Embrace the Night (20 page)

"And Maurice?"

"No harm will come to the boy, but he is delving into things which do not concern him. If he persists, he will live to regret it."

Sara nodded, her mouth suddenly dry.

He felt her confusion, her fear, and it sickened him to know he was the cause. Now he truly hated what he was, hated it because it was keeping him from the one thing he wanted more than his next breath.

"Sara…" Whispering her name, he leaned across the table and reached for her hand. "I wish there was no need for secrets between us. I wish, with all my heart, that we could go on as before, but I fear that is impossible now."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm leaving Paris tomorrow."

"Leaving? Why? Where are you going?"

"It's for the best. I've kept you at my side long enough. I want you to live your own life. Marry. Have children."

"No…"

"You have so much ahead of you,
cara
. I want you to live your life to the fullest, to experience all that life has to offer."

"Why are you doing this?" She was weeping now. "I said I was sorry."

Gabriel glanced around the cafe, aware of the curious looks coming their way. He tossed a few coins on the table to pay for Sara's meal and the wine, draped her cape over her shoulders, and led her from the cafe.

She sobbed quietly on the short walk to her apartment.

"Gabriel…"

He silenced her words with a kiss, then drew her into his arms and held her close until her tears subsided. He removed her cape and gloves, and then, with a gentleness that bordered on awe, he undressed her and carried her to bed. He quickly shed his own garments, then slid in beside her and gathered her into his arms.

"Please don't leave," she murmured.

"Don't think of it now," he chided softly, and claimed her lips in a kiss that was filled with a bittersweet passion.

He made love to her all the night long, his hands memorizing the incredible smoothness of her skin, the silky texture of her hair, the tantalizing taste of her lips. He buried his face in her neck and drew in a deep breath, drowning in the sweet scent of her warm, supple flesh.

His hands adored her, his voice caressed her, surrounded her, until she could think of nothing but Gabriel—the wonder of his body, the magic in his hands, the sweet caring in his voice as he whispered her name.

And then his flesh merged with hers and they were one being. Two hearts beating as one, two souls joined together. He buried himself deep within her, sheathing himself in her warmth, burying his darkness in the light of her touch. Enveloped in her warmth and humanity, he let himself forget, for the moment, that he was in reality a demon disguised as a man.

He made love to her thoroughly and completely, until she fell asleep, sated and exhausted, in his arms.

He held her until he felt the stealthy approach of the dawn, and then he kissed her one last time.

Rising, he dressed quickly, then wrote her a short note, telling her that he had left the city while she slept, begging her to go on with her life.

He left the note where she would be sure to find it, and then he pressed a gentle kiss to her brow.

"Farewell,
cara
," he murmured.

And knew at that moment that if he still had a heart, it would be breaking.

Shrouded in the shadows, Maurice watched Gabriel leave Sara Jayne's apartment and then, as he had before, he followed the man to the deserted cottage.

At last, the time had come. He had spent most of the night preparing for what he intended to see accomplished before the sun set on the morrow.

He prayed that he had the courage to see it through.

He hoped that Sara Jayne would forgive him.

Hidden in the darkness, he watched Gabriel unlock the door to the house and step inside.

And then he waited.

Not until the sun was well above the horizon did he approach the dwelling, pulling the small wagon he had hidden in the trees the day before.

He walked around the house, peering in each window, assuring himself that Gabriel was nowhere to be seen. And then he lifted the first cross from the back of the wagon.

Two hours later, the cottage was surrounded by wooden crosses. They were placed against the walls of the house, in front of the windows, on the roof, over the chimney. Holy water, stolen from several church fonts, had been brushed around the door frame and each window, and then he had poured a narrow stream of holy water around the cottage itself. As an extra measure, he had strewn garlic around the foundation. He only hoped he had correctly interpreted the signs, and that Gabriel was indeed a vampire, and not some other form of night creature.

Maurice shuddered. As a young man, he had enjoyed reading novels about vampires:
Wake Not the Dead
by Tieck,
The Pale Faced Lady
by Alexandre Dumas,
La Morte Amoureuse
by Gautier.

In literature, the preferred method of destroying a vampire was a wooden stake through the heart, but, at least for the moment, Maurice lacked the courage to face Gabriel in his lair. According to legend, a vampire could not cross an unbroken circle made of holy water. If he could not leave the house, he could not feed. If he could not feed, he would weaken. And then Maurice would break down the cellar door and do what had to be done.

He walked around the house three times, studying his handiwork, wondering how long it would take for Gabriel to weaken to the point that he would no longer be a threat.

She read the note four times. Her cheeks were wet with tears, the paper stained with her sorrow, when she finally put the note aside.

He was gone.

"… for your own good," the note said, "I want you to get on with your life. Marry Maurice. Have children…"

But she didn't want to marry Maurice, didn't want to have his children. She wanted Gabriel. She had wanted him ever since the first night he had come to her in the orphanage. He had been her solace, her hope, her joy. He had made her feel beautiful.

And now he was gone.

She was tempted to go to the cottage, to see for herself, but she couldn't face the pain that would bring.

Maurice came to call on her later that afternoon, his brown eyes warm with caring as he invited her to lunch.

"Not today, Maurice," she said. "I want to take a nap before I go to rehearsal."

"All right. Shall I come by for you later?"

Sara shrugged. "If you wish."

"Till later, then," he said. He gave her hand a squeeze, planted a kiss on her cheek, and took his leave.

Sara stared at the closed door, overwhelmed by a sense of emptiness, of loss.

She was going to leave Paris. There were too many memories here. Perhaps she'd go to Italy… but no, Gabriel had a villa there. Spain, then? She shook her head. Gabriel owned a castle in Salamanca. Back home, to England? But, no, there were too many memories there, as well.

She sighed in exasperation. She might just as well stay where she was, she thought bitterly. She'd take his memory with her wherever she went.

Maybe she
would
marry Maurice. He loved her, adored her, would never leave her. But she would never love him as he deserved.

Her steps were like lead as she went into her bedroom and crawled into bed. Sleep was the answer, she mused as she crawled under the covers. Sleep was forgetfulness.

He woke with the setting sun, his decision to leave Paris weighing heavily upon him. This morning, before sleep enveloped him, he had decided to go home to Italy, to go to ground and sleep for a hundred years. Perhaps, after such a long rest, he would be able to forget her.

With a low oath, he acknowledged it for the lie it was. He would never forget her. Not if he survived another 350 years.

Rising, he changed his clothes, his mind and his heart warring within him. Go. Stay.

Crossing the room, he unlocked the door, his nose wrinkling against the overpowering smell of… garlic?

He took the stairs two at a time, then came to an abrupt halt as his gaze settled on the large wooden cross visible through the kitchen window.

He walked from room to room, his anger growing with each step. In the bedroom, he placed his hand on the sill where Maurice had broken the window. And quickly jerked it away. Muttering an oath, he glanced at his hand. The skin was burned as though he'd touched a living flame.

Holy water! Crosses. Garlic.

Maurice.

Like a lion in a cage, he prowled from room to room. He was trapped within this place, caught like a fish in a net by that pretty-faced boy.

He loosed his rage in a long, anguished cry. And then, refusing to believe what he knew to be true, he put his hand on the door latch and wrenched it open. But in spite of his determination, he could not step through the door, nor bear to face the heavy wooden cross which burned his eyes with a greater intensity than the sun at noon-day.

With a cry of frustration, he slammed the door, his anger rising with his hunger.

Muttering curses in a dozen languages, he paced the floor until the rising sun drove him below.

Three weeks passed, and he was in agony. Hunger clawed at him, relentless, merciless in its intensity. And as the hunger grew, so did his weakness, until he could barely climb out of the shallow wooden box where he took his rest. Rest! He had not truly rested in the last seven days. His skin was shrinking, stretched taut over his frame. His eyes burned. And always, the hunger screamed through him, clawing at his vitals until he thought he would go mad with the pain.

Three weeks without nourishment, save for the blood of one small rat that had foolishly crossed his path. The thought filled him with revulsion, yet he would gladly have drained the blood from a dozen rodents if he but had the chance…

A low moan rose in his parched throat. Had he truly sunk so low? He stared at his hands. With their shrunken flesh, the fingers looked almost skeletal.

He cursed himself for being foolish enough to stay in the cottage after Maurice had learned the location of his lair. He cursed himself for not disposing of the troublesome young man when he had the chance, for not summoning Delacroix to his side when he still had the power to do so.

Sara…

On legs that would barely support him, he walked slowly from one end of the cellar to the other.

Sara, Sara.

If he could only see her one last time…

Sara…

She woke with a start, the sound of Gabriel's voice ringing in her ears. He was in pain, crying her name.

Had it been a dream? She sat up, her gaze sweeping the room. Was he here? But that was impossible. He'd left town weeks ago.

"Gabriel?"

Sara… Sara…

He needed her. In minutes, she was dressed and out the door. She fretted as she waited for a hack, tapped her foot impatiently as the carriage made its way toward the cottage. He was there. She knew it, just as she knew that he needed her.

She told the driver to stop the carriage before the cottage came in sight. She thrust the fare into his hand and began to run, her feet flying over the ground.

She was light-headed and out of breath by the time she reached her destination. Eyes wide, she stared at the cottage. There were wooden crosses everywhere, even on the roof. The heavy odor of garlic assailed her nostrils.

She tried the door, but it was locked. Lifting her skirts, she went around to the back of the house and climbed through the broken window.

"Gabriel?"

Go away!

"Gabriel, where are you?"

Go
away
!

Taking a deep, calming breath, she went into the kitchen and down the stairs that led to the cellar door. She was surprised to find the door unlocked, and more surprised by the sudden and total terror that engulfed her as she lifted the latch and crossed the threshold into darkness so thick it was almost palpable.

"Gabriel?" Her voice was soft and low and shaky.

"Go away!"

She peered into the darkness, trying to see him. "Gabriel, where are you?"

"Sara, for the love of heaven, get out of here while you can!"

"I'm not leaving. You called me, and I'm here."

Tears stung his eyes. She had heard his anguished cries, and she had come to him.

He pressed his forehead against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes, striving for control.

"Please, Sara, go away."

"What's wrong, Gabriel? Won't you tell me?"

"I'm… not well."

"I'll help you. Only tell me what to do."

"No." He placed his hands on the wall on either side of his head, his fingernails raking the cold stones. "Please… go. Please… I don't want to hurt you."

"Tell me what you need, and I'll get it for you."

"What I need?" His voice was shrill, edged with pain and despair. "What I need! Ah, Sara," he murmured brokenly. "If you only knew."

"I'll get it, Gabriel, I promise, whatever it is. Only tell me."

She took another step into the room. Her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness and she could see him now, a black shape huddled against the opposite wall.

She took another step, and he whirled away, his cloak swirling around him as he stumbled toward the far corner.

"Gabriel, my angel, please let me help you."

"Angel… angel…" He laughed then, a horrible sound that bordered on hysteria. "Devil, you mean. Go away from me, my sweet Sara. Go away before I destroy you as I destroyed Rosalia."

"I'm not leaving," Sara said firmly. And before she could change her mind, before her imagination could frighten her away, she crossed the room and gathered him into her arms.

She felt his whole body tense at her touch.

"Gabriel…"

For a moment, he closed his eyes, absorbing her nearness, her warmth. Ah, how he had craved her touch, yearned to hold her, to be held by her. He shuddered as the hunger rose up within him, hot and swift, the need, the pain, more than he could bear.

The heat of her hands penetrated his clothing. He could hear the soft whisper of blood stirring through her veins, smell it, taste it…