Everlasting Kiss (9 page)

“Well, I think you startled me out of a year’s growth,” she muttered irritably. “Can all vampires materialize out of thin air like that?”

“As far as I know.”

Daisy frowned. For a girl who came from a family of hunters, it occurred to her that she didn’t really know a whole heck of a lot about vampires, and that some of the things she thought she knew were false. She supposed she should have paid more attention when her father had explained things to her, but she had been young and a little cocky at the time. Looking back over the last few years, she realized she was lucky to be alive. How much longer would her luck hold out, she wondered, now that she was being hunted by a 512-year-old vampire?

Curious, she canted her head to the side. “How old are you?”

Coming out of nowhere, she supposed she couldn’t blame him for looking surprised. For a moment, she didn’t think he was going to answer.

“I’ve been a vampire for a little over three hundred and twenty-five years.”

Ah. That explained how he had been able to be awake when she arrived the other afternoon. Maybe it also explained why he didn’t look dead when he was at rest. No doubt his blood would bring a high price, just as he had said.

One thing she did know about vampires was that they were considered young for the first hundred years; anything that survived over five centuries was viewed as ancient. Of course, you could never tell how old vampires were just by looking at them, or how long they had been undead, since they stopped aging once they were turned.

“When were you turned?” She had heard of one female vampire who had worked the Dark Trick on a five-year-old child because she was lonely and wanted a little girl for company. It was said that the little girl aged emotionally, but her body never matured. A cruel fate, Daisy thought, to have an adult mind trapped in a child’s body.

Erik draped one arm along the back of the sofa. “You’re full of questions tonight, my little flower. Any particular reason?”

“Not really.” Sitting back, she folded her arms under her breasts. “Just curious.”

He regarded her through narrowed eyes, as if trying to judge her sincerity, and then he shrugged. “I was turned on my thirtieth birthday.” Beyond doubt, it had been a night he would never forget, nor forgive.

“Not a very nice present,” Daisy remarked.

“True enough, although it lasted far longer than any of the other gifts I received that night.”

Daisy frowned, surprised that he could make jokes about something that had surely turned his whole life upside down. “How did it happen?”

“My wife…”

“You were married?”

“Of course. I was a healthy male in my prime.”

“Did you have children?”

“Yes.” He looked past her, his voice almost a whisper. “A boy and a girl.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up unhappy memories.”

“It was a long time ago.” And yet, even all these years later, he could see their faces clearly in his mind, hear the sound of his wife’s voice, the laughter of his children.

“But it still hurts,” Daisy said quietly.

“Yes.”

“Did your wife know you were a warlock?”

“Of course. I couldn’t keep a thing like that a secret.”

“And she didn’t mind?”

“I wasn’t a practicing warlock then, hadn’t been for years.” He had forsaken his magic completely when he married. His mother had never forgiven him for turning his back on his heritage. There were those who practiced the art of magic, and those, like Erik and his mother, who were born to it.

“Go on,” Daisy coaxed. “You said you were turned when you were thirty.”

“Yes. Abigail, my wife, had given me a surprise party. I think she must have invited everyone in London…”

“You’re from England, then?”

“Yes, originally.” He had been a wealthy man back then, landed gentry, with a large estate and a dozen servants to do his bidding.

“You don’t sound English.”

“I lost my accent years ago.”

She tried to imagine what Erik would have been like back then. In her mind’s eye, she tried to imagine him wearing the clothing of the period, overseeing a large estate, presiding at the dinner table, but she couldn’t. It was even more difficult to picture him with a wife and children.

“As I was saying, Abigail had given me a party. I was mingling with our guests in the ballroom after dinner when I saw a woman I didn’t recognize. I supposed her to be a friend of Abigail’s. I went over to introduce myself…”

He paused a moment, his thoughts turned inward. “Needless to say, she wasn’t Abigail’s friend, or anyone else’s. She persuaded me to take her outside, saying she wanted to see the gardens in the moonlight. Once we were alone…”

He paused again. A muscle throbbed in his cheek. “Once we were alone, she mesmerized me, and then, while I was still in her thrall, she let me see what she really was. I fought her as best I could, but to no avail. Small and petite though she was, she had the strength of twenty grown men. She held me down and drained me to the point of death, and then offered me a choice. I could die, or I could become what she was.”

Rising, he began to pace the floor in front of her. “At the time, I didn’t fully realize what it meant to be a vampire. I thought all it entailed was drinking a little blood to survive, and I was willing to do that, to do anything, to stay with my family.” He laughed, a cold, bitter laugh. “How incredibly foolish I was! I didn’t return to the party. I spent the rest of the night trying to come to terms with what had happened. I convinced myself that everything would be all right, that I’d be able to hide what I was from Abigail and my children. I spent the next day buried under a pile of straw in the stables. When I woke that night, I was ravenous.”

Daisy stared up at him, afraid to hear the rest.

He stopped in front of the hearth, his hands resting on the mantel. “I could hear the beating of the hearts of those in the house. Servants. Guests who had spent the night. Abigail. My children. I climbed down from the hayloft, my only thought to feed.”

“You didn’t…?” She imagined him bursting into the house, mad with need, fangs bared, attacking his wife and his children.

Slowly, he turned to face her. “No, but I would have. Instead, I attacked one of the grooms who had come in to feed the horses. The thirst…it was more powerful, more painful, than anything I had expected. He didn’t survive. When I came to myself, when I saw what I’d done, I knew I could never face Abigail, never trust myself to be with her or our children. I saddled a horse and left the estate. I never went back.”

“Never?”

Erik shook his head. “I sent her a letter, told her I was going to America, that I was sorry…” It had been the hardest thing he had ever done. His only solace had been knowing that he was leaving her and his children well off financially, and that she wasn’t entirely alone. Her parents had lived close by, as had his. He knew they would look after his family.

“So, you never saw them again?”

“They never saw me again. I didn’t go to America. I couldn’t leave them. I stayed out of sight, but I was never far away. I watched my children grow and marry and have children of their own. And when my great-grandchildren were grown and doing well, I left the country.” Unwilling to return to his homeland and resurrect unhappy memories, he had never gone back.

“What happened to the vampire who made you?”

“I destroyed her.” As though exhausted by the tale, Erik dropped onto a corner of the sofa. It had taken him fifty years to find Iliana. His only regret was that her suffering had been quickly over, while his heartache remained to this day. “I’m curious about something,” he said after a time.

“What?”

Afraid he was opening a topic of conversation he didn’t want to pursue, yet driven by a burst of uncharacteristic curiosity, he found himself asking, “Why didn’t you trash the paintings when you trashed the rest of the house?”

Daisy frowned, wondering why he had waited so long to ask, and then she shrugged. “I thought about it,” she confessed, “but I couldn’t do it. They’re wonderful!” She made a broad gesture, encompassing the room’s blank walls. “Why don’t you hang a few in here where you can see them? It seems a shame to keep such masterpieces in a room where no one can see them.”

She had never seen such beautiful artwork. Most of the paintings had been dark in nature—storm-tossed seas, sinking ships, winter-starved wolves skulking beneath barren trees, a mounted knight battling a fire-breathing dragon. Her favorite had been of a lonely-looking castle on a windswept promontory.

“Who’s the artist?” Daisy asked. “I’m no expert, but they looked like they were all painted by the same hand.”

“Indeed, they were,” he admitted, pleased that she had seen his work and admired it. He had often thought of hanging a few of his paintings, but it seemed like the height of vanity to cover the walls with his own work.

“I’d love to have one, but I’m sure I couldn’t afford to buy…” She stared at Erik a moment, and then she knew. “They’re yours, aren’t they? You’re the artist.”

He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “Guilty as charged.”

Daisy could only stare at him. Whoever heard of a vampire having such an amazing talent? Of course, he’d had 325 years to perfect his craft.

A dozen questions chased themselves through Daisy’s mind, but before she could ask any of them, someone knocked at the door.

Hope fluttered in Daisy’s heart. Perhaps she could find a way to pass a message to whoever had come to call.

Erik stood abruptly. “Daisy, go upstairs. Now.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Yes, you do.” He held up a hand to stay the protest he saw rising in her eyes. “It’s Rhys.”

Rhys! The very name struck terror in Daisy’s heart. Rhys was the vampire who was looking for her. Without another word, she ran out of the room and up the stairs.

Erik waited until he heard the bedroom door close before he invited the Master of the City into the house.

“I’ve been out checking lairs,” Rhys remarked as he crossed the threshold. “Checking cameras.” He glanced around the room, his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared. “Have you got company?”

Erik smiled affably. “A dinner guest, you might say. I was just about to dine.”

“Ah.” Rhys smiled, showing a hint of fang. “Any chance there’s enough for two?”

“Not tonight.”

Rhys nodded. “Did you install a camera?”

“Not yet.”

“It was to have been done by tonight.”

“The night is still young.” Erik glanced toward the staircase. “And my dinner awaits.”

Rhys lifted his head, his nostrils twitching like a cat’s at a mouse hole. “She smells young and unspoiled.”

“Nothing gets by you,” Erik remarked dryly. It took considerable effort to keep his expression passive, to keep from putting himself between Rhys and the stairway, but any move on his part now might arouse Rhys’s suspicion or, worse, his innate need to hunt.

“Bon appetit, mon ami.”

“Yeah, you, too,” Erik replied. “But not here.”

Rhys threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m going. Meet me at La Morte Rouge later. I’ve got a taste for French food all of a sudden.”

Erik nodded. Rhys had opened La Morte Rouge—the Red Death—ten years ago. It was located along a deserted stretch of highway and catered to an elite clientele. Only vampires, and mortals who got their kicks from nourishing the Undead, were allowed entrance.

After seeing Rhys out and locking the door behind him, Erik made his way to the bottom of the stairs. He stood there a long moment, looking up, his thoughts troubled. He had sworn allegiance to Rhys and the West Coast vampires. Sworn to protect them against all enemies, as they had sworn to protect him. And he had done as promised, until now.

He muttered an oath as Daisy appeared at the top of the stairs. What the devil was he doing, harboring the Blood Thief under his roof? Protecting the one who had taken Tina’s blood and destroyed Saul would surely be considered treason of the highest order. If Rhys and the others found out, retribution would be swift, and final.

As much as he liked this house and enjoyed the climate in Southern California, maybe it was time to give some serious thought to finding a new lair, preferably a city on the other side of the country, or perhaps the other side of the world.

Daisy looked down at him, her brows drawn together. “Is it safe?”

“He’s gone.”

Erik admired the sway of her hips as he watched her walk down the stairs. She was young, beautiful, desirable. Easily worth the risk of keeping her there.

“He scares me,” she said when she reached the foot of the stairs.

“And rightly so,” Erik remarked. Rhys was a vampire’s vampire—cold and calculating. There was little in the human world that Rhys Costain gave a damn about. To Rhys, mortals were useful for one thing, and one thing only. Beyond that, he had little regard for them, perhaps because he had once been betrayed by a mortal female. Only a few people knew that Rhys had been enamored of a noblewoman in the distant past. When he found Josette in bed with another man, he had flown into a rage and killed them both. Erik knew nothing of the affair beyond the bare facts of what had happened. It was something Rhys refused to discuss in detail.

Erik followed Daisy into the living room, beguiled by the scent of her hair, her skin, her blood. He wanted her, all of her, now, tonight. Wanted her in his arms, in his bed. Wanted to taste the warmth of her lips, feel the heat of her skin, savor the sweetness of her life’s essence. He could hear it flowing through her veins—the rich, red elixir of life.

As though sensing his thoughts, she whirled around to face him.

Erik paused when he saw the wary expression on her face and knew, in that moment, that what he was thinking, feeling, must be evident in his eyes. A vampire in the throes of the hunger was never a pretty sight.

Muttering an oath, he turned away, his hands clenched at his sides. He was confident he could keep her safe from Rhys. He was less certain he could keep her safe from himself.

Daisy stared at Erik’s back, chilled by the predatory gleam she had seen in his eyes. He had looked like a wild animal ready to attack its prey. Fear coiled deep within her, sending an icy chill to every extremity. Just as she had feared, he was obviously keeping her here for only one reason.

A frantic glance around the room showed there was no place to run, nothing she could use for a weapon. She had only her wits and her bare hands, neither of which would repel him. Resigned, she closed her eyes and waited.

Erik scrubbed his hands up and down his thighs, annoyed that he had frightened her. Did she really think he was keeping her here as some kind of midnight snack?

Dammit, he was trying to protect her from a vicious killer. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he heard the voice of his conscience, laughing. Rhys wasn’t the only vicious killer. As a young vampire, Erik had committed acts he now regretted, done things he was bitterly ashamed of.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face her. “Daisy? Daisy, look at me.”

She opened her eyes ever so slowly. Their vivid green accentuated her pale face.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’d like to believe that,” she said. “I really would, but…just now…your eyes…”

“Yes, I know, they turn red when…” He made a vague gesture with his hand.

“When you’re hungry? Thirsty?”

“Either one will do.” He took a step toward the sofa, but stopped when she recoiled. “I’m sorry I frightened you, but you’re a very desirable woman in more ways than one.”

She blinked up at him, certain that, as prey, she shouldn’t be flattered by his words. After all, she was pretty sure that zebras weren’t flattered when stalked by hungry lions.

Erik blew out a sigh. Affairs with female vampires weren’t nearly as difficult, which was why he had avoided emotional entanglements with human females for the last three hundred years.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he asked, “How can I convince you that I’m not going to hurt you?”

“You can let me go home.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Yes, of course.” But even as she spoke the words, Daisy found herself having second thoughts. A vampire as old as Rhys could probably be out and about both day and night. If Erik truly meant her no harm, she was probably safer here, with him, than at home, alone. Unless she could get Nonnie to come and stay with her. She was pretty sure Nonnie would be able to protect her. But was she sure enough to bet her life, or her grandmother’s, on it?

Erik remained silent as he watched Daisy wage a silent war with herself, trying to decide who presented more danger to her survival, himself or Rhys. In the long run, it didn’t matter what she decided, because she was staying whether she liked it or not.

“Will it ever be safe for me to go home?” she asked with a sigh of resignation.

“I don’t know.”

“I could go stay with Nonnie.” She voiced the suggestion aloud, curious to see Erik’s reaction.

“Who’s that?”

“My grandmother. She’s the one who made my compass. Since she magicked a way for me to locate vampires, I’m sure she could conjure something to protect me from Rhys.”

“And from me?”

Her gaze slid away from his.

It was all the answer he needed. “Where does she live?”

“In Boca Raton. She has a gift shop there.”

“Is she a hunter, too?”

“No. She sells handmade jewelry and seashells. And an occasional charm or two.”

“And you think she can protect you from Rhys?”

Daisy nodded, although she wasn’t sure at all.

“I’ll think about it,” Erik said. “Right now, I’ve got to meet Rhys.”

“You won’t tell him I’m here?”

“What do you think?”

“I’m sorry, it was a silly question.”

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, caressing her cheek with his knuckles. “Behave yourself while I’m gone.”

Stifling the urge to stick her tongue out at him, she watched him leave the house, although
leave
wasn’t exactly the right word. He didn’t go out the door, he merely dissolved into a mist of sparkling dove gray motes and vanished from her sight.

Daisy stared at the place where he had stood only moments before, then shook her head.

“If I could do that,” she muttered, “I wouldn’t have to worry about Rhys or anyone else.”

When Erik arrived at La Morte Rouge, Rhys was waiting for him at the bar.

“So, you’re here. Are you ready for dessert?” Rhys asked with a good-natured grin.

Erik shrugged. “Sure, I could use a bite or two.” Or three or four, he thought, his hunger rising as his nostrils filled with the mingled scents of warm blood and desire that filled the air.

He glanced around the club, noting the usual Sunday night crowd was in full swing. The human females wore provocative clothing, mostly black, that bared their throats and a good deal of cleavage. Of course, none of them used their real names. Instead, they wore delicate brooches inscribed with the French names they were known by in the club—Monique, Babette, Fifi. The males wore vests and slacks, again, mostly black, and had names like Henri, Etienne, and Jacques.

“I’ve reserved two rooms,” Rhys remarked, slapping Erik on the shoulder. “Monique is already waiting for you in number three. I’ll meet you back here later.”

Erik nodded. He watched Rhys stride across the floor toward room six where his choice of the night awaited. Rhys didn’t have a favorite at the club. His usual requirement was that his companion for the evening be young, female, and blonde.

Wondering why he felt a sudden twinge of guilt, Erik went into room three. The rooms at the club were all decorated with Louis XV furniture and artwork. The bed linen was changed after each visit. A small bathroom provided a place to wash up after each encounter, if necessary.

Monique was waiting for him on the bed, a smile of welcome on her face. She was a beautiful woman in her mid-forties, with a toned body and tanned skin. Long red hair framed an oval face. He had been visiting her regularly ever since he moved to California. Some nights he wanted only to feed, some nights he satisfied his other hungers.

“Good evening,” she purred. “What are you in the mood for tonight,
mon chevalier foncé
?”

Erik snorted softly. Her dark knight, indeed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he brushed the hair away from her neck, then bent to drop kisses along the smooth curve of her throat.

With a sigh, she surrendered to him, willing to give whatever he asked.

Erik fed quickly, wishing all the while that it was Daisy in his arms. After closing the wounds in Monique’s neck, he kissed her cheek, then gained his feet. “Till next time,
cherie.
”

“I was hoping you’d stay till morning,” Monique said, pouting prettily. “It’s been a long time since we shared a night together.”

He forced a smile. “Another time. Rhys is waiting for me.”

The smile faded from her lips. Monique and Rhys had a long-standing dislike for one another. Erik wondered from time to time what had caused the rift, but neither of them would discuss it.

“Until next time,” he said and left the room, relieved, for the first time since he had met Monique, that he had an excuse to leave.

Rhys joined him at the bar a short time later.

“So,” Erik asked, “what’s going on?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been a little distant the last few days.”

Erik shrugged. “So I wanted a little alone time. Anything wrong with that?”

Rhys rested his elbow on the bar. “It’s Mariah. She thinks you’re up to something.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Beats the hell out of me. You know Mariah,” Rhys said with a grin. “She’s always out for blood of one kind or another. She doesn’t think you’re taking the whole Blood Thief thing seriously enough, that maybe you’re hiding something.”

“She’s right,” Erik said. “I’m hiding the Thief in my back pocket.”

“Look, I know Mariah’s not your favorite person, but cut her a little slack. She’s worried.”