Forever and the Night (The Black Rose Chronicles) (16 page)

“Aidan.”

“Yes, my love.”

She reached up, smoothed the sleek, raven-dark hair at his temple with her palm. “I had the loveliest, most scandalous dream.”

He smiled that sad, poignant, beautiful smile again, the one that never failed to pierce her heart. “Did you?”

Chapter 9

A
s he sat beside Neely on the bed, looking down at her and remembering her responses to his purely mental lovemaking, Aidan again acknowledged the most difficult and treacherous reality of all. She was safe from human enemies while in his house, but in the gravest of danger from immortal predators. Valerian would see her as a plaything, Lisette, as a tool of revenge—even Maeve, in her reckless sisterly and somewhat possessive affection, represented a threat to Neely.

Besides, whatever loyalty Maeve and Valerian might feel toward him, they were vampires, first and always, and as such they could not be trusted with a mortal.

Aidan felt starved and enervated himself, for he had expended tremendous energy pleasuring Neely, and he knew better than anyone what a temptation she offered. Even though he was certain now that he could make love to her, with his body as well as his mind, without fear ofdoing her harm, he was still terrified for her.

He stood, then retreated a pace. “I’ll return in a little while,” he said gruffly. “While I’m gone, I want you to remember—to go over every hour, every moment of your past—until you think of some place where you might hide from the senator and his friends until I can deal with them.”

She sat up, regarded him with round eyes, unconsciously covering herself with the sheets. “You were really here, making love to me, weren’t you? It was some sort of—of vampire magic, like before—and like the night we danced.”

Aidan could not look at her, could not bear to reply. He’d done a vile, damnable thing, tainting her delicate purity with his own foul passions. By loving her, he might well have condemned her to a fate that was quite literally worse than death.

“Aidan,” she persisted.

“Yes,” he admitted, fairly sobbing the word. “Damn it,
yes,
it was real!”

She left the bed, the top sheet wrapped around her slender figure and trailing behind her like a bride’s train, and came to him.

“Are you still afraid?” she asked. Her voice was like balm to his tormented spirit, a drop of water on the tongue of a sinner suffering in hell.

“Oh, yes,” Aidan ground out, visibly forcing himself to look at her. “Not of bedding you, my lass—I know now that the love I feel for you is far greater than any lust for blood—but there are other dangers.”

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him with a tenderness that broke his heart.

“Then let us have whatever time together that we can,” she said. “Come, Aidan, and lie with me.”

He had never wanted anything so much, with the possible exception of his lost mortality, but he forced himself to draw back from her, knowing that every moment they spent together made her doom more likely.

“There are things I must do,” Aidan said, leaving her alone again.

Neely took a quick shower and donned yesterday’s jeans and one of Aidan’s sweaters, then dashed down the stairs. In a moment of panic, she considered bolting out the front door and running—just running—until she collapsed. The problem was, there was nowhere to run to, and there was certainly no place to hide.

Anyway, she couldn’t tolerate the thought of being separated from Aidan—she would rather become a blood drinker herself than to lose him.

She stood in the dark entryway, breathing deeply, until she’d calmed herself a little. Then she marched resolutely into the kitchen. A bowl of fresh fruit and a loaf of French bread had materialized on the counter; Neely wondered, with grim amusement, if Aidan had conjured the food for her.

Vampire magic, she thought, gazing at the stuff, and doubted that she’d ever feel like eating again.

Although Valerian was ambulatory, he was still too weak to hunt in his usual flamboyant fashion. For exactly that reason—and because Aidan did feel a degree of compassion for the older vampire—he wasn’t about to leave his charge alone with Neely.

Instead, at Valerian’s suggestion, they visited a bar on a back street in a modem American city, where the local deviants gathered. Here, in the Last Ditch Tavern, drug dealers congregated, along with pornographers of every description, and others who preyed upon the uncertain, the weak, and the naive.

It was a crowded dive, too warm and too dark, filled with shrillness and smoke, harsh music with indecipherable lyrics, and the intangible specters of lust and hatred and fear.

Aidan despised the Last Ditch instantly, but Valerian surveyed the place as though it were a superb gourmet restaurant. The elder vampire nudged Aidan and pointed to a lonely figure seated at a comer table. He spoke mentally, since it would have been futile to address anyone in the ordinary way in the midst of such chaos.

That pale, skinny creature, there in the shadows,
Valerian said.
He’s
a serial killer, specializing in teenage prostitutes. Likes to make them suffer a little before he finally snuffs them out.

Aidan regarded the quarry with revulsion.
Scum,
he replied.

Precisely,
Valerian answered, beginning to weave his way through the howling, oblivious crowd toward his prey—who undoubtedly, and quite mistakenly, considered himself to be the predator.

Aidan followed, albeit reluctantly, reflecting as he went that there were indeed many kinds of monsters abroad, and relatively few of them were supernatural.
Are there other vampires here?
he inquired of Valerian’s broad back.

No,
came the sharp retort, rapid-fire,
and you’d damn well better learn to sense their presence on your own.

We’re the only immortals, then?
Aidan asked, feeling only mild chagrin. He hated being a vampire and saw no reason to polish the attendant skills.

Valerian turned his head and pinioned Aidan with a brief glare.
There are two warlocks at the bar. Go ahead and look at them. They’ve been watching us since we came in.

Aidan tried to resist, but he could not. He glanced toward the long bar, with its brass rails and milling crowd, and immediately spotted the male witches. They stood out in a subtle way, being taller and handsomer and of brighter countenance than most humans. One lifted his glass to

Aidan in an elegant salute and smiled benignly.

Valerian was already closing in on his quarry, the sullen killer sitting alone and feeling sorry for himself.
Don’t be fooled by their friendliness,
he warned as a hasty aside, already concentrating palpably on his imminent feeding.
The warlock’s blood is poison to us, as I’ve told you many times before. They envy our powers and use their own to thwart us whenever they can.

Aidan shifted his attention to the measly specimen Valerian had chosen to feed upon. The elegant vampire smiled his most charming smile, pulled back a chair, and sat down at the table.

“Hello, Udell,” he said to the pockmarked boy.

Aidan sat, too, although he could hardly tolerate the psychic stench that rose from the lad’s diseased soul. To his amazement, Udell smiled at the beast who would consume and perhaps kill him.

“How’d you know my name?” he shouted over the perverse celebrations and the grating music.

Valerian looked as handsome as an archangel as he settled back in his chair and regarded the monster with apparent fondness. “By magic,” he said.

Watching the interchange, Aidan felt sickened, even though he had no pity at all for the hapless Udell. He’d already glanced into the little worm’s mind and seen his favorite forms of amusement firsthand. No, it was Valerian’s blithe amorality that troubled Aidan now, that hardened hazy suspicions into fact. Here was a creature who, in the final analysis, would indulge his own dark appetites, wherever the opportunity arose. Whether the victim was good or evil, male or female, old or young, might not matter at all.

Suddenly Valerian’s gaze sliced to Aidan’s face.
It isn’t true, what you’re thinking,
he told him, in the same silent way they’d communicated before.
I am capable of love and the purest devotion, just as you are.

Aidan looked away, uncomfortable.
Just get on with it,
he replied. One of the warlocks was moving through the throng toward them, smiling.
I don’t want to stay here any longer than I must.

Valerian held out a hand to Udell, who took it, smiling foolishly, like an old maid who has finally been asked to dance. Together, vampire and witless victim disappeared, blending into the grinding, sweating mass of humanity choking the dance floor.

Great,
Aidan thought, watching the warlock.
Now I get to make small talk with somebody who wants to turn me into a toad.

The warlock laughed. He was attractive, with soft brown hair, impish hazel eyes, and a quick grin. “I want to do nothing of the sort,” he said, holding out his hand. “My name is Cain.”

“Figures,” Aidan replied, ignoring the gesture. He looked toward the other ghoul, still standing at the bar, and arched one eyebrow. “Is that your brother, Abel?”

All the mirth had drained from Cain’s manner. “Not funny.” He grabbed a wooden chair, wrenched it around, and straddled the seat, his sinewy arms folded across the back. “You cannot possibly be so naive as you seem,” he declared. “Do you know what goes on in this bar?”

“Every sort of depravity, I would imagine,” Aidan answered coolly. “Look, I’m not out to make friends or bridge any philosophical gaps between your kind and mine, all right? I’m here to feed, and for no other purpose.” Cain’s smile returned. He turned his head slowly and pulled down on the collar of his expensive sweater with one hand to bare his throat in invitation.

Aidan wondered if it was possible for a vampire to vomit. “Thanks, anyway,” he said, rising from his chair. He scanned the crowd, looking for Valerian, enjoying a brief fantasy in which he drove a spike through that particular

vampire’s heart with a croquet mallet.

That night Aidan made a point of selecting a female victim, a very disturbed creature who had left her children with an abusive biker boyfriend to come to the Last Ditch for an evening’s diversion. Minutes before Aidan approached her, she had sucked the week’s grocery money up her nose through a rolled-up dollar bill. Her name was Fay, and she was more than neglectful, she was a sociopath, untroubled by the dimmest flicker of conscience.

They danced for a while, moving against each other, and then he led her through the hallway at the rear, past the rest rooms, and into the alley.

It certainly wasn’t a sexual encounter, but when Aidan bit into Fay’s narrow throat to drink, he felt the usual jubilation—and an almost paralyzing rush of guilt.

He left the woman half-conscious, but very much alive, huddled beside an overflowing trash bin, and went in search of Valerian. At first, seeing no sign of the other vampire only annoyed Aidan, but then, when a single, grim possibility struck him, he was alarmed.

Neely was alone, unguarded. And Valerian surely saw her not only as a tempting delicacy, but as a rival.

There, on a snowy street comer, Aidan raised his arms over his head, clasped his hands together as if to pray, and vanished.

Neely had found Aidan’s car keys after an impulsive search. She was bending over his desk, hastily penning a note, when there was a rippling stir in the air. Catching her breath, she looked up to see Valerian standing only a few feet away.

She laid one hand to her heart, willing it to slow down to its regular pace, and managed a shaky smile. “I was just going to the market,” she said, feeling foolish even as she uttered the words.

Valerian folded his arms and tilted his magnificent head to one side. He had a mane of chestnut-colored hair and mischievous violet eyes, and he grinned as he regarded her, as if he were mildly puzzled.

Neely reminded herself that this was a vampire she was dealing with—an ancient and very accomplished one, according to Aidan’s journals. She took a step backward. “Where is Aidan?”

Valerian sighed. “He’s occupied with other matters just now. You shouldn’t go out. It’s very dangerous.”

She put her hands on her hips, figuring bravado was a better bet than sniveling cowardice, though it was the latter she was inclined toward. “Don’t look now,” she said tartly, “but I’m not exactly safe and sound as it is.”

He chuckled, his arms still folded and his expression still curious. “It’s hopeless—loving Aidan Tremayne the way you do, I mean. He can never be a husband to you in any fashion you would even begin to understand.”

Neely’s temper, an unwary and impulsive force in its own right, flared with all the fury of the fires that burned at the center of the earth. She forgot all about Valerian’s supernatural talents and went to stand directly in front of him, looking straight into his eyes. “You want him for yourself,” she accused quietly. “You want him for a lover.”

Valerian’s eyes flashed, and he seemed to grow taller, fiercer, and much more dangerous. “You cannot possibly comprehend my feelings for Aidan, with your pitiful mortal brain,” he growled.
“I am a vampire,
and my affections transcend such trivial concepts as sexuality! Do you think you can categorize me into your narrow human view of what a lover should be? Well, you are wrong!” He paused and, to Neely’s enormous relief, made a visible effort to restrain his temper. “Once Aidan comes to terms with who and what he is—”