by Cynthia Eden
William nodded. “He looked into my mind and gave me the gift.”
She licked her lips. “And then you returned home.”
“I returned to hell,” he corrected softly. “I returned to find my father’s butchered body. Geoffrey had killed him. Gutted him. And left his body waiting for me.”
She closed her eyes. “What about Henry?”
“You read the diary. Don’t you know?”
“No.” Her shoulders lifted and fell. The sheet dipped slightly. “The entries ended with your father’s death. On the eve of the New Year. Henry noted that you went to seek out the vampire, but he never said what happened when you returned.” Her lashes lifted, and she met his gaze. “When I read the diary, I suspected that you’d gotten the gift. I just . . . knew.” She swallowed. “I got my friend Mary to research you. Mary’s a whiz with computers. She found a reference to a man named William Dark in 1101. And then again in 1290. And in 1670 . . . All of the descriptions of William were the same.”
She lifted her hand and touched his scar. “This scar. It was mentioned every time. So I knew, I knew that you’d become . . .”
“A vampire,” he finished softly.
She nodded. “But I didn’t know what had happened to your family. To Geoffrey, to Henry—”
“Geoffrey found out about my father’s plans, and he went in search of the vampire on his own.”
“Was he trying to save Henry?”
“I don’t know,” William said. And he didn’t. He didn’t know if Geoffrey’s original motivation had been Henry or if he’d just wanted the power of an immortal. “Geoffrey was always hard, cruel. He thought nothing of slicing off the hand of a peasant who touched him. And my father encouraged such acts.”
“Why did he kill his own father?” Savannah shook her head. “Why would he do that?”
“Because Guy de Montfort wasn’t his father. Geoffrey was my half-brother, Savannah. We had the same mother, but our fathers were different.”
“Who was his father?”
He rose from the bed and began to stalk around the room, barely aware of his nudity. “Guy’s brother. A year after I was born, my mother became pregnant with his child. Guy killed his brother as soon as he found out. My mother died of a fever shortly after the baby was born.” William had always secretly thought her death was an act of kindness from God. She had been spared from facing Guy’s deadly wrath.
“So your father took Geoffrey in and raised him?”
“At that time, a man couldn’t have too many sons. All leaders needed men to follow them, sons to lead their armies. He told the world that Geoffrey was his, and he used him, just as he used Henry and me.” He stopped, gripping the bedpost. “I don’t know why Geoffrey finally killed him. Maybe it was because of what Guy did to Henry. Geoffrey always seemed to . . . care for Henry. At least in his own, sick, twisted way. I think my father’s attack just drove him over the edge.”
“And he sought out the vampire.” He could almost see the wheels turning in her mind as she explored possibilities. “And you returned home.” She paused a beat, and then she said, “And you found Henry.”
“Henry knew what I’d become. I saw it in his eyes.” He could still remember the fear he’d seen in his brother’s gaze. “He was barely hanging on. He’d been attacked again, and left to die. He was choking on his blood.” He clenched his teeth, wanting to finish the dark tale and be done with the past.
Savannah stared at him, an uncanny knowledge in her emerald gaze. “You tried to change him anyway, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “He was my brother,” he said simply, knowing she, of all people, would understand. “He’d known that I’d gone for the dark gift. I tried to convert him, to give him my blood. And, I think, I think it had begun to work—”
“What happened?”
“We were attacked. Word of my father’s death had reached his enemies. They stormed our holding, killing everyone in their path. Knights, servants. It made no difference. They showed my people the same cruelty that my father had so often shown them.” The screams echoed in his mind. He could hear the sound of shattering wood. See the swords swinging toward him. “Soldiers found Henry and me. They attacked us. I fought them, killed them. But when I turned back to Henry—”
Sorrow flashed across her expressive face. “He was dead.”
He nodded and swallowed against the painful memory. Pain that was trying to choke him. “One of the swords hit him in the chest. There was blood everywhere.” He’d pulled the sword from Henry’s chest and stood, numb, staring down at the still form of his brother. “I waited too long to transform him. He died, because of me.”
She jumped from the bed, dropping the sheet and running to his side. “Don’t say that, William! It’s not true. You did everything that you could to save Henry.”
“If I’d only gotten back to him sooner, if I’d only transformed him sooner—” The past had haunted him for so long. If only things had been different . . .
She grabbed his arms, forcing him to turn and face her. “Listen to me! It wasn’t your fault. You did everything in your power to help Henry. You can’t keep blaming yourself for his death! You can’t!” She paused then softly said, “Henry wouldn’t blame you.”
Wouldn’t he? “Geoffrey blames me.”
“What?”
He opened his mouth to reply, then frowned, feeling the slight change in the atmosphere. A chill of warning skated down his spine. Dawn was coming.
He pulled away from her, ignoring her questioning stare and padded to the bookcase.
“William?” Savannah stared blankly after him. “What are you doing?” Surely he wasn’t just going to drop a bombshell like that on her and walk away!
He pulled a black box from the top shelf. He opened the lid and removed a silver key, a key exactly like the one he’d used to unlock all of the metal doors in the tunnels.
He walked back to her. “I want you to keep this,” he said. “It will allow you to come and go as you please from the tunnels.”
She took the key from him. It felt cold, heavy, in her hand. “But what about Geoffrey—”
He touched her cheek gently. “That’s another story. One that will have to be saved for another time. Dawn is coming.” He pointed to the key. “I want you to feel free to explore the house during the day. No room is blocked to you. I only ask that you stay inside.” His eyes were deep, swirling pools. “It’s safer inside.”
She was touched by his concern. “I won’t leave,” she promised, curling her fingers around the key.
“You’ll be safe during the day,” he told her. “Geoffrey will have to rest then. He won’t be able to touch you.”
“What about my dreams?” She asked softly, with a shiver of remembered apprehension. “It was during the day when he entered my dreams before.”
He touched her cheek. A light, fleeting touch. “I’ll guard you. Now that you’ve had the second bite, I can link with you. I’ll make certain he doesn’t slip into your mind.”
Relief swept through her.
William’s head lifted, his eyes narrowing. “The sun is rising.” His voice was clipped. “You must go.”
“No, I want to stay with you.” And she did. She didn’t want to return to an empty room. She wanted to stay with William.
A muscle flexed along the plane of his jaw.
She touched his shoulder. “What is it?”
He didn’t look at her. “When the dawn comes, the change will come.”
“The change?”
His fingers clenched. “My body will shut down. I won’t breathe. My heart won’t beat.” He finally glanced at her tense features. “It will be as if I’m dead.”
“I know what happens when you sleep, William,” she told him gently. “I know you have to
conserve your strength during the daylight hours.” She’d read about the vampire’s need for complete stillness. The sun was fierce, draining to a creature of the night. During the day, all vampires shut down their physical bodies. Their minds remained strong, tangled in the dream world, but their bodies were forced to lay motionless.
“Then you know why you must leave.”
Savannah shook her head. “No, I don’t. I want to stay with you.” She knew she was being stubborn, but she didn’t really care. She wanted to prove to him that she wasn’t afraid. She could handle him, all of him.
His lips pressed against hers. Hard. Fast. “Then stay.” His fingers curled around hers. “Stay with me through the dawn.”
She smiled at him. And, just for an instant, his lips curved in response.
They lay back in the bed, curled in one another’s arms.
It felt good being there with him. Right.
“Sleep, Savannah.” William’s voice was soft. His arms were strong around her.
Savannah closed her eyes, feeling safe, completely protected. She slipped into the haunting mists of sleep with a gentle sigh. Moments later, when the sun rose, she was already in the land of dreams and didn’t feel the sudden tense coldness of William’s body against hers.
At first, her dreams were happy. She was with William. They were dancing under a star-filled night sky. She was so happy. But then he pulled back, and his body seemed to waver before her eyes. She reached for him, but he vanished.
There were woods around her. Twisted trees. She ran, searching for William.
But it wasn’t William that she found. In the shadowy world of her dreams, she saw her friend Mary. Her long black hair billowed in the breeze as she stood looking down into a flowing river.
A smile curved Savannah’s lips as she ran to greet her.
Mary stepped forward, into the river. A flash of lightning lit the night sky. The water churned, and Mary stumbled, falling to her knees.
Savannah realized the water was black. As black as the night itself.
The hungry waves seemed to surround Mary, pulling her deeper and deeper into its cold embrace.
Savannah ran as fast as she could, desperate to get to Mary. Her bare feet pounded on the dank earth. Her heat pounded in her chest.
She was close. So close. Just a few more feet—
Mary turned, her pale face a mask of fear.
Her arms reached out to Savannah.
And Savannah heard the echo of a scream.
Chapter Ten
My brother has a taste for death.
—Entry from the diary of Henry de Montfort,
December 11, 1068
THE SUN HAD not yet risen in Seattle. Night’s darkness still clung to the empty city streets. The shadows of the night cloaked him as he watched her.
He could see her so clearly through the thin glass of the window. Her black hair was pulled back into a careless ponytail. Her face, tense with concentration, peered at the computer screen. Her thin shoulders were hunched over, her fingers typing frantically on the keyboard.
He touched the pane of glass, feeling its cool surface against his hand. He was so close to her.
He inhaled deeply, scenting the night air. He could smell sweat, blood, and the faint odor of burning leaves and garbage. But he could detect no trace of her. Not yet.
She was rubbing her forehead, obviously tired. She’d been at that computer of hers for over four hours. He knew because he’d been watching her all night. Watching. And waiting.
Over the years he’d learned the value of patience. He could wait endlessly for his prey. She’d been easy to track. Almost too easy. Would she be easy to kill? Would she scream? Would she fight him?
He’d always enjoyed a good fight. He hoped that she wouldn’t let him down.
She stood up and turned off her machine. He saw her walk to the closet and grab a black leather jacket. He smiled, his teeth glinting in the faint street light. She was coming to him.
He moved away from the window and back into the shadows.
The front door opened with a soft squeak. He heard the jingle of her keys as she carefully locked up the house. She appeared to be such a cautious little thing, locking her doors like a good little girl. As if that would save her.
Her back was to him as she bent over the lock. It would be so easy to go her, to take her now. She would never even know what had happened.
But that wouldn’t be any fun. So he waited. Silent. Watchful.
She walked down the stone steps, her padded shoes making no sound against the concrete. When she reached the sidewalk, she paused, her gaze sweeping around the area. He knew she wouldn’t see him. He was far too adept at cloaking his presence.
She walked down the sidewalk.
Where was she going at such a late hour? Hadn’t her mother ever told her that the night could be dangerous?
He crept behind her, inhaling her scent. He could smell her shampoo. It reminded him of apples. He’d always loved apples.
She still had her keys in her hand. They were clenched between her fingers. He almost smiled at her pitiful weapon. He could hear her heart, pounding fiercely in her breast, and he could almost taste her blood, flowing richly through her veins. Sweet, sweet blood. Oh, how he loved the taste . . .
He crept closer, trailing her by mere inches.
She never turned around. The street was completely empty. All of the houses were dark. No one could see her. Or him. He reached out, touching her neck gently.
She screamed and jerked around, trying to scratch him with her keys.
He laughed as the keys cut into his face.
His arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against him. He yanked the keys from her and hurled them to the ground.
“Hello, pretty lady,” he whispered, his eyes blood red. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Her eyes widened in horrified recognition. She opened her mouth to scream again.
He clamped his hand over her mouth. “Shhh, love. We don’t want to wake the neighbors, now, do we?” He smiled, letting her see his teeth.
He could smell the rich, heady aroma of her fear. He loved the taste of fear. “Hold still, love.” He licked her throat and felt her tremble.
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. He’d always hated a woman’s tears. They were weak. Useless. “Are you afraid to die?” He asked her, his voice tender.
He felt her slow nod.
“That’s too bad,” he murmured. And he sank his teeth into her throat.
“MARY!” SAVANNAH jerked awake, her heart pounding. She’d seen her friend so clearly, struggling in the dark waters of the river. Screaming. Asking for her help.
A cold knot of dread formed in the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Beside her, William’s body was eerily still. She touched him, her fingers feathering over his bare shoulders. His skin was so cold, and he wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t moving.
“William?”
He didn’t answer, but then, she hadn’t really expected him to. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, rise until dusk.
Fear was growing within her. She was terrified that something had happened to Mary.
She slid from the bed, wondering what time it was. How long had she slept? How long had she dreamt of a black river that churned with hate?
She slipped on her clothes and grabbed her key. She had to call Mary. She had to make certain that her friend was all right.
She ran through the tunnels and up the stairs. Her legs burned, but she pushed herself, moving as fast as she could. She burst into the kitchen and ran across the room. She sent the door swinging back with a hard shove of her hand and raced down the hallway, her bare feet pounding on the cold wooden floor. She grabbed
the phone and quickly dialed Mary’s apartment number.
The phone rang. Once. Twice.
Savannah began to pray.
Three times. Mary usually answered her phone on the second ring. She’d always said she just couldn’t wait to find out who was calling.
Four rings. Still no answer.
Savannah’s hand grew slick around the receiver. Why wasn’t Mary answering? Where was she?
“Hello?” The voice was female, soft and husky.
Savannah’s knees sagged. “Mary?”
“No.” A deep sigh. “Mary’s in the hospital.”
The hospital? The room seemed to spin. Savannah slid to the floor, clutching the phone with all of her strength. She recognized the voice of Mary’s roommate. “Sarah, it’s Savannah. Is Mary all right? What happened?”
There was a tense pause. “She’s not all right, Savannah. The doctors don’t think she’s going to make it.”
Savannah could hear the pain in Sarah’s voice. “What happened?” She felt numb.
“She was in a car accident. They found her at the end of the street. She drove her car straight into a tree,” Sarah said. “It was just before dawn. What the hell was she doing out at that time? Why was she driving?” Tears choked her voice.
Savannah’s lips trembled. “What hospital is she at?”
“Mercy’s Heart. Look, Savannah, if you want to see Mary, you’d better get here, fast. I don’t think she’s got much time.”
You’d better get here, fast. “I-I can’t. I can’t leave—” She’d promised William. I only ask that you stay inside. His words echoed in her mind. It’s safer inside.
“You have to come.” Sarah’s voice was urgent. “She’s . . . she’s dying. The doctors say it’s a matter of days, maybe hours.”
A tear slid down Savannah’s cheek. Not Mary. Dear God, no, not Mary.
“Savannah? Are you there?”
“Yes.” A whisper.
“You have to come. You have to see her before, before—”