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Eric sighed, and took a seat in a claw-footed, brocade cushioned chair near the fireplace. Few coals glowed in this hearth. He really ought to kindle it. Should some nosy human manage to scale the gate and breach the security systems, they might well notice that smoke spiraled from the chimney, but no fire warmed the grate.
Reading his thoughts, Roland set his glass aside. “I’ll do that. You simply talk.”
Eric sighed again. Where to begin? “I came to know of a child, right after you left last time. A beautiful girl, with raven curls and cherub’s cheeks and eyes like glossy bits of coal.”
“One of the Chosen?” Roland sat forward.
“Yes. She was one of those rare humans with a slight psychic connection to the undead, although, like most, she was completely unaware of it. I’ve found that there are ways of detecting the Chosen, aside from our natural awareness of them, you know.”
Roland looked around from where he’d hunkered before the hearth. “Really?”
Eric nodded. “All those humans who can be transformed, those we call Chosen, share a common ancestor. Prince Vlad the Impaler.” He glanced sharply at Roland. “Was he the first?”
Roland shook his head. “I know your love of science, Eric, but some things are better left alone. Go on with your story.”
Eric felt a ripple of exasperation at Roland’s tight-lipped stance on the subject. He swallowed his irritation and continued. “They also share a rare blood antigen. We all had it, as humans. It’s known as Belladonna. Only those with both these unlikely traits can become vampires. They are the Chosen.”
“Doesn’t seem like an earth-shattering discovery to me, Eric. We’ve always been able to sense the Chosen ones, instinctively.”
“But other humans haven’t. Some of them have now discovered the same things I have. DPI knows about it. They can pinpoint Chosen humans, and then watch them, and wait for one of us to approach. I believe that is precisely what has happened with Tamara.”
“Perhaps you need to back up a bit, old friend,” Roland said gently.
Eric pushed one hand through his black hair, lifting it from his shoulders and clenching a fist in the tangles. “I couldn’t stay away from her, Roland. God help me, I tried, but I couldn’t. Something in her tugged at me. I used to look in on her as she slept. You should’ve seen her then. Sooty lashes on her rosy cheeks, lips like a small pink bow.” He looked up, feeling absurdly defensive. “I never meant her harm, you know. How could I? I adored the child.”
Roland frowned. “This should not trouble you. It happens all the time, this unseen bond between our kind and the Chosen. Many was the night I peered in upon you as a boy. Rarely to find you asleep, though. Usually, you were awake and teasing your poor sister.”
Eric absorbed that information with dawning understanding. “You never told me. I’d thought you only came to me when I was in danger.”
“I’m sorry we haven’t discussed this matter before, Eric. It simply never came up. You only saw me those times you were in danger. There was little time for discretion when a coach was about to flatten you, or when I pulled you spluttering from the Channel.”
“Then you felt the same connection to me that I felt for her?”
“I felt a connection, yes. An urge to protect. I can’t say it’s the same because I haven’t experienced what you felt for the child. But, Eric, many young ones over the centuries have had a vampire as a guardian and never even known it. After all, we don’t go to them to harm, or transform, or even make contact. Only to watch over, and protect.”
Eric’s shoulders slumped forward, so great was his relief. He shook his head once and resumed his story. “I woke one night to sense her spirit fading. She was slipping away so steadily I was barely able to get to her in time.” The same pain he’d felt then swept over him now, and his voice went lower. “I found her in hospital, her tiny face whiter than the sheets tucked around her. Her lips…they were blue. I overheard a doctor telling her parents that she’d lost too much blood to survive, and that her type was so rare no donors had been located. He told them to prepare themselves. She was dying, Roland.”
Roland swore softly.
“So you see my dilemma. A child I’d come to love lay dying, and I knew I alone had the power to save her.”
“You didn’t transform her! Not a small child, Eric. She’d be better dead than to exist as we must. Her young mind could never grasp—”
“I didn’t transform her. I probably couldn’t if I’d tried. She hadn’t enough blood left to mingle with mine. I saw another option, though. I simply opened my vein and—”
“She drank from you?”
Eric closed his eyes. “As if she were dying of thirst. I suppose, in a manner, she was. Her vitality began to return at once. I was ecstatic.”
“You had right to be.” Roland grinned now. “You saved the child. I’ve never heard of anything like this happening before, Eric, but apparently, it worked.” He paused, regarding Eric intensely. “It did work, did it not? The child lives?”
Eric nodded. “Before I left her bedside, Roland, she opened her eyes and looked at me, and I swear to you, I felt her probing my mind. When I turned to go she gripped my hand in her doll-sized one and she whispered my name. ‘Eric,’ she said. ‘Don’t go just yet. Don’t leave me.”’
“My God.” Roland sank back onto the settee, blinking as if he were thunderstruck. “Did you stay?”
“I couldn’t refuse her. I stayed the night at her bedside, though I had to hide on the window ledge every time someone entered the room. When they discovered the improvement in her, the place was a madhouse for a time. But they soon saw that she would be fine, and decided to let the poor child rest.”
“And then?”
Eric smiled softly. “I held her on my lap. She stayed awake, though she needed to rest, and insisted I invent story upon story to tell her. She made me sing to her, Roland. I’d never sung to anyone in my existence. Yet the whole time she was inside my mind, reading my every thought. I couldn’t believe the strength of the connection between us. It was stronger even than the one between you and me.”
Roland nodded. “Our blood only mixed. Yours was nearly pure in her small body. It’s no wonder…What happened?”
“Toward dawn she fell asleep, and I left her. I felt it would only confuse the sweet child to have contact with one of us. I took myself as far away as I could, severed all contact with her. I refused even to think of seeing her again, until now. I thought the mental bond would weaken with time and distance. But it hasn’t. I’ve only been back in the western hemisphere a few months, and she calls to me every night. Something happened to her parents after I’d left her, Roland. I don’t know what, but she ended up in the custody of Daniel St. Claire.”
“He’s DPI!” Roland shot to his feet, stunned.
“So is she,” Eric muttered, dropping his forehead into his hand.
“You cannot go to her, Eric. You mustn’t trust her, it could be your end.”
“I don’t trust her. As for going to her…I have no choice about that.”
Even while Tamara was arguing with Daniel and Curtis, he’d been on her mind. All day she had been unable to get that mysterious stranger—who didn’t seem a stranger at all—out of her thoughts. She’d only managed to cram him far to the back, to allow herself to concentrate on her work. Now that she was home, in the secure haven of her room, and now that she’d wakened from her after-work nap, she felt refreshed, energized and free to turn last night’s adventure over in her mind.
She paused and frowned. Since when did she wake refreshed? She usually woke trembling, breathless and afraid. Why was tonight different? She glanced out at the snow-spotted sky, and realized it was fully dark. She normally woke from her nightmare just at dusk. She struggled to remember. It seemed to her she had had the dream—or she’d begun to. She remembered the forest and the mists, the brambles and darkness. She remembered calling that elusive name….
And hearing an answer. Yes. From very far away she’d heard an answer; a calm, deep voice, full of comfort and strength, had promised to come to her. He’d told her to rest. She’d felt uncertain, until the music came. Soft strains she thought to be Mozart—something from Elvira Madigan—soothed her taut nerves.
She allowed a small smile. Maybe she was getting past this thing, whatever it was. The smile died when she wondered if that was true, or whether she was only exchanging one problem for another. The man from the ice rink filled her mind again. Marquand—the one Daniel insisted was a vampire. He’d kissed her and, much as she hated to admit it, she’d responded to that kiss with every cell in her body.
She rose slowly from her bed and tightened the single sash that held the red satin robe around her. She leaned over her dressing table and examined the bruised skin of her neck in the mirror. Her fingers touched the spot. She recalled the odd, swooning sensation she’d experienced when he’d sucked the skin between his teeth, and wondered at it.
Lack of sleep, and too much stress.
But he knew my name….
Simple enough to answer that one. He’d done a little research on the man who’d been harassing him. Daniel was her legal guardian. It was a matter of public record.
Then why did he seem so surprised when I told him that?
Good acting. He must have known. He just assumed I’d be the easiest, most effective way to get his point across.
She frowned at her reflection, not liking the look of disappointment she saw there. She tried to erase it. “He only wanted to scare Daniel into laying off, so he followed me to the rink for that little performance. Imagine him going so far as to actually…”
She pressed her palm to the mark on her throat, and turned from the mirror. She’d failed to convince herself that was all there had been to it. So many things about the man defied explanation. Why did he seem so familiar to her? How had he made her feel as if he were reading her thoughts? What about the way she’d seemed to hear what he said, when he hadn’t even spoken? And what about this…this longing?
Blood flooded her cheeks and a fist poked into her stomach. Desire. She recognized the feeling for what it was. Foolish though it was, Tamara was lusting after a man she didn’t know—a man she felt as if she’d known forever. She had to admit, at least to herself, that the man they called Marquand stirred reactions in her as no other man ever had.
As she stood she slowly became aware of a peculiar light-headedness stealing over her. Not dizziness, but rather a floating sensation, though her bare feet still connected her to the floor. A warm whirlwind stirred around her ankles, twisting up her legs, swishing the hem of the robe so the satin brushed over her calves.
She blinked slowly, pressing her palm to her forehead, waiting for the feeling to pass. The French doors blew open all at once, as if from a great gust, and the wind that surged through felt warm, heady…. It smelled faintly of bay rum.
Impossible. It’s twenty degrees out there.
Yet it lingered; the warmth and the scent. She felt a pull—a mental magnet she was powerless to resist. She faced the heated blast, even as it picked up force. The scarlet satin sailed behind her. It twisted around her legs like a twining serpent.
Like the mist in my dream.
Her hair billowed around her face. The robe’s sash snapped against her thighs. She moved toward the doors even as she told herself not to. She resisted, but the pull was stronger than her own will. Her feet scuffed over the soft carpet, then scraped over the cold, wet wood floor of the balcony. The whirlwind surrounded her, propelled her to the rail. She heard the doors slam behind her, and didn’t even turn. Her eyes probed the darkness below. Would this unseen hand pull her right over? She didn’t think she’d be able to stop it if it wanted to.
God, what is happening to me?
She resisted and the wind stiffened. The sash whipped loose and the robe blew back. No part of her went untouched by this tempest. Like invisible hands it swirled around her thighs, between them. Her breasts quivered. Her nipples stood erect and pulsing. She throbbed with heightened awareness, her flesh hypersensitive to the touch of the wind as it mercilessly stroked her body. Her heart raced, and before she could stop herself she’d let her head fall back, closed her eyes and moaned softly at the intensity of the sensations.
All at once it simply stopped. The warmth and the essence of bay rum lingered, but that intimate whirlwind died slowly, giving her control of her body once more. She didn’t know what it had been. A near breakdown? A mental lapse of some sort? Whatever, it was over.
Shaken, she pushed her hands through her hair, uncaring that her robe still hung gaping, having been driven down, baring one shoulder. She turned to go back inside.
He stood so close she nearly bumped into his massive chest. Her head came up fast and her breath caught in her throat. His black eyes seemed molten as they raked her. The mystery wind stirred gently. She could see silver glints behind those onyx eyes, and she felt their heat touch her as the wind had when his gaze moved slowly upward from her bare feet. She felt it scorching her as it lifted, over her legs. The hot gaze paused at the mound of black curls at the apex of her thighs and she thought she’d go up in flames. Finally it moved again, with deliberate slowness over her stomach. She commanded her arms to come to life—to pull her robe together. They did not respond. His eyes seemed to devour her breasts, and she knew her nipples stiffened under that heated stare. The man licked his lips and she very nearly groaned aloud. She closed her eyes, but they refused to stay that way. They opened again, against her will. They focused on his, though she didn’t want to see the lust in his eyes. Finally he looked at her throat. The bruise he’d put on her there seemed to come alive with his gaze. It tingled, and she felt the muscle beneath the skin twitch spasmodically. She saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. He closed his eyes briefly, and when they opened again they locked with hers, refusing to allow her to look away.
Her arms regained feeling and she jerked the robe together in a move that showed her anger. “You,” she whispered. She felt fear and confusion. More than that, she felt sheer joy to see him again. She refused to let him see it. “What are you doing here?”
4
“Waiting for you,” he said slowly, watching her.
Her mind rebelled against what that implied. “That’s ridiculous. How could you have known I’d come out here?”
The intensity of his gaze boring into her eyes was staggering. “I summoned you here, Tamara…just as you’ve summoned me nightly with your cries.”
Her brows drew together so far it hurt. She shook her head in denial as she searched his face. “You said that before. I still don’t know what you mean.”
“Tamara…” He lifted one hand in slow motion. He turned it gracefully at the wrist, and trailed the backs of his long fingers downward, over her face. She closed her eyes involuntarily at the pure rapture his touch evoked, but quickly forced them open again and took a step back. “Listen to your heart. It wants to tell you—”
“Then I do know you!” She felt as if there were a bird trapped in her stomach, flapping its wings desperately. Her eyes tugged at his as she tried to pull the answer from their endless depths. “I thought so before. Tell me when we met, Marquand. You seem so…familiar to me.” Familiar wasn’t the word that had been on her lips. He seemed precious to her—like someone she’d cherished once, someone she’d lost.
She saw the indecision in his eyes, and a glimmer that might have been pain, before he closed them and shook his head. “You will remember in time. I cannot force it on you—your mind is not yet ready. For now, though, I would ask that you simply trust me. I will not harm you, Tamara.”
His eyes opened again, and danced over her face. The way he looked at her made her feel as if he couldn’t do enough to appease him, as if he were trying to absorb her through his eyes. She stilled her responses to the feeling, and reminded herself of the game he’d played with her last night. Her shoulders squared. Her chin lifted.
“Your message was delivered, Marquand. Daniel knows about our meeting and your little…performance. I made sure he understood.” As she spoke her fingers touched the still-tender skin at her throat. “It probably won’t change anything, though. He doesn’t listen to me where you’re concerned, so you can see how ineffective this conversation will be. Leave me alone. If you have something to say to Daniel, say it to him in person.”
He listened…so well it seemed he heard her thoughts as well as her words. When she finished he tilted his head very slightly to one side. “You believe I kissed you only to make a point with St. Claire,” he stated, his words slow, carefully enunciated and laced with the barest hint of an accent that she had yet to place. “And the thought causes you pain.”
She released a clipped sigh and shook her head. “Why would it cause me pain? I don’t know you. I don’t care—”
“You felt drugged when I kissed you, sweet Tamara. You felt the ground tilt beneath you, and the sky above begin to spin. Your heart raced, your pulse roared in your temples. Your skin came to life with sensation. In those moments, as I held you, nothing else existed. No,” he said when she shook her head fast, and parted her lips to blurt angry denials. “No, don’t. I know what you felt, because I felt it, too. The touch of your hands, the taste of your mouth, the feel of your body pressed to mine sent me to the very edge of my control.”
She felt the blood rush into her face. Her cheeks burned hotter with his every word, and yet the familiar knot of longing formed in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to tell him he was crazy to believe that, but she couldn’t seem to form the words.
Again his hand rose to her face, and she didn’t pull away this time. She couldn’t say why, but she felt like crying. “Tamara, I swear to you, I did not know you were even acquainted with St. Claire until you said the words. I came to you because you begged me to do so. In your dreams you begged me to come.”
Her eyes had begun to drift closed as his hand stroked her cheek, but they flew wide now. She searched her brain frantically. How could he know about the dreams? She shook her head quickly. “No, that isn’t true.”
“What isn’t true? That you dream each night before dusk? That the dreams are testing your sanity, Tamara? That you cry out to someone in your sleep and cannot recall the name when you wake? Do not forget, you confided all of these things to me last night.”
Relief nearly made her limp. “That’s right, I did.” She had told him about her nightmares. That explained why he knew.
“The dream was different tonight, though,” he said softly.
Again her eyes widened. It had been different. He couldn’t know that. She hadn’t told him that. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “The name I call, I can’t remember what it is, but I know it isn’t Marquand. Why do you want to play with my mind?”
“I want only to ease your mind. It is true, you have never cried my surname. It is my first name you call in your sleep.” His hand had fallen from her face, to gently stroke her hair.
Breathlessly she whispered, “I don’t even know your first name. So it can’t be—”
“Yes, you do, Tamara.” His gaze took on a new dimension as he stared into her eyes. “You know my name. Say it.”
And she did. Just like that, she knew the name she’d cried over and over again in her recurring dream. She knew it as well as she knew her own. The shroud had been lifted from her memory, and she knew. But it couldn’t be him. She shook her head. “You aren’t—”
“I am.” Both his hands rested on her shoulders now, and he squeezed gently. She winced inwardly because he’d put pressure on the spots where Curt had held her last night, and the skin there had bruised. He immediately readjusted his grip on her, as if he’d sensed her discomfort at the instant she’d felt it. “Say it, Tamara.”
Choking on unshed tears, she croaked, “Eric?”
He nodded, his face relaxing in an approving half smile. “Yes. Eric. If you require confirmation, I’m certain your St. Claire can provide it.”
She looked at the floor, her relief so great the muscles of her neck relaxed. She didn’t need confirmation. She knew he told the truth. Why this intense relief, though? And why had she dreamed of him in the first place?
“You’ve begged me to come to you, Tamara, and I am here.” He caught her chin in gentle fingers, and lifted her face to him. “I’m here.”
She wanted to fling herself into his arms. She wanted to hold him desperately and beg him not to leave her ever again. But that was crazy. It was insane. She was insane. As tears spilled over and rolled slowly down her face, she shook her head. “This isn’t happening. It isn’t real. I’m hallucinating, or it’s just another dream. That’s all. It isn’t real.”
He pulled her against him suddenly, his arms going around her, his hands stroking her back and shoulders, lifting her hair, caressing her nape. “It is real, Tamara. I am real, and what you feel for me is real…more real, I think, than anything else in your life.” His head turned and she felt his lips pressed to her hair just above her temple…lower, to her cheekbone…lower, to the hollow of her cheek. His voice uneven, he spoke near her ear. “How did St. Claire manage to get custody of you? What happened to your family?”
She found herself relaxing against him, allowing his embrace to warm and comfort her. “I was six when I fell through a plate glass window,” she told him, her voice barely audible to her own ears. “I severed the arteries in both wrists and nearly bled to death. They called it a miracle when I pulled through, because they hadn’t been able to locate any donors with my blood type. Everyone expected me to die.” She drew a shuddering breath. In truth, she remembered very little about the accident, or her life to that point. Daniel had always insisted it was probably best for her not to try to remember. What was blocked out was blocked out for a reason, he’d said. If her mind didn’t think she could handle it, she probably couldn’t. After all, near-death experiences were traumatic, especially for a six-year-old child.
She released the air she’d taken in, drew a steadier breath and continued. “I was still hospitalized when my parents were taken with an extremely rare virulent infection. By the time the virus was isolated and identified, they…they’d both succumbed.”
“I am more sorry for that than I can tell you,” he said softly, his breath caressing her skin as he spoke. “I wish I had been there for you.”
“So do I,” she blurted before she had a chance to consider the words. She cleared her throat. “But Daniel was there. He worked part-time in the research lab at the hospital then. As soon as he heard about the miracle girl upstairs, he came to see me. After that he was there every day. He brought presents with every visit, and constantly went on about how he’d always wanted a little girl like me. By the time my parents got sick, Daniel and I were best friends. When they died he petitioned the courts for custody, and got it. I had no other close relatives. If it hadn’t been for Daniel, I would’ve been alone.”
She felt his swift inhalation, and the slight stiffening of his body. “I’m sorry.” The words were almost a moan, so much pain came through in them. His arms tightened around her and he rocked her slowly.
God, why did his touch feel like heaven? Why did the wide, hard chest beneath her head and the steel arms around her feel like the safest cocoon in all the world?
His voice only slightly more normal, he said, “It was Daniel who arranged for your employment at DPI, then.” She only nodded, moving her head minimally against his chest. “And what do you do there, Tamara? Do you work with St. Claire?”
