Sunlight Moonlight

by Amanda Ashley

  The sound of the doorbell came as a relief.

  Adrianna jumped off the sofa to pay for the pizza.

  Minutes later, she had dished up the pizza and poured two glasses of wine.

  "To us," she said, lifting her glass in a toast.

  "To us," he repeated.

  Adrianna sipped her wine. It was warm and smooth, but not nearly as intoxicating as Navarre's gaze. His dark gray eyes seemed to glow as though lit from within, the heat reaching out to caress her skin. She blinked, startled by the force of his gaze, by the unshakable impression that he had touched her, that his hand had stroked her cheek even though she hadn't seen him move.

  Navarre held her gaze a moment more, and then looked away, breaking the bond between them. How easily she succumbed to the force of the dark power he possessed! How easy it would be to steal into her heart and mind, to make her long for his touch. She had no weapons with which to fight him, no knowledge of the monster who shared her table.

  The knowledge that he should not be there struck him with the force of a blow. She was a young, vibrant woman with her whole life ahead of her. He was not of her world, and he had no right to make himself a part of her life, no guarantee that he could be with her and not destroy her.

  Adrianna placed two slices of pizza on his plate. The smell of sausage and pepperoni sickened him.

  "Dig in," Adrianna said, smiling at him. "Tony's makes the best pizza in town."

  He stared at his plate a moment. It would be so easy to bend her mind to his, to plant the illusion that he was eating in her mind while he disposed of the nauseating mess on his plate, but he couldn't bring himself to play games with her mind, couldn't bring himself to exert his power over her. If he was going to dwell in her world, then he would play by her rules.

  Lifting a slice of pizza, he took a bite. It was the first solid food he had consumed in almost two thousand years, and it took all his formidable self-control to chew and swallow.

  "How do you like it?" Adrianna asked.

  "It's the best pizza I've ever had," Navarre replied, thinking it was the first, and last, he would ever eat.

  They spoke of inconsequential things as they ate. He was relieved when the meal was over. He waited until Adrianna carried the dishes into the kitchen, and then he went into the bathroom, shut the door, and retched.

  When he returned to the front room, Adrianna was sitting on the sofa watching the local news.

  "It's awful, isn't it?" she said, gesturing at the television screen. "They found a lady huddling in an alley near one of the beach shacks last night. She'd lost a lot of blood, and she kept babbling about a monster who had bitten her neck, just like Dracula."

  Navarre went suddenly still as he stared at the screen. He had never taken blood from anyone who lived in Moreno Bay. Always, he went to a neighboring town, choosing his victims with care, making certain that he erased all memory of his presence from their minds.

  "Navarre? Are you okay?"

  "Yes, fine."

  He slipped his arm around Adrianna's shoulders and drew her close. Was it just a bizarre coincidence, or was there another vampire in Moreno Bay?

  Adrianna snuggled against him, then lifted her face to his.

  "Aren't you…" She bit down on her lower lip to keep from asking him to kiss her.

  "What is it?"

  She stared up at him, mute, the wanting evident in the depths of her clear blue eyes.

  "Annie." He pressed her head to his chest and held her tightly, a sudden nameless fear knifing through him.

  He felt her hand caress his cheek, then slide down his neck to rest on his chest. "Don't make me beg, Navarre," she whispered.

  His arms tightened around her as he gazed out the window. It was still raining, a hard steady rain. The sky was a cold, leaden gray. He stroked Adrianna's hair while his mind probed the darkness, but he had no sense of another vampire in the area. And yet that, in itself, proved nothing. There were vampires older than he who could shield their presence from his mind. He tried to tell himself the woman had been the victim of some drug-crazed maniac, but he knew, deep inside, that he was no longer the only vampire in the city.

  Adrianna moved restlessly in his embrace, the warmth of her body pressing against his, her nearness, her heat, chasing every other thought from his mind.

  With a low groan, he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her, and at that moment, there was nothing else in all the world but the woman in his arms, her lips parted in gentle surrender, her hands moving over his chest and back, kneading the muscles in his arms. Her hands were warm against his skin, and he luxuriated in her touch, basking in the sensations that rippled through him. So long, he thought, it had been so long since he had allowed the touch of a human hand.

  He stretched out on the sofa and drew her close, molding her body to his, marveling anew at how well they fit together. He rained kisses on her brow, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, before he claimed her lips again. Sweet, he mused, so sweet. She moaned softly as she pressed herself against his arousal. Desire shot through him, hotter than any flame, and he knew he had to let her go, now, before it was too late.

  And even as the thought crossed his mind, he felt his body's response, felt the sharp prick of his fangs against his tongue as his urge to make love to her warred with the need to sink his teeth into her throat and drain her of life.

  The scent of her desire mingled with the scent of her blood. With a low groan, he began to kiss her neck, his tongue lingering over the pulse that throbbed there. He had fed before he came to her, and yet the need to drink from her, to taste her, spiraled through him.

  Caught up in the wonder of his touch, she made a soft sound in the back of her throat as she turned her head, exposing her throat to his hungry gaze as she writhed against him.

  She gasped with mingled pleasure and pain as she felt his teeth scrape against the tender flesh of her neck.

  Navarre froze, the awareness of what he'd almost done chilling him to the depths of his soul. Never, in all the years since Shaylyn had forced the Dark Gift upon him, had he stooped to taking the blood of one so young, so innocent.

  "Navarre?" She called his name, her voice drugged with passion.

  Abruptly, he sat up and buried his face in his hands. He could feel the hunger raging through him, knew his eyes betrayed the same unholy lust he had often seen in Shaylyn's. He ran his tongue over his fangs, sickened to think of what he had almost done. He'd been a fool to come here, a fool to think he could be near her and not want her. All these years, he had congratulated himself on his ability to control the hunger. Only now did he realize that lie had been kidding himself, that he hadn't controlled it at all. It hadn't been the hunger that was controlled, but himself. He had refused to put himself in any situation that might get out of hand. He had kept his distance from mortals, never letting himself care too deeply, never letting himself get close for fear he wouldn't be able to take a woman's love without taking her very life as well.

  "Navarre?"

  He felt her stir beside him, felt her hand stroke his back. "Is something wrong?"

  "Annie, go to your room and lock the door."

  "What?"

  "Please, just do it."

  "I don't understand. What's wrong?"

  "Do it!"

  His voice echoed of the walls like the crack of doom. Frightened, she jumped off the sofa and ran down the hall. He heard the sound of her door slam shut, the harsh rasp of the lock falling into place.

  In the next instant, he was out the front door, running down the rain-slick sidewalk.

  Foolish creature; he thought as he darted across the street. Try as you might, you can't outrun what you are.

  Chapter Eight

  Adrianna cowered against the door, her heart pounding, her breath coming in ragged gasps. What had happened out there? One minute he had been kissing her until she was drowning in ecstacy, and the next he was ordering her to her room as if she were a naughty child.

 
For a moment, she held her breath, her ears straining for some sound from the other room. Nothing. Adrenalin pumping, she began to pace the floor. Never in all her life had she heard a voice like that, felt such menace. Try as she might, she could find no explanation for his peculiar behavior, and as the minutes ticked by, she began to wonder if she hadn't overreacted, or perhaps imagined the whole thing.

  She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Twenty minutes had passed.

  On silent feet, she crossed the floor, turned the lock, and opened the door. "Navarre?"

  He didn't answer, but his name seemed to hover in the air, repeating itself over and over again. Navarre, Navarre, Navarre…

  She took a cautious step down the hallway, her heart beating in triple time as she paused to listen, but all she heard was the pounding of her own heart, and the steady drip of the rain.

  Her throat was dry, her palms damp, when she reached the doorway to the living room. "Navarre?"

  She glanced around the room, then checked the kitchen and the den. He was gone.

  The breath she'd been holding escaped in a long sigh. She didn't know if it was disappointment or relief.

  She moved through the house, double-checking to make sure all the doors and windows were locked, wondering at her sudden compulsion to check them yet a third time. Moreno Bay was a small town. Nothing ever happened there. There was no crime to speak of. Until the incident reported on TV that night, the last offense of any note had occurred when Milt Evans got drunk and drove his pickup through the front window of Mavis Harper's Dress shop.

  Still, as she drew the shade over the kitchen window, she couldn't shake off the feeling that something evil was lurking outside in the shadows.

  Navarre stood on the balcony of Cliff House, his hands clenched at his sides, his face turned up to the sky. He closed his eyes as the cold rain pelted his face and chest.

  For the first time in years, he wished he had the right to pray, to plead with a loving God to protect Adrianna, to keep her safe. From himself.

  He should leave there, he thought, leave tonight while the memory of what he had almost done was still fresh in his mind. But all he could think of was how good it had been to hold her in his arms, the way her hands had felt as they caressed him. For the first time in centuries he had felt loved, cared for. For one brief moment, he had dared to hope that he could spend time with Adrianna without destroying her.

  Besides, he couldn't leave town, not until he learned who, or what, had attacked the woman in the alley.

  He stood there until dawn, oblivious to the cold and the rain, his thoughts turned inward. Eons ago he had resigned himself to what he was. He had learned to appreciate his supernatural powers, to enjoy the increased physical strength, the constant good health. He didn't age. He was never sick. He had traveled the world time and time again. And when he grew weary of living, when the loneliness grew too great, he had only to go to ground for a decade or a century, and when he surfaced, the world was new again, fresh again. Perhaps he should go to ground now and sleep away the years of her life.

  Heedless of the passing hours, he stood there, gazing in the direction of Adrianna's house, picturing her asleep in the bed that had once been his, imagining a lifestyle he had never known.

  The rain stopped with the coming of the dawn, and still he stood on the balcony, staring at the rainbow that stretched across the sky. He watched the sun rise, a brilliant burst of color that painted the horizon with vivid slashes of ocher and crimson.

  With a sigh, he turned away and went into the house. Feeling drained of all hope, he changed into a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck sweater. Barefooted, he wandered through the house. He took a deep breath, and the faint floral scent of Adrianna's perfume filled his nostrils.

  Adrianna…

  And even as her image rose in his mind, he sensed her presence, heard her knock at the door.

  He swore under his breath, wondering what madness had brought her there.

  "Navarre? Navarre! Open the door. I know you're in there."

  Angry that she had dared to seek him out, he stalked to the door and flung it open.

  Adrianna took a step back, alarmed by the rage that glittered in his eyes.

  "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

  "I…" She took another step backward, then straightened her shoulders and stood firm. "I had to see you."

  "Go home, Adrianna. You're not safe here. You're not safe with me."

  "Why?" She gazed up at him, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears. "Tell me what's wrong. What have I done?"

  "Done?" He groaned deep in his throat. "You've done nothing. Please, Annie, please go home where you belong."

  Her concern for her own safety dissolved when she heard the anguish in his voice, saw the pain in his eyes.

  "Please tell me what's wrong," she urged. "Let me help you."

  "You can't help me. No one can." He stared past her, judging the time, knowing he would have to seek his rest soon.

  "I'm not leaving, Navarre. Whether you want to admit it or not, there's something special between us, something I don't want to lose." She laid her hand on his forearm, felt his muscle flex and tighten at her touch. "I'm falling in love with you."

  "No!"

  It wasn't the reaction she had hoped for. She had expected him to be surprised, perhaps disbelieving, since they had known each other such a short time. A part of her had hoped he would be happy, that he would sweep her into his arms and tell her that he loved her, too.

  But there was no joy in his expression, only a soul-deep misery. She felt suddenly foolish and a little embarrassed. She'd never thrown herself at a man before, never realized how devastating unrequited love could be.

  She stared up at him, wanting to run away, to crawl into a hole and hide, but she seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to think of anything but the way she'd felt in his arms the night before, the way he'd held her and kissed her.

  "What happened last night?" she asked. "Just tell me that, and I'll go away and never bother you again."

  "Come in," he said, and turned away without waiting to see if she followed him or not.

  A shiver crept up her spine as she entered the house. As usual, all the drapes were drawn and the interior of the house was dark and cool.

  She followed Navarre into the front parlor and sat down on the edge of an Early American sofa, her hands folded in her lap.

  Navarre stood at the hearth with his back to her. "I'm going to tell you something you probably won't believe," he said, still not facing her. "And then I want you to leave. No questions asked."

  Hardly daring to breathe, she waited for him to go on.

  He could feel her watching him, and he stared into the fireplace, wondering how to tell her what he was. Should he just blurt it out? Or should he let her see him as he really was?

  "Navarre?"

  "Do you believe in the supernatural, Adrianna?"

  "The supernatural? You mean like ESP and psychic phenomena, stuff like that?"

  Slowly, he shook his head, and then he turned around to face her. "I'm not like you," he said flatly. "I'm not mortal."

  She started to laugh at the absurdity of what he was saying, but then she looked into his eyes, and in their fathomless depths, she saw that he was telling the truth, or at least what he believed to be the truth.

  "I was born almost two thousand years ago, on a small island off the coast of Greece." He lifted his hand in a broad gesture that encompassed the house and its contents. "All this furniture, the bed you bought, is mine, collected over hundreds of lifetimes."

  "No." She shook her head. "That's impossible."

  "Sometimes I wish it was."

  "So you're trying to tell me you're immortal?"

  "In a manner of speaking."

  "I don't believe you."

  "It's true nonetheless."

  "You want me to believe you've lived for almost two thousand years?''

  "I'm not alive
, Adrianna. I've been dead for close to two thousand years."

  One of them was insane, she thought, not certain which of them it was. Him for speaking such nonsense, or her for listening, and almost believing.

  "Why are you doing this?" She fisted the tears from her eyes. "If you don't want to see me again, just say so! You don't have to make up some outrageous lie!"

  "I'm not lying. Look at me, Adrianna."

  Reluctantly, she met his gaze, felt the blood in her veins turn to ice as his eyes took on an eerie red glow and his lips drew back, exposing two long teeth that could only be called fangs.

  "Now do you believe?"

  "It can't be. There's no such thing as… as a…"

  "I believe vampire is the word you're looking for, and I can assure you, they do exist."

  She blinked, and he was beside her, his hand closing on her arm. She felt the steel-like strength of his grip, the coolness of his skin, as he guided her into the next room.

  A muscle throbbed in his jaw as he placed her in front of a large oval mirror, then stood beside her and removed the cloth that had covered the surface.

  Adrianna stared at her reflection, hardly recognizing the face that stared back at her, her eyes wide and afraid, her lips parted as she drew in a shaky breath.

  Navarre cast no reflection at all.

  "But… but it's daylight, and you're awake." She shook her head, her mind refusing to believe what she knew to be true. "I saw you eat… we walked on the beach…"

  She turned to look at him, then glanced at the mirror again, and all the color drained from her face.

  He watched her expression turn to one of horror and disbelief, and then, with a wordless cry, she fainted.

  He caught her in his arms, held her effortlessly to his chest. He would hold her for just a minute, he thought, then take her outside and put her in her car. He glanced around the room, knowing he dared not stay at Cliff House any longer. If he left now, he would have time to find a place to go to ground before the heat of the sun became unbearable.

  But one minute stretched into two, and then three, and still he held her close, his heart aching at the thought of never seeing her again. Would she betray him, now that she knew what he was? And if she did, who would believe her?