Secrets of the Night Special Edition (94 page)

Several moments later, he turned away from the corpse, at a loss to know which of the many vampires had killed the man. Moloch? Damn the bastard! But how could he think when his thought processes became lost in the cacophony echoing inside his brain? He heard two security guards talking on the fifth floor of the
New World
Tower
, heard a leaf fall from a fichus tree at the end of the block. He heard--footsteps!

"Stevie!”

"Galan, what are you doing so earl--?”  Her gaze slid to the lifeless body.” But that's Nick! He looks like a ghost!” Not another vampire murder! She swallowed convulsively, turning her head to the side, her skin turning hot, then cold.

Gently, Galan took her by the arm, easing her away from the horror.” I came upon him myself only a few minutes ago, and--"

"But just look at his skin!” Her newspaper fell to the sidewalk, forgotten. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she choked on her words.” What's happened to him?”

"Nothing we can do for him now,” he said in soothing tones, “but I intend to call the police from my cell phone.” He drew her into his arms to comfort her, temptingly aware of her body warmth, of her breasts pressed against him, the firm pressure of her hips through her cotton slacks. A stiff wind blew a lock of her hair across his face, an unimaginably sweet allurement.

A pinkish glow lit the sky, and his brain flashed another warming. By all the saints, Stevie must not catch his trepidation.

With light fingers, he brushed a strand of hair from her face.” You knew him, didn't you?” 

Silently, she nodded in his arms. Galan loosened his hold and stepped away.” I wish I could stay with you, but I must leave.”

"But where . . . ?” 

The sky became brighter, the sun's beams touching the streets and buildings with an amber glow.

"Important business,” he murmured. Go home, go home!

"Business? Now?” 

"I'll phone you tonight,” he called over his shoulder as he dashed around the corner.

"Hey, wait!” After a few moments of indecision, Stevie rushed after him. She didn't see him anywhere! How could he disappear so quickly? A crazy thought froze her blood. Galan's disappearance--like that old man she'd seen in the evening.

Her attention shifted back to Nick. She wondered what--or who--was causing these deaths. And how come Galan just happened to be standing next to Nick? Did he have something to do with--? She shook her head. Uh, uh, that was too crazy to even consider. But why in the world had he left her so quickly, as if he suspected the police would be after him? He couldn't take a few minutes to say 'goodbye'? 

The hell with you, Galan Kent!

* * *

Galan roused from a deep sleep and headed downstairs as night crept over the land. His steps slow and halting, he stopped by his glass-topped coffee table and picked up the telephone, then dialed Stevie's number. Four rings later, he heard it pick up.

"Hi, this is Stevie. Sorry I'm not here to take your call, but if you leave your name and number, I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks!”

Curse these human inventions. Imagine talking to a machine.

"Stevie, this is Galan. I wanted you to know I called the police about the dead man.” He paused, aware she was disturbed with him for leaving her so precipitously this morning.” I hope to see you in a few days.” How could he bear the wait?

Sighing, he hung up the phone.

Long moments of charged emotions passed, then he left his living room and went back upstairs. There, he sat at his desk for countless minutes, too distracted about Stevie to write.

How warm and endearing she'd felt in his arms this morning, an ephemeral treasure he could never call his own. He clenched his hands on the desk as anguish tore him apart. God help him! Someday, Stevie would meet a mortal man to love, a man who could give her the happiness she deserved. Then she'd marry him, this man who would hold her close at night and savor the exquisite passion that surely must lie within her.

He drummed his fingers on the desk, waiting for the words to come, aware of the need to finish his Chapter. Folding his arms across his chest, he stared off into space, as if he would find inspiration from within the room.

An eerie premonition sent every coherent thought flying from his mind, and he sensed her presence before he saw her.

"Rosalinda.”

A slender woman glided out from a dark corner, reeking of musk, her black taffeta gown whispering along the carpeted floor.

She came to stand beside his desk, a tall, regal figure, the decolletege of her gown revealing voluptuous breasts. Curls of ink-black hair rose over a foot atop her head, and he could swear that was a real bird's nest tucked among the dark tresses. Diamonds glittered from her neck and ears, a diamond bracelet dangling from her wrist.

"Galan!” She smoothed her hand along the back of his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair.” I've missed you terribly. You have no idea.” She pouted prettily.” Life is so empty without you.”

"Moloch.”

She frowned.” Who?” 

"Moloch sent you, didn't he?”  He glanced up at her, resolved to ignore her full breasts, her sensual hips. He mustn't fall into her trap, and the scheme stank of that wily fiend.

With beringed fingers, she patted her coiffure, the gems sparkling in the dark, calling attention to her long, blood red nails.” Moloch? Why do you speak of him? I came of my own volition.” She bent low to kiss his neck.” How I've missed you.” 

"Let us stop playing games, shall we? We parted over two-hundred years ago. Why this sudden revival of interest in me?” 

She pouted again, but now a trace of anger blazed in her green eyes. Peevishly, she plucked at a speck of lint on her sleeve.” Is this any way to treat a lady? You were always such a gentleman. What's happened to change you?”  She hurried on.” We were friends once, nay, lovers! Let us resume that friendship, revive the feeling we once shared.”

Galan shoved a book aside on his desk.” It's over, Rosalinda. The feeling is dead.” But was it really? Memories of her bedroom charms taunted him, and it took all of his willpower to refuse her now. But refuse her he would, because it was only Stevie he wanted, for now and all time.” It's over.” 

"How can you say that, Galan? How can you hurt me so?” Rosalinda pressed a hand to her bosom. She bent over and traced her fingers along his thigh.” Remember what wonderful times we had together?”  She rained light kisses across his neck.” And how happy I made you in bed?” 

Passion stirred inside him, and he was tempted to the point of no return. But he must not--would not--surrender.” I never realized what a good actress you are.” Leaning back in his swivel chair, he threw her a look of wry humor and eased her hand from his thigh.” With the world of the undead to choose from, you surely can find another lover, one who is worthy of your charms. One who can please you more than I,” he said as he bowed his head in mock humility.

"You'll be sorry for this.” Venom blazed in her eyes.” Just you wait. You'll regret--oh, how you'll regret--you ever spoke to me thusly.” With a swish of her gown and the scent of musk lingering like spoiled fruit, she disappeared.

Galan slammed his hand on the desk. Damn it! What was he thinking? By rejecting Rosalinda, he might have put Stevie in danger.

Glowing red numerals on his desk clock revealed the time, 3:12 a. m.

Within a heartbeat, he found himself in Stevie's room, where she lay on her stomach, her long hair a golden mantle down her back. She whimpered in her sleep, and he longed to take her in his arms and comfort her, tell her she had nothing to fear. That wouldn't be the truth, though. She had plenty to fear, if she only knew it.

A window stood partway open, lacy white curtains fluttering in a breeze. Smells drifted in through the open window, dried grass and flowers, exhaust from a car zooming along the street.

Galan studied Stevie's outline under the thin blanket--the gentle concavity of her back, the swell of her buttocks, the silhouette of her long, shapely legs. She had such a lovely body, one that would forever bewitch him, but one that would never belong to him.

But heaven help anyone--mortal or undead--who dared to harm her, because he'd guard her with his life. By God, he'd risk anything to ensure her safety.

Lost in a whirlwind of emotions, he stood in a corner of her room, prepared to make a quick departure if she awoke. Night sounds became magnified within the small space: a dog barked down the street, a frog croaked outside the window, a train whistled and rumbled in the distance. In the backyard next door, a snake slithered through the grass, its tongue flicking in and out. A fox and its mate gamboled in a yard, two houses down.

Night after night, he kept vigil by her bed, forsaking nourishment to ensure no evil befell her, but by the fourth night, hunger clawed at him with an eagle's talons. The lure of her seductive body drove him wild. The carotid artery in her neck pulsed like a thousand crashing cymbals, the sweetest sound on earth. It would be easy, so easy . . .

By all that was holy! He couldn't fight his hunger any longer. He had to feed!

But what might happen to Stevie when he wasn't by her side?

* * *

"Galan.”

Several nights had passed since Stevie had last seen him. Galan stood at Stevie's open door, a bunch of yellow roses in his hand, a contrite expression on his face.

He handed her the flowers.” I fear there's nothing I can say or do to make amends for leaving you downtown, except to tell you I'm very sorry.”

Indicating an easy chair, Stevie took the roses, inhaling their sweet-spicy aroma.” Thanks for the flowers. Sit down while I put these in water.” She retrieved the avocado vase and filled it with water at the kitchen sink, then returned to the living room. Not knowing all the circumstances, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt for leaving her so hastily earlier in the week.

Nevertheless, worries haunted her. Nick, dead on the street, would remain a vivid nightmare for the rest of her life.

Legs stretched out, he rested in the chair, his presence a powerful force in the room. Why is it, she wondered as she set the vase on the coffee table, that this man always has such complete control of himself? She sank down on the sofa opposite him, at a loss to understand him.

"You'll still attend The Nutcracker with me?” he asked with a dark and brooding look.

She hesitated.” Right, I'm looking forward to it.”

Silent moments ensued while they exchanged glances, his eyes holding her prisoner. She'd heard the phrase before, had always considered it trite. Now she knew better. It seemed as though he could see into her soul, read her innermost thoughts, undress her with just a look. She shifted her position on the sofa and glanced away, wondering if he would always remain a mystery, wondering, too, why she should care.

"It's getting late,” she said after a stretch of aimless conversation, afraid she sounded rude but growing uncomfortable under his gaze.” Got a lot to do tonight.” Not true on either count, but she needed time to herself now.

"Very well.” He gave her an endearing smile, the first he'd favored her with this evening.” I shall call you later this week.”

* * *

At her tiny kitchen table, Stevie finished her breakfast of oatmeal and an English muffin topped with strawberry jam, then rinsed her dishes in the sink. In her pink knit nightshirt and white terrycloth robe, she headed for the front door to get the Miami Herald. Outside, a cool, wintry wind swept across the yard, prompting her to draw the robe closer about her.

Bending over, she glanced toward the jacaranda tree and-- She stopped as icy bumps rippled along her arms. The old man with long, bushy hair stood by the grapefruit tree, only a few yards away. He stared at her with murder in his eyes. Who was he, and why was he looking at her like that? She rushed back inside, slamming the door behind her.

Call the police! A deep breath and a few quick steps led her to the phone. With trembling fingers, she dialed 911. After she hung up, she dashed to her bedroom and grabbed the first clothes she found, then headed for the bathroom to dress. She finished in time to hear a knock on the door.

"Ma'am,” the
Miami
Shores
policeman said, “I’ve checked your yard, and I didn't see any strange man like you described. If you see him again, please don't hesitate to call us. After I leave you, I'll check the whole area again. Next door, too. Could be a visitor there.”

"Maybe.” But she knew better.

* * *

The Nutcracker was more thrilling than Stevie had imagined, Galan's presence adding an exciting dimension to her enjoyment of the performance.

After The Dance of the Toy Soldiers, Galan glanced her way.” How did you like that?” 

"Beautiful.” And it was--the music, the costumes, the elements of fantasy, everything that comprised this lovely ballet.

She forgot her money worries, her uneasy relationship with her family, until all she could think about was the ballet.