Nocturne

by Syrie James

  “Considering the outside temperature,” she replied, “I hope you didn’t do all of those activities naked.”

  “I assure you, I was fully dressed,” he returned softly. “One wouldn’t want to shock the horses or frighten the neighbors.”

  “But you’re naked now.”

  “All the better to watch you sleep.”

  Nicole laughed, her heart pounding. “That doesn’t sound very exciting.”

  “Oh, but it is, my love.” The deep tenor of his voice seemed to penetrate her skin and ripple like a caress through her veins and nerves, as luscious as a warm bath. “It’s a rare and wonderful thing to have a beautiful woman in my bed. I admit, I’ve spent the last two hours very happily just lying here looking at you.”

  His hand now swept up to tenderly caress the vulnerable flesh of her throat, before he lowered his head to kiss her.

  The kiss was long, hard, and rapturous, and sometime during the length of it he whispered against her lips, “I love you,

  “I love you, too, Michael,” she whispered, her heart soaring with wonder and joy.

  Blood slapped in hot gushes through Nicole’s heart. As they made love, their gazes found each other, and the meeting was as sweet and rapturous as their physical union. Nicole felt as if an essential part of herself was being unlocked, as though they were two distinct beings who had melded one with the other, to form another, greater self.

  As their passion soared, Nicole saw red flames burning in the blue of Michael’s eyes, and gave a little gasp. His face and fangs revealed that other desperate longing he could no longer hide. Her pulse raced in anticipation and alarm, desperately wanting it yet fearing it. Would he bite her again?

  Some deep inner strength seemed to take hold of him, taming the impulse. The fangs receded and he brought his mouth to hers in another deep, searing kiss. His lips and tongue felt hot against her own. In an urgent communion they shared sweet liquids and scorching breaths. It was like drinking fire; it was like hurtling through sizzling nectar; it was like being swept away by a shooting star into a blissful oblivion.

  THEY DECIDED TO WALK TO THE LAKE.

  It was cloudy and overcast as Michael drove down the back side of his hill and parked outside the barn, where his road ended. From there, they were obliged to strap on snowshoes and begin the quarter-mile trek over rugged backcountry terrain which was buried in deep snow.

  “I’ll go first and make a path,” Michael insisted. His snowshoes sank a good twelve inches into the soft snow with every step, and he took care to tamp it down firmly to make it easier for Nicole to follow. Even walking in his footsteps, he knew, would require a great deal more energy for her than it did for him. As he glanced back, Nicole did seem out of breath, so he kept conversation to a minimum.

  It was very cold. The clouds hung low on the mountains around them, completely obscuring the sun, but visibility was good in the protected valley where they walked. The world was a winter wonderland, the pine trees heavily draped in white, the slender, naked branches of the aspens reaching for the sky. Some areas, where the wind had blown hard, were barren, revealing numerous rocky outcroppings and dark expanses of dead underbrush beneath the trees. After a while they came to the frozen stream and walked along its snow-covered banks until it opened up onto the gentle crest above the small frozen lake.

  They stopped at the edge of the ridge beside a smooth, giant boulder as big as a henhouse, at the base of some giant pines. Sitting down side by side on a narrow ledge cut into the side of the rock, Michael wrapped an arm around Nicole’s shoulders, smiling as he watched her drink in the view. Her cheeks were a very becoming shade of pink in the frosty air, matching her lips, which were curved in a radiant smile.

  “It’s lovely,” Nicole murmured.

  “In every season it looks different, but equally beautiful.”

  “What’s it like here in spring?” she asked.

  “The spring? I love the spring,” he said, resting his cheek against the waving wonder of her red-gold hair. “It’s so crisp and definite. Everything is green. The sky and the lake are a

  “And summer?”

  “The same. It’s still cold. We’re so high up, it never really gets hot. But it’s green and more humid. The mosquitoes come out. They’re fierce and huge, as big as hummingbirds.”

  Nicole laughed, a delightful sound that he felt ripple through his body. “And the fall?”

  “The fall is like the spring: gorgeous, idyllic. Herds of deer and elk come down from the mountains into the valley. The elk make a sound that’s like a bugle with the last note a screech; you can hear it for miles. All those groves of barren aspens that you see—they’re covered in tissue-thin, tear-shaped leaves that turn a brilliant golden yellow. They shimmer in the faintest breeze, undulating up and down the hillsides with a rustling sigh. People call it Colorado gold.”

  “Oh . . . it sounds spectacular.”

  “It is.”

  This was the moment, he thought, the perfect moment to bring up the subject he’d been wrestling with over the past twenty-four hours. He hadn’t dared to broach it before this, still wasn’t sure if it was even possible. Would a woman like Nicole, with so much to offer and her entire life ahead of her, want to spend her life sequestered in these remote Colorado mountains with a being like him? He doubted it. He didn’t believe it was right for her. But she seemed to love it here. She’d said she loved him. His own love for her was so powerful, he’d been able to hold his primal instincts in check. Perhaps, he

  He should ask her now.

  He was about to speak when he heard a sudden, faint rustling behind them and tensed, the hair rising on the back of his neck. “What was that?”

  “What was what?” Nicole asked.

  He paused, listening hard, but the sound was gone. “I thought I heard something. Wait here.”

  Michael shifted off the rocky shelf and padded quietly through the snow, past the giant rock toward a nearby stand of trees. Something was watching them; he sensed it. He had a terrible feeling and guessed what it might be. But where was it hiding?

  He heard it again—but now it was behind him. He whirled around to see a tawny flash of movement springing up from beside the boulder. Nicole wasn’t even aware of its presence behind her, but to his horror the deadly creature, huge paws extended, was hurtling directly at the back of her neck.

  CHAPTER 19

  MICHAEL VAULTED TOWARD NICOLE in a flash, colliding with the cougar before it touched her. Nicole’s scream and a feral snarl rent the air as Michael wrestled with the writhing beast, its teeth and claws tearing through his garments and his flesh. In seconds, his hands sought and found the animal’s neck, and with one sharp, powerful twist he both felt and heard its spine snap, then silence as the creature dropped to the snow at his feet. It lay unmoving, mouth partly open, fangs protruding, all long legs and sharp claws, its ocher fur a stark contrast against the white snow.

  Nicole stared mutely at the dead beast, as if too stunned and horrified for words.

  Michael embraced her, relieved to see that she hadn’t suffered a scratch. “It must have been hiding behind the rock, watching us.”

  “Is it a mountain lion?”

  “A female. They’re stealthy. The consummate predator. It was flying straight for your neck. One more second, one bite, and you would have been dead.”

  “Oh my God. Thank you,” she whispered vehemently, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek. She seemed to be about to say more when she tensed suddenly, as if in response to something over his shoulder. “Michael!” she screamed in terror.

  Michael spun. To his astonishment, another mountain lion, bigger than the first, was flinging itself into the air at him, just inches away from contact. A roar of fury ripped from Michael’s throat as he deflected the animal’s attack with blinding speed. The cougar lithely flipped to its feet in the snow and instantly leaped up again, latching onto Michael’s body with grinding claws and sinking its teeth into Michael’s
shoulder, pulling intently as if to drag him off.

  Nicole screamed and shrank back. A burning rage spread through Michael’s body as he struggled against the vicious, thrashing beast. Michael felt his eyes blazing to life like hot beacons as he dug his fangs into the cougar’s fur-covered flesh. The animal screeched and fought back with ferocious power and agility, the angry stab of its own fangs and nails ripping at Michael’s flesh and shredding his clothes.

  Blood spurted everywhere. Michael felt light-headed, odd, unable to recognize himself in the welter of fury and emotion that grew like a torrent inside him. There was nothing but him and the beast, two wild animals biting and clawing their way to the death. But he wasn’t going to die. He would defend himself to the end.

  At last it was over. The huge beast lay in a bloody heap at his feet beside the first. Michael stood over them both, breathing hard, his eyes still burning, vaguely aware that some kind of fabric was hanging half off of him. He felt blood pouring down his arm. He heard screaming—a sound—Michael! What did it mean? From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the source of the sound—a red-haired female in dark clothing with luminescent green eyes. It was looking his way in terror. A human, and clearly the cougars’ intended prey.

  Michael slowly turned and fixed her with his gaze. His pulse pounded. His mouth watered. His jaw ached.

  The cougars were dead, no longer a threat.

  She was his now, all his, and he would have her.

  Michael covered the distance between them in a millisecond, hurling her to the ground as he ripped the scarf from her neck to expose her throat. Again, he heard that inexplicable sound—Michael!—but ignored it.

  Pinning her with his body, he sank his teeth into the soft white flesh of her neck. She screamed and writhed beneath him, fighting him just as the cougar had but without claws or fangs and with only a tenth of its strength. Weak, weak humans. Such easy prey. His eyes closed. Her blood flowed into his mouth. The ecstasy cascaded through him. Every nerve in his body seemed to be on fire. All senses slept except the exquisite rapture of the taste and smell of her blood. He wanted more; he required it to sate his brutal hunger; he needed it to live. He would not, could not stop.

  From somewhere, it seemed to be leagues away, a new sound hovered at the edge of his consciousness. Like a strangled cry. eat, to consume this delectable substance, the very essence of his survival?

  He heard it again: a small moan. What was it? Was something watching him? A growl built up within his chest. This prize was his, his alone, he deserved it, and he wouldn’t share it with anyone.

  Irritated, he drew his mouth away, licked his lips, and opened his eyes. Beneath him, he saw the pale flesh of his trembling victim. Her throat was pierced and bleeding, her mouth was slightly open, and her green eyes were wet and wide with panic. He frowned, his mind whirling with sudden confusion. Something felt wrong. Very wrong. And then, as if descending from a cloud height, a great horror washed over him as he knew.

  Nicole.

  NICOLE CRIED OUT, her heart pounding. She’d stood frozen in terror moments ago while Michael fought and killed the second, larger mountain lion. She’d screamed when she saw what the beast had done to him—yet he hadn’t seemed to be aware of his injuries.

  He’d turned to her with the look of a wild animal himself, his eyes blazing crimson, as if infused with a bucket of blood—a look that had filled her with panic. Then he’d pounced on her, ignoring her pleas to stop, drinking her blood like some angry, feral Thing.

  Now his red eyes became blue again as the Michael she knew and loved returned with the swiftness of a lightbulb snapping on. He stared down at her, aghast.

  “Oh my God. Nicole. What have I done?”

  Tears ran down her cheeks and she couldn’t speak.

  “I’m so sorry, my darling. Forgive me. I don’t know what happened. I didn’t mean to . . .”

  Nicole scurried out from under him and stood, fighting a wave of dizziness.

  Guilt, disappointment, and self-loathing hung in Michael’s gaze as he slowly staggered to his feet, grimacing in pain. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  Nicole steadied herself and went to dry her eyes, when she realized with horror that her gloves and clothes were covered with blood. Whose blood? She stared at Michael. All concern for herself was instantly forgotten as she took in the condition of the man before her.

  Michael’s bloody coat, shirt, and pants were hanging off of him in tatters, as was much of his exposed flesh. His right arm and shoulder were one enormous, gaping wound that was bleeding profusely. Scratches, punctures, and torn, bleeding flesh were everywhere—on his arms, legs, chest, back, and neck, and his face was deathly pale. His body rained blood onto the snow, so much blood that she didn’t see how he could still be standing, much less alive.

  “Michael!” Nicole cried, fresh tears welling in her eyes. As she watched in dismay, Michael teetered a bit, then slowly sank again to his knees. She dropped down beside him in the snow, afraid to touch him lest she hurt him. “My God, you’re bleeding everywhere.”

  “I’ll make it stop.”

  He bent his head and began to lick the scratches and bites on his arms, but Nicole could see that it was useless. There were far too many wounds. He might be able to cure the small ones, but the larger ones, especially the shoulder wound, were so severe that she doubted they could be healed by vampire saliva, even if he could reach them with his tongue—which in many cases was impossible.

  With alarm, she recalled what he’d told her: even a vampire can bleed to death. “Lie down,” she said urgently, “let me help you.”

  “No,” he ordered. “Go back to the house. You shouldn’t . . . be anywhere near me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not leaving you. You’re losing blood too fast. Lie down!”

  With reluctant obedience, Michael stretched out in the snow, still licking the wounds he could reach, but he was fast losing strength along with his blood. Working quickly, Nicole pushed the shredded flesh of his arm back into place and held it there. He groaned in agony.

  “It hurts, I know, I’m sorry,” she said compassionately. “I’m going to pack the wound now.” She ripped pieces of the tattered lining from his coat and draped them over the wound, exerting pressure to try to stem some of the bleeding.

  “You can . . . use—” he began.

  “Snow, I know,” she said, already ahead of him. Scooping up handfuls of snow, she packed it over and around the entire wounded area to keep it cold and decrease the flow of blood. She then found her scarf and bound his arm and shoulder with it, holding the snow in place.

  He lay back, too fatigued now to continue his own healing technique. She wrapped and tied strips of cloth over the worst of his many other lacerations.

  “Your shoulder needs stitches,” she told him as she worked, “but since we’re still snowbound, should I go back and call 911 to send in a Medivac unit?”

  “No. No hospitals. Get me back to the barn.”

  “The barn?”

  “It’s closer than the house. You’ll have to sew me up. Use the medical supplies for my horses.”

  “Okay. Can you walk?” She tried to help him to his feet, but he got halfway up and then sank to his knees again.

  She took his pulse. It was rapid, weak, and thready. Damn, she thought, deeply worried. He was never going to make it back to the barn. The rough terrain and snow cover made driving impossible.

  With some difficulty, Nicole dragged him to the nearby boulder and propped him against it in a sitting position. “Don’t move. I’ll go back and get one of the horses,” she instructed, wondering even as she said it if she was out of her mind.

  “You don’t . . . have to do this,” he managed weakly, his eyes still haunted by guilt.

  “Stop talking. Save your strength.”

  He grabbed her wrist. “I’m sorry . . . so sorry . . . about what I did.”

  “I know.”

  “Can you ever forgive me?”<
br />
  Could she? The memory of his attack made Nicole tremble anew, reminding her that Michael did have a monster inside

  “I already have forgiven you,” she said with deep feeling. “That wasn’t you—it was the beast you became to fight the cougars. It’s over now and I’m all right. Just hang in there. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  With an attempt at a smile, he added, “Stay calm. Horses smell fear. I’ll be fine.” Then he passed out.

  He’ll be fine, Nicole repeated to herself, running as fast as she could in the awkward snowshoes. He’ll be fine. It became her mantra as she put one foot in front of the other, using the path they’d trampled on their way down to the lake. She loved him. He’d just saved her life—again. He was a good man who deserved to live. She was going to make sure he did.

  It seemed to take forever to reach the barn. Nicole arrived gasping for breath and dying of thirst. Under the portico, she ripped off the snowshoes and pulled on the barn door. To her dismay it was half frozen. She had to try several times, yanking with all her might, before the huge door finally slid open.

  Nicole raced into the barn. Posse and Pockets were looking at her over their stall doors. Nicole made a beeline for Pockets’ stall, then stopped in her tracks. Now that she was here, the reality of what she was attempting to do began to sink in. She’d only ridden a horse once, the afternoon before. Once. And that had been with Michael close at hand—Michael, who could talk to a horse with his mind. This horse was used to being ridden

  Michael’s parting words rang in her mind: Stay calm. Horses smell fear.

  She didn’t have much time; she had to get Michael back here fast so she could stitch him up. Still, she took a moment to steady her breath and try to collect herself, so as not to spook the animal. She quenched her thirst by drinking deeply from the wash hose. She didn’t know a thing about saddles. She’d have to ride bareback, the way Michael had taught her. She grabbed Pockets’ woven leather bridle from the hook outside her stall and opened the stall door. The horse stepped back as Nicole entered.