A Whisper Of Eternity (14 page)

Dominic stalked the night, his anger as dark and thick as the clouds that scudded overhead.

Someone had dared to hunt in his territory, killing not once but three times. Even though there were a dozen other vampires in the village, he had claimed this piece of ground as his own over a century ago. He had been the first vampire to take up residence in Sea Cliff; therefore, it was his. He allowed others to dwell there but only if they agreed to abide by his law. He had told Tracy that the vampires had no democracy and no ruler and that was true, to a point. No one vampire ruled over the others. But there were a few vampires like himself, ancient vampires filled with power, who had staked out parts of the world as their own. This tiny village on the coast of California was his and he would not allow any other immortal to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere he had created.

He moved swiftly through the dark streets, his preternatural senses reaching out, searching through the night for the one who did not belong.

Each vampire resident was accounted for: Zarabeth was already at rest, her hunger sated. Nicholas, Marcus, Landau, and Magdalena were huddled together at The Catacombs, debating whether it was more fun to take their prey by surprise or seduction. Franco was hunting in the city. Laslo and Turk, the two youngest of his kind, were playing billiards in a back alley pool hall. The other four were wandering the night, oblivious to the rain. Try as he might, he could find no hint of Kitana’s presence. Had she left the village?

He scoured the village and the beach from one end to the other and back again, unable to find any trace of an unknown vampire.

Pensive, he walked the dark streets that led home. Even though he had been unable to find evidence of an intruder, something was not right.

He jerked his head up as the scent of fresh blood was borne to him on the night wind.

Quickening his steps, he turned down a narrow alley that ran behind a small delicatessen. Blurred by a curtain of rain, he saw two shapes struggling in the darkness. The scent of blood grew stronger.

As he approached, one of the figures vanished from his sight. Was it Kitana?

The second figure, a mortal female, dropped to the ground. Blood oozed from her throat.

Dominic frowned thoughtfully. To his knowledge, Kitana was the only vampire in the area who had the ability to shield her presence from him. A law unto herself, she would not feel bound to abide by any rules he set forth.

But there was little time to worry about that now. He knelt beside the woman, the scent of her life’s blood strong in his nostrils, awakening his hunger even though he had fed earlier. His fangs pricked his tongue. He licked his lips as he stared at the unconscious woman. Her pulse was slow and erratic, her skin a sickly gray.

He swallowed hard, his hunger at war with his conscience. She was almost past saving. Should he let her go?

He lowered his head, his tongue flicking across her throat to taste a single crimson drop. Warmth flowed through him. What harm to take the rest when she was at death’s door?

He lowered his head again, mouth watering in anticipation.

And then he thought of Tracy. He had told her he had not killed for many years. She would not approve of what he was about to do.

He reared back, his gaze narrowed as he looked at the woman lying on the ground. He had only moments to decide. She was perhaps thirty, a little on the plump side. Her hair was light brown, plastered to her head by the rain. The gold band on her left hand gleamed dully in the moonlight. He swore softly. She was married. No doubt she had children.

With a low growl, he tore open his wrist and held it to her lips. “Drink!”

It was a command, not a request.

Unable to resist the compulsion in his voice, the woman opened her mouth and swallowed.

Almost immediately, her color returned, her pulse grew stronger.

As strength returned, she clutched his wrist to her mouth with both hands and she drank as though ravenous.

With a
cry,
Dominic wrenched his arm away from her.

Only then did she open her eyes. She stared up at him, her expression bewildered.

Dominic stared deep into her eyes. “You will not remember any of this,” he said, his voice low, hypnotic. “You will not remember me, or the one who attacked you. Is that clear?”

She nodded, the movement sluggish.

Rising, he pulled the woman to her feet. “Go home.”

She blinked up at him, then turned and walked down the alley, her steps slow and unsteady. She didn’t look back.

With a thought, Dominic arrived in Tracy’s bedroom.

She was in bed, asleep. Her long honey-colored hair was spread out on the pillow, a splash of gold against the pale blue pillowcase.

He gazed down at her, all else forgotten as he admired the gentle curves of her figure, the perfection of her countenance, the way her lashes lay on her cheeks, the length of a long, shapely leg. He had followed her for centuries and now, at last, she was almost his. This time, he thought, this time he would have her.

 

 

Tracy woke slowly, uncertain what had awakened her. The rain, perhaps? And then, as her mind cleared, she realized she wasn’t alone in the room. Panic swept through her and then, sensing his presence, her fear receded.

“Dominic?”

“I am here.”

She sat up. “Is something wrong? You left so abruptly earlier.”

“There is nothing wrong, my best beloved one. I wanted only to see your face before I take my rest.”

Small frissons of pleasure moved through her at his words. “Oh. Aren’t you going to kiss me good night?”

“Most assuredly.” Sitting down on the edge of her bed, he drew her into his arms.

She snuggled against him, lifting her face for his kiss. He smelled of rain and cologne and . . . she looked up at him. “Where have you been?”

“Out.”

“Were you . . . feeding?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You smell like . . . like blood.”

“I found a woman earlier. She had been attacked by a vampire and was near death.”

“Oh, no!”

“I revived her and sent her home.”

“Will she be all right?”

He nodded.

“You said no one hunts in Sea Cliff and yet three people have been killed. How could that happen?”

“There is an interloper in the village. I saw him briefly.” Dominic frowned. “He must be very old, to mask his presence from me so effectively.”

“Maybe he’s gone now.”

“Perhaps.” He stroked her hair lightly. “Let us not speak of him now.”

“You said you were outside. How come you’re not wet?”

“Because I do not wish to be.”

“Must be nice.”

“Indeed. Come to me, my best beloved one, now, tonight. Let me show you the world as only a vampire can see it.”

The thought made her stomach churn. “No. I can’t. I’m not ready.” She looked up at him, her expression dark and confused. “Maybe I’ll never be ready. Will you find me again if we’re parted in this life?”

“I will always find you,
querida,
in this life, or any other.”

Once, the thought had filled her with alarm; now, it was strangely comforting.

Dominic kissed her cheeks, her brow. “I must go. Dawn approaches.” He kissed her again, his lips claiming hers, hot and hungry, and then he gazed deep into her eyes.

“Dream of me, my best beloved one,” he murmured. “Dream of our life together.” And then, as he had so many times before, he vanished from her sight.

A moment later, the first faint rays of golden sunlight pierced the darkness.

When Tracy woke later that morning, she wasn’t sure if Dominic had actually been in her room in the last hour before dawn, or if she had dreamed it.

Rising, she showered and dressed, then went downstairs to put the coffee on. Feeling suddenly hungry and domestic, she mixed batter for waffles and fried a couple of strips of bacon. When that was done, she added a cup full of strawberries to her plate, poured a glass of orange juice, and for the first time since she had moved into the house, she sat down to a proper breakfast.

Savoring a bite of bacon, she thought of Dominic. Imagine, having to sustain oneself with nothing but a warm liquid diet for over two thousand years. Eating was one of life’s pleasures. She couldn’t imagine giving it up, and yet . . . what a marvel, never to have to worry about growing old and feeble, to always be young and vital and in perfect health, to stay forever as she was now, in the prime of her life.

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thoughts building in her mind, but to no avail. What a blessing it would be, never to be tired or sick or have to worry about gaining weight, never having to worry about losing your sight or your hearing. Dominic said vampires saw with greater depth and clarity than mortals. What would that mean to her work?

Rising, she cleared the table, washed the dishes, and put them away. And always, in the back of her mind, was the question,
what if?

Going upstairs, she slipped into her smock and began to work on another seascape for Mr. Petersen. She watched her brush move over the canvas, saw the picture take shape, but she worked mechanically, her mind seemingly stuck in the groove of,
what if?

What if she let Dominic make her a vampire?

She thought of all the things she would be giving up—food, sunlight, vacations with her family, a normal life, children.

She thought of what she would gain—a love that would last forever, a life that would never end, the ability to travel great distances in the blink of an eye, eternal youth and vigor.

Would it be a fair trade?

But, what if, after it was done, she was sorry? There was no going back, no way to return to mortality if she suddenly decided she didn’t want to be immortal any longer.

What would her parents say if they found out their daughter was a vampire?

Dominic made the life sound appealing, but in books and movies, there was no happiness for vampires. They were constantly being hunted, destroyed in truly horrible ways. Gruesome images of Van Helsing driving a stake through the heart of a vampire, or cutting off its head, or setting one on fire, sprang to the forefront of her mind.

Dominic said mortals were unaware that there were vampires in their midst. But what if he was wrong? What if even now there were men in the world who were hunting vampires, destroying them where they slept?

She stared at the painting she had created. To be a vampire was to live a life against nature. Would her soul be forever damned if she accepted the Dark Gift?

Dropping her brush into ajar of cleaning fluid, she put her paints away, stripped off her smock, and left the house.

She practically flew down the stairs to the beach. It was a beautiful day. Everything looked fresh and clean after last night’s rain. Standing there, with the sand warm beneath her feet, she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun.

She didn’t know how long she had been standing there when Bryan’s voice sounded behind her.

“Hey, sun bunny!”

Opening her eyes, she turned to see him striding toward her. “Hi, Bry.”

“Hi. How’s it going?”

“Fine. I’m taking a break.”

He nodded. “I’m glad you decided to take it here. Wanna come up to the tower and have a Coke?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Side by side, they walked down the beach.

Tracy was keenly aware of the damp sand squishing between her toes, of the heat of the sun shining down on her head and back, of the smell of the ocean, the cry of the gulls soaring overhead. A sailboat drifted off shore. A half-dozen teenage boys were surfing, showing off for the bikini-clad girls who were pretending to be indifferent but were watching every move the boys made. An elderly man with a metal detector was walking toward them, his gaze intent upon the ground. A pair of middle-aged women sat beneath a huge umbrella; one was reading a book, the other was working a crossword puzzle. Further down the beach, a couple of kids were making sand castles while their mothers looked on.

Ordinary people doing ordinary things. Was she ready to give all that up?

“Tracy?” Bryan grabbed her arm when she started past the tower. “Hey, Tracy, we’re here.”

“What? Oh, sorry. I guess my mind wandered.”

“You okay? You look . . . well, like you’re gonna cry.”

She forced a smile. “No, I’m fine.”

He regarded her for a moment, then scrambled up the ladder. When he reached the top, he turned and waited for her, offering her his hand when she reached the top.

Stepping into the tower, he pulled a pair of sodas out of a cooler and handed her one.

“Thanks.” She popped the top and took a long drink, then sat down.

Bryan sat beside her.

“So, have you made any rescues lately?” Tracy asked.

“Three today.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Some old guy who swam out too far. A teenage girl who got caught in a riptide and nearly took me down with her. And a woman who panicked when the waves knocked her down. Seems she couldn’t swim.”

Tracy lifted her can to him in a salute. “My hero.”

Bryan’s cheeks turned pink. “Yeah, well . . .” He shrugged. “It’s not brain surgery, but it’s still saving lives.”

“Life is precious, isn’t it? Would you want to live forever, if you could?”

“Sure, if I could stay young. Who wouldn’t?”

“Would you really? Part of what makes life precious is the knowledge that it doesn’t last forever, that it could be over in the blink of an eye. Every day, every minute, is a gift. It should never be wasted, never be perverted. We’re here for such a short time, we should cherish every moment we have.”

He stared at her. “Geez, what brought that on?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking lately, about life and death and what it means.”

“Hey, that’s heavy.”

She looked at him and grinned. “Too heavy for such a lovely day. I think I’m going for a swim.”

“Be careful out there. Lots of riptides today.”

“I will. Thanks for the Coke.”

He took the can from her hand. “Can I see you later tonight?”

“I’m not sure. Call me?”

“Will do.”

Impulsively, she kissed him on the cheek, then scrambled down the ladder.

She was already barefooted. Clad in shorts and a T-shirt, she waded out into the ocean and began to swim. The water was cool, invigorating. She swam for a while, then turned onto her back and floated. Overhead, the sky was a bright, clear blue, as deep and wide as all eternity.

Refusing to think of anything beyond the pleasure of the moment, she let herself drift in the arms of the sea. But, in spite of her determination, troublesome thoughts crept into her mind.

She would never be able to swim on a summer day if she accepted the Dark Gift.

Dominic had not seen the sun in over two thousand years.

He would never be a father. He would never hold a precious new life in his arms, hear his child’s laughter, or dry its tears.

And neither would she, if she accepted the Dark Gift.

Pushing such disturbing thoughts from her mind, she struck out for shore.

On the beach, she shook the water from her hair. She waved to Bryan, then trotted toward the steps that led toward home.

 

 

Dominic rose before the setting of the sun. Here, deep within the earth, he could rise before night spread her cloak over the land, though until the sun set, his powers were weak. Still, it afforded him an extra hour or two of awareness, of life. Even after all these years, he dreaded the approach of the Dark Sleep, hated the sudden lethargy that engulfed him, knowing he would be trapped in oblivion until sunset. And yet, since he had found Tracy, his sleep was not completely dreamless. He often dreamed of her, sometimes seeing her as she had been in ages long past, sometimes seeing her as she was now, and sometimes, best of all, dreaming that she had accepted the Dark Gift, that she shared the endless night with him.

He sensed her now in the house above, knew she was preparing her evening meal. It had been so long since he had tasted food that was not warm and liquid. He had a sudden, unexpected yearning for a slice of dark brown bread and butter and a glass of goat’s milk. What would happen should he attempt to eat solid food after such a long time? Would he be able to swallow it? Would it stay on his stomach, or would he vomit it up again?

What would Tracy say if he appeared in her kitchen and asked to join her at her table?

The thought no sooner crossed his mind than he was there.

“Oh!” Tracy pressed one hand over her pounding heart as he appeared before her. “I wish you wouldn’t do that!”

“Forgive me. I will come in the door next time.”

“Thank you.”

Dominic closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his nostrils filling with aromas he knew only from memory.

“Are you all right?”

He opened his eyes to find Tracy staring at him, her brow furrowed.

“Would you mind a guest for dinner?”

“Who?” Her eyes widened. “You?”

He nodded.

“But . . . how? I thought you could only drink . . . you know.”

He shrugged. “I have a sudden craving for food.”

“Really? That’s odd, isn’t it?”

“Yes, extremely.”

With a shake of her head, she pulled another plate from the cupboard and set it on the table, along with a glass and silverware. “Sit down.”

He did so, his gaze watching her avidly as she pulled pans and dishes from the oven and the cupboard.

“We’re having chicken, baked potatoes, and asparagus,” she told him. “What would you like to drink?”

“Goat’s milk.”

She bit back a smile. “I’m afraid I’m fresh out. How about just regular milk, from a cow.”

“All right.”

He watched her fill a glass with white liquid. Lifting it, he took a sip, and grimaced. He didn’t remember goat’s milk as being so cold, but of course there had been no refrigeration when he was a young man. He took another sip, then set the glass aside and stared at the silverware. He had never used a fork, only a knife and a spoon. But he had watched countless people eat, had pretended to do so on occasion.

Taking a resolute breath, he cut a piece of chicken, speared it with the fork, and put it in his mouth. He chewed carefully, his mouth filling with myriad tastes—the juice of the chicken, the meat and skin, the herbs she had cooked it with. He tasted the potato and the asparagus, conscious of Tracy’s curious gaze watching his every move. He had almost forgotten how to chew food, so accustomed was he to a liquid diet.

“How is it?” she asked.

He swallowed the last bite of chicken, felt his insides begin to burn. And churn. “Very good,” he said, and bolted from the table.

Outside, in the cover of darkness, he fell to his knees and retched until he was hollow inside.

And then he went hunting a meal fit for a vampire.

 

 

Tracy let out a sigh as she rose and began clearing the table. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. His stomach had rebelled against ingesting solid food. Even if he hadn’t been a vampire, his body probably couldn’t have adjusted from a liquid diet to a solid one so quickly.

Poor Dominic. Again, she wondered what it would be like to be a vampire.

And then, while standing at the sink rinsing the dishes, she was smitten with an idea. A strange idea, to be sure. What if she pretended to be a vampire for a week or two? She wouldn’t drink blood, of course. Instead, she would drink some kind of liquid protein and pretend it was blood. She wouldn’t eat or drink anything else. She grinned. She would wear nothing but black. She would sleep days—in a bed, not a coffin, thank you. She would paint, shop, and clean house at night.

She frowned. How did vampires go to the post office? She could buy stamps at the market, but what about mailing packages? If she were truly a vampire, how would she mail her paintings to Mr. Petersen? How had Dominic managed it?

She wouldn’t worry about that now. She could get by for one week. It was only pretend, after all.

As she put the dishes in the cupboard, she wondered what Dominic would think when she told him.