Tonight and Always

by Linda Lael Miller

  "Eventually I had to stop asking myself those questions, for it was pure torture, and there was no way to learn the answers. But sometimes it haunts me still, even now, when so much time has passed.

  "I could not seem to stop moving about the world after that. I was always on board a steamer bound for somewhere, or a train, or rattling along in a coach. I still insisted on doing things the human way, you see, but if I'd really been human, I'm sure the pace I kept would have done me in. Even my parents, who can go anywhere they wish, provided the sun is not shining in that place, of course, simply by thinking of their destination, were hard put to keep up with me.

  "I began to collect things on my journeys—a jade figure here, a painting or a sculpture there, but the idea of going into business did not occur to me until 1925, when I finally opened a shop in San Francisco. I had garnered some friends in that city, and the need to wander lessened, though it certainly hadn't abated.

  "By the time air travel was prevalent, I was off again, though I kept the San Francisco shop for many years.

  "My friends grew old and died, and that was nearly unbearable for me, being left behind over and over again. I became almost reclusive and then left California, because there were too many memories.

  "Finally I settled in Seattle—I'm not sure why, beyond the fact that it's beautiful, with the water and the trees and the mountains all round. I know I had a sense of belonging that I had never really known before, in any other place on Earth, as if I had come home at last.

  "I was dreadfully lonely, but careful not to make many friends. I confined my social life, such as it was, to the company of my parents, Valerian, and a few other diverting vampires.

  "For want of something to do, I opened my store on Western Avenue under the name of Kristina Tremayne. When some years had passed, I went away for a while and came back as my "daughter," Kristina Bennington. Then, when enough time had gone by, I reinvented myself again, this time as Kristina Holbrook. As my uncle Aidan had done before me, I willed my assets to myself, as though I were my own descendent. Otherwise, obviously, a lot of difficult questions might have been asked.

  "I grew set in my ways, over the years, as mortals and monsters alike will do. I ran my shop, made occasional buying trips, attended estate sales, and the like. I read extensively and I was excruciatingly bored. Sometimes, when the dreams of Michael's murder in the Australian courtyard threatened, I didn't sleep for weeks at a time.

  "Finally I met you, and everything changed…"

  She had almost said "I met you again," but caught herself just in time. Max had enough to deal with without adding an account of one of his past lives to the tale. There were reasons, after all, why most people did not recall earlier incarnations—good ones. The past, for mortals at least, was gone, and looking back, except to learn, was a waste of the precious present.

  "It sounds like a lonely life," Max said gently. They had reached the mountain lodge where they had booked reservations the week before, and there were snowflakes dancing in front of the headlights.

  "It was," Kristina replied.

  "Wait here," Max said, reaching out to touch her arm. "I'll register us and get the key to our cabin."

  She nodded. After so many years of doing everything by herself, for herself, it was lovely to be so thoughtfully attended. She looked forward to being alone with Max, to the privacy of the cabin, and the freedom to make love as much and as long as they wanted.

  True to his word. Max returned within five minutes, climbing into the warm Blazer, tossing the huge old-fashioned key into Kristina's lap with a grin, shifting the engine into reverse. A fire had been laid in their one-room cottage, but not lit, and the air was so cold that they could see their breath.

  Max crouched beside the hearth, struck a match, and got a good blaze going. Then, with a light in his eyes, he turned to Kristina, who was shivering inside her cloth coat.

  "I think you need a little warming up," he said, rising.

  Kristina felt a thrill go through her as he came toward her, drew her into his arms, and kissed her. It was tentative at first, that kiss, but as Max put his hands inside Kristina's coat and boldly cupped her breasts, it grew deeper and more demanding.

  She had made love with this man before, of course, and known true rapture, but that first contact was a portent of something still more powerful, something rooted in eternity itself.

  He stripped her of the coat, then her boots. He took off her sweater and her bra, and then, after kissing each of her taut nipples, he began unhooking her skirt. She was covered in goose bumps and at the same time approaching meltdown, so great was the heat within her.

  Finally Max removed her skirt and slip and pantyhose, and she stood before him utterly naked, trembling with anticipation. The fire on the hearth was just beginning to warm the room, but a thin film of perspiration glistened on Kristina's bare flesh.

  "I've been wanting to do this ever since I first laid eyes on you," he said. He was still fully dressed, except for his jacket, which he had tossed aside at some point, and now he knelt in front of Kristina like a worshiper before a goddess.

  "W-What?" she whispered. Though she knew, somehow.

  The cabin was dark, except for the flickering light of the fireplace, but Kristina was in a fever. She didn't know whether she had turned out the single lamp or if Max had.

  "To taste you," Max answered. He caressed her belly with his fingertips, then held her hips for a moment, as though aligning her for possession. Then he began to massage her most private place, making it ready, causing it to harden in the same sweetly painful way her nipples had done earlier, at the touch of his tongue.

  Kristina had nothing to hold on to, but it didn't matter, because Max was supporting her. He widened her stance a little, moved his hands to clasp her buttocks, and delved through musky silk to take her full in his mouth.

  She cried out throatily, letting her head fall back, not at all certain that she could bear such pleasure.

  But bear it she must, for Max would show her no quarter.

  He teased her mercilessly, now suckling hard, now nibbling, now laving her with his tongue. She groaned aloud, grinding her hips without shame, desperate to be vulnerable and more vulnerable still.

  Finally Max eased her back into a chair, draped her trembling legs over its arms, and consumed her in earnest. Kristina bucked under his lips and tongue, hairline and body drenched in sweat, begging him in senseless, disjointed phrases for release.

  In his own sweet time he granted her appeal, but it was a brief victory. As soon as her body had ceased its violent spasms of pleasure, he proceeded to make her want him all over again. By the time Max carried Kristina to the bed, which was covered with a bright, heavy quilt, she was all but delirious and could not honestly have said whether the room was cold or warm.

  She herself was burning, but the fever was an ancient one.

  Max undressed at his own maddening pace, the way he did everything, but when he lay beside Kristina on the bed, and she reached out to touch him, to clasp his staff in her hand, she knew how much he wanted her. He had paid a great price to make certain that Kristina's needs were accommodated.

  "I love you," she said, rolling on top of him.

  "I—love—you—" The words came hoarse and splintered from his throat, for she was still holding him, her knees astraddle of his hips.

  "By all rights," Kristina teased, leaning forward to nibble at his lower lip, "I ought to put you through the same exhaustive paces you put me through, but I won't. Not yet, anyway."

  Max groaned. He was at her mercy now, and she was enjoying the power this benign dominance gave her. To his credit, so was he.

  "There are all sorts of things I could do to you, you know," Kristina said, passing a thumb back and forth over the moist tip of his erection, guiding it slowly toward its natural sheath inside her own body. She proceeded to name a few.

  Max was half out of his head with need by then. Exactly what he deserved. "Kristina
—"

  She took him into her, but lingered infinitely at every fraction of an inch, feeling herself tighten instinctively around him, feeling him swell and grow harder still in response. Finally, with a warrior's cry, Max grasped her hips and thrust his own upward, possessing her completely.

  There was a power shift in that instant, but not to one or the other. They were true equals, Max and Kristina, as they rode the tempest into a storm of spinning lights and shattering ecstasy.

  Finally Max arched high off the bed, his powerful body flexing as he emptied himself into Kristina, once, twice, three times. For her, the climax lasted even longer—she was still descending, and occasionally catching on still another orgasm, each one sweet but less intense than the last, when Max kissed her temple.

  "Ummm—I think we forgot something," he said.

  Kristina closed her eyes, crooned low in her throat, and then snuggled against him again. "What?" she asked.

  "A condom."

  "I haven't slept with anyone in a hundred years, Max," Kristina reminded him. "You?"

  "Just Sandy, though it hasn't been quite that long, so you're safe with me. But what if you got pregnant?"

  Kristina's eyes flew open. On the one hand, the prospect of bearing Max's child delighted her. On the other, it was terrible, because she could never marry him. She had promised herself to Dathan, and it was a vow she must keep, no matter what her own feelings in the matter might be.

  "You don't suppose—?"

  "Could happen," Max said. "After all, this is the standard method."

  Kristina held on to him very tightly and buried her face in his chest. "Would you be angry?" she asked in a small voice.

  "Angry?" The word ruffled the soft hair at her temple, which was still moist from their earlier passion. "God, no. I love kids, Kristina. And I love you."

  Kristina fought hard not to cry. She was afraid Max was going to ask her to marry him, and equally afraid that he wasn't. She made a circle on his bare back with the palm of her right hand, greedy for the feel of his flesh. "I thought it made a difference—my turning out to be mortal, I mean."

  "What kind of difference?"

  "In how you felt about me. You admitted that part of my charm might have been the fact that I couldn't die."

  "Yeah," Max said with a long, deep sigh, his arms tight around her. "I've thought a lot about that. What it all comes down to, though, is that love is a risk, plain and simple. And everybody has to die someday. I mean, everybody's human."

  "Even vampires can die," Kristina said, thinking of a story her mother had once told her, about the original vampires. They'd called themselves the Brotherhood and had become blood-drinkers on the island continent of Atlantis, while participating in a scientific experiment. They had grown weary, after many thousands of years, and willed their own deaths.

  Max raised himself on one elbow and looked down at her. "Really? How? Do they have to be shot with a silver bullet?"

  Kristina didn't laugh, though the thought was ludicrous enough to provoke a certain grim amusement. "That's werewolves, and I don't even know if it's true, because I've never encountered one. Vampires must have blood, of course, and they can be killed by fire, by sunlight, and by having a stake driven through their hearts, just like in the movies. They have one other known vulnerability as well—the blood of warlocks is poisonous to them. Given a sufficient dose, they will slip into something resembling a coma and gradually die of starvation." She stroked his cheek, where a five o'clock shadow had sprouted. "Can't we talk about something else?"

  "I'm sorry," Max said. "I should have left the subject alone." He touched the tip of her nose. "Are you hungry? Believe it or not, they have room service in this place. No doubt everything comes by dogsled."

  Kristina laughed. "Hungry? After that dinner your mother served today? I may never need to eat again!"

  "Well," Max said, resting on his elbows. "I'm starved."

  Kristina fell back with a groan and pulled the covers over her head, and Max reached for the phone on the bedside table and called the restaurant in the lodge. She was hiding in the bathroom—up to her chin in bubbles in an old claw-foot tub actually—when his late-night snack was delivered.

  He joined her, after dispensing with the food, a devilish glint shimmering in his eyes. With a growl, he flung off his robe, which came with the room, and stepped into the bath, nearly causing the water to overflow.

  They made love again, there in the tub, and got the floor so wet in the process that Kristina figured the bathroom would be a skating rink by morning, if they let the fire go out.

  Eliette liked staying at her grandparents' house. She enjoyed sleeping in the room that had been her daddy's once, and still had some of his things in it. She liked floating boats on the duck pond, though she and Bree weren't allowed to go near it unless an adult was with them. She especially liked all the sounds—people talking quietly in a nearby room, soft music playing somewhere, the creaks and squeaks as the old house settled itself for a winter's night. In the morning there would still be a crowd, but just like always. Grandmother and Gramps would belong only to her and Bree, for that special Friday.

  They would start by going out to breakfast, just the four of them. Even Daddy wasn't invited on those outings, or Aunt Gweneth. Bree and Eliette could order anything they wanted to eat—even a chocolate sundae or a corn dog, if they chose—but they always picked scrambled eggs and orange juice and waffles.

  Then, once they were all full, they would get back into Grandmother's Volvo—Gramps didn't drive anymore because he had a disease in his eyes, and every year it was harder for him to see—and drive to a big mall called South Center. There they went into practically every store, choosing presents for their daddy, for Aunt Gweneth and Aunt Elaine and their Arizona grandparents, Molly and Jim. They even bought stuff for each other, one going off to shop with Grandmother while the other went with Gramps.

  They'd have lunch then—they usually went to a Mexican place close to the mall—and in the afternoon they saw a movie.

  By the time they got back to the big brick house, they always had lots of packages, and Gramps always took a long nap before dinner. Grandmother ordered out, then sat down in her favorite chair and put her feet up, sipping tea and dozing a little. Bree and Eliette were usually pretty tired, too, but they were too excited to sleep. After supper, though, and their baths, they would barely get into their pajamas before they crashed.

  Eliette smiled, just to think about it. It was so much fun.

  She closed her eyes, willing herself to drift off. In the twin bed across from hers, Bree was sound asleep. But she was smiling, too.

  Eliette snuggled down deeper in the covers. It was a cold night, and the weather man had said it might snow. That was relatively rare in Seattle, and Eliette hoped there would be such a deluge that they wouldn't have school again until after Christmas.

  Fat chance.

  Thinking about Christmas made her think about the awful brass monkey Aunt Gweneth had bought for Daddy at the flea market. It was already wrapped, first in bright red paper and then in that heavy brown stuff, and tucked away on a shelf in one of the cabinets in their garage. On Christmas Eve, Aunt Gweneth said, Santa Claus would bring it inside and put it under the tree.

  Eliette made a face. She didn't like the monkey any more than Bree did; it was ugly, and besides, it gave her a creepy feeling. She didn't regard herself as a sneaky sort of kid, but if that doorstop thingy had been handy just then, she might have carried it out and dumped it in the duck pond.

  "Kristina can't do magic anymore," Bree said from the other bed, startling Eliette. She'd been convinced her sister was asleep.

  "That's okay," Eliette answered, feeling the need to put in a good word for the ordinary. "Most people can't anyway."

  "Do you like her?"

  Eliette considered. "Yeah. Do you?"

  Bree nodded; it was a good thing Eliette was looking. Half the time the kid just assumed you could hear her shaki
ng her head. "She's going to go away, though, so I guess I'd better not like her too much."

  Eliette felt alarmed. Ever since her mom had died, she'd been trying to make herself stop needing people, but it hadn't worked very well. "What makes you say a silly thing like that?"

  "An angel told me."

  Eliette made a contemptuous sound. "Angels don't go around delivering messages, like Federal Express or somebody."

  "Yes, they do," Bree insisted. "Grandmother told me that's what the word angel means—a messenger. And I saw one."

  "Okay," Eliette scoffed. "When did you see this angel? And what did it look like?"

  "Not it—she. She was pretty, like one of those dolls nobody wants you to touch. She had yellow hair and blue eyes and a ruffly dress with lots of lace trimming. I saw her the night Kristina came to stay in our guest room, when I got up to go to the bathroom."

  Eliette felt a chill. Angels were scary, as far as she was concerned. "You ate too much pumpkin pie," she said. "Either that, or you've been dreaming. Or both."

  "No," Bree insisted. "She was real. She told me she had a sister, too."

  Eliette sighed, but she pulled the covers up to her chin at the same time. "This angel really had a lot to say, it seems to me. On top of all this, she told you Kristina was going away?"

  "To marry a king," Bree said with awe and not a little sorrow.

  Eliette felt sad, too. She hadn't wanted Kristina around at first, but lately she'd been counting on her staying and marrying Daddy and being their stepmother. "I don't want her to go," she said.

  "Me, neither," Bree answered. "But grown-ups do what they want to."

  Eliette nodded. That was certainly true enough. Some adults didn't even seem to see little kids; it was as though they were invisible or something. But Kristina wasn't like that—she noticed people, whether they were big or small—and if she went away, Eliette would miss her more than she cared to admit.