Twilight Dreams (3 page)

Holly claimed she was “feeling just fine” by the time they reached the parking lot, but Micah refused to let her get behind the wheel.

After settling her in the passenger seat and fastening her seat belt, he asked for her address and drove her home. Walked her to her door. Kissed her good-night.

It was a much more chaste kiss than the one they had shared on the dance floor.

“What about your car?” she asked, fumbling with her keys.

Covering her hand with his, he guided the key into the lock and opened the door. “Don't worry about me. I'll pick it up later. Sweet dreams, sunshine.”

He waited until she was inside; then, whistling softly, he strolled down the walkway to the street. Holly stared after him until he was out of sight, then closed and locked the door.

While getting ready for bed, she was embarrassed to recall how shamelessly she had flirted with him, the way she had pressed herself against him while they were dancing. The way she had kissed him, as if she had known him for ages instead of hours. She blamed one too many vodka martinis for making her so bold. Always a good excuse, she thought. She was just lucky he was a nice guy, too nice to take advantage of her. But she couldn't stop wondering what it would be like to be in his arms, to hear his whiskey-rough voice whispering love words in her ear, to feel his hands caressing her . . . “Holly, enough!”

After changing into her nightgown and brushing her teeth, she slipped into bed and closed her eyes.

Micah's image immediately sprang to mind. Tall and handsome, mesmerizing dark brown eyes, a voice that seemed to reach deep inside her soul.

With a sigh, she flopped over on her stomach. Sadly, he hadn't said anything about seeing her again.

Chapter Three

“You never told me there was someone after you,” Kadie remarked when Saintcrow ended his call with Micah.

“Eavesdropping, were you?”

She shrugged. One of the perks of being a vampire was supernatural hearing. He could have been in another room or outside the house, and she would still have been able to hear every word.

“It's old news,” Saintcrow said, slipping his arm around her shoulders. Ancient news, he mused, blocking his thoughts so she couldn't read them. He wasn't worried about Braga, but Mahlon . . . Mahlon worried him. Braga's bodyguard wasn't a vampire, but he was more than a mere mortal. It was said he watched over her while she rested during the day. Being human—or part-human—Mahlon could cross thresholds uninvited. Solid as a tank and as strong as a bull, he was a formidable foe. At Braga's behest, he had, on numerous occasions, found vampires she considered her enemy and destroyed them while they were trapped in the daylight sleep of their kind.

“Do you think Micah will come back here?” Kadie asked. When he didn't answer, she nudged him in the ribs. “Rylan?”

“I don't know. Probably. It's the only home he has.”

“The town is so different now,” she said. “Empty. Dead, even—you should pardon the expression.”

During their absence, and with Saintcrow's permission, Shirley and her friends, Rosemary and Donna, had brought the town to life. They had redecorated the restaurant, renovated some of the older buildings, and demolished others. Micah had overseen the work. Saintcrow had paid the bills. The houses in the residential area had previously been inhabited by mortals whose sole purpose had been to supply the resident vampires with blood.

Kadie had been one of them, an unwilling victim, until Rylan claimed her for his own. There had been a time, not so long ago, when she couldn't imagine wanting to live with a vampire. Now she couldn't imagine living without him.

With the passing of Shirley and her friends, Morgan Creek had again become a ghost town.

“Do you want to leave?” Saintcrow asked.

“No. It's good to be back.” She had met him here, sparred with him, fallen in love with him. “It's just different, that's all.”

She closed her eyes as he leaned in for a kiss. Five years as his wife hadn't lessened her desire for him. Or his for her. If anything, their need for each other had grown stronger, deeper. He was the sexiest man she had ever known, wickedly handsome, an incredible lover.

Kadie snuggled against him when he broke the kiss, his phone call with Micah niggling at the back of her mind. What if Leticia Braga came here? “You told me not to worry,” she said at last, “but you're worried about her, aren't you?”

Saintcrow didn't have to ask who she meant. He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Forget about Braga.”

“I can't. What's between the two of you, anyway?”

“I destroyed one of her fledglings a long time ago. She's never forgiven me.” He cursed softly, then muttered, “Damn her hide, I guess she never will.”

He couldn't blame Braga for wanting vengeance against him. Braga had been very much in love with the fledgling he had killed.

Cupping Kadie's face in his palms, he kissed her lightly, and then more deeply, as she wrapped her arms around him. If someone destroyed his woman, he would hunt the guilty party from one end of the earth to the other, no matter how long it took, until he had avenged her death.

Chapter Four

Leticia Braga tossed her prey aside, then wiped her mouth on the clean, white handkerchief Mahlon handed her. “Get rid of him.”

“As always,” Mahlon said.

“I thought I smelled Saintcrow,” she remarked, tossing the soiled cloth into the gutter. “Back in that country bar.”

Mahlon draped the dead man's body over his shoulder. “You must be mistaken. He wasn't there.”

She glared at him. “You doubt me?”

“No, mistress,” he said quickly.

“I'm not blind. I know he wasn't there,” she snapped. “I'll meet you at home.”

With a curt nod, Mahlon deposited the body in the trunk of his car and closed the lid.

Leticia watched him drive away, the dead man already forgotten as she returned to the club in search of another victim. Saintcrow's scent, faint as it was, lingered in the air. How was that possible when he hadn't been there?

She circled the room, pausing at a booth near the back when she detected the scent of yet another of the Undead. She had been so excited at the prospect of confronting Saintcrow earlier that she hadn't noticed there had been another vampire in the club.

Frowning, she found an empty barstool, her thoughts churning. Of course! That vampire had been in contact with Saintcrow at some point, or shared the same space. All she had to do was locate the other vampire.

He would lead her to Rylan Saintcrow, and Gavin's death would be avenged at last.

Gavin. As always, pain speared through her very being when she thought of him. He had been an artist and a poet, the most gentle, caring man she had ever known. They had met by accident late one night. She had been hunting for prey when she'd found him lying in a filthy gutter outside of London. At first, she had thought him dead, but then, ever so faintly, she'd heard the stutter of his heartbeat, the quiet hush of his breathing. The scent of his blood had drawn her to his side. She had been about to bury her fangs in his throat when she saw his eyes watching her. Never, in all her years, had she seen eyes like his—large and innocent, as gray as the breast of a dove. She had loved him from that moment. Taken him into her heart and her home. Bandaged his wounds. She had learned later that he had been attacked by ruffians who had robbed him and left him for dead.

In the days that followed, she had learned everything there was to know about him. She had told him of her life growing up in the slums of her native Portugal. Told him everything except the truth of what she was.

Of course, with the passage of time, he had started to wonder why she never changed, never grew older, never joined him at meals, never went walking with him in the morning. Inevitably, the day came when she had to tell him the truth.

“Gavin, my love, I can answer all your questions with one word. Vampire.”

He had stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. And then, to her amazement, he had thrown back his head and laughed.

At first, she thought it was because he didn't believe her. But then, to her further astonishment, he had pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “How wonderful!” he had exclaimed. “Now we can be together forever, just as we always dreamed!”

She had turned him that night.

But, all too soon, Saintcrow had put an end to her dreams of forever.

And for that, he would die.

Chapter Five

Holly slept late and woke feeling wonderful. Smiling, she stretched her arms over her head. She'd had the most wonderful dream about Micah last night . . . the most wonderful and the most erotic, she thought, as a sudden rush of heat suffused her cheeks.

She lifted her fingers to her lips. Even now, it was hard to believe his kisses, his caresses, hadn't been real. But of course they weren't, because, in her dream, he had bitten her while they made love. That was an odd turn of events, she thought, but perhaps her subconscious had conjured a vampire because she had met him in a goth club.

Frowning, she sat up. Not for the first time, she wondered why the real Joseph Burke had chosen to meet in such a bizarre place. Was he into role-playing, as were so many others these days? Or was he one of those people who—like her father—believed vampires existed? Her father was truly convinced his best friend had been killed by one.

Thinking about vampires reminded her of her cousin, Ethan. They had gone to school together, been on the high school debate team. Ethan had believed in vampires, too. So much so, that he'd carried a wooden stake and holy water in his backpack. Vampires.

She shuddered at the mere idea, though she couldn't help thinking that, with his thick dark hair and smoldering eyes, Micah would make a perfect vampire.

She shook the foolish idea aside, wondering what had happened to Mr. Burke. If he had been detained or he'd had a last-minute change of plans, the least he could have done was pick up a phone and let her know. She made a mental note to call him first thing Monday morning.

Sighing, she went into the kitchen, her thoughts again turning to Micah. Too bad she would never see him again. Even if she wanted to, she had no idea where to find him. He didn't even live in Southern California. Did he live in that ghost town he'd mentioned? The one in Wyoming? Morgan something? Cove? County? No, Creek. Morgan Creek.

Curious, she went to her laptop to do a Google search. She found links for Morgan Creek Productions, Morgan Creek Golf Course, Morgan Creek Vineyards . . . the list went on and on.

After wasting an hour searching the Web, she shut her laptop. There was no sense trying to track down a man she hardly knew, she decided, as she changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. She had a house to clean, laundry to wash, and a dozen other chores that she had neglected so she could go out with a handsome, sexy stranger.

* * *

After a day spent working harder than Cinderella ever had, Holly was ready for a shower, a quick dinner, and a well-deserved reward for all of her hard work—something chocolate and decadent.

Half an hour later, she put on a movie, then sat cross-legged on the sofa, a large bowl of chocolate ice cream topped with hot fudge, a mountain of whipped cream, and a handful of cherries, cradled in her lap.

She had just scraped the last bit of fudge from the bottom of the bowl when the doorbell rang.

Setting the dish aside, she went to the door. “Who is it?”

“Micah.”

Micah! She felt herself blush furiously as erotic images from her dream tumbled through her mind. “What are you doing here? I mean, I wasn't expecting you.” That was an understatement, she thought, glancing at her skimpy nighty and pink bunny slippers.

“Yeah, well, I wasn't expecting to be here.”

She frowned, thinking he didn't sound very happy about it.

Biting down on her lower lip, she opened the door a crack. “I'm really not dressed for company.”

He shrugged. “I was gonna call, but then I decided, what the heck, I'd take a chance and see if you were home. And here you are.”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “Well, as long as you're here, give me a few minutes to get presentable.”

“Sure.” With his preternatural hearing, Micah followed her progress through the house, heard the water come on as she brushed her teeth, the whisper of cloth over flesh as she changed her clothes, the quick tattoo of her bare feet on the tile floor as she hurried to open the door.

“Come in,” she invited, flashing a tentative smile.

Micah felt a rush of preternatural power as he crossed the threshold. Most mortals had no idea that thresholds held the power to repel his kind.

“Nice place,” he said, glancing around. The walls were off-white, the furniture eclectic. Several family photos were scattered on the mantel; a couple of expensive-looking paintings adorned the walls. An arched doorway led to a small kitchen; two other doors were closed.

“Thank you. It was my grandmother's house,” Holly said. “She passed away a few months ago.” She gestured at the sofa. “Please, sit down.”

Micah settled himself on the couch.

Holly sat at the other end, her legs curled beneath her. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Soda? I don't keep anything stronger in the house. Oh! Unless you'd like a glass of wine? I found a bottle of Merlot in the cupboard.”

“Wine sounds good. Thanks.”

Micah blew out a breath as he watched her leave the room. He never should have come here. It was one thing to spend time with her at that country bar or in a movie theater surrounded by people. Another thing entirely to be alone with her in a small space. There were no distractions here—just Holly, the fragrance of her hair, her skin.

The steady beat of her heart.

The enticing scent of her life's blood.

She returned a few minutes later carrying two crystal goblets. “I don't know how good this is,” she said, offering him one of the glasses. “I'm not much of a connoisseur.”

Micah took a sip. He had never cared much for wine until he'd learned it was the only thing other than blood he could keep down. “It's good.”

“So,” Holly said, resuming her seat, “how was your day?”

“Quiet.” He hated the dreamless sleep of his kind, the helpless vulnerability. “How was yours?”

“I spent most of it catching up on my chores and getting ready for work.”

Micah nodded. He missed working, missed feeling useful. He had been on the verge of getting his first film role when Lilith turned him. Since Shirley had passed away, he had been at loose ends. Without her, his nights had been long and empty, his future bleak. He had no purpose, no real companionship, no driving force in his life other than his need for blood. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Where's your family?”

“They live in Sacramento. My dad's a high-powered investment broker.”

“Wasn't he upset when you went to work for the competition?”

“A little, but I wanted to succeed or fail on my own merits, you know? I didn't want any special treatment because my dad owned the firm.”

Micah nodded. “Was your mother a stay-at-home mom?”

“No, she's my dad's secretary.”

Micah grinned. “No kidding?”

Holly laughed. “Mom's always talking about retiring, but I think she's worried that he'll hire some cute young thing to take her place, even though he's forever telling her no one could ever replace her. My dad's a workaholic, but Mom finally talked him into taking a long-overdue vacation.”

“Where'd they go?”

“Australia, New Zealand, Fiji.”

Micah draped one arm along the back of the sofa and stretched his legs out in front of him. “They sound happy together.”

“Sometimes I envy them. I know that's terrible, but I can't help it. They complete each other, if you know what I mean.”

Thinking of Saintcrow and Kadie, Micah nodded. He couldn't imagine one of them without the other. He had loved Shirley, but there had always been an invisible gulf between them, one that she had refused to cross.

Holly pressed a hand to her heart as Micah's gaze caressed her face, making it suddenly hard to breathe. To think. There was only the heat in his eyes. Time seemed to stand still as he took the glass from her hand and set it aside, along with his own. Never taking his gaze from hers, he slowly drew her closer, then cupped her face in his hands.

“I'd like to feel that way about someone,” he murmured, and kissed her, ever so gently.

Holly's toes curled, her eyelids fluttering down as his lips moved over hers, evoking feelings and sensations that bordered on euphoric. If this was a movie, violins would be playing and fireworks would be exploding in the background, she thought as he wrapped his arms around her.

No one had ever kissed her the way he did, as if she were made of spun glass and might shatter. His hands skated lightly up and down her spine, sending little shivers of delight racing through her. She moaned softly, her hands sliding under his shirt, reveling in the touch of his cool, bare skin beneath her palms.

His arms tightened around her as his kisses grew deeper. Her heart ratcheted up a notch when his tongue met hers. He whispered her name, and her mind filled with images of the two of them locked in an intimate embrace. The world faded away, and there was only Micah caressing her, kissing her, the heat of his tongue on her skin. One minute, she was lost in a sea of sensation. The next, she was alone on the sofa.

Opening her eyes, she saw him standing near the window with his back toward her, his hands tightly clenched at his sides. “What's wrong?” she asked breathlessly.

“I need to go.”

“Go?” Dazed, she could only stare at him. “Now?”

He groaned low in his throat.

And then he was out the door.

* * *

Outside, Micah drew several deep breaths. He hadn't been intimate with a woman since Shirley passed away. Maybe that explained why he'd forgotten that his physical desire and his unholy hunger were almost inseparably entwined. Kissing Holly, inhaling her warm, womanly scent, feeling her hands moving over him, had aroused more than his passion. It had taken all of his hard-won self-control to keep from sinking his fangs into her throat and tasting her sweetness. He couldn't begin to imagine how horrified she would have been to discover the man holding her in his arms wasn't a man at all, but a vampire.

Hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans, Micah strolled down the sidewalk, heading for that corner of the town inhabited by transients and those who earned their living by questionable means. Every city, town, and village in the country had such a place—a part of the community that was shunned by decent, law-abiding citizens.

For a hungry vampire, it was the perfect hunting ground.

He was nearing his destination when he caught Leticia Braga's scent on the wind. Knowing he was no match for her, Micah quickly turned and headed in the opposite direction. As far as he knew, he had been the only vampire in town until Braga showed up. If she was planning to stay, maybe he'd be smart to make himself scarce. He had only been a vampire a little over five years. If push came to shove, his chances of defeating Braga one-on-one were slim to none.

When Micah was well away from the seedy part of town, he slowed. It was getting late. Few businesses were still open. Most of the townspeople were locked safely inside their homes.

He paused in front of a house now and then, listening to the conversation and the laughter of the mortals inside. He recalled the nights he had spent with his own family, constantly squabbling with his four younger sisters—Angela, Delia, Rosa, and Sofia. Saturday afternoons playing touch football with his four older brothers—Sergio, Enzo, Mario, and Paolo; nights spent sprawled on the floor eating popcorn while watching TV
.
Normal, ordinary days and nights spent with the people he loved. People who loved him. How far away those days seemed now.

Save for his two youngest sisters, Rosa and Sofia, all his siblings were married with kids of their own. He phoned his parents and the rest of his family from time to time, but it was getting harder and harder to explain why he missed so many holidays. He made it home for his nieces' and nephews' birthdays when he could, always showing up after sunset. He tried to make an appearance during the holidays, constantly making excuses for why he couldn't be home on Christmas morning, why he couldn't be there for sunrise services on Easter Sunday or watch his nieces and nephews hunt for Easter eggs.

Shaking off both his memories and his worries, he hunted the dark streets, searching for prey, his hunger growing stronger with every passing moment. Five years a vampire and he still didn't feel like he was in complete control of his hellish thirst. Sometimes he doubted if he would ever control it. He wondered how Kadie managed it. Of course, she had Saintcrow to help her over the rough spots. And having been turned by a master vampire, she was stronger than most.

Not for the first time, Micah damned Lilith for turning him and then leaving him to figure things out for himself. He didn't know what he would have done if Saintcrow hadn't come along. Hell, he probably wouldn't have survived as long as he had. It had been Saintcrow who'd assured him that he could satisfy his thirst without taking a life. Still, there were times when the urge to drink his prey dry was almost overpowering.

He was about to go to bed hungry when a middle-aged man, obviously drunk, emerged from the shadows and staggered toward him. The man was none too clean, smelled like he hadn't washed in days, and reeked of tobacco and cheap wine, but this was no time to be choosy.

When he had first been turned, Micah had been careful to prey only on those who looked clean, healthy, and sober. But Saintcrow had assured him that, to a vampire, blood was blood. He didn't have to worry about drinking tainted blood. None of it could hurt him. It varied in taste and smell from person to person, but in the end, it was all just blood.

Micah took the man quickly, drank only what he needed, and left him propped against the side of a building, little the worse for wear.