“I know.”
“I don’t believe you! How could you know? I was always careful to stay out of sight.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, love, but you weren’t nearly as sneaky as you thought.”
“Well,” she muttered with mock despair, “so much for my James Bond impersonation.”
Ronan laughed, thinking how good it felt. Laughter was something that had been missing from his life for a long time.
They pulled up in front of the post office a few minutes later. “Do you want to wait in the car,” he asked, “or come in with me?”
Shannah glanced out the window. The post office was located next to the Department of Motor Vehicles. They were the only two buildings on the block, and both were dark. “I’ll go with you.”
He opened the door for her, then took her hand and they walked into the building together. Her footsteps echoed on the cement floor. Ronan walked without making a sound.
“It’s spooky in here,” she remarked.
“Is it?”
“Don’t you think so?”
“No, but then I’ve never been afraid of the dark.”
It wasn’t entirely dark inside the building but it seemed eerie somehow, to be wandering around inside when the main part of the post office was closed.
She followed him to his box, waited while he opened it and withdrew a handful of letters and a package.
“Anything good?” she asked curiously.
“A few letters,” he replied, thumbing through the envelopes. “The usual junk mail.”
“What’s in the package?”
He glanced at the return address. “Probably my latest book. Nellie Brown always pre-orders a copy and sends it to me so I can autograph it for her.”
“I hope no one ever compares your autograph with mine,” Shannah said.
He grunted softly. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He tossed the junk mail in one of the trash containers; then, taking Shannah by the hand again, he left the building.
He paused outside, his hand tightening on hers as he glanced up and down the sidewalk.
“What’s wrong?” Shannah asked.
Lifting his head, he sniffed the wind, then moved to the curb and looked up and down the street.
“Ronan?”
“It’s nothing,” he replied after a moment. “Let’s go.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“Get in the car.”
She quickly did as she was told. Ronan slid behind the wheel and pulled out of the parking lot. She noticed he glanced in the rear-view mirror several times and that he took the long way home.
“What was that all about?” she asked when they pulled into the driveway.
He shrugged. “I guess I was being paranoid.”
“Is there another James Bond trailing you?”
“I think so.”
“You’re not serious?”
“’Fraid so.”
“Who?”
“Your friend, Hewitt.”
Shannah stared at him. “I don’t believe you. How could he find me? He doesn’t even know my real name.”
“You said he bought one of my books. My post office box is in the back.” He swore softly. “I knew putting my address in there would come back to haunt me one of these days.”
Shannah glanced out the back window as Ronan cut the engine. “Do you think he followed us here?”
Ronan shook his head. Hewitt didn’t have to follow them. He already knew where to find them.
“I guess that book tour wasn’t such a good idea,” Shannah remarked, and then she frowned. “Why would he follow me?”
Ronan shrugged, content, for the moment, to let her think she was the one Hewitt was looking for even though he knew better. Hewitt wasn’t looking for Shannah. He was hunting a vampire.
They started their new life together the following evening. Ronan woke an hour or so before sundown. Though legend and lore had it that vampires were helpless until the sun went down, he had found that he could rise before sunset so long as he stayed inside, out of the reach of the sun, hence the heavy draperies that covered all the windows in the house.
He slept in a large room located in the basement. The door, made of stone, had no handle and was virtually invisible to the human eye. A heavy iron bar on the inside of the door ensured that, should an intruder inadvertently discover the entrance, he wouldn’t be able to gain access. The walls were also made of stone, as was the floor, which was covered with a thick gray carpet. There was an easy chair in one corner, a couple of tables, a large armoire where he kept his clothing, a small sink and a shower behind a hand-painted screen, and the bed in which he slept. He had no need for lights.
Rising, he showered and dressed and then went upstairs.
He found Shannah still sleeping. She looked incredibly young and vulnerable lying there, her cheek pillowed on her hand, her hair spread over her shoulders.
Hunger surged through him, and with it the urge to slip under the covers, to draw her into his arms and satisfy both of his cravings.
In the future, he would have to feed before he sought her out. He was about to go in search of prey when she stirred. A sigh whispered past her lips. Her eyelids fluttered open.
“Ronan. Good morn…” She laughed softly. “I guess I should say good evening.”
He nodded. “Why don’t you shower and dress? I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“All right. What time is it?”
“A little after seven.” He hated daylight savings time, when the days were longer and the nights shorter.
Approaching the bed, he brushed a kiss across her brow. It was a mistake. He could hear the slow, steady beat of her heart, smell the blood flowing in her veins. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his lips. The taste of her, the very nearness of her, only increased his desire to hold her, to taste her, to possess her fully and completely as only a vampire could.
“I’ll see you downstairs,” he said, his voice thick, and then he fled the room before his hunger for her blood and his desire for her flesh overcame his will power.
It took only moments to find his prey—a young woman waiting for a downtown bus. He mesmerized her with a look and led her away from the bus stop toward a movie theater on the next block. He bought two tickets and led her inside to a seat in the back row. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he drew her close, taking what he needed while she stared, spellbound, at the screen.
Speaking to her mind, he told her to forget what had happened and remember only that she had, on impulse, gone to the movies.
He returned home quickly and was sitting on the sofa when Shannah descended the stairs.
She was lovely, as always. Her hair fell down her back in waves of black silk, her eyes were bright, her smile warm. She wore a pair of white jeans that clung to her like a second skin and a green sweater that flattered every feminine curve.
“I’m going to fix something to eat,” she said. “Are you sure you won’t join me…oh, I keep forgetting.” She frowned at him. “Why do you eat alone? Are your table manners that bad?”
He laughed softly. “What are you going to fix, breakfast or dinner?”
She frowned. “Well, since this is now going to be my morning, I guess I’ll fix breakfast. Most important meal of the day, you know. Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”
“Not tonight. I think I’ll write for a while,” he said. “We can go out later, if you like.”
“I’d rather stay home. I’m feeling a little tired.”
He looked at her sharply, wondering if it was time to give her a little more of his blood.
“I’m all right,” she said. “It’s just going to take a little while to get used to these hours.”
With a nod, he left the room and went down the hall to his office. Sitting at his desk, he fired up the computer and pulled up his latest work in progress, then he sat back in his chair and stared at the screen, wondering how long he could keep her from finding out who and
what he was, and what she would do when she discovered the truth.
And then there was Jim Hewitt, vampire hunter, to consider. It was obvious the man was hunting him. Sooner or later, he would have to confront Hewitt. Most likely, he would have to kill him.
With a shake of his head, he put everything else from his mind and tried to focus on his story, but to no avail. He was all too aware of the woman in the kitchen. Her presence filled his senses. Each breath he took carried the scent of her hair, her skin, her blood, the light flowery fragrance of her perfume, the strawberry scent of her shampoo.
His heart beat in time with hers. His fangs pricked his tongue. His hunger, so recently fed, stirred to life once more. She was here, under his roof.
She was mortal.
She was prey.
He listened to her footsteps as she moved around the kitchen, the swish of cloth against her skin, the clink of dishes as she set the table, the sound of running water, the sizzle of bacon frying in a pan.
And his hunger grew.
Cursing softly, he rose and shut the door, hoping that would help, but to no avail. Had he been blind and deaf, he could have found her in the bottom of a well at midnight. He had taken her blood and given her his. There was a bond between them that could not be broken so long as she lived, a bond that called to him relentlessly, urging him to drink deeply, to drink it all and then give it back to her. To do so would heal her once and for all. It would make her what he was, a creature of the night. Undead. A vampire.
Once again, he reminded himself that she had come to him seeking just such a thing.
As he had so often, he wondered if she would want the Dark Trick if she knew that he could give it to her.
Pushing all thoughts of Shannah from his mind, he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand, frowning as the words that flowed across his computer screen echoed his own internal struggle.
He had been writing for several hours when her knock came at the door.
“Come on in,” he called.
She opened the door and peeked inside. “Am I interrupting?”
“Yes, but it’s a welcome one. I was just about to quit for the night.”
“Good. There’s a movie on TV I’ve been wanting to see. Do you want to watch it with me?”
“Sure.” He saved his work and switched off his computer, then followed her into the living room.
She curled up on the sofa and he sat beside her, scarcely aware of the story being enacted on the screen. His whole being was centered on the woman beside him, each breath she took, each movement she made, each beat of her heart, the way the lamplight shone in her hair, the curve of her cheek, the smooth line of her neck, the pulse that beat in the hollow of her throat. She laughed at something on the screen and the sound wrapped around his heart like a mother’s love surrounds her child.
He had it bad, he thought ruefully. After more than five hundred years, he was hopelessly, helplessly, in love.
As though feeling his scrutiny, she turned to face him, and he was lost. In five hundred years, he had never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted the fragile creature sitting beside him. He wanted to hold her, protect her, shower her with his love. He intended to do whatever necessary to make her happy. He would grant her anything she wanted, anything she needed, if she would only stay with him as long as she lived. In exchange, he would give her his blood as needed. With him, she would want for nothing.
“Ronan?”
“Hmm?”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m Little Red Riding Hood and you’re the Big Bad Wolf.”
“Perhaps because I’d like to devour you.”
She blinked at him, her expression making it obvious that she didn’t know if he was kidding her or not.
“You must know I want you,” he said quietly.
Her eyes grew wide. “Y…yes.”
“And you want me.”
She nodded.
“Tell me what you want.”
Shannah licked her lips, then shook her head. She didn’t know what she wanted.
When he was holding her, kissing her, she was certain she wanted him to take her to bed and make love to her all night long. But now, with his dark gaze holding hers, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t think he would hurt her. Quite the opposite. She was sure he would be a gentle lover, tender and thoughtful, but…she knew it was wrong. It went against everything she had been taught while growing up, both by her parents and her church. And yet, it didn’t seem fair. She was dying and, right or wrong, she didn’t want to die a virgin. Still, did she want to die with the sin of fornication on her conscience?
“Shannah?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.” Why didn’t he just sweep her into his arms and seduce her? Kiss her until all thought of right or wrong was forgotten? Coward, she thought. If he seduced her, she could secretly revel in his touch and still tell herself it wasn’t her fault…
She looked into his eyes, those deep dark eyes that seemed to hold all the secrets of the universe, and knew if she stayed another minute, she would be lost.
“I think I’ll go get something to drink,” she said, scrambling off the sofa. “Can I get you anything?”
He shook his head, his expression telling her clearly that he was well aware of what she was doing, and why.
“I think I’ll go write for another hour or two,” he said. “Will you be all right?”
Blinking back her tears, she went into the kitchen, wondering if he was sorry he had asked her to stay.
Chapter Nineteen
Shannah woke to the sound of someone leaning on the doorbell. Rolling over, she stared blearily at the clock on the bedside table. It was a little after ten a.m. Who could possibly be coming to call at this hour? Or any hour? She didn’t have any friends in North Canyon Creek, and as far as she knew, Ronan never had visitors. Deciding it was probably a solicitor of some kind, she closed her eyes and pulled the covers over her head. Whoever it was, they could come back later.
The doorbell rang again, louder and more insistent.
Shannah pounded on her pillow. Why didn’t they go away? Grabbing her robe, she pulled it on as she padded down the stairs to the front door.
“Who is it?” she called irritably.
“Jim Hewitt.”
Suddenly wide awake, Shannah stared at the door as if it was a snake that might bite her. Hewitt! What on earth was he doing here? “What do you want?”
“I need to talk to you, Miss Black.”
“So talk.”
“It’s important, Eva. It’s about Ronan.”
Shannah felt her heart skip a beat. “What about him?”
“This isn’t something I can discuss out here on the front porch.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not in the habit of inviting strangers into the house.”
She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard him swear.
“There’s a coffee shop in town,” he said. “The Pot Pourri. Do you know it?”
“Yes.” It was the coffee shop where she used to spend her evenings, the one where she had been the first time she saw Ronan walking down the street.
“I’ll meet you there in, what, half an hour?”
“How did you get through the gate?”
“Does it matter?”
She wondered if Hewitt had climbed over the back wall, the way she had. She would have to tell Ronan his security fence wasn’t as safe as he thought.
“Miss Black?”
“Yes, all right, I’ll be there.”
Going upstairs, she dressed quickly, brushed her hair and her teeth, grabbed her handbag and the keys to Ronan’s car, and headed for town, determined to find out how Jim Hewitt knew where she lived, and why he had followed her to North Canyon Creek.
Shannah entered the Pot Pourri a little over thirty minutes later. Jim Hewitt was sitting at a booth near the door. He wore a white shirt open at the throat an
d a brown sports jacket. He rose when he saw her.
Taking a deep breath, she walked toward him. As she neared the curved booth, she saw that he wasn’t alone.
Carl Overstreet nodded at her. “Hey, Miss Black. It’s good to see you again.”
She nodded at the newspaperman, then sat down. Hewitt slid in beside her, sandwiching her in between the two men. She didn’t like it. It made her feel trapped. And more than a little uneasy. She assured herself there was nothing to worry about. It was broad daylight. They were in a public place. The café was crowded, and there was a cop sitting at the counter.
She glanced from one man to the other. “So, what’s this all about?”
“How long have you known Ronan?” Hewitt asked.
“A few months, not that it’s any of your business.”
“How well do you know him?”
She shrugged. “As well as you can know anyone in a couple of months.” She glanced from Hewitt to Overstreet. “Either tell me what this is about, or I’m leaving.”
“What does he do during the day?” Overstreet asked.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?” She looked at Hewitt. “Get out of my way. I’m leaving.”
“Please,” Hewitt said, “this is important.”
As tempted as she was to tell him to go to hell, her curiosity won out. “Go on.”
“Have you ever seen him in the middle of the afternoon?” Hewitt asked.
Feeling suddenly cold, she stared at Hewitt. “No.”
“Have you ever seen him eat?”
“No,” she said, and then frowned. “I mean, I did, once,” she said, remembering her mother’s apple pie and Ronan’s reaction to it.
“You actually saw him eat something?”
“Yes, but…”
“But what?”
“It made him sick. He said he was allergic to it.”
“Allergic!” Hewitt slammed his hand on the table. “That’s a good one. Do you know why he doesn’t eat?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
Carl Overstreet leaned forward. “What do you know about vampires?”
The chill in Shannah’s blood turned to ice. “Only that they don’t exist, except in books and movies.”
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