Her grandfather? Had he known about Kaiden? Of course he did. She remembered the night she had crept down to the lab and heard the two of them talking. Granda had been experimenting on Kaiden, she was certain. It explained so much.
“By myself or my grandfather,” she repeated, And then, as an afterthought, she added, “Or Sam.” She nodded once. “That should cover it,” she said, and resumed her research.
Every country in the world had legends about vampires. In the old days, unexplained sickness and death were often attributed to the work of the Undead. A plague in the village? Must be a vampire on the loose. Did your cow suddenly dry up? Could be a vampire in the neighborhood.
Sunlight would destroy a vampire. Which explained why Kaiden mowed his yard in the dark. But didn’t explain how he had been able to do it during the day only weeks ago.
Other ways to destroy a vampire included lopping off its head or driving a wooden stake into its heart. The best way was to employ both methods, then burn the body and scatter the ashes.
Sky shuddered as she imagined chopping off Kaiden’s head. Had people really done that? Her stomach clenched just thinking about it.
If you couldn’t bring yourself to chop off the creature’s head, it was believed that driving a stake through its heart and into the ground would keep the thing from rising again. Burying it facedown was also recommended to keep the Undead in the ground where they belonged, the belief being that if they tried to dig their way out, they would only dig themselves deeper into the earth.
She skimmed several other Web sites, but most of them said basically the same thing. Vampires were evil, soulless creatures, parasites who survived on the blood of humans. Until Bram Stoker published his now-famous book, vampires had been pretty much off the radar. The story of Dracula had revived people’s interest in the paranormal and the occult. Then Bela Lugosi came along and portrayed the infamous count in a movie. Anne Rice wrote a bestseller. Frank Langella played Dracula. His sexy portrayal on the Broadway stage had women swooning in their seats. Sky had seen the movie version. It took very little imagination to picture Kaiden Thorne in the role. No acting required.
Kaiden was a vampire. He had been a vampire when she went trick-or-treating at his house. He had been a vampire when she drew all those silly hearts on the cover of her notebook. He had been a vampire when he kissed her ... and when she kissed him back.
Pushing away from the desk, she went into the living room and peeked out the front window. There were no lights showing in the house across the street. What was he doing? What was he going to do with her?
The thought made her shiver. She was pretty sure that he didn’t go around telling people what he was. She hadn’t seen any mobs with pitchforks lately, but if there were vampires, there might still be vampire hunters. Did vampires dispose of mortals who inadvertently discovered their secret? Or did they turn them into monsters like themselves? She supposed it was wishful thinking to hope he would just go away.
Lordy, what should she do? Call the police? She shook her head. What could the cops do? What to do, what to do? Search the phone book for Vampire Hunters R Us? Stock up on holy water? Carry a wooden stake and a hammer in her back pocket?
She crossed her arms over her breasts and took several deep breaths.
“Calm down, Sky, you’re getting hysterical.” But she couldn’t help it. It all seemed so Stephen King-ish. Ordinary girl meets monster in small town.
It was late, she thought, yawning. She should go to bed. “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen tonight,” she muttered.
Smothering another yawn, she went into the living room, then settled down on the sofa and snuggled under a soft, furry blanket.
She would watch TV tonight.
She could sleep in the morning.
Like the vampire across the street.
Chapter 13
Girard sat on the sofa in his hotel room, a cup of coffee cooling on the table beside him while he thumbed through the battered notebook he had compiled over the years. It held the names of all known existing vampires, vampire slayers, and vampire hangouts.
As might be expected, big cities had the highest concentration of vampires and vampire clubs. It was easier for the monsters to hide in towns with large populations, easier to hunt in big cities. There were more transients in big towns, which meant fewer people who would be missed. Another draw was that in cities like L.A. and New York, people tended to ignore those who were a trifle bizarre in their behavior or appearance.
Girard grunted with satisfaction when he found a Goth club only a few miles away. He knew he was taking a chance, approaching a vampire and asking for the Dark Gift, but what the hell, life was a crap shoot. If his father had been a doctor instead of a slayer, Girard had no doubt that he would have learned how to wield a scalpel instead of a wooden stake and a mallet.
Going into the bedroom, he changed into a pair of black slacks and a long-sleeved black sweater. He slicked back his hair, swearing softly as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He had been a handsome man in his youth, his skin smooth, his hair thick and black, his shoulders broad and unbowed. Now, his hair was thin and gray, his skin as wrinkled as the hide of an elephant, his shoulders stooped, his eyes pale and sunken. McNamara’s potion hadn’t restored his youth, but it had restored his vigor, taken the gray from his hair, smoothed his skin, put the starch back in his posture.
Dammit! Becoming a vampire wouldn’t restore his youth, either, but it would give him immortality and the strength of twenty men.
A last glance in the mirror and he went to the minibar. He poured himself a good stiff drink, downed it in a single swallow before grabbing his keys and heading out the door.
The Scarlet Cabaret was exactly what it looked like—a hangout for Goths and vampires, real or make-believe. Girard thought of all the alternative lifestyles of the last fifty years—the rockers of the fifties, the long-haired, antiwar, peace-loving hippies of the late sixties, the punk movement in the seventies. None had lasted as long as the Goths. The Goth crowd loved all things dark and Victorian.
Girard paused at the club’s entrance, weighing the wisdom of what he was about to do. Chances were good that there was at least one dyed-in-the-wool vampire inside. He hoped it was a young one who had never heard of Girard Desmarais.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he paced away from the door. There was no discounting the danger of what he was contemplating. A young vampire could inadvertently kill him while attempting to turn him. An old one who suspected who he was would likely kill him out of hand. There was, after all, no love lost between vampires and slayers.
Putting his fears behind him, Girard walked quickly back to the entrance, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Lit only by candles, the large room was very nearly dark. The air reeked of perfume, perspiration, and weed. As was to be expected, black was the dominant color of choice for décor, clothing, and makeup.
Girard was aware of several covert glances as he moved toward the long, narrow bar and ordered a shot of whiskey, neat. Men and women at the bar edged away from him as if he were a leper. He wasn’t offended. He was new here and these people were suspicious of strangers, and rightly so.
He remained at the bar, quietly observing the patrons. As far as he could tell, only mortals were present. He ordered another drink, and then another.
Girard was about to call it a night when the atmosphere in the room changed. He noticed it first as a sort of tingle that skittered over his skin, raising the hair along the back of his neck. It was evident that the others in the club felt it, too. There was an instant when all movement came to an abrupt halt, when everyone’s attention swung toward the entrance.
The vampire was female. Even in the subdued lighting, Girard could see that her hair was dark brown, her eyes a brilliant green against the alabaster of her skin. She drifted into the room, her steps so light he had to look twice to see if her feet were touch
ing the floor. She wore black, of course, the silky stretch pants clinging to her lower body like a second skin, the black shirt a whisper of silk covering just enough for modesty’s sake.
Girard was an old man, but not so old he couldn’t appreciate a beautiful woman. Or imagine taking her to bed, which was certainly what every other male in the room was fantasizing about.
He was startled when she moved purposefully to his side. His heart seemed to skip a beat as she gazed at him through the veil of her lashes. A faint smile played over her crimson lips.
Girard had never considered himself to be a coward, but the intensity of her regard brought a cold sweat to his brow. “What do you want?” he asked brusquely.
“You were looking for a vampire, were you not?” she asked in a deep, velvety voice.
“How ...” He cleared his throat. “How did you know that?”
She shrugged, as if the answer should be obvious. “I can give you what you want.” Her eyes flashed red as she placed the tip of one well-manicured fingernail over the rapidly beating pulse in the hollow of his throat. “Are you ready?”
He swallowed hard. Was he ready? He closed his eyes while his mind reviewed his options: grow weaker, older, and die, or live forever with a vampire’s strength and preternatural power? There really was no choice.
He opened his eyes, his gaze meeting hers. “I’m ready.”
A smile that could only be called wicked played across her lips as she took his hand in hers and led him out of the club.
Before he could ask where they were going, they were there.
Girard shook his head. “What happened? Where are we?”
“My place, of course. Do you like it?”
“What’s not to like?” he muttered as he glanced around. The room could only be described as opulent. The walls were white, the furniture deep red velvet, the tables black lacquer. A big-screen TV hung from the wall over a low, white marble fireplace. Black and red candles of every shape and size adorned the mantel, the tables, a bookshelf. His feet made no sound in the plush deep gray carpet as she led him out of the room and down a narrow hallway into a large bedroom that was just as sumptuous as the living room.
The round bed in the middle of the floor was topped by a thick black quilt and six or seven pink and white throw pillows in varying shapes and sizes. Candles were plentiful in this room, too, their yellow flames casting the room in a soft, golden glow. A chaise lounge covered in black velvet occupied one corner.
She dropped onto it, then patted the place beside her. “Come, Girard.”
His feet felt weighted with lead as he crossed the thick burgundy carpet toward her. This was it. The end of one life and the beginning of another. Unless ... He shook the thought from his mind. Surely, if she was going to kill him, she wouldn’t have brought him to her home. Would she?
He was trembling uncontrollably when he sat beside her.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she murmured, stroking his cheek. “When you rise tomorrow night, you will be strong again, virile, vital. Isn’t that what you want?”
He nodded, suddenly incapable of speech as her eyes went red.
She smiled, revealing a hint of fang and then, with the speed of a striking cobra, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her fangs in his throat.
He cried out once, the instinct to survive overwhelming all other thoughts until, suddenly, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. The world faded away as he grew weaker, weightless. His eyelids closed, seemingly of their own accord, and he imagined he was swimming in a tranquil sea of bright crimson.
And then everything went black.
Chapter 14
Sky woke abruptly. Jackknifing into a sitting position, she glanced around the living room, relieved to see that it was morning. She had survived the night. She was safe until sundown.
Safe from Kaiden Thorne.
Scrambling to her feet, she grabbed her cell phone, called the airport, and booked a flight to Chicago. When that was done, she hurried up the stairs, threw a few things into a suitcase, changed her clothes, and drove to the airport.
Two hours later, she was airborne.
With a sigh, she closed her eyes and forced herself to relax. She had never cared for flying, but right now she was grateful for anything that would put a lot of miles between herself and Kaiden as quickly as possible.
She came awake to the sound of the flight attendant announcing that the weather in Chicago was a chilly forty-two degrees.
Feeling as though she was in a fog, Sky collected her luggage, stowed it in the trunk of her rental car, and left the airport.
And all the while, the words Kaiden is a vampire played through the corridors of her mind, over and over again.
It felt strange, climbing the stairs to her apartment. So much had changed in such a short time. Her view of the world and her place in it had shifted radically. If there were vampires, she shuddered to think of what else might be out there.
She nodded to old Mrs. Cranston as they passed each other on the stairs. Mrs. Cranston was an odd duck if ever there was one. Summer or winter, she wore men’s tennis shoes, broomstick skirts, brightly colored blouses, a long brown coat, and a floppy-brimmed straw hat adorned with a big purple flower.
Sky took a deep breath when she reached the landing. Hers was the only apartment on the third floor. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. The living room looked just as she had left it. Her blue jacket lay on the floor beside her snow boots, the heavy coat she had decided to leave behind was folded over the back of a chair. Her plants had withered; the furniture was covered with a fine layer of dust.
She dropped her suitcase beside the sofa and went into the kitchen. The words Kaiden is a vampire echoed through her mind while she watered the plants, dusted the furniture, vacuumed the rugs.
Moving like a zombie, she went into the bedroom and began taking her clothes from the closet and laying them out on the bed.
Kaiden is a vampire.
The words continued to circle through her mind like a vulture over a fresh kill while she folded her clothes. She stuffed the essentials in a suitcase and put the rest of her things aside to be packed into boxes later. She cleaned out the bathroom shelves and drawers.
In the living room, she dropped onto the sofa and stared blankly at the floor. Maybe she shouldn’t go back to California. Maybe she should sell Granda’s house and stay here. She was pretty sure Mr. Laskey would let her have her old job back.
Kaiden is a vampire.
What, exactly, did that mean as far as she was concerned? And how did she really feel about it, deep down inside? The only word that came to mind was scared: totally, completely freaked out. It was her Halloween nightmare come true. Vampires existed. And if they existed, what about all the other monsters that Sam and Granda had assured her were just in fables and old wives’ tales? An odd question for a woman her age and yet, learning that Kaiden was a vampire had turned her world upside down. Maybe the sky wasn’t blue. Maybe the world wasn’t round. Maybe good didn’t always triumph over evil.
Maybe she was going out of her mind.
She sat there for a long time, trying to decide what to do. She had a good job in Chicago, assuming Mr. Laskey would take her back. She had recently bought new drapes for her apartment. Her best friend was here. Harry was here, although that wasn’t necessarily a reason to stay.
She blew out a sigh of exasperation. Maybe she should just go back to California. You couldn’t beat the weather there. She loved that you could go to the beach and the mountains in the same day, that you could wear shorts all year long. If she stayed in Chicago, she would have to sell Granda’s house and that just seemed wrong. All of her best memories were there.
And Kaiden was there. She told herself that was a bad thing, but the truth was, she missed him. Even knowing what he was didn’t change that. Worse, she thought she might be seriously in love with him. Definitely a reason to stay in Chicago because, try as she might, she couldn??
?t see any way for her and Kaiden to have a life together.
Frustrated because she couldn’t decide what to do, she picked up her phone and ordered a pizza, a Caesar salad, and a soft drink for dinner, then went into the bathroom and took a nice, long shower, hoping it would clear her mind.
She was standing there, eyes closed, hot water flowing over her shoulders and down her back, when she heard Kaiden’s voice, softly entreating her to come home.
Expecting to see him standing behind her, she whirled around, her feet slipping on the wet tile as she tried to cover her nakedness with her hands.
Heart pounding with apprehension, she glanced around the room. It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t actually there, that the voice she had heard had come from inside her head. And how scary was that?
Skylynn, come home, he had said. Let’s talk about it.
Talk about it? Yeah, right. What was there to say? Hi, Kaiden, what’s your favorite blood type? Tasted anybody good lately?
She lifted a hand to her throat as a horrible thought occurred to her. What if he had taken her blood?
Hands trembling, she turned off the taps, stepped out of the shower, and reached for her robe. In the bedroom, she sank down on the edge of the bed. Had Kaiden taken her blood? Was that why she’d had that awful dream about dying? Why she had dreamed that Kaiden was a vampire? Had she known, subconsciously, that he was feeding on her?
The very idea made her grimace with revulsion. How could he drink blood? What happened to the people he drank from? Did he kill them? Why hadn’t he killed her?
She cradled her head in her hands. If she didn’t think of something else soon, she was certain to have nightmares tonight.
It took her several minutes to realize someone was ringing the doorbell. Rising, she hurried into the living room. Kaiden had her so upset, she had forgotten all about the pizza she’d ordered earlier.
Calling, “Hold on, I’m coming!” she pulled a twenty from her wallet, opened the door, and felt all the blood drain from her face.