Moonlight

by Amanda Ashley

  “I know.” Images of The Lost Boys rose in her mind and she imagined herself running through the house, filling the tub with holy water, sharpening wooden stakes, hanging strings of garlic around the windows and doors.

  His gaze met hers. “This isn’t going to work, Annie, you know that, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know what I know anymore. Except that I love you.”

  Like two frightened children, they sought comfort in each other’s arms. He never meant to kiss her, only to hold her, to find solace in her nearness even as he sought to soothe her fears.

  But his lips whispered over hers, and then it was too late to turn back, too late to think, too late to do anything but feel.

  The skin beneath his fingertips was as smooth and soft as he had imagined. Her hair was like silk in his hands, her breasts were warm and full, lush with promise.

  Effortlessly, he swung her into his arms and carried her down the hallway toward her bedroom, toward the bed that had once been his, the bed he had so often imagined her lying in.

  And now she was there, and he was beside her. Fear rose up within him as their bodies came together. He tried one last time to pull away before it was too late, but she refused to let him go, and then he was rising over her, his body meshing with hers.

  He felt the hunger rise within him, urging him to take her blood, and he fought it back, refusing to let it destroy the woman he loved. He heard Adrianna’s voice, whispering that she loved him, and the bloodlust shriveled and died. And for that moment, he was free of the Dark Gift, free to love her without fear. He had never known such ecstasy. Not with Katlaina. Not with Shaylyn.

  With a sigh, he buried his face in the lush valley between her breasts and lost himself in the warmth and the wonder of the woman in his arms.

  * * * * *

  “How did you become a vampire?” she asked later. She was lying in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. “Is it done like they say in the books? Did she drain you of blood, and then give it back to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you want to be a vampire?”

  “No.” He curled a lock of her hair around his hand, delighting in its softness. He could discern the scent of her hair from the other scents that clung to her; the flowery fragrance of shampoo, the clean fresh smell of the sun, the faint odor of the hair spray she had used earlier in the day. He released his hold on her hair, felt the thickness of each individual strand as it slid through his fingers. He hadn’t wanted to be a vampire, he thought, but he liked the supernatural powers that came with the Dark Gift.

  He took a deep breath, and then he told her of his childhood, of how he had spent his whole life locked up in a room. He told her of Katlaina, and felt the pain of her loss burn through him again. He told her of Shaylyn, of how he had hated her, of how he had spent time with her long ago. He told her about traveling over the world, of the changes he had seen, of the times when the burden of existence had been overwhelming, and he’d gone to ground, sometimes for a few years, sometimes for a century or more. How, sometimes, it was the only way he could hang onto his sanity.

  She listened quietly, occasionally interrupting him to ask a question.

  It was near dawn when he finished his tale. Coming back to himself, he gazed at Adrianna, surprised to see tears in her eyes.

  “You’re crying,” he exclaimed softly. “Why?”

  “Because you’ve been so alone. But you’re not alone now,” she whispered, stroking the curve of his jaw. “I’ll never let you be alone again.”

  Her words cheered him even as he realized that, sooner or later, he would lose her as he had lost Katlaina. But he would not dwell on that now. Later, there would be time to lament her mortality, to wonder how he would face an endless future without her. But for now, for this moment, he would take the love she was offering without question, without hesitation. Take it as a gift, freely offered, and hope she would never regret the giving.

  * * * * *

  “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

  In lieu of words, he kissed her. They had spent the entire night in each other’s arms, making love, dozing, making love again.

  At dawn, they had showered together, taking turns washing each other, making love again, with the water sluicing over them.

  Later, wrapped in a towel and a smile, Adrianna had fixed herself a pot of coffee while Navarre sipped a glass of warm red wine.

  And now they were in bed again. Navarre stroked her hair, remembering how, only a short time ago, he had wished he could fall asleep in the arms of a woman. He had done just that last night. Fallen asleep in Adrianna’s arms, then come awake with the first whisper of dawn to feel her lips brushing his cheek.

  But now the sun was climbing in the sky. Even though the curtains were drawn, he could feel the subtle change in the air as night turned to day, smell the sun-warmed earth and grass.

  With a sigh, he cupped Adrianna’s face in his hands and kissed her and then, ignoring his body’s immediate response to even that slight bit of loving, he slid out of bed and began to dress.

  Adrianna sat with her back against the headboard, the sheet tucked under her arms. Never, in all her life, had she expected to find the ecstasy, the peace of mind and spirit, she had found in Navarre’s arms.

  Her gaze caressed him as he dressed, admiring the width of his shoulders, the long line of his back, the sinuous way he moved. Already, she was counting the hours and minutes until she could see him again. Be with him again.

  When he was ready to go, Navarre knelt beside the bed, needing to hold her, to touch her, one more time.

  “Tonight?” he asked, and it was both question and promise.

  “Tonight.”

  He ran his knuckles over her cheek in a last, quick caress, and left the house.

  The storm had passed, the sun was warm, and he had lingered too long. With one arm flung over his face, he willed himself toward home, his speed increasing until he was virtually invisible to the human eye.

  He flew up the stairs to the porch, opened the door with a wave of his hand, and raced up the stairs to the attic.

  Inside, he slammed the door, then stood with his back braced against the wood, his breath coming in hard, short gasps.

  “I thought you were never coming.”

  He whirled around at the sound of her voice, familiar even after the passage of so many years.

  “Shaylyn!”

  She was reclining on his bed, her black hair falling over her shoulders like a dark cloud, her black eyes glittering.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Waiting for you, of course.”

  She was still beautiful. Still deadly. He knew then who had attacked the woman in the alley.

  “Why are you here?”

  Shaylyn shrugged. “Do I need a reason?”

  She uncurled from the bed in a smooth, sinuous movement, reminding Navarre of a sleek black panther.

  “I’ve missed you, Navarre.” She ran her hands over his shoulders as she swayed seductively against him. “Tell me you’ve missed me, too.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I should think that would be obvious.”

  He caught her hands in his as his body grew heavy. “I can’t talk to you now.” It was an effort to speak, to think. He glanced at the bed, then at Shaylyn.

  She nodded her understanding. “Until later, my sweet,” she purred, and, with a wave of her hand, she transformed into an iridescent black mist and disappeared from his sight.

  Navarre fought the darkness sweeping over him. His feet felt like lead as he made his way toward the bed. His last thought, as the blackness dragged him down into oblivion, was that he would have to find another place to pass the hours of daylight.

  Chapter Ten

  Adrianna went to work, not only because she was in desperate need of something to occupy her mind, but because the bookstore was, after all, her only means of support.

  Thursdays were usually q
uiet, and today was no exception. Her regulars came in for coffee about ten-thirty, then browsed through the racks for half an hour or so.

  During a lull, Adrianna went up into the attic and opened one of the boxes that held the books left behind by the previous owner. She grabbed a couple and carried them downstairs, not looking at the titles until she was seated at her desk.

  The first book was an old reference book on medieval castles. The second was called THE HANDBOOK OF THE UNDEAD.

  Adrianna stared at the title, her heart pounding erratically. After a moment, she opened the book and began thumbing through the pages. There were sections on how to prevent a vampire, how to recognize a vampire, how to destroy a vampire.

  She felt a sense of excitement as she turned to the index in the back of the book. And there, under C, she found Curing the Vampire, How to, on page 386.

  Was it possible, she wondered. Could Navarre be cured? Her gaze skimmed the instructions. There was a recipe for a potion that must be mixed during the dark of the moon and consumed by the vampire the moment he woke from his rest. A note at the bottom suggested that, for best results, the potion be mixed by a Transylvanian gypsy, preferably a virgin.

  Adrianna grimaced, wondering where they’d find a gypsy of any kind in Moreno Bay.

  She ran her finger over the ingredients for the potion: a smidgen of mugwort, a pinch of larkspur, a dash of foxglove, a touch of yarrow, a generous helping of cinquefoil, hyssop, rue, and a hint of garlic.

  Adrianna frowned. The dark of the moon. Transylvanian gypsies. It sounded ridiculous, and yet, what if it would work?

  Her romance book club ladies came in at four, laughing and talking about the latest novels they’d read. They met at her store every week, to talk about the book they’d read the week before, and to pick a new one for the coming week. Adrianna was a big fan of romances, and she usually sat in with them. But not today. She was too immersed in THE HANDBOOK OF THE UNDEAD, and so she just waved and bid them to help themselves to coffee and cookies.

  The book was fascinating, though she found it hard to believe anyone could take it seriously. In the Philippines, a vampire called an aswang was believed to be a beautiful female vampire, who was able to marry and have children; however, at night, it flew to other houses to drink the blood of its victims.

  In Bulgaria, they believed that a vampire could be destroyed if it could be forced into a bottle, then thrown into a fire.

  According to the book, those who were likely candidates for vampirism were those who were born with a red caul, with teeth, or a red birthmark. The seventh son of a seventh son was also likely to become one of the undead, as were those who died without benefit of baptism. A vampire might be made from a corpse if a cat jumped over the body, or the deceased died by drowning.

  She frowned when she read that vampires must rest in a coffin. Navarre slept in a bed, just like anyone else.

  Much was made of the fact that vampires could be held off by a cross, or other holy relic. Adrianna didn’t know if that was true. Anne Rice’s vampires had been unaffected by the sight of a cross. Still, on the off-chance there might be some truth to that theory, she made a mental note to buy herself a crucifix before the day was out.

  Holy water was also considered to be powerful against vampires. It was said to burn the skin of the undead like acid. It could also be used to detect the presence of vampires. If poured on ground that was under the evil influence of a vampire, it would boil and smoke. Pouring holy water into an empty coffin would seal it against future habitation.

  Vampires were also believed to be unable to swim or cross running water, as water was a purifier that would wash away evil and sin. In Greece, those believed to be revenant were banished to a small island, thus isolating them and keeping them from preying on the living. Sometimes, if a body was thought to be possessed, it was put in water. If the body floated, it was believed to be a vampire.

  She grunted softly as she read the ways to detect a vampire: red eyes, fangs, long nails, pale skin, aversion to bright lights, no appetite, never seen during the daylight hours, reluctance to enter a house without an invitation…

  The description fit Navarre perfectly, except for the part about the daylight hours. She remembered his hesitance to enter her house the night he had come to see if she was happy with the bed.

  He really was a vampire. She’d known it before. Believed it. But somehow, seeing the paranormal characteristics he possessed in print made it even more real. More frightening.

  According to the book, vampires were able to create other vampires, to fly, to dissolve into mist, change size or dimension, and transform into animals. They were also said to be able to control the elements and animals, to scale walls with ease, and to hypnotize mortals.

  She felt her gorge rise as she turned to the section on destroying the vampire. Staking, beheading, piercing with a sword, extracting the heart… She shuddered at the gruesome images such methods invoked.

  It was after six when she closed the book and put it aside. She glanced outside, surprised to see that the sun was going down. Dusk. The time when the undead began to stir, when evil made itself known…

  She switched on the lights, then hurried through the store, making sure the back door was locked, checking the windows. She collected the day’s receipts and locked them in the safe in the back room.

  As she stepped outside and locked the door, she had the sudden, uneasy feeling that she was being watched. Panic rose within her even as she tried to convince herself she was being foolish, that she was just overreacting, that her imagination was working overtime because she’d spent the afternoon reading about the undead.

  But she couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom as she unlocked her car and slid behind the wheel.

  She was afraid, and yet her first instinct was to drive out to Cliff House, to see Navarre, to curl up in the sure protection of his arms, to tell him she might have discovered a cure.

  She didn’t like the thought that niggled at the back of her mind, the insidious notion that he liked being a vampire, that he had been playing with her all this time, lulling her into a false sense of security before he buried his fangs in her throat and drank her dry.

  Chapter Eleven

  Navarre woke with the setting sun. It was going to rain, he mused as he went downstairs to shower and dress. He could smell the storm in the air, and even as the thought crossed his mind, he heard the first distant echo of thunder.

  Moments later, dressed in a heavy white sweater and a pair of faded blue jeans, he settled down to wait.

  She didn’t keep him waiting long.

  “Shaylyn.” He murmured her name as she swept into the parlor, looking every inch the goddess she had once pretended to be. A sleek black gown clung to her voluptuous body. Her hair fell over her shoulders and down her back in lush black waves.

  “Navarre.” She paused inside the doorway. He could tell, by the rosy hue of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes, that she had just fed.

  She crossed the room and sat down beside him, one hand resting possessively on his right thigh. “I’ve missed you, mi amour,” she purred.

  “Have you?”

  She ran her hand up and down the length of his thigh. “The centuries have been kind to you, Navarre.”

  “And to you.” He met her gaze, his face impassive as her fingertips dug into his flesh. “Why have you come here now?”

  “I told you. I missed you.” Her hand glided along the inside of his thigh, her touch familiar, intimate. “Haven’t you missed me, even a little?”

  “No.”

  “You could have lied, Navarre.”

  “Would you prefer that to the truth?”

  She drew her hand from his thigh, the movement tense and angry.

  “So, tell me,” she said curtly, “what have you been doing with yourself since I saw you last?”

  Navarre shrugged. “Living one day at a time, like everyone else.”

  Her laugh was dry
and bitter. “But you’re not like everyone else.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “Indeed.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you,” she replied. “I want to stay here for awhile, and I want you to show me around.”

  “No.”

  She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’ve never spent much time in America, you know. I thought it would be fun to take a vacation and renew our acquaintance at the same time.”

  “No.”

  “You dare refuse me?”

  “I want you to go, Shaylyn. There isn’t room enough for the two of us here.”

  “And what if I don’t want to go?”

  “You know the rules. I was here first. If you want to stay, you’ll have to convince me to leave. Or destroy me.”

  “You think I won’t?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know you hunted in my territory. And then, when you let the woman live, you didn’t even bother to erase her memory of what happened. I can’t afford mistakes like that, Shaylyn. I don’t hunt in Moreno Bay, and I don’t want you hunting here, either. I don’t want you here at all.”

  She stood up, her dark eyes blazing with anger. “How dare you speak to me like that!”

  “I have every right, and you know it.”

  “If it weren’t for me, you’d have rotted away centuries ago.”

  He stood to face her, hoping to intimidate her with his size and physical strength, even though he knew her powers were still superior to his. “If it weren’t for you, I might have had a home and a family.”

  “A home!” She spat the word. “A family! I gave you immortality, and now I want a small part of it.”

  “I can’t give it to you.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?”

  They glared at each other for stretched seconds, and then, as one, they whirled around.

  “Adrianna!” Navarre exclaimed softly.

  She started to run to him, and then she saw the other woman. Saw her, and knew that she was a vampire. Lifting a hand to the recently purchased cross that rested beneath her blouse, Adrianna murmured a quiet prayer, hoping that it did, indeed, possess the power to thwart a vampire. And then she glanced at Navarre, wondering if he had invited the woman here, and if so, for what reason?