice gave Zach yet another surprise. He looked up to find his father studying him intently.
He looked older than Zach remembered. In spite of his blustering attitude, there was something a little faded about William Christopher. Shopworn. Zach felt the pang of an emotion he didn’t quite recognize. Or didn’t want to.
“It’s probably nothing to be concerned about,” Zach said carefully.
“Nothing to be concerned about? His car was found with blood on it. That’s reason enough for concern, I’d say.”
“It was a small amount of blood,” Zach clarified. “And there was no sign of a struggle. Sutton probably just wandered off. He’ll turn up, and the shoot will go on according to schedule, so don’t worry.”
“That wasn’t what I was worried about,” William Christopher said gruffly. He paused, then said in a strangely subdued tone, “I’ve had a bad feeling all day.”
Zach was even more shocked, but he managed a dry laugh as he set his drink aside. “I’ve never known you to be given to premonitions.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” William snapped. “And I don’t know anything about you.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“I’m the first to admit I’ve made mistakes. We both have.”
It was an odd conversation, Zach thought. A really strange feeling to be standing face-to-face in a shabby motel room having a heart-to-heart with a father who had never shown the slightest bit of interest—other than contempt—in him in his life.
“I hardly think this is the right time to be discussing our past differences,” Zach said.
“Yes, well, that’s always been one of the problems between us, hasn’t it?” William said quietly. “There’s never been a right time. In all these years, you and I have never once spoken about Matthew.”
The name shattered the illusion of control. Zach’s tired thoughts fractured, then fell like bits of glass on a cold, distant night from his past. Even if he lived to be a hundred, he would always hear the noises of that crash, the terrible sound of his brother screaming….
He passed a hand across his eyes as if to wipe away the image. “What is there to talk about? You blame me for my brother’s death. You hated me after the accident.”
“I didn’t blame you for Matt’s death,” William denied. He tried to pull himself up straighter, but his shoulders sagged, weighted by his years. “That was a stupid, irresponsible prank you pulled that night, storming out of the house like that. But I didn’t blame you for what happened to Matthew. I blamed you because…because you never came to me, dammit. You never needed me. Not like Matt. You never had the least amount of pride in anything I ever accomplished. You never showed anything but contempt for me or the way I lived my life.” William hesitated, as though getting himself under control once again, then said very quietly, “But I’ve never hated you.”
It was Zach’s turn to fall silent. He was torn, all of a sudden, between wanting to hang on to those old bitter memories that had served him in good stead over the years, and wanting to hear more of what his father had to say. He said slowly, “But I heard you. I heard you that night in my hospital room. You said, ‘Why did it have to be Matthew? Why couldn’t it have been—”’
“Me,” William said. “Why couldn’t it have been me. I was the one who drove you out of the house that night. I was the reason he went after you. If anyone was to blame for Matthew’s death, it was me.”
Zach thought there could be nothing left to shock him, to shake up any more emotions inside him, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. He stared at his father, thinking about all the years that had been lost between them because neither of them had ever understood.
“If you never hated me, why did you so bitterly oppose my appointment to CEO?” Zach asked.
William made an impatient sound, as though the question hardly needed explaining. He shifted his cane. “You never wanted to work for the company while I was in charge. You were only willing to go there after I’d left. How do you think that made me feel?”
“I…just thought…” But he hadn’t thought. Zach realized that he’d never really stopped to think what his father might be thinking or feeling—about anything. He’d only assumed because of what he’d overheard that night in the hospital after the accident. “Why are you telling me all this now?” he asked quietly. “Why did you really drive all the way up here?”
“Because I’ve lost one son,” William said, deep regret cracking his worn voice. His shoulders seemed to droop even lower. “I don’t want to lose another…if it’s not too late.”
Zach thought for a moment about Anya. Was it too late for them? “It’s never too late,” he said with conviction. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t let it be. “We’ll talk about this when we get back home. Right now, I have to get back to the search. It’ll be dark soon.”
Anya’s words came back to haunt him once again. Until he feeds. Zach shuddered, trying to hide a sudden foreboding as he started toward the door.
As though sensing his presentiment, William called him back. “Zach?” There was a panicky edge to his father’s voice.
Zach turned. “What is it?”
“I’ve only had this feeling one other time in my life—the night I drove you out of the house. Something bad is going to happen. Don’t ask me how I know, but just take care…son.”
Zach’s hands were shaking as he left the room.
* * *
It was almost dusk. As the sun dropped into the sea, Zach stared at the glistening water. He thought about his conversation with Anya last night, the one he’d had with his father a few minutes ago, and Sutton’s disappearance. Somehow all three events were linked into an unending chain, but Zach couldn’t figure out how. Or why.
Everything he thought he knew about life seemed to be dissolving as rapidly as mist in a morning light. Everything he thought he understood about himself had been totally blown away. He’d been cast adrift, not knowing what to think or how to feel. For the first time in his life, he was lost.
Was that how Anya felt? he wondered. Lost. Adrift. And so totally alone. But not anymore, he thought. She wasn’t alone anymore. And neither was he.
Below him, like his tumultuous thoughts, waves crashed into the rocky shoreline. In contrast, a rainbow, as delicate and elusive as a dream, hovered on the horizon. It seemed a beacon, somehow. A sign. The fragile beauty of the fading day made him think of Anya once again. Her haunted eyes. Her tormented soul.
An
d it came to him suddenly how very much he loved her. In spite of everything. Maybe even because of everything, he loved her as he’d never loved another person before.
Like his father, Zach had made a lot of mistakes in his life. But Anya wasn’t going to be one of them. Somehow, he would make her see that she needed him—as much as he needed her.
So strong was her presence in his mind that Zach could have sworn he heard her calling out to him as though she did need him. He stood perfectly still, listening. But there was no sound. Just a mild breeze rippling through the trees.
Zach!
“Anya?”
How could he be hearing her when there was no sound? But he had heard her, as clearly as though she had been standing beside him. And he knew, just as clearly, that she was in trouble. She needed him.
“Anya!” he called to her again. His voice echoed eerily in the growing dusk. The panic in his tone repeated itself over and over. “Anya!”
Here. I’m here.
Slowly, almost against his will, Zach turned and stared at the old Allison mansion, now shrouded with darkness.
A cold hand of dread seized his heart.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Anya knelt beside Roland Sutton and placed her hand against his chest. Her own heart thudded inside her. He was still alive, but just barely. She didn’t actually need to feel the beat against her hand. Over the ringing in her ears, she could hear very clearly the weak, irregular rhythm of his heart. It was a cadence so dangerous, Anya’s senses reeled from the fear. And from something far more repugnant to her.
The blood. So much blood. Blood flowing from the gashes on his neck. Blood that had been left to tempt her. The scent filled the air, made Anya’s head spin sickeningly. Her hand shook as she lifted it to Sutton’s neck. Her fingertips hovered over the ruby trail.
“What happened to him?”
Anya looked up as Zach strode toward her. She couldn’t seem to move, couldn’t seem to think. A wave of dizziness swept over her. A wave of darkness. She stared at the blood on her hands.
“Get up,” Zach said, taking her arm almost forcefully. There was something about the way he was looking at her, Anya thought. As though he were seeing her for the very first time. What emotion glimmered in those green depths? It was one she couldn’t seem to define.
Anya stood and struggled back away from the wounded man. She grabbed her throat with her hand, as though with her physical strength she could keep that black need at bay. His blood felt sticky against her skin. Sweet and tempting.
“He’s hurt,” she said, gasping, trying to catch her breath, trying to calm her pounding heart. “Almost dead. We have to get help.” But even as Anya said the words, she knew there would be no help for Roland Sutton. He was a dying man. He had been left with just enough life to lure her to his side.
“Good God, it looks like he’s been mauled,” Zach said as he knelt quickly and felt for a pulse. “Go back to the house and call an ambulance,” he commanded. “I’ll stay here with him.”
But Anya couldn’t move. Her legs were trembling too badly, and she couldn’t quit looking at the blood. It flowed from Sutton’s neck like crimson nectar. The scent was all over her, crazing her senses. She lifted her hands to her face.
In a flash, Zach stood and grasped her arms, pulling her stained hands away from her face, but Anya couldn’t stop trembling. “Are you okay? Are you going to be sick?”
She was sickened, but not by the sight of blood. She was sickened by her own wretched hunger, her own evil urges. The man lying at her feet was weak, dying. It would be so easy—
“Anya.” Zach’s hands tightened around her arms. He peered down at her, still with that strange look in his eyes. “You’re going to be okay. Do you hear me? You have to go for help.”
“I…can’t.”
He shook her lightly. “Yes, you can. Forget everything you told me last night. It doesn’t matter. Sutton’s dying. He needs your help.”
Anya looked away from Zach to the blood seeping across Sutton’s white throat. The buzzing in her ears grew louder and louder, until she thought she would surely go mad from the din. Her throat blazed with fire. Her mouth throbbed with need. Her heart pounded with terror. She couldn’t fight it. She couldn’t fight it any longer.
Anya tore her gaze back to Zach. His green eyes searched her face, probed deeply into her soul. And that look was still in his eyes! That emotion that seemed as elusive, as bittersweet as the most tender of memories.
It almost looked…like love.
The thought made Anya tremble even more.
“Go for help, Anya,” he ordered softly. “You can do it.”
Anya bit her lip until she could taste her own blood on her tongue. Her eyes fluttered closed as her heart continued to flail against her chest. She needed food. She craved the blood.
But she wanted something else even more. She wanted to break that black covenant which told her she could never know the love of a man. Zach’s love.
“I’ll go,” she whispered. “I’ll go for help.”
Gershom was nearby; Anya knew that without a doubt. The evidence lay before her. But he’d just fed. He would be sated for a little while and resting, gathering his strength. She would have to hurry. She couldn’t leave Zach alone here for long.
Anya began running toward the cliffs, toward the path that would lead her home. Her feet barely seemed to touch the ground. Urgency spurred her. Fear commanded her. She glided on air, almost flying.
Then miraculously, help appeared before her eyes. Just at the edge of the woods, she saw Roland Sutton’s search party. They had seen her, too. And they were looking at her as though they could hardly believe their own eyes.
* * *
Anya gazed out the darkened window in her bedroom. She’d come back home hours ago, but Zach had remained with the police. There were questions to be answered. Forms to be completed. Phone calls to make. All the details involved in a tragedy.
The general consensus among the throng that had gathered around Sutton’s body was that a wild animal had mauled him, probably the same dog that had attacked Zach.
They were right, of course. But only Anya knew just how deadly Gershom would be now. He had fed on human blood. His powers would already be strengthening. Soon he would come for her. He would come for her, and God help anyone who got in his way.
Anya’s hands trembled as she stared out into the darkness, remembering the moment Sutton had died, the moment he had been set free. The thing that had struck her about his death was the silence. The tranquillity. The utter calmness. No voices. No pounding heartbeats. No roar of blood through throbbing veins.
Just silence. Everlasting peace.
Was that the answer? she asked herself weakly. Was that the answer Dr. Traymore would find in the book? Would that alone calm her torment?
“Anya?”
She whirled, her hand going to her heart.
“I’m sorry.” Zach stood just inside her bedroom door. “I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me. I think we should talk.”
The black satin dressing gown she wore whispered with movement as she walked away from the window. “Come in.”
Zach stepped into the room and closed the door. The room was dark except for the moonlight. Anya saw him pause and get his bearings. “Can we have a light?”
“I prefer the dark,” she said.
“Anya, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she said coolly. “Don’t tell you the truth anymore? Don’t let you see what I really am? I’ve been nothing more than a fantasy to you, Zach, but dreams end. I’ve told you the truth about myself. You saw it for yourself earlier. You just don’t want to believe it.”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know what to believe anymore.” He tugged a weary hand through his hair. “Twenty-four hours ago, I would never have thought that I would understand anything about my father, yet now I do. I never thought he would come to me, yet he did. And now…what you’ve told me…”
“What you saw with your own eyes,” she reminded him softly.
“I saw you go for help.”
“Because you asked me to.”
“No. Because it was the right thing to do.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” she said in despair. “You have to believe me, Zach. You have to accept it.”
“And you have to believe me, Anya,” he said slowly. “I do accept you. I accept you for who and what you are—even if I don’t understand it. And I still want you.” He crossed the room to stand before her. Anya tried to pull away, tried to hold herself aloof from his appeal, but his arms were too strong. Too strong to resist. And she no longer wanted to.
“Hold me,” she pleaded, burying her face in his shoulder, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. He still didn’t believe her. She knew that, no matter what he said. But at this moment she couldn’t seem to care. His warmth welcomed her, enfolded her, made her never want to leave his embrace.
“I’ll hold you,” he whispered, “for as long as you’ll let me. Oh, Anya, Anya, do you know how much I love you?”
She gasped. Her body stiffened. Slowly, she lifted her head and looked at him. “You…love me?”
“Yes,” he said, smiling. “I love you, Anya.”
She gazed at him, stricken. “But after everything I’ve told you? When you know what I am, what I could become—”
“I don’t care, Anya. I don’t care. So much of our lives have already been wasted. So many years have been thrown away. If I’ve learned anything from this tragedy tonight it’s that life is short. I don’t want to spend another minute of mine on regrets. All I want to do right now is hold you and kiss you and tell you over and over again that I love you, I love you, I love you.”
It was like the wind rushing over her. It was like a warmth seeping inside her. It was like the most brilliant of lights flooding through her.
The Perfect Kiss Page 20