“I’ll get a cab.” He gestured towards the door. “Meet me out front.”
She followed a group of women heading down the black carpeted steps to the bathrooms. At the bottom of the stairs, Amanda noticed private rooms off the hallway leading toward the bathrooms. Conscious of someone waiting for her, she made record time in the spacious ladies’ room. She was headed back down the hallway when her cell phone buzzed.
Still unsure of whether she should go home with Thomas, she paused to read a text message from Bethany, who was sitting in a movie theatre with her boyfriend, Jeff. He had dragged her to a horror film that she hated, so she had decided to check in on her best friend. Amanda followed the flow of traffic while she texted Bethany back and explained that she was leaving the club with Thomas.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, walking right into someone as she continued to text.
“Amanda?”
She looked up into a pair of familiar dark eyes surrounded by flowing blond hair. He wore a ripped and tattered long-sleeved white shirt, and a pair of black jeans. Amanda felt her heart skip a beat. The woman beside him was almost as tall, with long, flowing dark hair that she had parted on the side; her black strapless dress contrasted against her white skin perfectly.
She tried not to stare at the beautiful woman as she forced a smile and dropped her phone in her purse.
“What a surprise. Hello Christian.”
She could feel herself blushing. The woman wrapped her arm in his as if to say, “He’s mine,” and Amanda guessed that they were lovers. She was as beautiful as he was handsome.
Christian kept his gaze on Amanda, and she wished she had just left the bar with Thomas. Oh, shit, Thomas.
“Eve, this is Amanda.”
Amanda nodded, faking a smile while Eve looked through her. She had to get away.
“Someone is waiting out front for me. I’d better run.”
Before he could utter another word, she had rushed past them into the crowd.
She made her way upstairs, fighting tears and wondering if indeed he had been upstairs in the bar and it had not been her imagination.
Thomas was standing against the building when she emerged. He had been on the phone, but closed it when she approached.
“Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” she lied, feeling like a fool for thinking that Christian might be single.
How could a man like that not be taken? As they rode back to her place in the cab, she told herself it was for the best. Everything happens for a reason.
Eve opened her apartment door and let Christian in ahead of her. It had been months since he had been here. She gestured him into the modern living room of her twentieth-floor apartment overlooking Battery Park. Christian went to the wall of glass windows and stared out at the Statue of Liberty in the harbor. He felt her cold arms wrap around his waist.
“I’m not sure which is more upsetting,” she whispered, grinding up against him. “Seeing how you looked at that little mortal, or the sense I get that you would rather be anywhere else than here with me.”
Her voice still held traces of a southern drawl she had never lost. The widow of a Confederate general, Eve Beaumont had come to New York after the Civil War, looking for another husband but she had met another fate.
Christian had met her shortly after coming to New York, and although outwardly genteel, she was tough and Christian could use all the allies he could get right now. Still, Eve was right. He was just going through the motions with her. He had followed Amanda to Zero Hour and now she was with her boyfriend, somewhere out of reach.
“Come to bed with me,” she whispered into his hair. “Let me take your mind off her, at least for a few hours.”
Amanda’s breath rose softly as she slept, her face illuminated by the incoming street light. It had been so long since he had made love to a mortal woman. The experience reminded him of being with Josette, and the brief happiness he had shared with her before Christian had stolen her away. Her bedroom smelled of sex and sweat, cocooning them both. He had about four hours until the sun rose as the effects of Ryan’s blood were slowly beginning to wear off.
It had been six months since he had arrived in New York—the blink of an eye for the vampire, but Solange had begun calling him lately, asking if the mortal were dead, whether he had seen her father, and when would he be coming home? Thomas had few answers for her, and even fewer for himself. He no longer cared for or missed her. She was a spoiled, self-centered child who he had only turned in seeking revenge against Christian. Gabrielle’s warning echoed in his head. You turned her out of revenge and not love. No good will ever come of it. What he had thought were the jealous ravings of a scorned woman had turned out to be a prophecy. He could no longer stomach the thought of Solange’s embrace.
Her beauty was intoxicating and her lovemaking beyond any man’s desires, but her narcissism diminished her power to captivate him. Is spending so much time around these mortals influencing me? He crawled back into bed beside Amanda and slowly ran his hand down her back. Her tan skin was warm to his touch. She mumbled something in her sleep and turned toward him. He instinctively pulled the covers around her to keep her warm. He was not sure when she had shifted from the unsuspecting pawn he met up with in the cafeteria to a mortal he cared about and did not want to harm, but it had happened and now he was unsure of himself.
Perhaps I can just forget about all of this and just go back to being Thomas, a night shift guard. But I cannot do it without the blood. I have almost none left. I could take just a little from her. She won’t even remember it in the morning. Just a taste.
Amanda rolled over and noticed flowers and a note on her night stand. She heard the shower water running. It was eleven o’clock already.
Was he really here last night? What day it?
Then she played back meeting him at the Zero Hour. She had never seen him out of uniform, and something about his tight black jeans and exotic shirt had made her blood boil. Their one drink had turned into two and before she knew it they were in a cab heading toward her place. It all seemed to happen so fast. He was a gentle yet experienced lover, with a touch that drove her mad, yet all the while she could not stop thinking about Christian and the beautiful woman with him.
The bouquet was something he had to have picked up at the corner market this morning. She stepped over her clothes strewn on the floor from the night before and grabbed a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt out of her dresser drawer.
Did I really spend the night with him?
Bethany’s bedroom door was open, her overnight bag tossed on her bed. Her usual MO after spending the night at Jeff’s place.
“Beth,” she yelled, knocking on the bathroom door. “Are you in there?”
“What’s up?” A muffled voice yelled back. “Come on in.” Amanda opened the door and was hit with steam and the smell of lavender. “What time did you get in?”
“About ten minutes ago, why?” Bethany yelled over the running water.
“I just thought maybe you had passed Thomas on your way in.”
Bethany poked her head out from behind the shower curtain. “Thomas was here? You spent the night with him?”
“Yeah.” She smiled hesitantly. “I even got flowers. I’ll make some coffee.”
She shut the door to Bethany’s hoots and hollers. Ever since the night she had come over to the museum to meet Amanda after work and had met Thomas Bretagne, Bethany had been enamored of him and wondered why her best friend was not dating him. After the fiasco at the Grey Wolf the night before, Bethany had been less sympathetic about Amanda’s interest in Christian. Zero Hour, she explained, was a normal upscale bar and Thomas seemed like a normal, likeable guy. Her advice to Amanda was clear; focus on Thomas and let Christian go.
Amanda opened the envelope with her name scrawled across the front, doubting her judgment and the vividness of her dream.
Amanda,
Last night was magic. Had to run, see you tomorrow.
She absentmindedly rubbed her neck and felt something. She needed a hot shower, a hotter cup of coffee, and time to sort through last night. She tossed her clothes into the hamper and straightened up her bed. What the hell?
There was a dark stain on her pillow. She wet her finger and touched the stain, then licked her fingertips. The liquid tasted bitter and coppery.
Blood.
Christian left Eve’s apartment and headed home before dawn. The city was finally quiet, and he decided to walk uptown to clear his head. Eve had promised to keep an ear out for any foreign vampires in her part of the city, but the price was her possessiveness. As long as he was willing to make love to her and share blood, she would do whatever he asked. Eve was beautiful, like Gabrielle, but she had no desire for power. She was still an old fashioned woman who wanted wealth and a man to control both it and her.
She was sensual, but shallow, with a love of fine jewels and expensive clothing. He thought she and Michel would have made a perfect match, but ironically they could not stand each other. Christian attributed it to the phenomena of seeing the exact character traits you possess in someone else and hating them for it.
He wondered where Amanda had raced off to at Zero Hour, and with whom. He decided to duck into the museum as he approached it. He entered through the freight entrance on 82nd Street. As he headed north through a labyrinth of hallways, he scoured the offices and studios that housed the less glamorous but equally integral parts of the museum. The only light in the narrow corridors was an occasional exit sign. It had been six months since the last assault, and if he knew his enemies, this one would be insidious but no less grim. No throat slitting in a public park this time. Amanda’s attacker would be smiling. Someone she trusted would rip her throat out.
His high-heeled boots barely echoed as he crossed the Great Hall toward the Arms and Armor galleries. Once inside, Christian stopped to gaze at the daggers, swords, and other medieval weaponry. He was on his way back into the European Sculpture and Decorative Arts galleries when something caught him off guard. As he passed the terracotta statues, marble sculptures, and numerous vitrines full of porcelains and jewels, he thought for a moment he sensed something there; something not mortal. He ran ahead into each smaller gallery, but the feeling dissipated. Occasionally he slipped into the shadows while guards passed him, totally unaware; their voices seemed loud in the quiet spaces. There was no need to avoid the security cameras, since neither his image nor body temperature registered on their screens.
In the main hall, he pushed open a door in the wall and hurried down a dark stairwell toward the curatorial offices. Ruminating over Peter’s words ‘he is both a night and a day walker’ Christian realized that it could only be Ryan’s blood that gave the vampire the ability to walk in the daylight, and the only vampire who had had access to Ryan’s blood had been Lucien. Michel did not believe Lucien had the audacity or the authority to return to New York, and both vampires guessed that Lucien was dead at the hands of Gaétan and Solange. Whoever killed him has the blood, he thought, winding down the familiar hallway and then turning right into Amanda’s office.
What a temptation to be able to walk in the daylight.
Christian was always amazed at the stacks of books piled on her floor, her detailed notes, her doodles on a yellow legal pad, and the numerous empty coffee cups. He admired her dedication to art, scholarship, and the written word. Comfortable at her desk he pushed aside several stacks of books, exposing her desk calendar; where various appointments, birthdates, and telephone numbers were neatly written in the squares. He expected no less from her.
He put his feet up on her desk and leaned back to think a moment. He recognized the familiar photograph of her and Ryan with their father. A new one caught his eye. It sat in a dark wooden frame next to her telephone.
Taken on the steps of the Met on a summer day, Amanda sat smiling like a typical ten-year-old girl, shy and awkward. Her long dark hair was parted in the middle and hung almost to her waist. She wore shorts and a tailored blouse. Ryan sat next to her, brooding like a typical bored brother, in jeans and an Eric Clapton T-shirt. We all need our memories, he thought, putting the frame down and his feet back up on her desk.
Christian marveled at how little she reminded him of her mother, Catherine Richard, a bohemian woman whose interests in art and politics surpassed her love of her two children. Her sudden death had left Amanda parentless and her fortuitous consolation was her new job at the museum. His heart had broken for her even then; an orphan at such a young age.
He was scanning her office for anything out of the ordinary when her telephone rang. He jumped before he realized that a ringing telephone was a common occurrence despite the hour. She received calls from Europe, and there it was already ten AM. He slid back into her chair, transfixed by her sedate voice projecting around the office, curious about the caller nonetheless.
Hello, you have reached Amanda Perretti at 555–635–1071. I am unavailable at this time. Please leave a message and I will return your call as soon as possible. For immediate assistance please dial Cole Thierry at extension 1070. Thank you.
“Amanda … I hope you liked the flowers … Thanks again for such an incredible evening … sorry I had to leave before you woke up … hope you are okay with it all. Talk to you soon. Bye.”
Christian’s gut twisted as he heard an old familiar voice that made his skin crawl. He slammed his fist on the desk and tried to suppress the jealousy swelling up in him. He had not heard him in centuries, but no, it wasn’t possible, and yet, there was no mistaking the raspy, seductive voice.
First Josette and now my Amanda.
He was here in New York. Just as Christian had feared, his enemy had found Amanda, and more than found her. They were lovers. Gaétan had infiltrated her world right under his nose. What kind of a fool was he? How could I be so unaware?
He raced out of the museum and made it to his front door just as the pre-dawn sun slipped over the horizon. No matter how hard he fought it, he died every dawn; as if a switch was turned off. Michel, Amanda and even Gaétan would have to wait for sunset as he collapsed onto his bed.
Please God, give me one more day to save her.
Chapter Thirteen
AMANDA WAS CHECKING her e-mails one more time before finishing up for the night.
“Glad I caught you.”
Amanda knew the sultry voice before she looked up to find Thomas standing in her doorway, dressed for the night shift. He hesitantly sat down in the only chair in her tiny office.
“Did you get my message?”
She grabbed a catalog and covered her legal pad, not wanting him to see what she was writing or to whom.
“I did, and I loved the flowers.” She blushed, feeling a little too vulnerable for her own good as she replayed Saturday night in her mind. She had tried not to spend Monday wondering what to say to him when they ran into one another. She liked him but her heart just wasn’t in it. Still, maybe she needed to give the idea of being his lover more time. “Maybe we could go out this Friday. I have the night off.” He picked up a book off her desk.
“Bethany is having a birthday party for her boyfriend, Jeff, at La Crusada over on First Avenue. I would love for you to join me. It’s the big three-oh for him.” She smiled and twirled a strand of her dark hair.
“I have to be honest with you. I hate dinner parties.” He shrugged.
“Maybe I could meet up with you afterward.”
“Okay. I’m sure we are going bar-hopping afterward.” She watched him dust off the cover and open up the old volume, ignoring the white gloves she had pulled out of her desk drawer. No matter how often she reached for the gloves he never put them on. She gave up trying to protect the rare books from further damage.
She watched him, as if in a trance, he ran his hands over the binding, gently turning it over before opening up the book.
“It’s definitely rare.”
It was rare and brittle an
d Amanda thought it odd that she had found the book on the floor, especially since she distinctly remembered leaving it atop a stack of other research materials on the other side of her desk. How it had gotten on the floor beside her chair was a mystery.
“Can you translate it?”
‘La vie de cour au 18ème siècle France. Court Life in eighteenth- century France.” His words rolled over her, confirming her theory that it did not matter what one said in French, anything sounded beautiful.
“Could you take a peek at it for me? Maybe give me the gist of it since your French is impeccable.”
“Sure.” He shrugged, putting the book down and meeting her gaze.
“Cole asked me to research these objects.” She handed him two slides of eighteenth-century porcelains, trying not to be distracted. “Not sure if they are Sevres or something inferior, but they are still so beautiful. Imagine eating dinner off these plates?”
Cole had hired her right out of graduate school as his assistant. Their relationship centered on their mutual love of eighteenth-century France, and need; her need for a prestigious career, and his need to have an assistant that gave him 150 percent. The harder she worked, the better he looked. The better he looked the more work he gave her. They were like parasites, feeding off each other. But she had the utmost respect for him and dreamed of one day being a curator herself. There was almost nothing she wouldn’t do for him.
Thomas held each slide up to the light. “Porcelain factories existed in France that made imitation Sevres. Everyone copied the royals and I think that’s what you have here.”
“Thanks, Thomas.” She smiled and touched his hand.
He smiled devilishly and returned the touch. She purposely wore a turtle neck sweater, hoping to cover up the tiny puncture marks on her neck thinking about the night they spent together. That was some hicky.
He winked as he slipped out of her office door. At that moment, Amanda wondered why she had invited him to Jeff’s birthday party in the first place. He was attractive, smart, great in bed, and they had an easy rapport but she could only think of one person. She could have told him she had plans and left it at that.
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