Hunting Daylight (9781101619032) (19 page)

A few years later, I realized that I was deficient in some womanly way. I was straightforward with men, incapable of subtlety, and as a result, I said pretty much what was on my mind. Worse, I seemed to be frigid. When a guy kissed me, I felt self-conscious, as if I were in a restaurant, eating lamb stew with my fingers.

The guys always moved on, hooking up with girls who knew how to flirt and kiss. Sometimes a man would stick around—for a while. I was briefly engaged to a banker, but he failed to show up at the party my uncle had hosted
for us at Danesfield House, an old country estate on the Thames. However, the fiancé had turned out to be an embezzler and a cheater. He’d missed the party because he’d run away with his secretary.

I’d gotten dumped so many times, I made a list of my fizzled relationships and called it
The Lost Boys
. Much later, I learned that my half-vampire genes were responsible—humans just didn’t feel attracted to hybrids and vice versa. My own body chemistry hadn’t fully awakened until years later, when I’d been bitten by a vampire, and a hormonal surge had left me with prodigious sexual longings.

I didn’t know what would happen to Vivi when she matured. Like me, she was a late bloomer. She’d gotten her first period right before we’d left Australia, and I suspected that was the real reason she hadn’t wanted to ride Ozzie.

How long could I protect my daughter from her own genes? I’d tried to be honest, but I’d doled out the truth in digestible chunks. She knew about vampires, hybrids, and the prophecy; eventually I’d have to tell her about the Lost Boys, and I had a feeling that this tidbit would upset her more than her possible role in a vampire apocalypse.

I dreamed that Vivi was a baby, and we were shopping in the open-air market at São Tomé. I set her down for a second to examine a melon, and when I looked for her, Vivi was gone.

I awoke with my hands knotted in the sheet and an unshakable sense of loss. I sat up, blinking at the window,
where a white dazzle crept around the edges of the curtain and crept across the wall like fingers.

What time was it? The sky held the same luminous glow at three
A.M.
and three
P.M
. In all of this brightness, I’d lost perspective. Like a diver in deep blue water, I couldn’t find the surface. I felt a suffocating pressure against my ribs, as if I were wearing a too-tight dress.

I got out of bed, but the dream about Vivi was still with me. I needed to make sure she was safe. I put on a robe, went down the hall, and cracked open her door.

Vivi sat up, the sheet falling across her Ninja Kitten sleeping shirt, the one I’d packed in our emergency bag. “Mom?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

“Who can sleep in this weird light?” She patted the bed. “Come lay with me a while.”

I eased onto the bed, and my body curved around hers. I steeled myself for questions about Keats, but she just lay there, breathing in and out.

“Mom, tell me about the desert. When you and Dad were hiding from the bad guys.”

I pressed my cheek against the back of her head. “You know this story by heart.”

“Yeah, but tell me again.”

“Your father and I rode camels through the Wadi el-Deir,” I said. “We could only travel at night—”

“Because my dad was a brand-new vampire and the sun would fry him, right?”

“True.” I smiled. “Raphael caught up with us in the
desert. He took us into a cave that had drawings on the wall.”

“Tell me about them.”

“They looked like mermaids. When your dad and I held up our lanterns, the mermaids seemed to swim across the rocks.”

Vivi knew the rest of it. The drawings in another chamber had depicted a prophecy of the immortals. The same images were repeated all over the world, in catacombs, caves, and a church on top of Mt. Sinai. The apocalyptic drawings were always the same: humans, skeletons, and a caged baby.

I waited for her to ask about the images and how they were mixed up in the so-called prophecy. Instead, she snuggled closer. “Tell me about your wedding.”

“Raphael took me and your daddy to Monaco. I bought him a wedding ring and had it engraved,
To J love the Lass
.”

“Why did he call you
the lass
?”

She knew the answer, but I pretended that she didn’t. “He grew up in Yorkshire. It’s an endearment.”

My voice sounded steady, almost serene. I never thought I could talk about Jude without choking up, but here I was, telling Vivi about my runaway veil. Her eyelids dropped lower and lower. She pushed her face into the pillow and sighed.

“Mom, what did he call me?”

“Meep.”

A smile flitted across her lips. Jude would have been so proud of Vivi. Talking about him tonight had made me feel peaceful.

After she fell asleep, I wandered down to the living room. Raphael stood next to the fireplace, staring into the glowing red coals. He’d changed into beige twill shorts, a blue oxford cloth shirt, and loafers without socks. His summer-in-the-Hamptons look, I privately called it.

He glanced up. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“No.” I tried to look into his mind, but I slammed against something hard and impenetrable. What was he hiding?

“Maybe a nightcap will help.” He moved to the bar and lifted a bottle of sweet Italian liqueur he’d brought from the jet. He poured it into a tall narrow glass and added ice cubes.

Just the way you like it,
mia cara.

“Raphael, if you keep slinging thoughts in my direction, I’ll get a headache.” And it was true. I could take only so much telepathy before my brain fought back. I carried my glass to an overstuffed sofa and sat down. I kicked off my flats. I took a sip, and ice clinked against the glass.

Raphael carried the bottle to the sofa and sat down beside me. “Did you check on Vivi?”

I nodded. “She’s asleep.”

“I didn’t tell Inge about Mr. Keats’s death. She’s a hybrid—and telepathic. I can only assume that she picked the information out of my head.”

“Or mine.”

Still gripping the bottle, he leaned back. “Let’s come back here in October. It’s cold and dark, but Vivi will enjoy the aurora borealis.”

I looked into my glass. In October, Longyearbyen
would be dark twenty-four hours a day. The polar night brought all kinds of tourists—including vampires. “Will it be safe?”

“We shouldn’t abandon all hope,
mia cara
.”

“Don’t you worry.” I took a sip of liqueur. “I’m an optimist even when hope is gone. I really believed that Jude would come home.”

“I know. Me, too.”

I took another sip. “Who sent those vampires to Scotland?”

“I don’t know.”

“But I’ve got to find out. It comforts me to know the enemy. And I want to believe that Salucard is the enemy.”

“They’re an old, honorable organization.” He wedged the bottle between his thighs. “They’ve tried to supervise the cabals. When one becomes too powerful—or radical—Salucard banishes them. But the cabals do not disband. They grow.”

“Whatever happened to the Egyptian cabal that initiated Jude?”

“They still belong to Salucard. The monks protect some of the immortals’ artifacts.”

“You and I stole an important one,” I said, thinking of
Historia Immortalis
, an eighth-century illustrated manuscript that depicted the history of the immortal race. Years ago, Raphael and I had taken a large chunk of the book from the monks, and then he’d helped Jude and me escape from the monastery. Now, Salucard had the artifact.

“We’re definitely not the Sinai Cabal’s favorite people,” Raphael said, squeezing my hand. “But they wouldn’t
send assassins to Manderford Castle. A more dangerous cabal must be responsible.”

“Do you have a list of suspects?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Until then, we’ll keep running.” I sighed. “I hope this group didn’t track our flight to Longyearbyen.”

“No vampire will come here.”

“You did.”

“An old friend works at the Svalbard Airport. He’s monitoring all flight plans to Longyearbyen. Another friend is watching the port. Inge’s sons are armed. They’re taking turns watching the house.”

“I’m still worried.”

He leaned his shoulder against mine. “Lay down your fear for one night,
mia cara
.”

“I can’t choose how I feel.”

“Yes, you can. You always have a choice.”

“Then I’m choosing fear. It makes me alert.”

He set the bottle on a table, then turned back to me. “You look tired. Try to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

But I wanted to stay awake. I finished my drink, put down the glass, and tucked my arm behind my head. Raphael’s eyes followed my hand. His gaze was almost palpable. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was a vampire trick, but I hoped he would keep on looking.

As his patchouli-and-pomegranate smell wafted between us, the trembly place in my chest broke open like a goose egg, and a peaceable feeling ran inside me. He began kneading my shoulders just the way I liked. I tipped back my head and smiled.

He smiled back. “What?” he asked.

I shrugged. I didn’t understand what I was feeling, but it seemed like old-fashioned lust. I hadn’t been with a man in a decade, and if I didn’t move this second, I was going to kiss him and ruin everything.

I stood, and the room began to spin. The air stirred, and Raphael was suddenly beside me, holding my elbows. My arms felt boneless and I sagged against his chest.

“I’ve got you,” Raphael said, and his hand dropped to my waist.

His voice rang through my head like music, and I felt dizzy. Maybe I was jet-lagged, because I couldn’t be drunk this fast, not after one glass.

“You’re not drunk,
mia cara
,” he asked. “You’re exhausted.”

“It’s not polite to read my thoughts, Raphael.”

“
Mi scusi.
I lose my manners when I’m around you.” He stared at me so long, I thought he might kiss me.
Please God, let him do it.

“I’ll help you to your room,” he said.

“I’m not sure that’s necessary,” I said, but he was already leading me up the stairs, into my room. I pushed a thought in his direction.

I don’t want to be alone. Stay with me awhile.

He led me to the bed and pulled back the covers. I locked my arms around his neck. Deep inside me, a sane, sober voice said,
This is a mistake, the kind that changes a good thing into a bad thing
. What was I thinking? People were all around. My daughter. Fielding, Gillian, Inge.

But I wanted Raphael. I pulled him closer and tilted my head at an angle. He’d kissed me only once, and that had been fifteen years ago. But I still remembered it. That
kiss had made me climax, but now I believed that it had also planted an idea, one that had finally worked its way to the light, a trembling sprig that would fold back on itself if the wind blew too hard.

“Everything is different now,
mia cara
,” he said.

That was just what I was afraid of, but before I had time to think about it, his lips met mine, and his tongue moved through my teeth. It was different from that long-ago kiss, and it pulled me into a sunlit place. He tasted of vanilla and ripe cherries and something earthy that made me instantly aroused. I sensed that he was holding back, and that excited me.

Then his whole body tensed, and for a second I thought he might push me away. His arms trembled as if he were holding something inside him, something I wanted. I slipped my tongue deeper into his mouth, and he groaned. His hand cupped my breast, and I arched against him, a pulse ticking at the base of my throat and in my wrists.

Still kissing, we fell back on the bed, and the mattress creaked beneath us. I slid my foot behind his knee, urging him closer. A low sound started in his throat when I lifted my hips. I brushed against his zipper and felt a hard bulge.

Oh, my. I hadn’t expected that. I put a little more movement behind the kiss. He was breathing faster and faster. His hand dropped to my knee. I shivered when the flat of his palm slid up my thigh.

I’d never known such need. He settled his full weight on me. His thighs pushed against mine, his knees nudging my legs apart a little at a time.

“Wait, wait,” I said. If he moved one inch, if he even breathed on me, I would plunge right over the edge.

“We’ve waited too long,” he said in my ear. Then my panties were gone and he was guiding himself inside me. He was big, just as I’d expected. My breath caught. He smelled so good. Felt so good.

“Raphael,” I whispered.

“I’ve wanted you so long,” he said.

Was this true? His voice sent tingles along my spine, and I arched my back, urging him to move deeper. He still had a way to go, but I could feel my orgasm building, as if I were walking on top of a bridge, teetering back and forth, about to topple.

Just as I started to fall, a whining started up at the bedroom door, followed by furious scratching. Then Arrapato began to howl. Raphael pulled away. Before I could sit up, he was out the door and gone.

Saved by the dog
, I thought.

I sat up, brushing my hair out of my eyes. Raphael and I had made love only halfway, so maybe our friendship was only half ruined. I could blame it on the liqueur, but I’d be lying. My body still wanted Raphael, but my mind said,
You can’t ever do this again
. Besides, some part of me still felt loyal to Jude. I’d always thought of myself as Penelope—but without suitors. Still, I’d been waiting for something.