Dead Perfect (14 page)

“If you wish.”

“Give me a few minutes, okay?”

Nodding, he watched her climb the stairs until she was out of sight, and then he began to pace the floor. Had he made a mistake in asking her to move in? It would be harder to keep his secret, harder to explain his continued absences during the day. And yet he could not abide the thought of letting her go. She was too fragile to live alone. He needed to have her nearby, where he could keep watch over her, where he could come to her aid should she need it. He was not entirely helpless during the day. If she needed him when he was at rest, he could, with a great deal of effort, rise to meet her needs, so long as she was inside the house.

He waited fifteen minutes and then he went up the stairs to her bedroom. She was already in bed, her hair spread around her shoulders in waves of black silk. She looked up at him through eyes shadowed with remorse and he wondered how long it would take her to get over feeling guilty because she had survived, and be grateful that she was still alive. He knew he could wipe the guilt from her memory, but he was reluctant to mess with her mind too often.

Wordlessly, he drew her into his arms, one hand stroking her back. “I’m glad you survived,” he murmured. “My existence wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Your existence?”

“My life,” he amended easily.

“Do I really mean that much to you?”

“That much and more,” he said fervently. “Until you came into my life, I was lost and I didn’t even know it.”

“I think that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“I want to make you happy, love. If there’s anything you want, you have only to name it. Do whatever you want in the house, buy whatever you wish, whatever you need.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

“Not really. I’m just being selfish.”

“It doesn’t sound selfish to me.”

“Ah, but it is, don’t you see? Making you happy makes me happy.”

She smiled up at him. “Maybe that’s why I was spared,” she remarked. “To spend my last few days making you happy.”

“Perhaps. Let’s not question fate, let’s just enjoy the time we have.”

“I love you, Ronan.”

“Shannah!”

“Do you love me?”

“More than you can imagine.”

With a sigh, she snuggled against him, her arms around his waist.

He held her until she fell asleep, held her until the hunger gnawing at his insides could no longer be ignored.

Brushing a kiss across her brow, he settled her under the covers, and then he went out into the night to search the drifting shadows for prey.

After five hundred and thirteen years as a vampire, it didn’t take Ronan long to find that which he sought, that which he needed. He fed quickly, neatly, and went on his way.

Five hundred and thirteen years. It didn’t seem possible that so many centuries had passed, or that he had changed in so many ways and yet remained ever the same.

He had been born in the summer of 1459 in a small town off the English coast, a town that no longer existed. He had grown up on a farm, the youngest child in a family of four girls and five boys. His brothers and sisters had all married and left home by the time he was seventeen and he alone had remained to help his father work the farm. At the age of twenty-four, he had married the girl on the neighboring farm. It hadn’t been a love match, though Verity had been a sweet girl, biddable and kind-hearted. Though he had married her to please his parents, he hadn’t been completely unhappy with his bride. She had been a pretty thing, with expressive brown eyes and a shy smile. Their marriage had been amicable if not exciting. In time, Verity had grown to love him and he had learned to care and appreciate her for the good woman she was. They had been married eight years and had long since given up any hope of having children when Verity told him she was pregnant. Seven months later, she had died in childbirth and the babe with her. He had mourned her death and the loss of his child, mourned the fact that he had never loved her.

He had immersed himself in work after the death of his wife and child. His mother and father had assured him that the grief would pass, that he would marry again. He never knew if they were right or wrong. Three years after Verity’s death, Rosalyn had come to town and changed his life forever.

She had been a wild, wanton woman, the perfect antidote for the lethargy that had plagued him. She had teased and flirted shamelessly, and one night under a dark moon she had taken him into the shadows beyond the town and seduced him. When he had offered to marry her, she laughed in his face.

“You are so young,” she had exclaimed. “And so tasty.” She had kissed him again, arousing him to fever pitch once more, and then she sank her fangs into his throat.

Though he was taller and broader and outweighed her by a good sixty pounds, he had been helpless to resist her. He had felt himself growing weak, weaker, knew he was on the brink of death. When she lifted her head and looked down at him, her lips had been stained with his blood.

“Why?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

She shrugged, and then, to his astonishment, she slit her wrist with a fingernail. Drops of dark red bubbled from the wound. He recoiled when she offered him her arm.

“I have drained you to the point of death,” she said. “Now you must drink or die. The choice is yours.”

Feeling as though he might float away on the next breeze, he shook his head. “No.”

“Drink,” she coaxed. “Someday you will thank me.”

As he grew weaker, his fear of dying overcame his revulsion. With a low growl, he grabbed her arm.

“I’ll never thank you,” he vowed, “not if I live to be a hundred.”

She laughed softly as he pressed her wrist to his lips.

He drank like a man who had been denied nourishment for days, drank until she had jerked her wrist away. And then, to his amazement, she lifted him into her arms as if he weighed no more than a child, carried him deep into a cave, and then vanished from his sight. Confused and afraid of what had happened between them, he struggled to his feet. He had only taken a few steps when pain ripped through his body. Certain she had left him in the cave to die, he curled into a ball, moaning softly as the world around him went dark, sucking him down into the blackness of oblivion.

When he woke the following night, he was a newly made vampire with the whole of the world and eternity stretching before him. They were exciting times. Sir Francis Drake sailed around the world, John Smith founded Jamestown, Gutenberg invented a printing press with movable type, the Pilgrims came to America. And he came with them, a new vampire in a new world.

He had enjoyed his existence but never more so than now. After all these years, years that he owed to Rosalyn, he had fallen in love. And for that, he would ever be grateful.

Looking up at the starry sky, he murmured, “You were right, Rosalyn. Wherever you are, I thank you.”

And then he returned to the house that was now a home because Shannah was waiting for him there.

Shannah woke at dusk to find Ronan standing in front of her bedroom window, looking out. Sitting up, she admired the width of his shoulders, his tight buns, the snug fit of his jeans, the long line of his legs. He really was a perfect specimen, the kind of man that graced the covers of magazines like
GQ
and appeared on posters in clothing stores.

His soft chuckle filled the silence. “Do you like what you see?”

“How did you know I was looking?”

“I can feel your gaze on my back.” He turned to face her, his arms crossed over his chest. “And other places.”

“Oh.” She knew she was blushing but she couldn’t help it. Drat the man, she had blushed more since she met him than she had in her whole life.

“So,” he said, “now that you’re officially moved in, what would you think about keeping the same hours I do?”

“I don’t suppose you could write during the day?”

“No. I’m afraid I’m too old and set in my ways to change now.”

She could understand that, she supposed. After all, he was a successful author, and as such, he was entitled to his quirks.

“Shannah?”

“I’m willing to try.”

“You won’t mind sleeping during the day?”

“I don’t know. I guess not.” Truth be told, she had been going to bed later and getting up later since the first night she came here.

Sitting up, she stretched her arms over her head. Still, it would be odd, getting up when the sun went to bed, sleeping while the sun was up, but it would be worth it if it meant spending more time with Ronan.

“So, what hours do you keep, exactly?”

“I usually get up an hour or two before sundown and stay up until dawn.”

“You sleep all day?”

“Writing takes a lot out of me.” He grinned at her. “Of course, since you came along, I haven’t done a whole lot of writing.”

Shannah chewed on her thumbnail. His hours didn’t sound so bad, although she wasn’t sure she could sleep that long. Of course, she wouldn’t have to keep his exact hours.

“You don’t have to adjust your schedule to mine if you’d rather not,” he said. “We can go on as we are.”

“No, that’s okay. We can try it for a while and see how it works out,” she said. “Since we’ll be keeping the same hours, does that mean we’ll be eating our meals together now?”

Damn, why hadn’t he thought of that? He could always sit across from her and plant the idea in her mind that he had shared the meal with her. It would probably be the easiest solution.

“I usually only eat one meal a day,” he said.

“And you like to eat alone,” she said. “I know.”

He nodded.

“Well, we’ll work something out,” she said brightly. “So, what hours do you write?”

“Until you came along, I usually wrote most of the night.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t want to interfere with your work…”

“Ah, but I want you to. Writing is a lonely business.”

“But you have to keep writing. Think of all those fans waiting for your next book! I’ll just read or watch TV when you’re working.” Of course, that wouldn’t give them much time together.

Crossing the floor, he took her by the hand and drew her out of bed and into his arms. “Good evening, love.”

She smiled up at him, then closed her eyes as he lowered his head and claimed a kiss.

Yes, she thought dreamily, she could get used to this.

“Why don’t you get dressed and have dinner,” he suggested, “and then, if you like, we can go out.”

“All right.”

“Where would you like to go?”

“The movies? I haven’t been in ages.”

“The movies it is.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll even buy you a box of popcorn.”

They left for the theater at 6:30. It was odd, Ronan thought, sitting with a girl at the movies, holding hands like any other mortal couple. He tried to shut out the cacophony of beating hearts, the myriad odors that rose from the people around him, the smell of popcorn, soda, candy, nachos and cheese, the whispers and giggles, the scent of lust emanating from the teenage boy in the next row, his own growing desire for the woman beside him.

With so many distractions, it was little wonder that he paid scant attention to what was happening on the screen.

He was relieved when the movie was over. Outside, he drew in a deep breath. Due to his preternatural senses, he was ever aware of the hundreds of scents and sounds that surrounded him, but out here, in the open, they were less intense.

“I need to check my post office box,” he remarked as they walked across the street to the parking lot. “I haven’t picked up my mail in weeks.”

“I used to follow you there sometimes,” she confessed.

“I know.”

“I don’t believe you! How could you know? I was always careful to stay out of sight.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, love, but you weren’t nearly as sneaky as you thought.”

“Well,” she muttered with mock despair, “so much for my James Bond impersonation.”

Ronan laughed, thinking how good it felt. Laughter was something that had been missing from his life for a long time.

They pulled up in front of the post office a few minutes later. “Do you want to wait in the car,” he asked, “or come in with me?”

Shannah glanced out the window. The post office was located next to the Department of Motor Vehicles. They were the only two buildings on the block, and both were dark. “I’ll go with you.”

He opened the door for her, then took her hand and they walked into the building together. Her footsteps echoed on the cement floor. Ronan walked without making a sound.

“It’s spooky in here,” she remarked.

“Is it?”

“Don’t you think so?”

“No, but then I’ve never been afraid of the dark.”

It wasn’t entirely dark inside the building but it seemed eerie somehow, to be wandering around inside when the main part of the post office was closed.

She followed him to his box, waited while he opened it and withdrew a handful of letters and a package.

“Anything good?” she asked curiously.

“A few letters,” he replied, thumbing through the envelopes. “The usual junk mail.”

“What’s in the package?”

He glanced at the return address. “Probably my latest book. Nellie Brown always pre-orders a copy and sends it to me so I can autograph it for her.”

“I hope no one ever compares your autograph with mine,” Shannah said.

He grunted softly. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He tossed the junk mail in one of the trash containers; then, taking Shannah by the hand again, he left the building.

He paused outside, his hand tightening on hers as he glanced up and down the sidewalk.

“What’s wrong?” Shannah asked.

Lifting his head, he sniffed the wind, then moved to the curb and looked up and down the street.

“Ronan?”

“It’s nothing,” he replied after a moment. “Let’s go.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Get in the car.”

She quickly did as she was told. Ronan slid behind the wheel and pulled out of the parking lot. She noticed he glanced in the rear-view mirror several times and that he took the long way home.

“What was that all about?” she asked when they pulled into the driveway.

He shrugged. “I guess I was being paranoid.”

“Is there another James Bond trailing you?”

“I think so.”

“You’re not serious?”

“’Fraid so.”

“Who?”

“Your friend, Hewitt.”

Shannah stared at him. “I don’t believe you. How could he find me? He doesn’t even know my real name.”

“You said he bought one of my books. My post office box is in the back.” He swore softly. “I knew putting my address in there would come back to haunt me one of these days.”

Shannah glanced out the back window as Ronan cut the engine. “Do you think he followed us here?”

Ronan shook his head. Hewitt didn’t have to follow them. He already knew where to find them.

“I guess that book tour wasn’t such a good idea,” Shannah remarked, and then she frowned. “Why would he follow me?”

Ronan shrugged, content, for the moment, to let her think she was the one Hewitt was looking for even though he knew better. Hewitt wasn’t looking for Shannah. He was hunting a vampire.

They started their new life together the following evening. Ronan woke an hour or so before sundown. Though legend and lore had it that vampires were helpless until the sun went down, he had found that he could rise before sunset so long as he stayed inside, out of the reach of the sun, hence the heavy draperies that covered all the windows in the house.

He slept in a large room located in the basement. The door, made of stone, had no handle and was virtually invisible to the human eye. A heavy iron bar on the inside of the door ensured that, should an intruder inadvertently discover the entrance, he wouldn’t be able to gain access. The walls were also made of stone, as was the floor, which was covered with a thick gray carpet. There was an easy chair in one corner, a couple of tables, a large armoire where he kept his clothing, a small sink and a shower behind a hand-painted screen, and the bed in which he slept. He had no need for lights.

Rising, he showered and dressed and then went upstairs.

He found Shannah still sleeping. She looked incredibly young and vulnerable lying there, her cheek pillowed on her hand, her hair spread over her shoulders.

Hunger surged through him, and with it the urge to slip under the covers, to draw her into his arms and satisfy both of his cravings.

In the future, he would have to feed before he sought her out. He was about to go in search of prey when she stirred. A sigh whispered past her lips. Her eyelids fluttered open.

“Ronan. Good morn…” She laughed softly. “I guess I should say good evening.”

He nodded. “Why don’t you shower and dress? I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“All right. What time is it?”

“A little after seven.” He hated daylight savings time, when the days were longer and the nights shorter.

Approaching the bed, he brushed a kiss across her brow. It was a mistake. He could hear the slow, steady beat of her heart, smell the blood flowing in her veins. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his lips. The taste of her, the very nearness of her, only increased his desire to hold her, to taste her, to possess her fully and completely as only a vampire could.

“I’ll see you downstairs,” he said, his voice thick, and then he fled the room before his hunger for her blood and his desire for her flesh overcame his will power.

It took only moments to find his prey—a young woman waiting for a downtown bus. He mesmerized her with a look and led her away from the bus stop toward a movie theater on the next block. He bought two tickets and led her inside to a seat in the back row. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he drew her close, taking what he needed while she stared, spellbound, at the screen.

Speaking to her mind, he told her to forget what had happened and remember only that she had, on impulse, gone to the movies.

He returned home quickly and was sitting on the sofa when Shannah descended the stairs.

She was lovely, as always. Her hair fell down her back in waves of black silk, her eyes were bright, her smile warm. She wore a pair of white jeans that clung to her like a second skin and a green sweater that flattered every feminine curve.

“I’m going to fix something to eat,” she said. “Are you sure you won’t join me…oh, I keep forgetting.” She frowned at him. “Why do you eat alone? Are your table manners that bad?”

He laughed softly. “What are you going to fix, breakfast or dinner?”

She frowned. “Well, since this is now going to be my morning, I guess I’ll fix breakfast. Most important meal of the day, you know. Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”

“Not tonight. I think I’ll write for a while,” he said. “We can go out later, if you like.”

“I’d rather stay home. I’m feeling a little tired.”

He looked at her sharply, wondering if it was time to give her a little more of his blood.

“I’m all right,” she said. “It’s just going to take a little while to get used to these hours.”

With a nod, he left the room and went down the hall to his office. Sitting at his desk, he fired up the computer and pulled up his latest work in progress, then he sat back in his chair and stared at the screen, wondering how long he could keep her from finding out who and what he was, and what she would do when she discovered the truth.

And then there was Jim Hewitt, vampire hunter, to consider. It was obvious the man was hunting him. Sooner or later, he would have to confront Hewitt. Most likely, he would have to kill him.

With a shake of his head, he put everything else from his mind and tried to focus on his story, but to no avail. He was all too aware of the woman in the kitchen. Her presence filled his senses. Each breath he took carried the scent of her hair, her skin, her blood, the light flowery fragrance of her perfume, the strawberry scent of her shampoo.

His heart beat in time with hers. His fangs pricked his tongue. His hunger, so recently fed, stirred to life once more. She was here, under his roof.

She was mortal.

She was prey.

He listened to her footsteps as she moved around the kitchen, the swish of cloth against her skin, the clink of dishes as she set the table, the sound of running water, the sizzle of bacon frying in a pan.

And his hunger grew.

Cursing softly, he rose and shut the door, hoping that would help, but to no avail. Had he been blind and deaf, he could have found her in the bottom of a well at midnight. He had taken her blood and given her his. There was a bond between them that could not be broken so long as she lived, a bond that called to him relentlessly, urging him to drink deeply, to drink it all and then give it back to her. To do so would heal her once and for all. It would make her what he was, a creature of the night. Undead. A vampire.

Once again, he reminded himself that she had come to him seeking just such a thing.

As he had so often, he wondered if she would want the Dark Trick if she knew that he could give it to her.

Pushing all thoughts of Shannah from his mind, he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand, frowning as the words that flowed across his computer screen echoed his own internal struggle.