Twilight Dreams (13 page)

His gaze burned into hers. “I want you, too, sunshine. In more ways than you can imagine.”

“I can imagine quite a lot,” she said, her voice suddenly thick.

Micah chuckled softly as he took her hand in his, his thumb making lazy circles on her palm. “Just say the word, and I can make you forget all about Braga and Mahlon and everything else that's bothering you.”

“Right now, the only thing that's bothering me is
you
,” she muttered.

“But in a good way,” he said with a wink. “You want me. Admit it.”

She glared at him, but didn't deny it. Nor did she resist when he drew her into his arms. How could it feel so right to be there when it was so wrong on so many levels? Saintcrow and Kadie might be deliriously happy together, but Holly didn't want to be a vampire, didn't want to give up the life she knew for a life of endless night and a warm, liquid diet.

“Holly, I think I'm falling in love with you.”

Speechless, her heart pounding, she stared up at him.

“I'm just as surprised as you are,” he admitted ruefully. “I tried to fight it, but . . .” Cupping her face in his palms, he kissed her lightly, his tongue sweeping over her lower lip, dipping inside to caress hers.

Gasping with pleasure, she melted against him, her arms twining around his neck. All thought of right or wrong fled her mind as he kissed her again, one hand stroking her back, her hair, as his other hand drew her closer. Lost in his touch, enflamed by his kisses, she couldn't think, could scarcely breathe. There was only Micah.

His scent surrounded her.

His kisses intoxicated her.

She shivered with anticipation when his tongue stroked the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

He was going to bite her.

She turned her head to the side to give him access to her throat, moaned softly at the touch of his fangs. Why had she waited so long for this? She writhed in his arms as pleasure flowed through every fiber of her being. She wanted to be closer, closer. Wanted to crawl inside of him so she could feel what he felt.

She wanted to taste him. . . .

She jerked back, alarmed by the thought.

Micah lifted his head, his expression wary. He knew what she was thinking. Knew the very idea repulsed her even as curiosity gnawed at her.

“Did you plant that idea in my mind?” she asked.

“No, darlin'.”

She regarded him through eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Even if I wanted to do such a gross thing,
I
don't have fangs.”

“You don't need them. For all our strength, vampires are remarkably vulnerable.”

Holly licked her lips, then shook her head. “Forget it. I've changed my mind.”

“You're lying. You're just afraid you might like it.”

“Maybe I am,” she retorted. “Can you blame me?”

He shrugged. “It's your decision.”

Holly's gaze settled on Micah's throat, her curiosity growing with every passing moment.

“Don't be embarrassed.” He held out his left arm, palm up, tapped his wrist with his forefinger. “Start here.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Blood's closer to the surface. You don't have to bite so hard or so deep.”

“Then why don't you bite me there?”

“Because nibbling on your neck is far more intimate.”

She flushed at his answer.

Laughing softly, Micah drew her gently into his arms and kissed her again. “Come on, sunshine. Take a walk on the wild side.”

She hesitated a moment, then ran her tongue over the inside of his wrist. She smiled when he groaned low in his throat. Was it pleasurable for him, being bitten? She nipped him lightly, felt his body grow taut.

Truly curious now, she bit him again, hard enough to draw blood. She had expected to feel revulsion; instead, a wave of sensual heat exploded deep within her and spread outward, like ripples on a pond.

Micah's arm tightened around her, threatening to crush a few ribs. Unable to breathe, she tried to wriggle free.

He released her immediately. His dark eyes were cloudy with desire when he looked at her. A knowing smile that clearly said,
I told you so
, played over his lips.

Holly blinked when she heard his voice in her mind, as clearly as if he were speaking aloud.

There was a sense of comfort in his unspoken words.

But not enough, she realized, to overpower the worrisome thought taking root in the back of her mind. What if she didn't want him to find her? What if, once the danger was past, she never wanted to see him again?

Chapter Seventeen

Those words followed Holly to sleep that night and replayed in her mind upon waking in the morning. Again, she wondered if tasting him had been such a good idea. What if she didn't want him to find her? What if she didn't want to find him?

And what if she did? Did she just twitch her nose to make him appear? Or maybe, like the Bloody Mary legend, she could look in a mirror and call his name three times.

Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and pulled on her robe. “All right, Mr. Ravenwood, if it's true, where are you?”

And suddenly, without knowing how, she knew where he was.

Barefooted, she followed the invisible link that led her out of Shirley's bedroom—it would never be
her
bedroom, Holly thought, or her home—and up the hill to Blair House.

She had expected the front door to be locked, but it opened at her touch. All the drapes in the house were drawn tight, but the blood bond led her unerringly through the dark rooms, down a set of narrow wooden steps she had never noticed before, to a heavy steel door.

Micah was behind it. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name.

With the sound of her heartbeat thundering in her ears, she put her hand on the latch and pushed. It opened on silent hinges. Chewing on her lower lip, Holly stepped inside. The floor beneath her bare feet was icy cold. A basement, she thought.

Or a crypt.

Moving cautiously, she followed the pull of the invisible link. She stopped when her knee hit something. Reaching down, her fingers brushed cool flesh. Micah?

She stood there a moment, the sound of her breath loud in the room's absolute silence. Then, suddenly spooked, she turned and hurried up the stairs.

She paused at the top, one hand pressed to her chest. She needed a light. A candle, she thought, recalling that she had seen one in a holder, along with a book of matches, when she had stayed here with Micah. It took only minutes to find them.

The basement was less spooky in the candlelight, although the shadows gave her a start.

Her hand shook as she held the light over his resting place. In the flickering glow of the candle, he looked . . . not exactly asleep, but not quite dead, either. His skin seemed paler than usual. Most disturbing of all was that he didn't seem to be breathing. When she laid her hand on his shoulder and shook him, he didn't respond.

Was he truly dead when the sun was up? Unable to feel anything? If she screamed, would he hear her?

Completely creeped out, Holly turned and ran out of the basement and out of Blair House as if pursued by demons.

* * *

With the return of awareness, Micah's nostrils filled with Holly's flowery scent. At first, he thought her scent was coming from his clothing, but then he realized it was too fresh. She had been there, in the basement, only hours ago.

Exclaiming, “What the hell!” he bolted upright. Muttering curses, he made his way upstairs. He showered, pulled on clean clothes, ran a hand through his hair, and all the while he imagined her standing beside the bed, staring down at the monster. Dammit! Why the hell had she come here? Had it satisfied some morbid curiosity to see him like that? Helpless and vulnerable and, hell, he didn't know how he looked at rest. Why hadn't he locked the damn door? Shit!

A thought took him to the front porch of her house. He was about to storm inside when he paused, overcome by a sudden, unexpected wave of embarrassment. She had seen him when he was, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world. And suddenly he couldn't face her.

Feeling like an ass, he willed himself out of Morgan Creek. He needed to feed and he needed a woman, in that order.

Since he wasn't overly picky, prey was easy to find. He stopped at the first tavern he saw, perused the lone females, and called one to him.

She smiled uncertainly as she sidled up beside him. Sensing her confusion, he spoke to her mind again, assuring her that she was in no danger.

“I'm Micah,” he said.

“Julie.”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure.” Her gaze moved over him like he was a side of grade A beef. “I've never seen you in here before.”

He shrugged. “It's a little early for me.”

When she smiled this time, it was genuine. “Woman trouble, I'm guessing.”

“It shows, huh?”

“Just a little.”

“What are you drinking?”

“Whiskey sour.”

He signaled the bartender and ordered a refill for her and a glass of red wine for himself. They made small talk while waiting for their drinks. She was divorced, living with her married sister while she looked for a job.

Later, he asked her to dance, and then, exerting his will on hers, he took her to the small hotel around the corner.

* * *

Leticia Braga prowled back and forth along the road that fronted Morgan Creek. Thick brambles and underbrush heavy with thorns bordered both sides of the bridge. She had tried to cross the structure several times to no avail. Even with his bull-like strength, Mahlon couldn't batter his way through Saintcrow's wards. She felt a sudden longing for her twin brother, Leandro. She had brought him across soon after she was turned. He had never forgiven her, refused to speak to her. There were times, like now, when she sorely needed him. He was smart, clever, resourceful. But no matter how many times she apologized or begged him to forgive her, he refused to respond.

Shaking off thoughts of Leandro, she dissolved into mist, thinking to float over the obstacle. But Saintcrow's wards formed a protective barrier over the bridge and the land and the whole damn perimeter.

Cursing a blue streak, she materialized beside Mahlon.

“Now what?” he asked, his burly arms folded across his massive chest.

Leticia whirled on him. “How the hell should I know? I've tried everything I can think of!”

He dragged a heavy hand across his jaw. “We could blow it up.”

“What good would that do?”

“It might shatter whatever mojo he worked on the bridge and the town.”

Leticia stared at him. She didn't think it would work, but what the hell. It was worth a try.

* * *

Every survival instinct Micah possessed went into overdrive as he neared Morgan Creek. Dissolving into mist, he drifted over the bridge and willed himself to Saintcrow's lair.

After resuming his own form, he knocked on the door.

Saintcrow opened immediately. “From the look on your face, I'm guessing you've been near the bridge.”

“You know, then?”

Saintcrow nodded. “Come on in.”

“What do you think she's up to?” Micah followed Saintcrow into the living room. Nodded at Kadie as he took a seat in the chair across from her.

Saintcrow dropped down on the sofa beside her, arms crossed over his chest. “I wish I knew.”

“So, what do we do now?” Micah asked.

“Wait for her next move, I guess.”

“I think it's time to get the hell out of Dodge.”

Saintcrow glanced at his wife. “What say you?”

“I don't know. Where would we go?”

“I've got a few other lairs,” Saintcrow remarked, “but none of them are as secure as this one. Well, there is one other, but it's out of the country.”

“If it wasn't for me, you'd just confront her and be done with it, wouldn't you?” Kadie asked.

Saintcrow didn't say anything, but he didn't deny it.

Micah cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Ask away.”

“I've heard drinking from a master vampire can make a younger vampire more powerful. Is that true?”

Saintcrow nodded. “Are you feeling a sudden need to be stronger?”

“With Braga and her bodyguard sniffing around? You're damn right.”

Saintcrow rolled up his shirtsleeve, then held out his arm, palm up. His eyes took on a faint red glow.

Micah's whole body tensed as Saintcrow's preternatural power rolled over him. It was a fearsome thing, that ancient power, heavy and dark. It was more than age that molded that power. It was centuries of experience, of lives taken and lives spared, of internal battles won and lost. One drink, Micah thought, and a small part of that incredible power would be his. If he had the courage to take it.

Saintcrow cocked his head to the side. “Well?”

Micah blew out a breath as he knelt in front of the master vampire and grasped his arm. He looked up at Saintcrow a moment, then sank his fangs into his wrist.

The sheer power of Saintcrow's ancient blood exploded through every nerve and fiber of his being, more potent, more satisfying, than anything he had ever known. It burned through his veins like hellfire, making him feel reborn.

One taste, and he wanted more. Wanted it all.

“Enough.”

Saintcrow's voice penetrated Micah's mind, but he ignored it. Just a little more.

“Enough!”

Power slammed into Micah like a sledgehammer, driving him backward, into the wall. Slightly dazed, he stared at Saintcrow.

The vampire flashed his fangs. “Hard to let go, isn't it?”

Micah nodded.

“One taste, and you think if you could just drink it all, you'd never thirst again.”

Micah licked a bit of blood from his lips, felt it sizzle like liquid fire on his tongue.

“It's not true, that feeling,” Saintcrow said. “You're a vampire. No matter how long you survive, you'll always need to feed. Maybe not as often as you grow older. But the hunger is always there.” He paused, one brow raised. “Are you listening to me?”

Nodding, Micah stood. “That was amazing. I feel like I could conquer the world with one hand tied behind my back.”

Flashing a wry grin, Saintcrow said, “For now, let's concentrate on conquering Braga.”

* * *

Braga's unmistakable scent still lingered in the air when Saintcrow went to check the bridge later that night. Mahlon's scent was there, too, though less evident.

Saintcrow frowned into the darkness. It was obvious his wards had held. But he had expected that. He was older and stronger than she, but they were both tenacious, both unforgiving when one of their own had been hurt or threatened. She would never give up, any more than he would.

Perhaps he should just hunt her down and take her out. And yet, he couldn't blame her for wanting revenge. Had Braga or Mahlon hurt Kadie, he would have hunted the culprits to the ends of the earth, and when he caught them, they would have begged for mercy, pleaded for death long before it came.

For centuries, he had ignored Braga's threat, but that had been before Kadie came into his life. As long as Leticia Braga lived, Kadie's life would forever be in danger.

Mahlon was another problem. Was he Braga's minion by choice, or compulsion? If the former, he might seek revenge for Braga's death. If the latter, Mahlon would likely be glad to be free of her.

Saintcrow glanced over his shoulder, his desire stirring as he heard Kadie's footsteps hurrying toward him. It amazed him that his feelings for her continued to grow stronger, deeper. “What are you doing out here, love?”

“I missed you. Is something wrong?” She wrinkled her nose against a cloying smell. “Is that her?”

He nodded. “She was here shortly after dark, but she's gone now.” Taking Kadie's hand in his, he started walking back toward their lair.

“What are we going to do, Rylan? She's never going to give up.”

“I haven't yet decided.”

“Do you think Micah and Holly will stay together?”

“They will if Micah has anything to say about it. I'm not sure Holly wants to tie her life to a vampire's.” He slid a glance in Kadie's direction. “You're not sorry, are you?”

She glared at him. “Rylan Saintcrow, how can you even ask that?”

Pausing, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “Just checking.”

“Where are we going?” she asked when they passed the turnoff to the house.

“Nowhere in particular. It's a beautiful night and I've got a beautiful woman by my side. I'm just not ready to go back inside yet.”

“If we leave here, where will we go?”

“I've got an old castle in Sibiu. I haven't been there in a century or two. The place isn't in my name, so it's unlikely Braga would think to look for us there.”

“A castle sounds great, but where the heck is Sibiu?”

“Transylvania.”

“I should have known,” Kadie said, laughing. “A vampire castle in Transylvania. What a novel idea.”

“It's not much of a place,” he warned as they continued on. “Might not even be habitable after all this time.”

“Well, it's nice to know we've got somewhere to go.” Her steps slowed as they neared the cemetery. Some of the friends she had made in Morgan Creek were buried there. Mona had died of natural causes; Leslie had been killed by one of the resident vampires, most likely Quinn. And Shirley was there, along with Rosemary and Donna.

Saintcrow squeezed her hand. “Are you all right?”

“I was just remembering another time when I came here.”

He grunted softly.

On impulse, Kadie opened the rickety wooden gate and entered the cemetery. It hadn't changed since the last time she'd been here—row after row of weathered wooden crosses. No headstones. No flowers. Most had no names or dates to identify the dead or the year of their passing. Shirley's grave, marked by a tall marble cross, stood out from the others.