Dead Perfect

by Amanda Ashley

  His knuckles stroked her cheek. “Ah, Shannah, I will love you as long as I draw breath and beyond.”

  “Will you? People are always telling each other ‘I’ll love you forever’ when they don’t have forever. But you and I…we could have centuries together. What if you get tired of me?”

  “It seems more likely that you’ll get tired of me.”

  “Never! But I keep remembering your friends getting married because they had nothing better to do…”

  “Believe me, Shannah, that’s not why I want to marry you. I think I loved you the moment I saw you. Do you have any idea how difficult it’s been for me to hold you and not ravish you?”

  “Well, it’s your own fault. I’ve been willing on more than one occasion.”

  “I know, love, but I’m a product of my time and, as I said, an honorable man. I couldn’t defile you, couldn’t take your virginity when you didn’t know what I was.” He glanced past her, his expression suddenly solemn as he murmured, “I have enough sins to atone for.”

  He really was an honorable man, the most honorable man she had ever known, and she loved him the more for it.

  With a sigh, she caressed his cheek, then frowned. “What about my parents? They’ll be so hurt if they aren’t at the wedding.”

  “Then we’ll invite them, and anyone else you like.”

  “Oh, Ronan, you’re so good to me!” She showered him with kisses and, abruptly, she drew back, frowning.

  “What is it?” he asked. “Have you changed your mind already?”

  “No, but don’t you think it’s time you told me if Ronan is your first name or your last?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Shannah called her parents the next evening to tell them the good news. “Married?” her mother said, sounding somewhat hesitant. “Is that wise? I mean, well, you know, your health…”

  “I’m much better, Mom. The doctors were wrong about everything. I’m fine now.”

  “That’s all they had to say? They were wrong? All that worry and…”

  “Mom, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s over, and I’m getting married next month.”

  “Next month! Don’t you think you’re rushing into this a little hastily? I mean, you hardly know this man, not that it won’t be wonderful to have a celebrity in the family, but…”

  “I know all I need to know about him, Mom,” Shannah said. “We’re planning to get married at home, so you’d better start looking for a dress. And tell Dad to rent a tux.”

  “How soon will you be here?”

  “Not for a couple of weeks. Ronan and I have some things to take care of here first, business, you know. Will you see about the church? We’d like to have an evening ceremony.”

  “Evening?” Shannah heard the frown in her mother’s voice. “Whatever for?”

  “It’s more romantic, Mom. We aren’t planning anything big. Ronan doesn’t have any family, so we thought we’d keep it small and intimate.”

  “Yes, all right, dear. You know, I thought there was something between you two when you were here before.”

  “I never could hide anything from you,” Shannah replied. “Tell Dad I’m sorry I missed him and I’ll call him later in the week.”

  “I will, dear. And be sure to give Ronan my best.”

  “All right. Good night, Mom, I love you.”

  “I love you more.”

  Smiling, Shannah replaced the receiver.

  “Your mother didn’t sound too thrilled,” Ronan remarked.

  “Of course she is! You heard her. She thinks it will nice having a celebrity in the family.”

  “Maybe she’s right,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe you are rushing into this.”

  Shannah frowned, then poked him in the chest with her forefinger. “Are you trying to back out?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Hush, then, and kiss me.”

  “Working your vampire magic on me, are you?”

  “Well, I’m trying!”

  “And succeeding,” he said, his voice a low growl as he pulled her into his arms.

  Jim Hewitt sat in his hotel room, reading Carl Overstreet’s most recent column on vampires for the second time.

  And so, dear reader, we come at last to the end of our tale. I searched for a vampire, and I found one. You may not believe me, but I swear by everything I hold dear that it’s the truth. I spoke to him briefly, under conditions I would rather not repeat or remember. He told me that he had been a vampire for five hundred and thirteen years and admitted that he had killed “a hundred people, maybe more” in that time.

  He said he was made a vampire against his will, that there were many vampires here, in the United States, and many others throughout the world. “More than you want to know” were his exact words.

  He said there had been vampires since the beginning of time. When questioned, he said he didn’t know where the first vampire had come from, though there were some who believed that Vlad the Impaler was the father of the Undead. Whoever the first vampire was, it’s believed that he made a deal with the Devil, trading his soul for immortality.

  Our vampire said he had never turned another into a vampire, but that he knew how it was done. Indeed, he even offered to show me. You may be sure that I quickly declined.

  At this point, he grew impatient and the interview was over.

  As for me, I hope never to see him again.

  As someone once said, “Ignorance is bliss.” Oh, how I long to be ignorant again.

  With a shake of his head, Hewitt threw the magazine across the room. It made a satisfying thump when it hit the wall.

  “So,” he muttered, “that’s the end of that.”

  He had promised himself he would let this one go. He had told Overstreet the truth when he’d said he had killed twelve vampires. What he hadn’t told Overstreet was that the vampires had all been reasonably young in the life. He had never hunted a vampire as old as Ronan, never faced that kind of preternatural power.

  Too restless to sit still, Hewitt left the hotel. Getting into his car, he drove through the town, inevitably drawn toward the house with the high fence. Ronan’s house.

  Exiting the car, he stood in the shadows across the street, trying to summon the nerve to confront the creature in its lair. He had to do it. If he didn’t, if he tucked his tail between his legs and ran off like some whipped cur dog, he knew he would never find the nerve to hunt again.

  He thought of an old Clint Eastwood movie he had seen years ago. Eastwood had played an outlaw. He remembered one scene in particular when two gunfighters had gone into a saloon to confront him. Eastwood had killed one of the gunmen. The other one had walked outside and then, after a moment, he had turned and gone back into the saloon. His explanation for returning had been because he had to. And he had died for it.

  Hewitt stared at the house across the way and wondered if he had the kind of courage the gunfighter in the movie had possessed. And if he would meet the same fate.

  Taking a deep breath, he ran his hand over the stake shoved into his belt.

  And started across the street.

  He paused when he reached the porch, some inner sense of self-preservation screaming that this was not the time or the place.

  Feeling like a lily-livered coward, he went back to his car. Maybe he really should look for a new line of work. But to do so was unthinkable. He was a Hewitt. Whenever people asked him why he was a vampire hunter, his standard answer had always been, “because it’s what the men in my family do.”

  With a shake of his head, he slid behind the wheel, then sat there, feeling like he was betraying his father and every male member of his entire family. But as the old saying went, it was better to be a live coward than a dead hero.

  He tried to make himself believe it as he drove back to his hotel.

  Ronan lifted his head, his nostrils flaring.

  “What is it?” Shannah asked, sitting up.

  Ronan swore softly. “That dam
n fool Hewitt is here.”

  “Here?” she exclaimed, glancing around. “Where?”

  “Outside. I’ve got to remember to keep that gate locked.”

  “What do you think he wants?”

  Ronan lifted one brow. “What do you think?”

  She stared at him a moment. “Do you think he knows that I’m…” Her eyes widened. “He’ll be after me now, too, won’t he?”

  “Perhaps.” He glanced past her, his head canted to one side. “But not tonight. He’s changed his mind. Now, let me see. Where were we?” he asked, drawing her back down on the sofa. “Oh, yes, I remember now. I was about to kiss you again.”

  Shannah smiled up at him, all thought of Jim Hewitt forgotten as Ronan drew her into his arms once more, his hands caressing her back while his mouth explored hers. His tongue slid over her lower lip, then delved inside, dueling with her own, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine. His hands moved over her, ever so softly, ever so deftly, never straying where they shouldn’t but arousing her just the same.

  She pressed her body to his, feeling his arousal. Sometimes she wished he didn’t have such a high moral code because she wanted him more than she wanted anything else in the whole world. She slid her hands under his shirt, ran her fingertips over his back and shoulders, felt him tremble at her touch. It was a heady feeling. She wondered if she could tempt him to make love to her and quickly pushed the thought away. She could do it, she knew she could. After all, he wanted her as much as she wanted him. But it wouldn’t be right to tempt him so, because she knew he would feel guilty for it later. He was, after all, an honorable man.

  It was a good thing they were getting married soon, she thought, her eyelids fluttering down, because she didn’t think she could bear this kind of blissful torture much longer.

  Planning for the wedding turned out to be one of the most enjoyable things Shannah had ever done. Ronan told her to spend whatever she wished, to buy whatever she wanted or needed, and she took him at his word.

  She bought a white silk wedding gown fit for a princess. It had a fitted bodice studded with crystal beads, a full skirt, a long train, and a matching veil. She bought new shoes, all new underwear, and a white nightgown that was so light and frothy it felt like she was wearing nothing at all. And looked that way, too.

  She let her mother take care of ordering the cake and the flowers and arranging for the reception after the ceremony.

  Shannah addressed the invitations late one night. Not that there were that many. Counting her friends and family and friends of her parents, the total was right around fifty.

  “What about your friends in Las Vegas?” she asked as she addressed the last one. “Wouldn’t you like to invite them?”

  Ronan shook his head. “Might be tempting fate, don’t you think, so many vampires, all in one place?”

  Shannah grinned at him. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “We could go there for our honeymoon, if you like.”

  “I’d rather go some place more romantic, like Paris or Italy.” She looked thoughtful. “I suppose you’ve been to those places already, and lots of others besides.”

  “Yes, love, but not with you.” Moving toward her, he kissed her cheek. “Seeing them with you will be like seeing them for the first time.”

  “You always say the sweetest things.” Putting her pen down, she rose and went into his arms.

  He looked at her, his dark eyes hot. “I’m not sure I can wait for our wedding night, love.”

  “Me, either.”

  He sat on the sofa, drawing her down into his lap. His tongue laved her neck, just behind her ear. The touch sent a jolt of electricity racing through her.

  “What about all that talk about chivalry and being a product of your generation?” she asked, her voice breathless as he pressed his lips to her breast. The heat of his mouth penetrated through her sweater, warming her skin.

  “Maybe it’s time to put my old-fashioned ways behind me,” he said with a low growl, and claimed her lips again.

  She couldn’t think, not when he was kissing her with such intensity. His mouth was hot and hungry on hers, stealing her breath so that she could scarcely breathe. She clung to him, her hands kneading his back and shoulders, her whole body trembling and aching for his touch.

  “Shannah.” His voice was a groan, a plea.

  “Maybe we should elope,” she said, her voice as desperate as his. “Now, tonight.”

  He laughed hoarsely, then lifted her off his lap. “We’ve waited this long. Besides, I want that white dress to mean something when you wear it down the aisle.”

  In the days before the wedding, Ronan continued to help Shannah adjust to her new lifestyle. All the things she had anticipated with dread proved to be unfounded. Drinking blood wasn’t disgusting but pleasurable, not only for her, but for those she took it from. She reveled in her new powers, both mental and physical. Every emotion, every sense, was heightened. She saw and heard things more clearly, felt things more deeply. She learned to tune out the barrage of noise that assaulted her on every side.

  She threw herself into a fit of redecorating until Ronan declared he didn’t recognize the house anymore. He was generous to a fault, never complaining no matter how much money she spent. It was such fun to shop without worrying about the cost, to buy whatever caught her fancy.

  With her increased energy, it took her no time at all to repaint every room in the house.

  Ronan watched, amused, as his bride-to-be transformed his dreary house into a home. Her taste ran to bright colors—a cheerful yellow for the kitchen that they no longer had any use for, pastel colors for the guestrooms, a deep blue for the bedroom that had been hers. She had decided this would be the room where they kept their clothing. She bought a new bedroom set because, as she said, while she didn’t mind sleeping in his lair down in the basement, she wanted this to be the room they used to change clothes and do the other things people usually did in the privacy of their bedroom.

  “Like making love?” he had queried.

  She had nodded, her cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink.

  She bought new carpeting and new furniture for every room in the house, including his lair.

  The one thing she was adamant about was sleeping in a casket. She simply refused to consider it.

  “I don’t care if every vampire ever made slept in one,” she declared vehemently. “I won’t, and that’s all there is to it.”

  She bought an antique four-poster bed, flowered sheets, and a wine-red comforter and carried it all down into his lair, advising him that he could sleep in his casket if he pleased, but she was sleeping in a bed.

  To please her, and because he had no intention of sleeping alone once they were married, he got rid of the coffin that had been his resting place for the last few centuries.

  Three days before the wedding, they flew to New York. Ronan had made reservations at the Waldorf and rented a new Cadillac, since they couldn’t just materialize in her parents’ living room. Shannah’s parents had invited them to stay at the house, but Shannah had politely refused, explaining that Ronan had business in the city and that it would be more convenient for them to stay in a hotel.

  It grieved Shannah to lie to her parents but there was no other choice.

  She was nervous the night they went to visit her parents for the first time since her transformation. What if they noticed the difference in her? She didn’t think she would be able to bear it if they turned away from her in horror.

  “Relax,” Ronan said as they pulled up in front of her parents’ house. “It will be all right.”

  Shannah took a deep breath. “I hope so, but…”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “No buts, love. Trust me.”

  As it turned out, Ronan was right, as usual, and all her worrying was for nothing. Her parents were delighted to see her, naturally overjoyed that the doctors had been wrong in their diagnosis.

  “You look wonderful, dear,” Verna said.
“No one would ever know you’d been sick a day in your life.”

  “You’re going to make a beautiful bride,” Mr. Davis said as he embraced his daughter.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Davis shook Ronan’s hand. “I hope you know what a lucky man you are,” he said gruffly.

  “Yes, sir, I surely do,” Ronan replied. “And don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of her.”

  “Well, I just hope the two of you will be as happy as Mother and I have been,” Davis said, “and that your marriage will last as long.”

  Ronan looked over at Shannah and smiled. “You can count on it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Jim Hewitt sat in a rental car outside the Davis home. It had been sheer luck that he had seen the vampire and the woman leave the vampire’s house the night before. But then, sometimes luck was the best thing a man could hope for.

  He had called Overstreet, hoping for a little backup, but Carl had adamantly refused to get involved.

  “I don’t believe in pressing my luck,” the newspaperman had said. “And you’re a damn fool if you go after that bloodsucker again. He’s a mean one.”

  Hewitt had acknowledged that Overstreet was right, but it hadn’t kept him from following the vampire and the woman to the airport. He had managed to get a seat in coach on the same flight they were taking to New York. He had even managed to follow them to their hotel without being seen, obtained a room on the same floor, and made himself at home.

  Being a vampire hunter made it easy to keep vampire hours. He slept during the day and rose a couple of hours before sunset. He showered and ate, then took up his post in the lobby where he could keep an eye on the stairs and the elevator.

  He had cursed softly when he saw the vampire and the woman exit the elevator earlier that night. One look confirmed that the woman was head over heels in love with the vampire. She clung to him, her eyes filled with obvious adoration as they walked across the lobby, headed for the garage.