A Whisper Of Eternity (6 page)

Ah, for those nights when he had hunted at Kitana’s side. They had swept through the tiny villages and hamlets of the Old Country like an invisible plague, glutting themselves on the warm, rich crimson that fell on the tongue like the finest of wines, smooth and intoxicating.

They had hunted throughout the cities and towns of England and France, Italy and Spain, sweeping through docks and dark alleyways, charming their way into fancy balls and masquerades, always leaving death behind. Kitana. That she had looked at him twice had been a miracle to him. Her body was as supple and slender as a willow tree, her dusky skin smooth and unblemished, her hair a cloud of thick auburn silk, and her lips . . . ah, her lips were like wild, sweet honey. She had fascinated him from the moment they met, captivating him, enchanting him, until he was hopelessly caught in the web of her supernatural power, and happy to have it so. When she promised him a way to stay forever young, forever at her side, he had agreed without a second thought. The loss of the sun had seemed a small price to pay for eternity in her arms.

The transformation had been nothing like he expected. When he had seen her in her true form, her eyes red with hunger, her fangs like white ice, he had tried to run, but he was no match for her preternatural speed and she had caught him easily. She had held him in her arms, her eyes glowing like hellfire as she bent over his neck. He had struggled in her embrace, but she had held him effortlessly, his strength like that of a newborn babe compared to her supernatural power.

Surprisingly, there had been no pain as she sank her fangs into his throat, only warm, sensual pleasure. When she drew back, he had whimpered like a child taken from its mother’s breast and begged her not to stop. Instead, she had opened a gash in her own wrist and pressed it to his lips.

You must drink now
.

Mesmerized by her gaze, he had opened his mouth and swallowed the thick, red fluid, felt it burn a path down his throat, felt it spread through his body like liquid fire. He had grasped her wrist and sucked greedily, hissed at her when she tore her arm free.

He remembered little else of that night. She had carried him to her lair, let him spend the day in death-like sleep at her side.

When next he opened his eyes, the land lay shrouded in darkness and he was a full-fledged vampire.

Tracy woke slowly, the memory of last night’s dream still vivid in her mind. She had been a slave in a grand house in ancient Rome. Her master had been a senator, his wife a stern woman with no compassion for those beneath her. It had seemed so real, not like a dream at all. She had felt the cold tiles beneath her feet, smelled the scents of food and wine at the marketplace, felt the sting of the whip on her flesh. Her name had been Nysa back then.

She whispered the name aloud, shivering because it sounded so familiar on her tongue. She had dreamed of the days Nysa had spent avoiding the wrath of her mistress, the nights when she had used her wiles to avoid the advances of her master. In many ways, it had been a good life. Unlike the poor citizens of Rome, she’d had a roof over her head, enough food to eat, a soft bed to sleep in. Still, it was hard to be grateful when she had no life of her own, when her every moment was spent in servitude to a cruel mistress.

She had been in her early twenties when her master decided to breed her to one of the other house slaves.

Tracy shuddered with the memory. When she refused to cooperate, she had been beaten by her mistress. She had run away that night.

It had been a man who looked very much like Dominic who had found her cowering in the ruins of an old burned-out barn. Could it have been Dominic? His name had been the same. He had taken her to his home and given her shelter. Her new owner had kept strange hours, never rising until after sunset, always disappearing before the dawn. He made no demands on her save that she be in the house when he arrived. He provided her with the best food the city had to offer, though she never saw him eat. He clothed her in silks and fine linen, treated her as the mistress of his house rather than a runaway slave. And when he took her in his arms, she offered no resistance.

Days became weeks, weeks became months, the months became a year. And in that year, she convinced herself that there was nothing odd about him, that he simply preferred to sleep during the day and pursue his life in the evening.

It was during that year that she fell madly, desperately, in love with him.

It was during that year that she discovered what he was....

Feeling a sudden chill, Tracy wrapped her arms around her middle. Was it possible that she was truly dreaming about past lives? Was reincarnation a reality even though she didn’t believe in it? And if her dreams were truly recollections of the past surfacing from the depths of her subconscious memory, if they were indeed true, then it stood to reason that she had known Dominic before, and that he really was a . . .

Swallowing, she forced the word past her lips. “Vampire.”

Oh, but that was impossible, almost as impossible as the notion that she had known him in countless lives before.

The ringing of the doorbell interrupted her reverie. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she grabbed her robe and hurried downstairs.

She opened the door and exclaimed, “Oh, my!” at the sight that met her eyes. Her front porch was covered with red roses. In vases. In baskets. In boxes. And amid the flowers were stuffed animals and balloons, all bearing notes that said the same thing.
“My heart beats only to see you again.”

She picked a rose from one of the vases and inhaled the heady fragrance. “Oh, Dominic,” she murmured. “This must have cost you a fortune.”

It took several trips to carry it all into the house. When she was finished, her living room, bedroom, and kitchen looked like a florist shop. There were cute little stuffed bears and bunnies and puppies on every chair and on her bed. Vases and drinking glasses and pitchers were filled with roses that were beautiful and smelled divine.

She found herself smiling all through the day, whether she was painting a new seascape, watering the grass, or fixing dinner . . . she frowned as she tossed the salad. She had never seen Dominic eat, never seen him drink anything other than an occasional glass of wine. She never saw him during the day. . . .

With a shake of her head, she pulled a bottle of bleu cheese dressing out of the fridge. Just because she hadn’t seen him in the daytime and hadn’t seen him eat didn’t mean he was a vampire. Vampires were ugly, disgusting creatures with long fangs and hairy hands and foul breath who skulked in the shadows of the night preying on the innocent and unsuspecting, and . . .

“Stop it!”

Leaving the salad on the counter, untouched, she went upstairs to look at the painting she had done of him, noticing, for the first time, that it was no longer facing the wall, as she had left it. Who had turned it around? Why hadn’t she noticed that before?

She stared at the painting, thinking again that it was the best, most lifelike portrait that she had ever done. His hair gleamed inky black in the light of the moon, his eyes seemed to follow her around the room; she could almost hear her name on his lips.

Turning the painting toward the wall, she left the room, and closed the door behind her.

 

 

He was at her door with the setting of the sun. He filled his eyes with the sight of her, his need to make her his almost overpowering. He had followed her through the centuries, never able to make her fully his, waiting impatiently for her soul to be born again, searching, always searching, until at last he found her again.

But this time she had found him. Had some deep inner need she was unaware of led her to this place, this house? To him? Had her soul been searching for him even as he had been searching for her?

Her smile looked strained when she opened the door. “Hi, Dominic.”

He frowned, aware of her nervousness. “Is something wrong?”

“No, why?” She stepped back, allowing him entrance to the house. Closing the door, she went into the living room, very much aware of the man behind her.

A faint smile curved his lips when they entered the living room. “I see you got the flowers.”

She laughed softly. “Really, Dominic, you didn’t have to send so many. They must love you at the flower shop.”

“You should always be surrounded by roses,” he said, moving toward her.

“Who are you?” The words slipped out, unbidden.

“You know who I am.”

“
What
are you?”

“Search your mind, your heart. You know what I am.”

“It’s impossible. I don’t believe it.”

“The painting you did of me is most accurate.”

She shook her head in denial. “No.”

“I have followed you through the centuries. Always I have found you. But this time, you found me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This house. Why did you buy it?”

She frowned. “Why? Because I liked it, of course. It was just what I was looking for. What other reason could there be?”

“I live below this house.”

“Below it? Like in the basement?”

“No. There is another house beneath this one.”

“And you live there?”

He nodded.

“That doesn’t mean you’re a vampire.”

“You know it is true.”

“No.” She didn’t believe in vampires or ghosts or reincarnation. “If you’re a vampire, prove it.”

She had no sooner spoken the words than the air around her grew thick, charged with energy, like the buildup before a storm. Dominic’s dark eyes blazed with an unholy light, his lips drew back to reveal his fangs. Preternatural power danced over her skin, raising the hair along her arms and at her nape.

“Now,” he said, his voice smooth and silky. “Now do you believe?”

A wordless cry erupted from her lips, and then she fainted.

When she came to, she was lying on the sofa. Dominic stood at the window, looking out at the night. She noted that he was wearing black again, and that it suited him perfectly. She wondered if he owned a long ebony cloak, or if that was just a Hollywood affectation. Her heart pounded in her ears as she stared at his broad back. She had asked for proof, and she’d gotten it, in spades!

As though sensing she had regained consciousness, he turned slowly to face her. “Now,” he repeated, his voice low and mesmerizing. “Now do you believe?”

She did, but she refused to admit it, even to herself. If she accepted the fact that he was a vampire, she would have to accept all of it, and she just couldn’t. To do so would shake the foundations of everything she believed in. There had to be some other explanation. If there wasn’t, if he was indeed a vampire, as he said, then everything else he had told her was probably true, as well. She had been a queen, a slave, a dancer, a teacher, a doctor, and all the other things he had said. Her dreams were not really dreams at all, but actual memories of past lives. Her past lives. She had been Jocelyn and Kiya and Annie Williams and Nysa and who knew how many others. If she accepted it, if she admitted it was true, it would change her whole life, change everything she believed in.

Dominic took a step toward her, paused when she recoiled.

“Are you afraid of me now?” he asked quietly.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“I will not hurt you, my best beloved one. I have searched for you, followed you, throughout time.”

“Why, when I’ve rejected you at every turn?”

“Do you not know that we are destined to be together,
querida
? Our souls were mated long ago.”

“You want to make me a vampire.”

“Only if it is your wish. Many times in the past I have offered you the Dark Gift to save your life.”

“And I’ve always refused.” That much was obvious, she thought, since she was still mortal.

“Yes.”

“And still you persist.”

“I will have you for my own, my best beloved one, if I have to follow you into eternity.”

“I don’t want to be a vampire.”

“Then I will love you as you are. We will be together in this life, as we have been together in your past lives. I will be at your side when death claims you, and I will find you when your soul is born again.”

Talking of her own death sent a shiver down Tracy’s spine. She had always been afraid of dying. Was it because she had experienced it so many times? Or because so many of her deaths had been violent or premature?

“How long have you been a vampire?”

“Two thousand and twenty-three years.”

She stared at him in amazement. What would it be like to live for more than two thousand years? Never to grow old? Never to be sick? Never to see the sun . . . to watch your friends grow old and die while you stayed forever the same.

“It must be a lonely life,” she remarked.

“It can be.”

“Have you been lonely?”

His gaze rested gently on her face. “Only when I could not find you.”

His words, low and from the heart, obliterated whatever fear of him remained, though she was still wary. He was, after all, a vampire, and whatever memories of him she might have from past lives, she was no longer Nysa or Kiya or any of the others. She was Tracy Warner now, a twenty-first-century woman with a life and a career of her own. If, as he said, she had loved him in the past, it seemed she would have to learn to love him all over again in the present. And what if she didn’t? She stared up at him, thinking he looked like an immense dark cloud looming over her. He didn’t seem like the type of man who would just let her go if she decided she didn’t want him around.

“Do we start over every time we meet?” It was one of a thousand questions churning in her mind.

He sat down in the chair across from her. “Yes.”

“And do I always die in your arms?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever . . . drunk my blood?”

He shook his head. “No.”

She saw the yearning in his eyes as he said, “I have been tempted, many times, but, no.”

“Why not? Isn’t that what vampires do?”

“You have never wished for it.”

“Why haven’t you just taken it by force?” She lifted a hand to her throat, probing softly. “Or when I’m asleep?”

“Is that what you want?” He didn’t move, didn’t alter his tone or expression, yet something she didn’t comprehend changed in the air between them. Though he remained where he was, it seemed as if he was leaning toward her, waiting.

“No!”

“You would find it most pleasant.”

“Never mind. I want to see where you live.”

If he thought her request odd at such a moment, he didn’t say so. Instead, he held out his hand. “Come.”

He led her out the door that led to the backyard. Turning right, she followed him down a narrow path that seemed to end in a tangle of trees and shrubs that she had planned to clear away when she found the time. Just beyond the shrubbery was a narrow iron door that, as far as she could see, had no handle or latch of any kind.

Dominic put his hand on the door and it swung open on well-oiled hinges. Beyond the door, she saw nothing but blackness.

Dominic crossed the threshold, pulling her along behind him.

Tracy jerked her hand from his. “I’m not going down there. It’s dark.”

A wave of his hand brought several candles to life.

The passageway led steadily downward, not leveling out until they came to another door. Dominic opened this one as he had the other, revealing a large, square, windowless room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were of stone. A large fireplace took up most of one wall, accounting for the house’s second chimney. Bookshelves lined another wall, a third was covered with drawings of a woman. Stepping farther into the room, Tracy studied the pictures. She was not surprised at what she saw. A queen in a long gown; a dancer clad in a provocative costume reminiscent of Salome; a schoolmarm clad in a long-sleeved, high-necked dress; a young woman wearing a veil and flowing robes.

Looking at the drawings made her uncomfortable and she turned away. The room was sparsely furnished. An easy chair faced the hearth. There was a large ottoman on one side of the chair, a small table on the other. A sofa stood at a right angle to the chair.