Perhaps this time.
It was his last thought before the darkness dragged him down into oblivion.
She paced the floor of her bedchamber, too restless to sleep, grateful, once again, that the king found no pleasure in her company now that she was carrying the heir to the throne. No doubt her husband was curled up in the arms of his latest mistress. If the fates smiled on her, she would not have to take him to her bed again until this child was weaned.
She walked to the door and placed her hand upon the richly carved wood. Dared she call for him? What excuse could she use this time? Did she even need an excuse? Surely he knew that she called for him to relieve her loneliness.
Sitting down on the edge of her bed, she smoothed her gown, lifted a hand to her hair, and then called his name.
"Dominic!"
He answered her summons immediately, his dark gray eyes sweeping over her as if to assure himself that she was well. "What is it you wish, my lady?"
She waved her hand toward the pitcher. "A drink, please."
He bowed his head in acknowledgement and moved to fulfill her request, though they both knew it was not water she craved, but his presence at her side; his touch, which he bestowed upon her whenever she desired.
Her gaze met his as he handed her a goblet encrusted with sapphires the color of her gown. But for him, for the hours he spent at her side, life within the castle would have been unbearable.
"Jocelyn." His voice was filled with respect, and the longing of a thousand years.
It pleased her that he did not find her unattractive even though her belly was swollen with the king's child. There was no accusation in his eyes, no hint of revulsion, only the same sweet expression of love and desire she had seen there since the night he was assigned to guard her quarters.
"Dominic." His name was a sigh upon her lips. Putting the goblet aside, she held out her arms. He went to her gladly, willingly. She gloried in his nearness, in the husky sound of his voice as he crushed her close. He whispered to her, telling her she was beautiful, desirable, that he loved her beyond life, beyond death…
She fell back on the bed and he followed her down, then drew her into his arms, cradling her to his side. She rested her head on his broad chest, her fingers splayed over his heart.
"Jocelyn, " he implored. "Come away with me. "
It was the same request he made of her every time they were together. More and more, she yearned to leave the cold walls of the castle, the cold comfort of her husband's arms, and fly away with the man who kissed her so tenderly, who gazed deep into her eyes and promised to love her forevermore.
"Dominic…"
"You do not love the king!" he exclaimed, his voice rising in frustration. "Why do you stay in this place? What ties you to him?"
"He is my husband! I carry his child! It is my duty to stay and give him an heir." Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke, tears of bitter regret, of hopelessness. She had been born to be queen. It was in her blood. Her child would be the heir to the throne. How could she deny her own child its destiny ? But, oh, how could she stay with a man she despised when the one she loved with her whole heart and soul held her so tenderly, loved her so completely?
"Come away with me, Jocelyn," he begged. "Now, tonight."
She looked up at him and knew she could refuse him no longer. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, now, tonight. Take me away from this place."
"Jocelyn!" His arms tightened around her shoulders. He kissed her long and lovingly, then gained his feet. "Come," he said, taking her by the hand. "We must hurry."
She rose to her feet, then doubled over as pain knifed through her. He was at her side in an instant.
"What is it, my lady?" he asked anxiously.
She wrapped her arm over her swollen womb.
"The babe," she gasped. "It comes."
He swept her into his arms and placed her gently on the bed. "Do not be afraid," he said. "I will summon the midwife."
"Do not leave me!" She grabbed for his hand, cried out as another pain caught her.
"I will not be gone long, my lady." His hand caressed her cheek. "Be brave, my best beloved one."
"Hurry!"
Her hands clutched at the bedclothes, a sob rising in her throat as the pains grew worse. It was too early, she thought frantically, too early for the child to be born.
It seemed like hours passed before the door opened and the midwife hurried in, her brow furrowed with concern.
Dominic entered the room behind the midwife, only to be told, rather brusquely, that his presence was neither welcome nor desired. As the king's guard, he could not argue, could only do as he was told.
She cried out when he left the room, then fell back on the pillows, weak and afraid. And alone. So alone.
It was late the next night when she was finally delivered of the infant. A boy, who took only a few short breaths and then lay still in the midwife's arms.
She knew, from the looks that passed between her ladies and the midwife, that she would soon be joining her child. She heard them whispering when they thought she was asleep. Something had gone terribly wrong. The bleeding would not stop.
Lost in grief and pain, she called for the only man she had ever loved, called for him over and over again, much to the horror and astonishment of her ladies, but she was past caring. Past caring that her husband did not bother to visit her.
"Dominic." She sobbed his name weakly. "Dominic, please come to me."
He appeared at her side in the last hour before dawn. Clad all in black, for a moment she thought he was the Angel of Death come for her. In her fevered state, she imagined that his eyes were red and glowing, that his teeth, always whiter than new-fallen snow, were growing longer, becoming fangs.
Kneeling beside her bed, he took her hand in his. His gaze burned into hers with an intensity she had never seen before.
"Join me, Jocelyn," he begged. "Only say the word, and I will bring you to my side. We will be together for eternity—only say the word. "
"What is it you are asking of me?" she murmured. "How can we be together when I am dying?"
"You need not die, my best beloved one. You have but to ask, and I will make you as I am."
"And what are you?" It was a question she had ever harbored in the back of her mind but never dared ask.
"I am vampire," he replied quietly. "Look at me, and see me for what I am."
Vampire… it was the answer she had long suspected and feared, the reason she had not asked before. He was truly a creature of the night. Forever lost, forever damned. If she joined him of her own free will, she would forfeit all hope of heaven.
"No." She shook her head weakly. "I cannot… not even for… you. "
Tears filled his eyes. Crimson tears. "I love you," he said, his voice thick. "I will find you again, I promise, no matter how many lifetimes it takes.…"
She woke with a start, one hand spread over her stomach, her eyes damp with tears. Never had she had a dream like that before, a dream so vivid, so real, that she had felt the pain. What was happening to her?
Flinging the covers aside, she slipped out of bed, padded barefoot across the floor and drew back the curtains, then opened the window. With a sigh, she lifted her face toward the heavens, basking in the sunlight, reveling in the warmth of it against her skin.
The light of a new day, the sound of the waves dancing cheerfully on the shore below, banished the last remnants of the dream from her mind. This was reality! And she had work to do.
After taking a quick shower, she dressed in a faded pair of paint-stained denims and an old shirt, then went downstairs to make a pot of coffee. Pouring herself a cup, she carried it upstairs.
When she opened the door to her studio, the first thing she saw was the painting she had done. It was just as unsettling in the bright light of day as it had been the night before. She couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine as she moved into the room. Couldn't shake the feeling that the painting was somehow alive. I
t was disconcerting, the way the eyes seemed to follow her.
With a huff of annoyance, she lifted the canvas from the easel and put it on the floor, facing the wall. Feeling better, she drained her cup, then put on her smock, grabbed a fresh canvas, and placed it on the easel. She had no time to waste. She still had to paint that English castle, and she had a seascape that had to be finished for a new client by next week. If the buyer, Mr. Petersen, liked it, he had promised to purchase a dozen similar paintings for all the offices in his bank.
She studied the numerous snapshots of the ocean she had taken a few days earlier—pictures of the ocean when it was calm, photos of the waves crashing against the shore, pictures taken at all hours of the day and night.
She closed her mind to everything else and lost herself in her art. She loved the smell of the paint, the sense of creativity, of accomplishment, that flowed through her as the scene she saw in her mind took on depth and color and life on the canvas.
She took a short break to get another cup of coffee and something to eat, and then spent the rest of the day in the studio.
She quit when she lost the light. After cleaning her brushes and tidying up the studio, she went into the bathroom, filled the tub, lit a couple of candles, and took a long, hot bubble bath. Lying there with her eyes closed, she decided that cooking didn't sound appealing, so when the water cooled, she stepped out of the tub, pulled on a pair of gray slacks and a white sweater, and drove down to the village.
Dominic rose with the setting of the sun, his preternatural senses immediately probing the upper level of the house. He had no sense of her presence. Where had she gone?
He dressed quickly in a pair of black trousers and a shirt and willed himself into the upper house. He walked quickly from room to room until he reached her studio.
He paused in the doorway. There were several lamps located around the room. He supposed they were to provide light when the skies were overcast or when she felt the urge to work after dark. An overstuffed chair took up most of one corner. A couple of paint-stained smocks hung from hooks near the door.
Stepping inside, he moved slowly around the room. Her scent was strong in here, as was the odor of paint and turpentine. There were several blank canvases stacked in a corner. Three easels, each holding paintings in various stages of completion, stood several feet apart along one wall. Though all three were exceptional, he preferred the seascape. It was done mostly in shades of blue and green save for a splash of crimson and gold left behind as the sun sank in the distance. So long since he had seen a sunrise.
Drawing his gaze from the painting, he continued his perusal of the room. A round, wooden piano stool on casters sat in front of the painting in the middle. An oblong table held an assortment of paints, a box of rags, a palette, a can of turpentine, half a dozen bottles and cans, a sketch pad. An old ceramic flower pot held an assortment of brushes. Several photos of the ocean were tacked to a bulletin board. A closet contained an assortment of wooden frames in various sizes and styles.
He was about to leave the room when a canvas turned toward the wall caught his attention. Curious, he walked across the floor and turned it around.
And found himself staring at his own likeness. It took him quite by surprise. He had not seen his own face in centuries. He had almost forgotten what he looked like.
If she had painted him as he truly appeared, then his physical appearance had changed little since Kitana had bestowed the Dark Gift upon him so many centuries ago. He wondered what had prompted Tracy to paint him as a vampire. Was it possible she suspected his true nature?
He studied the painting for several minutes. Forgetting for the moment that he was the subject, he found himself admiring her work. She was a truly talented artist. The lines were bold and confident, the colors well chosen, the balance of light and shadow just right.
Lost in thought, he left the house. Where would she have gone? A look in the garage showed that it was empty. Had she perhaps driven down to the village? It was as good a place as any to start.
Backing his car out of the underground garage, he drove down the hill. He could have willed himself into the village with a thought, but he enjoyed the simple act of driving, enjoyed the feel of the wind in his face, the low purr of the engine. But tonight, even that paled in the anticipation of seeing her again.
He found her car parked in front of Sea Cliffs only restaurant. After locating a parking place over on the next block, he walked back to the restaurant. The dinner rush was over and after a few words with the hostess, Dominic made his way to Tracy's table.
She looked up, obviously surprised to see him standing there.
"Good evening."
She smiled, though it was tentative at best. "Hello."
He returned her smile. "Would you mind if I joined you?"
She wanted to refuse. It was evident in every line of her body, in the look on her face. It was just as evident that she couldn't think of any way to refuse without appearing rude, and so she murmured, "No, please do."
He slid into the seat across from her. "Nice place," he remarked after noting that there were no mirrors in this section of the restaurant.
"Yes, it is," she agreed. "Do you come here often?"
"No."
A waitress appeared at their table. "Are you ready to order?" she asked without much enthusiasm.
"Yes," Tracy said. "I'll have a bacon, lettuce, and tomato on sourdough bread and a glass of iced tea, please."
"Yes, ma'am." The waitress made a note on her pad, then glanced at Dominic. Her attitude underwent an immediate change. She straightened up, brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, thrust out her ample chest. And smiled. "And what can I bring you, sir?"
"A glass of red wine."
"Will that be all?"
Dominic nodded.
"Are you sure? Our apple pie is the best in two counties."
"Quite sure."
"Well, let me know if you change your mind," the waitress purred, and with a last toothy smile, she left the table.
Tracy took a sip of water, then unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap. "You're not eating?"
"Not now. Later, perhaps."
"So, you just came in here for a glass of wine?"
"You've caught me out," he replied. "I saw your car out front and thought I would see if I could entice you to let me share your table."
Her cheeks grew pink under his blatantly sensual regard.
"Have you plans for tonight?"
"Yes. No, not really… that is… no."
"You seem flustered this evening. Is something amiss?"
"No. It's just…" She lifted a hand and let it fall. "I stayed up very late last night, painting. I'm afraid I haven't caught up on my lost sleep yet."
He leaned forward. "Were you working on a new canvas?"
The blush in her cheeks deepened. "Yes."
"Perhaps you would show it to me later."
"It's nothing, really. Just a seascape. If my client likes it, he's promised to order a dozen or so for the offices in his building."
He knew it was not the seascape that had put that becoming blush in her cheeks, but the painting she had done of him.
"I should still like to see it," he remarked. "If you have no other plans, perhaps you would show it to me after you've had your dinner."
Tracy nodded. Why was it so difficult to tell him no?
A moment later, the waitress arrived with their order.
Dominic sat back and sipped his wine. Time and again, his gaze moved to her neck, to the pulse beating steadily in the hollow of her throat. Thinking of the rich red blood that flowed through her veins made the wine in his glass taste like water. He licked his lips as he thought of running his hands over the mortal heat of her skin, tasting the warm, sweet essence of her life on his tongue.
Clenching one hand into a fist, he thrust such thoughts from his mind lest she see them mirrored in his eyes.
Tracy found it difficult to enjoy her meal
with Dominic sitting across from her. It was terribly disconcerting to know he was watching her every move. If only he would eat something, too! But he simply sat there, occasionally sipping his drink, his gaze intent upon her face.
She looked up, her meal momentarily forgotten, when he asked her if she believed in reincarnation.
"No, I don't," she replied firmly. "Do you?"
He nodded slowly. "I sense that you have a very old soul."
"Me?" Her voice emerged in a high-pitched squeak. "Why would you think that?"
His eyes darkened as he leaned across the table. "Have you had dreams of things you could not possibly know? Remembered people or places where you know you have never been?"
"Of course," she said. "Who hasn't? But it doesn't mean anything."
"Have you ever dreamed of being a doctor? Or of being a queen during the Crusades? A witch in Old Salem?"
"Stop it!"
He drew back and took a sip of his wine. "Forgive me. I did not mean to upset you."
She stared at him, remembering the dream that she'd had the night before. She had been a queen then. And Dominic had been her bodyguard…
With a start, she realized that she had dreamed of him in the past, dreamed of him even before they met. That was why she had thought he looked familiar when she met him on the beach.
A cold chill ran down her spine. How was it possible to dream of someone she had never met?
She pushed her plate away, her appetite gone. "I… I've got to go."
"Is something wrong?"
"I… I have… uh… an appointment with a future client, and I'm… I'm late… and…" Grabbing her handbag, she quickly slid out of the booth. "I'm sorry."
He watched her hurry toward the cash register.
She didn't look back.
Chapter 5
The schoolhouse was located in a small, square building at the end of the street. It was painted red with white trim, and boasted a bell tower on the roof. There were windows in the east and west walls for cross ventilation. She had fifteen students in her class—nine girls and six boys—ranging in age from five to sixteen.
A Whisper of Eternity Page 4