In the end, Alesandro won. Ten minutes later, she was sitting on the back of a mountain of black horseflesh with Alesandro's arm tight around her waist. She detected no movement, heard no command, but the stallion moved forward, his long strides carrying them quickly out of the barn and into the yard.
Robert and Dewhurst bowed as they rode by.
Once clear of the yard, Alesandro put the horse into a slow canter.
Analisa went rigid, her arms folded over Alesandro's, her hands clutching at his biceps.
"Relax, 'Lisa."
She nodded. Leaning back against him, she took a deep breath, telling herself there was nothing to fear, not with Alesandro's arm fast around her waist. A short time later, the stallion's pace increased.
The stallion had a smooth, even gait and they fairly flew across the ground. It was exhilarating, unlike anything she had ever experienced before—the hard press of Alesandro's arm around her waist, the motion of the horse, the cool breeze in her face. Laughter bubbled up inside her. How could she have ever been afraid? She cried out with delight as the stallion jumped a trio of small hedges.
She glanced over her shoulder. "Can we go faster?"
Alesandro chuckled. A moment later, the stallion stretched out in a full gallop.
They rode for miles through the lowering darkness, until the stallion's inky black coat was dotted with foamy lather. Gradually, Alesandro slowed the horse to a trot, then a walk. A short time later, he reined the stallion to a halt in a small clearing surrounded by towering trees. The leaves whispered together in the evening breeze.
Dismounting, he lifted her from the horse's back.
Analisa extended her arms and twirled around. "Oh, but that was wonderful! Thank you, Alesan-dro." She smiled up at him. "You are so good to me."
He returned her smile. She was so like a child, so eager to learn, to experience life.
"I don't know where I'd be if it weren't for you," she said, suddenly serious. "I've learned so much since you took me in. How to read and write. How to behave like a lady. How will I ever repay you?"
Alesandro shook his head. "I will hear no talk of repayment. You have given me far more than I could ever hope to give you. Not just your blood, Analisa, though that is sweet indeed," he said, reading the question in her eyes. "You have given me hope for the future, a new zest for living." He caressed her cheek, his touch heartbreakingly gentle. "Something to look forward to when I awake."
His words nestled deep in her soul. Not knowing what to say, she spread her hands against his chest, rose on her tiptoes, and kissed him. She'd meant it to be just a light touch, a press of her lips to his, but his arms closed around her and he was kissing her back, a hot, desperate kiss that sent her senses reeling and curled her toes.
He drew his mouth from hers, his gaze burning into her own like a bright blue flame. She gasped his name, and then he was kissing her again, his arms so tight around her she could scarcely breathe. His breathing sounded ragged and uneven, and when he took his mouth from hers, she saw the glint of his fangs.
A long shudder wracked his body. Muttering an oath, he put her away from him and turned his back, but not before she saw the haunted expression on his face.
"Alesandro." She placed her hand on his back, felt him flinch at her touch. "Alesandro, don't turn away."
"I do not want you to see me like this." He laughed, a hollow sound tinged with pain. "I am not at my best."
"I've seen you before. I'm not afraid."
He whirled around, his hair whipping about his face, his eyes blazing and tinged with red. "And do you like what you see?" He could feel the hunger stirring within him, rising up to engulf him, feel it clawing at his vitals, demanding to be fed.
He bared his fangs. "Not afraid?" he said. "Well, you should be."
She stepped backward, the movement instinctive, hardly aware she had done so. "Alesandro, please, don't do this. I love you."
"No!"
She stared up at him, not knowing what to do, or what to say. She hated it when he was like this, steeped in anger and filled with despair. She placed her hand on his arm; the muscle felt like steel beneath her fingertips.
He wrenched his arm away. Grabbing her around the waist, he lifted her onto the stallion's back and thrust the reins into her hand.
"Go home!" he said. "Now!"
Before she could argue, before she could protest that she was more afraid of riding the horse alone than she was of staying with him, Alesandro slapped the stallion on the rump and the horse turned and headed back the way they had come.
She clung to the reins with one hand and the stallion's thick mane with the other. Fear rose up within her as she fled through the night. Fear that she would tumble off the horse and break her neck. Fear that Alesandro's dark side would overcome his affection for her and she would fall prey to the horrible hunger that tormented him.
She glanced over her shoulder. Was he coming after her even now?
Alesandro stared after her, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. He had been so proud of himself, of his ability to control his hunger. What was happening to his self-control? He laughed softly. Analisa had happened. In the beginning, a few drops of her life's blood had had the power to satisfy his hellish hunger, but lately… he raked a hand through his hair. For some reason he did not understand, it was getting harder and harder to control his need.
The need that burned through him even now.
A thought took him to the city, to the dark alleyways frequented by lightskirts and pickpockets and drunks looking for salvation in a pint of ale.
The woman was old for her line of work, worn down by life, her eyes dull. He drew her into his gaze, his mind overpowering hers. He grimaced as he bent her back over his arm. She smelled of sweat and old lust, and he closed his eyes, thinking of Analisa, who always smelled of soap and flowers.
He took what he needed and then, disgusted with himself, he lowered the woman to the ground. He tucked several coins in her pocket, then left her there, her mind wiped clean of all that had happened.
Filled with anger and rage and a growing sense of helplessness, he walked the dark streets until it was almost dawn. Analisa. He yearned for her, hungered for a single drop of blood, craved the feel of her body pressed to his, the sound of her laughter, the light of her smile. Analisa…
He was at her bedside between one heartbeat and the next, her name whispering past his lips. "Analisa." A hope unspoken, a longing he dared not acknowledge, a prayer for salvation.
His hand stroked a wisp of hair from her brow. How beautiful she was! Her skin was fair, unblemished. Her hair spread across the white linen pillowcase like a splash of black ink. She lay on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, a cheek stained with tears.
The sight was like a dagger in his heart. He had put those tears there. He swore softly. Hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Her heat, her scent surrounded him. He had to let her go, he thought, before it was too late. For both of them.
She would never want for anything. He would give her the Manor and a yearly allowance that would allow her to live comfortably. With land and money of her own, she would have no trouble finding a husband to protect her.
A growl rose in his throat at the thought of her with another man.
"Alesandro?"
He opened his eyes to find her staring up at him.
She sat up, the covers falling away. She wore a demure gown of white lawn that did little to hide the sweet curve of her breasts.
'"Lisa."
"Are you all right?"
"No."
"What is it?" she asked, her brow furrowed with worry. "What's wrong?"
"Us," he said flatly.
She shook her head. "I don't understand."
"I am a vampire."
"Yes." A faint smile tugged at her lips, surprising him. "I know."
"I am afraid for you, afraid I cannot keep you safe any longer. I want y
ou, Lisa."
"I'm here."
"All of you."
She stared at him a moment, and then her eyes widened with understanding, but she didn't flinch, and she didn't turn away. "I'm still here."
He swore softly. "You do not understand!"
She rose up on her knees and reached for him.
He backed away as though burned by the sun. "No!"
"I am not afraid," she said, but he heard the tremor in her voice, the uncertainty she could not disguise.
"I will not defile you! I… will… not!"
"Will you not love me, Alesandro, as I love you?"
"I cannot." He groaned deep within himself. "Lisa, Lisa, we have been together for so long, and still you do not understand, do you?"
"I understand that I love you. And I think maybe you love me too, a little."
A little? He loved her with every fiber of his being, loved her in ways she would never understand. And that was why she had to leave.
"I know what you are," she said, as if divining his thoughts. "I've seen what you are. I know what you do. It doesn't matter, Alesandro. I'm not afraid. You saved my life. It's yours to take."
"No!" He raked a hand through his hair. "You cannot mean that!"
"But I do. I would have been dead long ago if not for you."
She stood and moved toward him. He backed away, afraid of her touch and his own weakness, backed away until he came up against the door.
"Analisa, no…"
Standing on tiptoe, she leaned against him, her hands reaching up to cup his face. "I love you. All of you. Promise me," she said, her gaze intent upon his, "promise that you won't send me away."
"It is for the best."
"Promise me."
"I promise," he said, his voice hoarse. Taking hold of her arms, he put her away from him. Turning, he opened the door. "Go back to bed," he said gruffly, and closed the door behind him.
* * *
Chapter Fourteen
As she feared, Alesandro avoided her the next day, and the next. She took comfort in his promise not to send her away until she realized she should have made him promise that he would not leave the Manor, that he would not hide away from her.
She knew he was afraid that he would lose control and hurt her, but it was a chance she was willing to take in order to be with him. She knew he had killed in the past, that he was capable of killing again, knew that being in his presence was dangerous. And yet, she had faith in him, in his ability to control the hunger that drove him. Hadn't he already proved that he was stronger than the darkness that dwelled within him?
On the third night, she put on her cloak and left the house. She wandered through the gardens, hoping he would seek her out. When he didn't, she called his name aloud and in her heart, hoping he would come to her, but to no avail.
Discouraged, she walked back to the house, pausing when she heard the sound of muted laughter. Curious, she followed the sound, smothered a gasp when she saw Sally and Robert sitting on a bench, locked in each other's arms. Sally's skirts were hiked up to her thighs. Her bodice was open. Even more shocking was the sight of Robert's hand cupping Sally's breast. For a moment, Analisa simply stood and watched, too stunned to move, as the couple kissed and fondled each other with complete abandon.
Unable to watch any longer, Analisa turned on her heel and ran back to the house.
"Ah, there you are," Mrs. Thornfield said as she entered the parlor, breathless. "Dinner is ready. Have you seen Sally? I asked her to take care of something for me an hour ago and haven't seen her since."
"I… oh… yes… I mean, no," Analisa stammered, and hurried into the dining room.
She sat there, picking at her food, vivid images of Sally and Robert running through her mind. It was wrong, terribly wrong, for Sally to behave so brazenly, and yet Analisa couldn't help feeling envious of the love they shared.
Leaving the table, she went into the library, hoping Alesandro might be there, but the room was dark and empty. Feeling lost and alone, she went into his bedchamber and closed the door. A fire burned in the hearth, lit each night in case he should return. She warmed herself at the fire, longing to be in Alesandro's arms, to kiss him with abandon, the way Sally had kissed Robert, to touch Alesandro and have him touch her…
The thought made her shiver with longing, with a sense of fear that she was loath to admit. But it was there nevertheless, lurking deep within her, a primal fear of the unknown. The undead.
Feeling suddenly chilled in spite of the fire, she folded her arms over her breasts. How could she be afraid of the very man she claimed to love? But I am not a man. His words echoed in her mind.
She glanced around the room. His chamber here was also furnished with dark wood. A thick dark blue comforter covered the bed. There was a large armoire, a small dresser, a table, a chair. And over the bed, a large painting reminiscent of the one in Alesandro's chamber at Blackbriar Hall. This, too, was a powerfully haunting piece. Had Alesandro posed for it? Eyes narrowed, she took a step closer. He must have posed for it, she mused, for the resemblance was far too strong to be mere coincidence. Instead of looking into a pool, the man in this painting was standing in a dark room gazing into a mirror. Again, instead of seeing his own reflection, a black wolf stared back at the man, a wolf with hungry eyes and fangs stained with blood. Were the paintings symbolic? Did the wolf represent Alesandro's dark side?
With a shake of her head, she turned to stare at the fire. Where was he?
The warmth of the flames made her drowsy, and she climbed onto his bed and closed her eyes…
The wolf ran though the night, his senses filled with sights and sounds unknown to mortals. He reveled in the feel of the earth beneath his feet—sensitive feet that felt every blade of grass, every rock, every twig. The wind filled his nostrils, carrying the scent of coming rain, trees, grass, the blood of another's kill. He ran on, caught up in the sheer joy of running, unfettered, through the dark.
A deer sprang from its hiding place, the scent of its fear arousing his instinct to give chase. He brought the animal down easily, stood over it, tongue lolling, fangs bared, blue eyes aflame with the lust for blood…
Analisa woke abruptly, a cry of panic erupting from her throat as she found herself staring up into the wolf's eyes.
" 'Lisa, what are you doing in here?"
She blinked, and blinked again. "Alesandro? Oh, Alesandro, please don't leave me again!" she cried, and threw her arms around his neck. "Please!"
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he drew her onto his lap. "Shh, 'Lisa, do not cry." The sight of her tears made him ache deep inside. His hand moved over her back. She was small and slender, as delicate as a flower.
She looked up at him through eyes swimming with tears. "I love you," she whispered.
" 'Lisa."
"Every time we…" She bit down on her lip, not knowing how to say what she wanted to tell him. "Every time we seem to get close, you go away from me."
He didn't deny it. How could he? But she was far too tempting for his peace of mind. Love and lust, hunger and desire, all warred within him, so closely interwoven it was difficult to separate one from the other.
"You do love me a little, don't you?" she asked shyly.
"You know I do."
"Tell me."
"I love you, Analisa Matthews. Never doubt it."
"Won't you kiss me, then?"
He stared at her, a silent battle raging within him as the man he had once been struggled with the monster he had become. But neither man nor monster could resist the invitation in her eyes, the temptation of her lips.
Muttering an oath, he cupped her head in one hand, his mouth slanting over hers. Warm. Sweet. Soft as velvet. He groaned low in his throat as he deepened the kiss, hoping on some deeper level that his intensity would frighten her, send her running from the room before it was too late. Instead, she snuggled against him, her arms lifting to twine around his neck. Her heat engulfed him, her scent intoxicated him, h
er lips… there were no words to describe their effect on him, and he drank from their sweetness like a man too long deprived of nourishment.
He kissed her until she was breathless and then, mustering all the self-control he possessed, he drew back, knowing that if he didn't stop now, he would never stop.
She stared at him, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes cloudy with passion. "Don't stop," she whispered, and leaning back, she drew him down until his body covered hers.
She moved beneath him and desire exploded through him. How long, he wondered, how long since he had made love to a woman?
He kissed her again, and yet again, his hands lightly caressing her, each touch filling him with both pleasure and guilt. How could he make love to her, defile her? How could he not?
And then, to his relief, the decision was no longer his to make. He could sense the dawn's approach, feel the promised heat of the rising sun, the sudden heaviness in his arms and legs.
One last kiss, and he drew back, sitting up.
She reached for him, but he stood, eluding her.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her gaze searching his.
He didn't answer. Instead, he swung her into his arms and carried her swiftly through the house to her room.
"What are you doing?" she asked. "Alesandro, answer me!"
"It's almost dawn," he said, depositing her on her bed. "I must go."
She wanted to argue, to scream her frustration, but one look at his face stilled her voice. He looked haunted, tortured.
"Where do you spend your days?" she asked, unable to restrain her curiosity any longer.
"You know where."
"Is there some reason why you must… must sleep there?"
"No."
"Then why do you not stay here?"
"I have never rested near the presence of others, or trusted anyone to know where I take my rest."
"But… I know."
"You are the only one. I must go."
"Tomorrow night," she said. "I'll see you then?"
He nodded once, curtly, started to turn away, then bent down and kissed her gently, tenderly. "Until then, cara mia," he whispered, his voice thick, and he was gone.
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