Dream Vampire (2 page)

“Sit, you shall, but on a proper surface. You have two choices. You may tell me where you live so I can deliver you there, or you will come home with me. Which do you choose?”

She tried to form words, but couldn’t. Why wasn’t her voice working? Was she having a stroke? Why did this gorgeous man make her so nervous?

When she didn’t offer anything intelligible, he seemed to make the decision for her. “Fine. My home, then. Off we go.”

Still carrying her, he turned, kicked the gate open with his foot and walked them up the cracked sidewalk leading to the porch of the abandoned mansion.

As soon as she saw where he was taking her, she tried to force her muscles to obey her commands to move, but they weren’t listening. Fear overwhelmed her and she made whatever sounds she could while being propelled through the doorway into the huge house’s entryway. She was more afraid of the strange way her body was reacting than of the handsome stranger’s intentions. After all, her dagger was in her pocket.

“There is no need to be afraid, beautiful lady. I am simply taking you to a more comfortable place where you may collect yourself. You may use the telephone to call for assistance, if you wish. The house is old, but I do have all the modern amenities.”

He sounds so old-fashioned.

He nudged open a set of ornate, etched-glass doors which led into a magnificently decorated area, then flicked the light switch on the wall, sending a soft, golden color flooding through the room. A lovely fire crackled in the fireplace. She was stunned that the decrepit outer appearance hid such treasure inside. She’d originally thought the architecture of this house was the most fascinating she’d ever seen, what with its Dracula-castle towers and creepy gargoyles perched on every corner. But since Stephen’s death, the place was cursed for her.

He deposited her on a comfortable sofa, added another small pillow underneath her head, and untied his cape, letting it drop to the floor. He retrieved a foot stool to sit on. “Are you feeling better now?”

She didn’t know what to make of the entire situation. She’d apparently been standing in front of this man’s house, having an imaginary sexual experience that lasted long enough to chill her to the bone and cause her teeth to chatter. The mysterious man was now taking care of her, and she didn’t know which one of her instincts to listen to: run or stare at his amazing lips. At least the fog in her head was clearing.

“Yes, thank you. I’m so embarrassed. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. What time is it, really?”

He pointed to a clock on the wall, which read ten past one. She couldn’t believe her eyes. He’d been telling the truth. She had lost time.

He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it, his soft lips lingering a couple of seconds longer than necessary. “I am a poor host. I haven’t even given you my name or offered you refreshment. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Michael Grayson, owner of this ancient pile of bricks and stones. And you are Alana Fairfax, vampire author extraordinaire.

Her anxiety level rose along with the pitch of her voice. “How do you know who I am? I never told you my name.” She scooted as far away on the couch as she could. “What’s going on here?” If he kept looking at her with those amazing blue eyes, she’d melt into a puddle of hormones and then she’d never be able to get herself out of this embarrassing mess.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he gave a slow blink of his dark eyelashes. “One reason I know your name is because your photo is on the back of your books, and I’m a fan. I seem to be intrigued by anything to do with vampires. Which is very odd, and quite self-centered.”

A fan?

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m glad you enjoyed the books I wrote. I love vampires, too. What did you mean it’s self-centered for you to be interested in vampires?”

He laughed, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “I hope you meant what you said about loving vampires, because I happen to be one.”

She laughed, appreciating his sense of humor, and pointed to his ruffled shirt. “Oh? You mean your costume. You’re dressed as a vampire for a masquerade party?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking. I tend to gravitate towards the clothing I wore years ago, and since I’m a vampire, and these are my clothes, I suppose you could say I’m dressed as a vampire.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she just waited for the punchline.

He leaned in closer to her. “I have a story to tell you. Are you willing to listen?”

Something about him was unnerving, yet so appealing. Almost magnetic. Familiar. She had to fight the urge to touch his hair. “What kind of story?”

“A story about you and me.” He wet his lips with his tongue, which drew her attention to his mouth and sent her thoughts spinning in erotic directions.

She laughed nervously. “You and me? Is this going to be a story with a happy ending?”

Suddenly serious, he said, “I hope so. Why do you think you became interested in writing about vampires?”

The change of subject was jarring and she paused for a moment, trying to figure out where the conversation was going. “I don’t remember ever
no
t being interested in vampires. From my earliest childhood memories. I used to have dreams about a tall, handsome vampire who’d sweep into my bedroom and take me on marvelous adventures. I wrote about him in one form or another in all my books.”

“Yes. I recognize him. Those weren’t dreams, Alana. That was me.”

This was getting ridiculous. Unquestionably, he was a crazed fan who’d read about her background online. She sat up, put her feet on the floor and started to rise from the couch. “I feel much better now and I really appreciate you taking up your valuable time to look after me, but I need to go. I’m only a couple of blocks from home, so I won’t even need to call a cab. Thanks again, Mr. Grayson. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

He chuckled and gently grasped her wrist. “I’ve put you off now, haven’t I? You’re thinking I’m a madman or maybe an obsessed fan? Well, since you already think I’m insane, I guess I’ll just press on and tell you the whole story. Then I’m going to make love to you.”

Her mouth fell open. She knew she definitely should run screaming from the room, but she was so strangely attracted to Michael. Even if he was a loon, something about his chemistry meshed with hers. It had been so long since she found anyone attractive. For some odd reason, she simply didn’t want to leave. Would it be so awful of her to have a one-night-stand? Despite everything, at that moment she wanted him to touch her. Wanted his body on hers. Wanted to feel him thrusting inside her. Warm juices flooded her underwear and her nipples hardened. He had the strangest effect on her.

He gazed at her intently, his blue eyes darkening. “Vampires can read thoughts, you know.” He angled toward her, pushing her back onto the couch with his forward motion. His warm, soft lips captured hers and his tongue slid into her mouth, exploring. He cupped her breast with his palm and she moaned, embarrassed to be so transparently needy. She broke the kiss and turned her head away.

He whispered in her ear, “It is your need that allowed you to finally come to me. Don’t wish it away, Alana.”

She closed her eyes, hoping she’d open them and find that this bizarre discussion had been only a bad dream. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Something must be wrong with me. I shouldn’t be so attracted to someone I just met.”

“Ah, you needn’t concern yourself about that. We bonded long ago. You invited me to sit with you in your room when you were a child. I’ve entered your dreams. You’ve been in love with me most of your life.”

“What?” She opened her eyes, cocked her brows. “Could you possibly
be
more arrogant? I’m not in love with you. I’m a happily married woman.”

“You’re not married, Alana. Your husband is dead. But our connection happened long before you met Stephen.”

Startled, she went cold with fear. “How... how do you know about Stephen?” Then a horrible thought occurred to her, and she pushed Michael away and leaped up from the couch. “Did you have anything to do with Stephen being killed right in front of your house? Did you hurt him?” Could this gorgeous man really be a killer? A mad stalker who had some twisted idea about being in love with her? Did he murder her husband? The idea took her breath away and filled her with a terrible sense of dread.

He stood, gazing at her with soft, compassionate eyes, and shook his head. “I had nothing to do with harming Stephen.” His lips spread into a sweet smile. “You were a delightful, innocent child when we met. You had the most fertile imagination I’d ever encountered in all my five hundred years of existence. It was a pleasure sharing dreams and magical fantasies with you. I’ve been on the periphery of your life ever since. I was happy for you when you met and married Stephen. You deserved to be happy. You still deserve that.”

Without being aware of what she was doing, she’d been stepping backwards toward the fireplace.

“Stop!” Michael demanded.

Startled by his harsh tone, she froze, but slid her hand into the pocket of her cloak, fingering the dagger.

He walked slowly toward her and pointed to the fireplace. He tugged her forward a few inches. “There’s no screen covering the fire. Your cloak was close to the flame. You would’ve gotten burned, and I’m much too fond of you to allow that.”

She looked down at the bottom of her cloak and her shoulders sagged. She had been within igniting distance. If she didn’t get her wits about her, she could wind up dead like Stephen. Or held hostage by a vampire-fan maniac.

Michael chuckled and drew her attention again. He was standing very close. So close she could slide her hands down his chest—or somewhere.

“I’m not a vampire-fan maniac, although I freely admit to being a vampire romance fan. Some of those books have been the inspiration for my most adventurous—and most amorous—exploits.” He smiled his glorious smile. “And vice versa.”

He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, pressing his erection against her stomach. “I know you are attracted to me, as I am to you. Why not let your desires dictate your actions instead of your fear?”

She hesitated a couple of seconds, allowing herself to be distracted by her body’s reaction to the evidence of his obvious arousal, then pushed away, “You know nothing about me—or my fear. I insist that you let me leave. Now.” She turned and headed for the front door.

“I saw the men who killed Stephen,” he said, softly.

His words stopped her dead in her tracks. All the blood drained from her head. Her legs refused to hold her, and her muscles gave way. For the second time in one night, Michael swooped in and gathered her in his arms before she fell.

With unusual speed, he carried her over to the couch again, arranged her comfortably and adjusted the pillows behind her head. He stood looking down at her, his silky hair shining in the soft light.

She stared at him, eyes wide, fear and anger warring inside her. Sitting up, she shrieked, “What do you mean, you saw them? You saw them because you were with them? You really did kill Stephen? And you’re going to kill me now, too?” Surely he was crazy.

He compressed his lips into a firm line for a few seconds before speaking. “Of course not. Let me get you some wine, or perhaps water, then I’ll tell you everything. I shouldn’t have blurted it out in that thoughtless way. I do apologize.”

She watched him glide through the room and enter a door which, judging by the sounds she heard, must have led to the kitchen. He came back only a moment later carrying a bottle of wine, a pitcher of water and a crystal goblet on a tray, which he set on a nearby table.

Pointing to the tray, he asked, smiling, “Which do you prefer?”

She glared at him, rising to her feet. Moving to stand in front of him, she spoke with exaggerated calmness, “I don’t want any of your damn wine or anything else. I want you to tell me what you meant by saying you saw the men who killed Stephen. If you really did, why didn’t you go to the police? Why didn’t you help? Why didn’t you stop them?”

“I would have stopped them, had I arrived in time.”

“Were you there, on the street? I don’t remember seeing you.”

“No, I’d just returned from many months abroad, and was going through the main level of the house, removing the sheets from the furniture, when I heard a commotion outside. I went to the window, and saw you, bent over someone’s body, screaming and crying. I didn’t realize immediately it was your husband, Stephen. The three men took off running down the street. When you left to get help, I came out to see what I could do for the injured man. He was seconds away from death—his heartbeat faint. I knew he wouldn’t be alive by the time you returned with assistance. When I realized it was your husband, and that he was going to die, I told him—in his mind—that I would take some of his blood so I could carry his essence and his memories. It was the least I could do for you. He thanked me. He was a fine man.”

She backed away from Michael, her horrified eyes wide and her mouth open. Fisting her hands at her sides, she yelled, “That’s a ridiculous story. You’re just repeating things you’ve read in vampire books. How could you make up such a terrible thing, when you’ve seen how painful my husband’s death was for me? You heartless bastard!”

He reclaimed the distance between them and grasped her upper arms, pulling her close, lifting her to her toes, making escape impossible. “I am far from heartless, when it comes to you. I will finish the story and you will listen. After I drank some of Stephen’s blood...”

She flailed at him, struggling wildly in a futile attempt to get away, then began to sob. “Please stop. Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making up these horrible things?”

He gathered her against his chest, and held firm—one hand on the side of her head, forcing her cheek against the silk of his shirt—the other curled around her waist. As her crying subsided, she became aware that something seemed—off. She concentrated for a few seconds and noticed she could feel her own heart beating, but she couldn’t hear or feel his. Closing her eyes, she really listened, trying to detect a rhythm in his chest that she could use to debunk his fantasy about being a vampire, but there was nothing. She opened her eyes as he began speaking again, the resonance of his voice vibrating through the bones of her face.