Dead Perfect

by Amanda Ashley

  Eventually, they crossed the bridge, which was a gloomy, double-decker industrial bridge.

  They reached Manhattan some thirty minutes later. The cab driver turned left onto Park Avenue. The two-way street was divided by a narrow island which held numerous pots of concrete planters filled with flowers, shrubs and low hedges. Hence the name Park Avenue, she supposed. The buildings that lined the street were old and elegant. There were several cute little shops she hoped to visit when she had the time—boutiques, flower shops, a small French bakery.

  The cabby made a U-turn and pulled up in front of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. While Ronan collected their bags, paid the fare and tipped the driver, Shannah took a good look at the hotel, unable to believe she was actually going to be staying there. She had seen it on numerous occasions but never been inside.

  The Park Avenue lobby near took her breath away. It was beautiful. There were murals on the walls and a stunning mosaic floor. A gorgeous chandelier hung from the ceiling.

  She waited while Ronan checked them in at the desk, more than ready for a long hot bath and eight hours’ sleep. Even the elevator was elegant, she thought, as it whisked them up to the 29th floor. Once again, Ronan had reserved two suites adjoining.

  “I could get used to this,” Shannah murmured as she crossed the large foyer. The living room was elegant and well appointed. There was a wet bar and a television set, even a fireplace. Gold draperies covered the windows. A high-backed sofa, a comfortable overstuffed chair, and a couple of occasional tables formed a cozy conversation area. Fresh flowers decorated the tables, there were a number of pictures on the walls.

  Leaving the living room, she went into the bedroom, which was done in rich tones of gold and red. The king-sized bed was covered with a white spread. There were table lamps on either side. There was a cozy armchair and ottoman covered in a pretty red print, and a glass-topped table. A separate boudoir offered a makeup mirror and dressing area. The marble bathroom was luxurious, with an oval tub, dual sinks, and a separate shower big enough for two.

  Returning to the bedroom, she kicked off her sandals, then dug her bare toes into the luxurious carpet. “Wow,” she murmured.

  “It is nice, isn’t it?” Ronan remarked, coming up behind her.

  “Nice? My apartment is nice. This is…” She spread her arms wide and twirled around. “This is paradise.” Moving to the window, she stared down at Park Avenue, then glanced at him over her shoulder. “I feel like a movie star.”

  He laughed softly. “I’m glad you like it.” He took her in his arms because she was vibrant and alive and he couldn’t resist touching her, holding her, if only for a moment. “I’m sure you want to take a bath,” he said, brushing a kiss across her brow, “so I’ll leave you to it.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I think I’ll go stretch my legs while you soak in a hot tub.”

  “Will you come in and tell me good night before you go to bed?”

  “Shall I tuck you in and tell you a bedtime story, too?”

  She looked up at him, a smile curving her lips, her eyes filled with merriment. “I think I’d like that.”

  He smiled back at her, taking care that she didn’t see the hunger in his eyes.

  He wanted her more every time he saw her. Wanted her love, her laughter, her very essence. He wanted to possess her, body and soul, mind and spirit, wanted to make her his in every way possible. Not for the first time, he wondered what she would say, what she would think, if she knew what he was.

  Fighting his hunger, he released her. “I’ll see you before you go to bed.”

  Still smiling, she walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

  He stared after her for a moment, then left the room, locking the door behind him.

  He prowled the dark underbelly of the city, seeking sustenance among the homeless drifters. He fed, and then fed again, gorging himself until even his endless hunger was satisfied.

  Sated, he returned to the lights of the city, strolling down the street until he came to a night club. Pausing at the door, he let his preternatural senses peruse the place before he stepped inside and sought a small table in the back.

  Sitting with his back to the wall, he watched the patrons. Several couples were dancing to an old country song. Others were engaged in the age-old ritual of courting. He caught snippets of conversation; men wooing the girl of their choice with liquor and sweet words, women with their heads together while they debated the merits of this man or that. In all his years as a vampire, he had never contemplated marriage, never engaged in any long-term relationship with a woman. Not that he had lived his preternatural life as a monk. Undead or alive, he was still a man with a man’s needs and a man’s desires. And right now he desired Shannah above all else.

  She was never far from his thoughts. Even now, he could hear the sound of her laughter in the back of his mind. It wasn’t smart to fall in love with a mortal woman, nor was it wise to pursue any kind of relationship. In his experience, mortals could not be trusted. He knew of several vampires, both men and women, who had foolishly fallen in love. In every case, once they had revealed the truth, they had been deserted or destroyed. Ronan had no desire to end his existence. And no desire to continue on without Shannah. It was quite a dilemma and one for which he had no clear solution.

  Fortunately, he still had time to decide what to do about Shannah. For now, he wanted to hold her in his arms. The thought was no sooner born than he was back at the hotel, knocking on her door.

  Curled up in the cozy chair in the bedroom, Shannah glanced at her watch, wondering where Ronan had gone. He had told her he would come back and tell her good night, but it was almost morning.

  She yawned, and yawned again, hoping he would return soon because she didn’t think she could stay awake much longer.

  A soft knock at the door unleashed a million butterflies in her stomach. She took a deep breath and then another as she made her way into the living room and opened the door.

  He didn’t say anything, just stepped into the room, kicked the door closed with his heel, drew her into his arms, and kissed her.

  As always, she melted into him, her every thought, her every desire focused on Ronan, only Ronan. Desire flowed through her, warm and honey-sweet. Maybe tonight, she thought, maybe tonight he would carry her to bed and make love to her. She knew he wanted her. She could taste it in his kiss, feel it in the way his body quivered against hers.

  She was breathless when he broke the kiss.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for hours,” he said, his voice husky. “I keep telling myself that you’re far too young for me, that I’ll bring you nothing but misery, but I can’t leave you alone.” He ran his knuckles lightly over her cheek. “I can’t stay away.”

  She stared up at him, dazed by his kiss, mesmerized by the heat in his eyes. “I don’t want you to stay away. And I’m not too young.”

  “Then I’m too old for you.”

  She shook her head, her mind still reeling from the force of his declaration. “How old are you? Thirty? Thirty-five? That’s not old.”

  He laughed softly. “I’m older than you are in more ways than just years, Shannah, love.”

  “I don’t care. I want you.”

  “I know.” His hand stroked her hair. “I know.”

  Lowering his head, he kissed her again.

  Wanting more than kisses, Shannah backed slowly toward the sofa. She dropped down on the cushions and he followed her, never taking his mouth from hers. He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up and down her thigh, his thumb caressing the soft curve of her breast.

  She shivered at his touch, and pressed herself wantonly against him. “Make love to me,” she whispered.

  “Have you ever been with a man before?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Have you?”

  “Of course. I’m twenty-four.”

  “Ah, Shanna
h, why don’t I believe you?”

  She pouted prettily. “I’m dying, Ronan. Don’t let me die a virgin.”

  “You’re not dying, love. I won’t let you.”

  “You can’t stop it.” Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around her waist. “No one can. Even being out in the sun is starting to bother me now…”

  “What do you mean?” he asked sharply.

  “It hurts my eyes. Lately, I can’t go outside during the day without wearing sunglasses.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Several weeks now. I first noticed it when I went to the doctor. It was right after I moved in with you. I should have mentioned it to him, I guess. Do you think it means I’m…that I’m getting worse?”

  He grunted softly. Her sensitivity to the sun was more likely a side effect from his blood than any symptom of her illness, but he couldn’t tell her that.

  “Shannah.” Sitting beside her, he drew her into his arms. “I promise you, you will not die for a long, long time.”

  She smiled faintly. “I almost believe you.”

  “Believe it.”

  “Have some sort of secret voodoo magic, do you?” she asked, forcing a smile. “Some kind of powerful mojo that will let me run faster than a speeding bullet and leap tall buildings in a single bound?”

  “Something like that.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll take care of you, love. Everything will be all right.”

  Feeling suddenly weary, she rested her head against his shoulder. “Everything will be all right,” she murmured. “I don’t know why I believe you, but I do.”

  With a sigh, he eased her onto his lap, content to hold her and stroke her hair until he sensed the coming of dawn’s first light.

  Carrying her to bed, he tucked her in, then kissed her cheek.

  She would make a beautiful vampire, he mused, gazing down at her. Perhaps he would discuss the possibility with her when they returned home.

  Thursday night, Shannah sat at a table near the front of the bookstore. This store was bigger than the others had been and she felt like she really was somebody as she sat amid a mountain of books, smiling and signing autographs. Ronan stood behind her. No doubt people thought he was her bodyguard, the way he stood there, hardly moving, hardly blinking.

  Shannah smiled as a pretty blonde handed her a book. “Who should I make this out to?”

  “Melanie, please.” The girl fidgeted with her handbag, then blurted, “Miss Black, I just have to tell you how much it means to me to meet you. When my mother got so sick that she couldn’t read anymore, my sisters and I took turns reading your books to her. She loved them so much.”

  “Thank you for sharing that,” Shannah said, touched by the woman’s words. She glanced back at Ronan, wondering if he’d heard what the woman had to say. Did he think it was as wonderful as she did that his stories influenced people’s lives in such heartfelt ways?

  Shannah had been signing for about forty-five minutes when there was a brief lull. Glancing around, she thought she saw Jim lurking nearby, but that was ridiculous. It was one thing for him to follow her from one bookstore to another in Los Angeles, and quite another to think he had followed her all the way to New York City. She frowned when she saw the newspaper reporter, Carl Overstreet, in the next aisle.

  A shiver ran down her spine. Jim plus Carl plus herself in New York in the same store at the same time was just way too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence.

  “What’s wrong, love?”

  She looked up to see Ronan standing beside her. “Maybe nothing…”

  “Tell me.”

  “That guy, Jim, is here. And so is the reporter I told you about.”

  “Where?”

  She started to point them out, then frowned. Neither man was in view. “They were here just a minute ago.”

  “Sit tight. Smile. I’m going to have a look around.”

  She did as he said, smiling and signing, posing for pictures, and all the while a knot of tension was growing in her stomach. If Ronan was worried, then there must be something to worry about.

  He returned a few minutes later. “They’re gone,” he said, for her ears alone.

  She nodded and smiled. Thankfully, the rest of the time passed quickly.

  After she signed some stock, she thanked the store manager, who shook her hand and asked her to please come again, then turned to shake Ronan’s hand.

  “I was wondering,” Ronan said. “Is there a back way out of here?”

  “Yes, of course. The service entrance,” the manager replied, frowning. “Is there a problem?”

  “There was a man here tonight who’s been following Miss Black. We’d like to avoid him, if possible.”

  “Of course,” the manager said. “This way.”

  Moments later, Shannah and Ronan were walking down a dark alley toward the sidewalk.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Shannah asked, glancing around. “I can’t see my hand in front of my face.”

  “Just hold on to me,” Ronan said.

  “I think she should hold on to me.”

  The voice, low and raspy, slid out of the shadows to their left.

  “I think you should mind your own business,” Ronan replied, putting Shannah behind him. “And get out of here before you get hurt.”

  Malicious laughter echoed off the walls of the buildings. There was the unmistakable snick of a gun being cocked.

  Shannah clutched Ronan’s arm as stark terror raced down her spine. They were going to die, here, now, in this dirty alley.

  She cried out in protest as Ronan removed her hand from his arm. There was the sound of scuffling, a harsh cry of pain, the sound of a gunshot, the acrid stink of gunpowder. And then silence.

  She shrieked as a hand grabbed her forearm.

  “Hush, love,” Ronan said, “it’s me.”

  She had to run to keep up with him as he hurried down the alley. “Wait! What happened?”

  He dragged her out onto the sidewalk; then, taking her by the hand, he turned left and walked slowly down the street.

  Shannah glanced over her shoulder. “What happened back there?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about.” Ronan couldn’t help grinning as he recalled the look of stunned horror on the would-be mugger’s face when he realized he was about to die. Panicked, he had fired his gun in a last ditch effort to cheat death, and missed. The stink of the man’s fear had filled Ronan’s nostrils and quickened his hunger. He had not soothed the man’s fears before he buried his fangs in his neck. It had been years since he had taken a life in anger, or drained a man to the point of death. He had forgotten how exhilarating it could be when he released the predator within, when he shed the thin veneer of civility and unleashed the beast within him. But he couldn’t tell Shannah that.

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Are you hurt? There’s blood on your mouth.”

  “It’s not mine.” Grimacing, Ronan wiped his hand across his mouth. Not all blood tasted the same. Some, like Shannah’s, was sweet. The would-be robber’s had not been sweet but it had been satisfying just the same.

  Ronan hailed a cab on the next block.

  Shannah heard the sound of sirens as he closed the car door. Guilt pierced her. Had someone seen them leaving the alley and called the police?

  Feeling suddenly light-headed, she sank back against the seat. “Did you…is he…?”

  A look silenced the question she had been about to ask.

  The cab pulled up in front of the hotel a few minutes later. Ronan paid the cabby, took her by the hand, and led her into the hotel and up to her room.

  She waited until they were inside and he had closed and locked the door. “Did you kill that man?”

  He hesitated a moment, and then nodded.

  “Oh.” Feeling like a deflated balloon, she sank down on the edge of the sofa.

  “Who was he?”

  “I don’t know. A pickpocket, a mugger.” He shrugged
. “What difference does it make?”

  “But…you killed him. Shouldn’t we have waited for the police?”

  “No.” Going to the window, he drew the curtains aside and peered into the darkness. “The last thing we need is to get involved with the police.”

  “But…”

  “It’s late.” He turned away from the window, his gaze holding hers. “You’re tired.”

  “Yes,” she said, yawning. “I am tired.”

  Smiling faintly, he bent down and kissed her on the forehead. “Go to bed, love,” he said quietly. “You’ve a busy day tomorrow.”

  And I’ve got something to dispose of tonight.

  Chapter Thirteen

  There was no mention of the dead man in the newspaper in the morning. Shannah looked on every page of every section. There was talk of the never-ending war in the Middle East, the latest sex scandal in Hollywood, a strike by the Teamsters, the suicide of a high profile lawyer, but not one word about the man in the alley. Shannah thought it odd, but then, this was New York City, not the small town where she had been raised. Maybe the death of a mugger in an alley was so commonplace these days that it didn’t rate a story. For all she knew, the man’s name could be among those listed in the obituaries.

  A glance at the clock told her there was no time to ponder the matter. She had to wash and dry her hair, dress, and be at the radio station in an hour.

  “How did the interview go?” Ronan asked later that night while she was changing her shoes.

  “Fine, I guess. They said they would send me a copy of the tape so you could hear it.”

  He nodded. “Were you able to answer everything all right?”

  “Yes, although I drew a blank when he asked me the name of your first manuscript. Fortunately, he had a stack of all your books on a table. When I saw the title, I remembered it was your first one.”

  “Quick thinking.”

  “Uh-huh. I wanted to hit him when he asked me how I researched my love scenes. Why does everyone ask that?”

  He grinned at her. “Why do you think?”