Embrace the Night (22 page)

"No!" The word was torn from his throat. "I would never bring you over, Sara. You must believe that if you believe nothing else."

The relief in her eyes was like a dagger in his heart.

"Sara…" He glanced at the open door, then slid out of bed. "Someone's here."

"Maurice," Sara said, rising. "I forgot he was coming by."

"Go then."

"Will you be here when I get back?"

"No. I'm going to Spain."

She stared at him, wanting him to stay, yet afraid of what it would mean if he did. Vampire. The mere idea was vile, repugnant. Unbelievable.

Before she could speak, she heard Maurice's knock at the door again.

"You'd best go let him in before he breaks down the door," Gabriel said dryly.

"Don't go," she said, and left the room, closing the bedroom door behind her before he could reply.

She ran to the front door and opened it, forcing a smile. "Good evening, Maurice."

"Sara." He frowned. "You're not dressed," he said, taking in her disheveled appearance. "Am I early?"

"No, I'm late. Sit down. Have some wine. I won't be but a moment."

"Hurry,
cheri
. We dine at seven."

"I will."

She paused outside her bedroom door, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

Gabriel was standing at the window. He glanced at her over his shoulder as she closed the door behind her.

He didn't look like a demon now, she thought. That horrible red glow was gone from his eyes; his skin no longer looked like old parchment. He looked like Gabriel again, human, masculine, and devastatingly attractive. Suddenly she yearned to be in his arms once more, to hear his voice whispering her name, to taste his kisses. Man or monster, she loved him, would always love him.

Gabriel met her gaze, though it was difficult for him to look at her now. Only a short time ago, she had seen him at his worst, seen him as he really was. Few people had ever seen him when the hunger was fast upon him and lived to tell the tale.

He wished he could hold her.

He wished she would go away.

"Was there something you wanted, Sara?"

"I… Maurice is here. We're going out to dinner."

The faintest glimmer of amusement flickered in Gabriel's dark eyes.

"Yes," he murmured dryly, "I was thinking of going out for… dinner… myself."

He watched the color drain from her face as she absorbed his meaning.

"How can you make jokes about… about what you do?"

"Believe me, Sara, there's nothing funny about it."

"Have you… ?"

"Have I what?"

"Have you killed a great many people?"

He shrugged, trying not to be offended by the revulsion in her voice, by the morbid curiosity in her eyes.

"Not many," he replied coldly. "Are you in fear for your life now?"

"No! I just thought… I mean…"

"It isn't necessary for me to kill to survive. I no longer require a great deal of blood, nor do I need it each day."

His gaze held hers. He wanted suddenly to hurt her, to shock her, or perhaps he merely needed to remind himself of the vast gulf between them.

"If I'm desperate, the blood of animals will suffice. In extreme cases, I've been known to dine on the blood of rats."

"Why are you telling me this? Do you think it will make me love you less? Are you still trying to drive me away?"

He couldn't look at her any longer, couldn't abide the overwhelming pity, the faint glimmer of revulsion, that lingered in her eyes.

Cursing softly, he turned to stare out the window again. "You'd better go," he said tersely. "Your young man is waiting for you."

She wasn't much company at dinner that night. She picked at her food, remembering what Gabriel had said.
If I'm desperate, the blood of animals will suffice. In extreme cases, I've been known to dine on the blood of rats
… Had he been serious, or was he merely trying to drive her away? And yet, deep down, she knew that everything he had said was true. He lived only by night. He fed off the blood of other living creatures. How could he exist like that?

She stared at the dark red wine in her glass. Gabriel drank wine. It was the only nourishment she had ever seen him take. How could he drink blood?

"Sara Jayne?"

She glanced up, aware that Maurice had asked her a question. "What?"

"You seem distracted."

"I'm sorry."

"Is anything wrong?"

"No."

"Have you by chance been out to the cottage?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Have you?"

"Yes. I assume that's your handiwork, all those crosses, and the garlic?"

Maurice nodded.

"What did you hope to prove?"

"He's a vampire, Sara Jayne. I'm sure of it."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "There's no such thing."

Maurice shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But if he isn't a vampire, then all I've done is waste my time. And if he is…"

"If he is?"

"Then he won't be able to leave the cottage." Maurice sat back in his chair, his expression suddenly suspicious. "You didn't touch anything, did you?"

"No," she said quickly. Too quickly.

"You're a terrible liar, Sara Jayne."

"That's what Gabriel says."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. When I saw him last, he said he was leaving Paris."

"Are you sorry he's going?"

"I don't know." She looked at Maurice, her gaze unwavering. "But I know I shall miss him every day for the rest of my life."

Gabriel walked slowly through the castle. It was an amazing piece of work. Built over four hundred years ago of stone and wood, it was a sight to behold, from its turrets and towers to the moat and drawbridge. At one time, it had housed a hundred knights. Now its high stone walls sheltered a monster.

He moved through the Great Hall with its tapestries and long trestle tables, through the kitchens that hadn't been used in over three hundred years. Climbing the winding stone staircase, he wandered from chamber to chamber, pausing now and then to stare out one of the windows into the darkness.

Removing a key from his inside coat pocket, he unlocked the door to the dungeons and walked down the damp stone steps. Ancient instruments of torture lined one wall; a score of iron-barred cells bore mute evidence to a less civilized time. The walls were damp; the air was musty.

Returning to the Great Hall, he sank down in the thronelike chair that had belonged to the lord of the castle and stared into the enormous fireplace at the far end of the room.

The silence of the castle was absolute. The Hall was in utter darkness, as black as his soul.

He closed his eyes, and Sara's image came quickly to mind, her beautiful face framed by a wealth of honey gold hair, her eyes now filled with laughter, now shining with love, now cloudy with desire. Sara…

He saw her dancing the part of Aurora in
Sleeping Beauty
, an ethereal creature of beauty and light as she pirouetted across the stage during the Rose

Adagio; he saw her as Giselle, lamenting her lost love…

With a mighty curse, he forced her image from his mind.

Determined to pretend for a while that he was a mortal man, he decided to hire some men to come out and replace the rotting wood he had noticed on the drawbridge; he would hire a couple of women to sweep and clean.

In a week or so, Necromancer would arrive, along with the young man he had hired to act as stableboy.

Gabriel grunted softly. Perhaps he'd buy a couple of mares and raise horses. It would give him something to do to pass the time, something to think about besides Sara…

He glanced around the Hall, filled with a sudden yearning to see it filled with people, to hear the laughter of children, the gossip of women, to imagine, for a little while, that he was like any other man. For a moment, he closed his eyes and pretended that Sara was his wife, that she had come to him without fear or doubt, that she had agreed to be his for as long as she lived… for a moment, it was a dream sweeter than life itself. But the thought of watching her age and die was more than he could bear, and he put the image from his mind.

He was a creature of the night, destined to spend his existence alone. A bitter smile twisted his lips. After 355 years, he should have learned to accept it.

A fortnight later, the castle was humming with activity. He had hired two men to come during the day to keep the castle in good repair, and a woman to look after the house. He purchased three blooded mares to breed with his stallion, which had arrived the week before.

If the hired help found it odd that the master of the castle never appeared during the day, they did not mention it, at least not in his hearing. If the stableboy thought it most peculiar that the horses were bred at night, and that the master took the stallion out only after dark, he kept it to himself.

In a short time, the castle seemed to have roused from a deep sleep. The moat was cleared of debris, the windows were washed clean, the floors were swept daily, the tapestries had been aired. One of the maids planted a flower garden, weeds and briars were removed, trees were pruned.

Determined not to sit in his castle and brood over what could never be, Gabriel paid several visits to the local tavern, where he sat alone in the back of the room, his only companion a bottle of red wine. He knew the villagers were curious about his identity. Rumors and gossip abounded, implying that he was everything from a defrocked priest to an eccentric nobleman.

Well, he thought, let them speculate.

Several times, he heard Sara's voice in his mind, calling to him, begging him to come back. He felt her pain, her loneliness, her confusion, but he never answered her, and finally he closed his mind against her, refusing to torture himself by listening to her cries.

His only joy was in riding his big black stallion. Each night, he raced across the dark land, reveling in the horse's speed and power, remembering how Sara had shrieked with delight the night he had taken her riding. She had urged him to go faster, faster. Cheeks flushed, her lips parted, she had turned to face him. His Sara, so full of life…

He reined the stallion to a halt and sat staring into the distance. Sara. What was she doing now? Had she decided to marry Maurice? Gabriel's hands curled into tight fists as he thought of the young man's treachery. Were it not for Sara, he might still be imprisoned in that cottage, writhing in pain as a relentless thirst drove him slowly mad. Maurice and Sara…

Sensing his agitation, the stallion shifted uneasily beneath him. Gabriel spoke to the horse and the animal quieted immediately.

And still Gabriel sat there, staring sightlessly into the distance, his mind filling with images of Sara in Maurice's arms, in Maurice's bed.

Gabriel threw back his head as a long, anguished cry rose in his throat, and then he urged the stallion into a run, flying like the wind across the darkened land.

But he could not outrun his misery, or the image of Sara with another man.

A mortal man who could walk with her in daylight.

A man who could give her sons.

She had finally put him from her mind. She stopped trying to read his thoughts, stopped trying to send her thoughts to him. She spent her every waking hour with Maurice, mentally extolling his virtues, telling herself that she loved him. They danced onstage together. He was the prince to her Aurora, the Albrecht to her Giselle. They shared candlelit dinners after the theater. They went walking together in the early afternoon. They spoke of marriage. She let him kiss her, and occasionally she endured his caresses, but she refused to let him move in with her.

She went on a shopping spree and bought herself a new wardrobe: hats, shoes, petticoats, gowns and day dresses, feather fans, lacy parasols, a sleeping gown of gossamer silk.

She redecorated her apartment in shades of mauve and white.

She indulged her every whim. She danced as she had never danced before.

And at night, alone in her bed, she cried herself to sleep.

He felt a presence when he stepped into the Hall— a presence he recognized. And loathed.

She was wearing a dress the color of fresh blood. Her hair, black and glossy, fell over her shoulders in loose waves. Her complexion was glowing, and he knew she had fed recently.

"What are you doing here?"

"Giovanni,
mon amour
, is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"We are not friends," Gabriel retorted sharply.

"Lovers, then," Antonina purred. "Even better."

Crossing the room, she ran her hands across his shoulders and down his arms, appreciating the solid feel of him, the latent strength that rippled beneath her fingertips.

She felt her blood stir as she gazed up into his eyes. "Ah, Giovanni, I have missed you."

Gabriel took hold of her hands and pushed her away. "What do you want, Nina?"

She pouted prettily. "Do I have to want something? It's been decades since we last met,
cara mia
. I just wanted to see how you are."

"I'm fine. Go away."

"Don't be rude, Gianni." She walked around the Hall, running her fingertips over the ancient tapestries, pausing at a narrow window to gaze into the courtyard below.

"Why are you here?" she asked without turning around. "Who are you hiding from?"

"I'm not hiding from anyone," Gabriel replied.
Except Sara. Except myself
.

Antonina glanced at him over her shoulder. "You cannot lie to me, Gianni."

She stared deep into his eyes, and even from across the room, he felt the heat, the power, of her gaze. A thousand years she had walked the earth. He knew of no vampire older, or more powerful, than Antonina Insenna.

"Have you fallen in love again, Giovanni? Is that why you have buried yourself in this dreary castle?"

She had always been the most perceptive of women, Gabriel thought bleakly. There was no point in lying to her, yet he could not bring himself to admit the truth.

"When I buried Rosalia, I vowed never to love again," he replied curtly.