Masquerade and Other Tales

by Amanda Ashley

“Hello, Lucifer,” he murmured, scratching the big black horse between its ears. “I’ve brought someone to meet you.”

  Leanne held out her hand, and the stallion danced away, its nostrils flaring, its eyes showing white.

  “I don’t think he likes me,” she said, disappointment evident in her voice.

  “We don’t get many visitors here,” Jason remarked. Slipping through the rails, he walked up to the horse and stroked its neck.

  Like all animals, the stallion had been wary of him in the beginning, but Jason had used his dark power to overcome the animal’s instinctive fear.

  Now, he vaulted lightly onto Lucifer’s back and rode around the corral, guiding the stallion with the pressure of his knees.

  Leanne clapped her hands in delight. “That’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, charmed by the fluid grace of the horse and the sheer masculine beauty of the man. They looked as if they had been made for each other, the devil-black horse and the raven-haired man.

  Jason rode effortlessly, his body in complete harmony with the stallion’s. Like a dark angel cast out of the courts of heaven, he rode bareback in the pale light of the moon.

  After a few moments, he rode toward the gate and slipped the latch. Riding up to Leanne, he held out his hand.

  “Don’t you need a bridle or something to control him?” she asked dubiously.

  “No. He responds to my voice and the pressure of my knees.”

  The stallion’s ears twitched as Jason lifted Leanne, settling her in front of him, and then they were riding down a sloping path that led to a trail into the hills.

  Jason breathed in Leanne’s scent as they rode through the quiet night, the only sounds that of the horse’s muffled hoof beats and the chirping of crickets.

  His thighs cradled her buttocks, his arm circled her waist, the fall of her hair brushed his cheek. She leaned against him, her back pressing against his chest, her nearness sparking the embers of hunger and desire that were ever present when she was near.

  He had only to lean forward to press a kiss to the side of her neck, and as he did so, the longing to sink his fangs into the soft skin just below her ear, to taste the warm rush of her blood over his tongue, rose up within him. One taste, he thought, just one small taste…

  “Jason?”

  He grunted in response, unable to speak past the loathsome need rising hotly within him, the desire to drink in her sweetness, to possess her fully.

  “Could we stop here for a while?”

  He glanced around. They were in a small glade surrounded by tall trees. Wordlessly, he slid over Lucifer’s rump, then walked around to help Leanne dismount. His hands lingered at her waist and he drew her up against him, letting her feel the evidence of his desire, afraid she would refuse him, and even more afraid that she might not.

  Leanne took a deep breath. It was all happening so quickly. She felt the pull of his gaze, felt herself falling hopelessly in love with a man she hardly knew. A man she wanted to know better.

  “Jason, tell me I’m not dreaming. Tell me the magic between us is real and not just something I’ve imagined because I want it so badly to be true.”

  “It’s real.” His knuckles caressed her cheek. “Never doubt that.”

  She sighed at his touch. His eyes were dark, the blue-black before a storm. A lock of hair, as black as ink, fell across his forehead. For a moment, it seemed as if he were a part of the night itself, a dark phantom who had clothed himself in one of her daydreams and stepped out of her imagination.

  Compelled by a need she never thought to question, she reached up to brush the hair from his brow, to stroke his cheek with her fingertips. To assure herself that he was real.

  “Leanne.”

  He murmured her name, his voice low and husky and filled with such longing, she had no thought to deny him.

  She tilted her head back, eager for his kiss, her eyelids fluttering down as he lowered his head toward hers.

  He hesitated only a moment, battling the ancient urge to bury his fangs in her throat, to drink and drink until his damnable thirst was assuaged. Assuaged, but never quenched. Instead, he kissed her gently, careful not to bruise her tender flesh. As if she were made of fine crystal that might shatter at the slightest touch, he held her in his arms, his body basking in her warmth, in the essence of life that flowed through her.

  Holding her close, he was keenly aware of the vast gulf between them. She was light and hope and innocence, children playing in the sun, lovers strolling hand-in-hand along the beach on a hot summer day, all the things that were forever lost to him. He was the essence of darkness. It permeated his life and shrouded his soul.

  He groaned low in his throat, his arms tightening around her as if, by holding her closer, he might draw a part of her goodness into himself.

  In the beginning, after he had resigned himself to Jolene’s loss, to the fact that he was forever changed, forever cursed, he had gloried in being a vampire. His hearing was keen, his eyesight much improved. He could cover great distances with preternatural speed, pass unseen through a crowd, bend another’s will to his own. He had thought the taste of blood would disgust him, but it was a part of what he had become and not repellent at all. Indeed, he craved it as some men craved whiskey.

  In the beginning, he had not realized how long forever was. He had not understood how truly alienated he was from the rest of mankind. With the coming of awareness, he had lost himself in learning. Later, to his amazement, he had discovered that he had an aptitude for painting, and he had spent a century perfecting what talent he had. When he grew bored with painting, he had tried his hand at writing.

  It had come easily to him, and he had written scores of novels, many of which he had sold. And when writing lost its appeal, he had turned into a vagabond, traveling from one end of

  the world to the other, but nowhere had he found a sense of home, of belonging, and so he had come to America, settling in Southern California where the bizarre was taken for granted, where a man who shunned the daylight and lived like a recluse was not considered strange at all, merely eccentric.

  But now Leanne was here, in his arms, and for the first time in three hundred years he felt a sense of belonging, of hope. He stroked her hair, traced the curve of her cheek.

  “Leanne,” he murmured. “Can you save me, I wonder.”

  She drew back, a frown furrowing her brow. “Save you?”

  Only then did he realize he had spoken the words aloud.

  “Save you from what?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” He looked away, knowing the hunger was glowing in his eyes. “We’d better go back.”

  She didn’t argue, only continued to stare up at him, her expression filled with concern and another emotion he could not quite fathom. Not fear. He knew fear when he saw it.

  And then, to his surprise, she gently touched his cheek. “Don’t be afraid, Jason,” she said quietly. “You’re not alone anymore.”

  Before he could absorb the meaning of her words, a dog came charging through the trees, saliva dripping from its massive jaws.

  Instinctively, Jason thrust Leanne behind him, putting himself between her and the Rottweiler’s slathering jaws. A sharp command kept Lucifer from bolting down the hill.

  Summoning his dark power, Jason turned his preternatural power on the dog. As though it had slammed into a brick wall, the Rottweiler came to an abrupt halt. Whining softly, it eyed Jason for a moment, then turned and ran down the hill with its tail tucked between its legs.

  Leanne blew out the breath she had been holding. Never had she seen anything like that in her life.

  “We’d best go,” Jason said, and before she had time to argue, before she had time to ask what had just happened, he lifted her onto Lucifer’s back. Vaulting up effortlessly behind her, he touched his heels to the stallion’s flanks and the horse broke into a canter.

  When they reached the yard, he dismounted. After lifting Leanne from Lucifer’s back, he gave the stallion a pat on the
rump. With a toss of its head, the horse trotted into the corral, then whinnied softly when Jason closed the gate.

  “Jason, that dog...”

  “It’s getting late.” He drew her into his arms and kissed her deeply. “Would you mind if I called a taxi to take you home tonight?”

  “I don’t mind,” she murmured, all thought of the dog forgotten in the sweet afterglow of Jason’s kiss.

  He yearned to read her mind, to discover what she thought of him, but for the first time in his long existence, he could not bring himself to steal his way into another’s thoughts.

  After calling a cab, he walked her down the stairs that led to the street. “Will I see you tomorrow night?”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  He took her in his arms and held her, drinking in her nearness, her warmth.

  The taxi arrived a short time later.

  “Goodnight, Jason. Sweet dreams.”

  He kissed her once more, briefly, sweetly, and then, reluctantly, he let her go. Already, he could sense the coming of dawn, feel the heavy lassitude stealing over his body, draining his strength, dragging him down, down, into darkness.

  His steps were heavy as he made his way to his lair in the basement. Hollywood might insist that its vampires sleep in silk-lined coffins, but then Hollywood perpetuated a good many myths that had no basis in fact. He had no need to rest in a coffin; indeed, he found the mere idea macabre. Instead, he preferred to pass the long, lonely daylight hours resting in a corner of the cellar, his head and shoulders covered by a patchwork quilt similar to the one he had once shared with Jolene.

  Jolene…he fell asleep with her name on his lips, but it was Leanne’s image that kept him company until darkness spread her cloak over the land once more.

  Chapter 5

  Jason saw Leanne almost every night after that. She arrived at his house shortly after eleven and stayed until the early hours before sunrise.

  It was a routine that fit his with remarkable precision. He never had to worry about offering her food because of the lateness of the hour. An occasional cup of coffee or a glass of wine were all she ever asked for.

  Often, they went riding in the moonlight, sharing the quiet intimacy of the night.

  Sometimes, as now, they sat on the sofa watching television. Tonight they were watching an old movie called “Love at First Bite”, which was an affectionate spoof of vampire films. A dashing George Hamilton starred as the infamous Count Dracula. Susan St. James played the lady of his dreams.

  “He’s a very romantic night creature,” Leanne remarked. “With you, never a quickie, always a longie...“ She grinned impishly as she quoted her favorite line from the movie.

  Jason arched one brow as he watched George Hamilton hurrying down a dark New York street moments before the coming of dawn, his black cape swirling behind him like the devil’s breath. Romantic, indeed.

  He ran his finger along the side of neck. “And would you let the Count bite you if you had the chance?”

  Leanne poked him playfully in the ribs. “Oh, I think I’d let the sexy Mr. Hamilton nibble on anything he liked.”

  He captured her hand in his. “Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be a vampire?”

  “Sure, who hasn’t?” She smiled at him, her deep green eyes dancing with amusement. “I mean, except for the blood part, the thought of living forever is very appealing, although I’m not sure I’d want to turn into a bat.”

  The blood part. Jason’s gaze moved to the pulse in her throat. He could hear the blood moving through her veins, smell the heat of it, imagine the warmth of it on his tongue. The thought of drinking from her sickened him even as it excited him.

  “And do you believe in vampires?” he asked, his voice low and seductive.

  Leanne’s gaze met his, all humor gone from her expression. “Yes, I do.” She lifted one brow. “You look surprised.”

  “I am. Most people in this day and age don’t believe in monsters.”

  “There are all kinds of monsters.”

  “Indeed.” He glanced at the screen, his stomach muscles tightening as George Hamilton enveloped Susan Saint James in the folds of his voluminous black cape to give her the final bite that would change her into a vampire.

  He was aware of Leanne’s hand resting on his thigh, felt his desire stir, his fangs lengthen at the thought of bestowing the Dark Gift upon her, of making her his bride. Forever.

  “Is something wrong, Jason?”

  He shook his head, and then, unable to keep from touching her, he drew her into his arms and kissed her.

  His touch went through her like lightning, igniting every nerve ending, every sense of awareness. His tongue plundered her mouth, stealing her breath away, until she thought she might faint from the sheer pleasure of his touch. He whispered her name, his voice urgent, almost rough, as though he were in pain.

  When his hands slid under her sweater to settle on her bare back, she felt the tremors that coursed through him as his fingertips caressed her quivering flesh. His kiss deepened, taking her to places she had never been, never dreamed of. His intensity frightened her even as it excited her. He seemed to know exactly what she liked, what she wanted. What she needed.

  She gasped with pleasure as she felt his teeth nip at the lobe of her ear, then nibble the side of her neck. Desire shot through her, and with it an image of darkness that went beyond black.

  “Jason!” Alarmed, she drew back.

  The light in his eyes burned brighter than any candle, hotter than any sun. His breathing was erratic, his lips slightly parted. She watched him draw several deep breaths, felt the effort it cost him to release her.

  “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “Forgive me.”

  “It’s all right. I’m as much to blame as you are.”

  “No.” He couldn’t keep his hands from shaking, couldn’t keep his gaze from returning time and again to the pulse now beating rapidly in her throat.

  Rising, he extended his hand. “Come, I’ll walk you to your car.”

  She didn’t want to go home, she wanted to stay here and spend what was left of the night in his arms, but leaving was definitely the smart thing to do. Things were moving too far, too fast. Another moment, and she would have lost all control. Another kiss like the last one, and she would have given him whatever he wanted.

  Hand in hand, he walked her down the stairs to the driveway.

  Jason opened the car door for her, kissed her cheek before she slid behind the wheel.

  Leanne closed the door, then rolled down the window and leaned out for one more kiss.

  He covered her mouth with his, drinking deeply of her innocence. “Don’t come here tomorrow night, or any other night,” he said and before she could ask why, he turned away, taking the stairs two at a time.

  From the window in the living room, he watched her drive away, wondering if she had any idea of the danger she had been in.

  She called him the following night. At her request, he had bought an answering machine several days ago. Now, listening to the sound of her voice as she asked what she had done wrong, tugged at his heart.

  She called several times the next day, and for three days thereafter, her voice filled with tears and confusion, and then she stopped calling.

  * * *

  Jason sat in his favorite chair in front of the fireplace in the den, his hands clenched into tight fists as he listened to the soundtrack from “The Phantom of the Opera”. The haunting words of the Phantom’s plaintive cry as he pleaded for Christine’s love filled the room, echoing the need in Jason’s heart.

  The Phantom’s music of the night might be a ballad of love and longing, Jason thought, but his own song was a requiem of blood and death, of darkness as deep and wide as eternity, as bottomless as the bowels of an unforgiving hell.

  The Phantom of the Opera lived in the darkness of life, Jason mused bitterly, but he was trapped in the everlasting darkness of his own soul.

  He shuddered to th
ink how close he had come to wrapping Leanne in his lethal embrace, to satisfying his unholy hunger by stealing the essence of life from a creature who was pure and undefiled.

  He could not see her again. He loved her too much to put her life in danger, to risk turning her into the kind of monster he had become. He could not imagine her stalking the dark streets, preying on others to prolong her own life.

  There was no hope for him, but he would not condemn Leanne to share his fate. She was a beautiful young woman with her whole life ahead of her. She had been born to walk in the light of the sun, to find love in the arms of a mortal man who could share her whole life, bear his children.

  A hoarse cry rose in Jason’s throat, a cry that became an anguished scream of denial as he imagined her in the arms of another man, one who could spend his days at her side, who could make love to her when the sun filled the sky. A man who didn’t live his life in the shadows.

  A man who didn’t thirst for that which made him a thief of the worst kind, stealing the very essence of life, and sometimes life itself.

  * * *

  For the next week, he tormented himself by going to the theater, watching her perform on stage, hearing the sweet magic of her voice.

  He listened to the Phantom’s anguished cries with renewed pain. Just once, he thought, just once he wanted to see Christine turn her back on the handsome Vicomte de Chagny and give the Phantom of the Opera the love he yearned for, the love only she could give.

  When the show was over, he lingered in the deep shadows to make sure Leanne made it safely to her car. It was the worst kind of torture, watching her from a distance, hungering for her touch, yearning to hear the sound of his name on her lips.

  Each night, he watched her search the crowd waiting at the stage door, the hope in her eyes fading when she couldn’t find him.

  And now he stood in the shadows again, a tall figure dressed all in black. Couples strolled past him, never knowing he was there. Frustrated beyond reason, hating what he was because it kept him from the woman he loved, he needed every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep from destroying the innocent creatures who passed him by. He was torn by the desire to lash out, to hurt others as he was hurting.