Embrace the Night (4 page)

He vaulted the wall of the orphanage with ease, crossed the grounds as silent as a shadow. Pausing at the veranda door, he peered inside. She lay beneath a heavy quilt, as still as death.

The complete absence of sound within the room echoed in his heart like thunder.

A wave of his hand opened the door and he stepped inside, then hurried to her side.

"Sara!" He threw back the quilt and lifted her into his arms. Her skin was dry and cold; her lips were blue. "Sara!"

She was dying. The knowledge struck him to the heart. She was dying, and it was his fault.

Without stopping to think of right or wrong, without pausing to consider the consequences, he opened the vein in his wrist and pressed it to her lips.

"Drink, Sara," he urged.

He waited for what seemed an eternity, but she didn't move. Frantic, he forced her lips apart, held his bleeding wrist over her mouth, and stroked her throat to make her swallow.

Not too much, he thought. He didn't want to initiate her, only bring the color back to her cheeks.

He removed his wrist from her mouth, and the wound healed almost instantly. "Sara?"

Her eyelids fluttered a moment and then she was staring up at him. "Gabriel?"

He cradled her against his chest, relief rushing through him. "I'm here."

"You didn't come. I waited and waited… and you didn't come."

"I won't leave you again,
cara
."

There was a bowl of broth and a glass of water on a tray on the bedside table. The soup had gone cold, but he warmed it with the heat of his gaze.

"Sara, I want you to eat this."

"I'm not hungry."

"Please,
cara
, for me."

"All right…"

Obediently, she swallowed several spoonfuls of the clear broth.

"No more," she murmured.

He put the bowl on the table, then drew her into his arms again. "Sleep now."

"Will you be here when I wake?"

"No, but I will come to you tomorrow night."

"On your honor, you promise?"

"I have no honor,
cara
, but I promise I will be here tomorrow night."

She summoned a faint smile, then, with a sigh, her eyelids fluttered down once more.

He held her for as long as he dared, his fingertips drifting over her hair, sometimes caressing the gentle curve of her cheek, until he felt the distant heat of the sun making its way over the horizon.

Only then did he let her go.

Only then did he admit that he would do anything, even surrender his own life, to keep her safe.

She woke feeling better than she had in months. Inexplicably, her legs felt stronger, and even though she attributed it to her imagination, it seemed as though she could feel the blood flowing through her useless legs. Sitting up in bed, she wiggled her toes, something she'd never been able to do before.

The sisters proclaimed her recovery nothing short of a miracle.

Her appetite had returned, as well. Sitting at the breakfast table a half hour later, she ate everything Sister Mary Carmen placed before her, and then asked for more.

She didn't miss the surprised looks that passed between Sister Mary Carmen and Sister Mary Louisa.

Later, sitting outside, she watched the younger children at play, and for the first time in her life, she wasn't jealous of their ability to run and jump.

Lifting her face to the sun, she offered a silent prayer to God, thanking Him for the beauty of the day, for the gift of life, for Gabriel…

Unable to help herself, she laughed softly as happiness bubbled up inside her. Gabriel had promised to come to her that night. More important, he had promised never to leave her again.

Later, she read a fairy tale to several of the children. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to spend the rest of her life here, Sara thought as she turned the pages. She could become a nun, if they would have her; if not, they might let her stay on and teach.

She paused in the story, looking over the top of the book into the faces of the children sitting on the grass at her feet. Such sweet faces, innocent and trusting, so eager to love and be loved.

Six-year-old Elizabeth smiled up at her, her eyes alight with anticipation as she waited for Sara to finish the story.

She could be happy here, Sara mused. If she could never have a child of her own, at least she could have children around her, children who needed love. And who could sympathize with them more, understand them more, than she?

She read another story, and then waved good-bye as Sister Mary Josepha called the children away. It was nap time.

Left alone, Sara gazed at the flowers that bloomed in wild profusion along the walkways. Today, with the sun shining and her heart filled with the certainty of seeing Gabriel, life seemed wonderful, perfect, filled with promise.

Today, with thoughts of Gabriel crowding her mind, anything seemed possible.

"Hurry to me, beloved," she whispered. "Hurry to me."

He was on the brink of awareness when he heard her voice.

Startled, he sat up, wondering if he had dreamed it. And then he heard it again, her voice, as loud and clear as if she stood beside him.

Hurry to me, beloved. Hurry to me.

Beloved…

He closed his eyes, basking in the sound of that single word. Beloved. If only it were true.

He dressed hurriedly, anxious to see her again, to see her smile, hear her voice caress his name.

He raced through the night, his preternatural speed carrying him quickly to where she waited for him.

She was sitting up in bed, an angel in a high-necked, long-sleeved gown. Her hair fell over her slender shoulders in endless waves of honey gold.

His heart quickened when he met her gaze and saw the way her eyes brightened at the sight of him.

Ah, Sara, he thought, if you only knew what manner of man stands before you, you would not be so glad to see me.

Her smile was brighter than the sun at noonday.

"So," he said quietly, "tell me about your day."

Pleased at his interest, she told him of how she'd spent the day reading to the younger children, of how she had envisioned herself as a nun, helping to teach the other orphans.

A nun! The word thundered through him. A nun! But what a waste that would be, to clothe her frail beauty in robes of somber black, to cut away that wealth of gold-colored hair, to bury her forever behind these walls where she would doubtless receive the love of numerous children but never know the love of a man, or give birth to a child of her own.

A nun. He nearly choked on the word, on the idea. And then jealousy rose up within him, coiling around his heart. Better she should be a nun than find happiness in the arms of another man. A mortal man.

Right or wrong, he knew he would destroy any man who dared to touch her.

"Gabriel?" She was looking up at him, her head tilted slightly to one side, her eyes filled with concern. "Are you all right?"

"Of course."

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes." He sat down on the stool beside her bed. "I'm sure you would make a fine nun,
cara
, if that is your desire."

"It isn't, really." She lowered her gaze to her hands. "I want what every girl wants," she said, though her voice lacked conviction. "A husband. A home of my own. Children."

He grunted softly, neither agreeing or disagreeing, and she looked up at him again, her eyes aglow.

"I do want those things," she said, "but what I really want is to dance! Oh, Gabriel, if only I could dance."

"I'm afraid I cannot transform you into a ballerina," he said with regret, "but you could dance with me, if you like."

"With you? How?"

"Like this."

Effortlessly, he lifted her from the bed and held her in his arms so that her feet were mere inches above the floor. And then, to her utter surprise, he began to sing, his voice soft and clear as he waltzed her around the room.

For a moment, she could only stare at him, mesmerized by the sound of his voice, and then, as he whirled her around and around, pleasure bubbled up inside her like a wellspring, erupting in peals of happy laughter. Ah, the wonder of it, she thought as he twirled her around with all the innate grace of a dancing master. She felt light and free, with her hair floating about her shoulders and Gabriel's voice wrapping around her, making her forget that it was his feet, and not hers, gliding smoothly over the polished floorboards.

He held her so lightly, so easily, as if she weighed nothing at all. His arm,
curled around her waist, strong yet gentle. His hand held hers, warm, callused, a man's hand.

The laughter died in her throat as she gazed into his eyes, those fathomless gray eyes that held all the sadness of the world.

She hardly realized he had stopped dancing, stopped singing, so lost was she in the depths of his gaze. He held her body to his with both arms now, and she could feel every inch of his hard masculine form pressed against hers. The sadness in his eyes was burned away by a sudden blaze of emotion that she did not recognize. She felt the heat of it spiral through her, making her aware of him in ways she had noticed only in passing before. He was tall and muscular. His shoulders and chest were broad. She could feel the heat of his body, the maleness of it, where it touched hers.

How well they fit together, she mused, and even as the thought crossed her mind, she became acutely aware of her own body, of a sudden restlessness. She wanted him to hold her closer, tighter. She wanted him to kiss her, the way the prince kissed the princess in the fairy tale.

"Gabriel…" She leaned toward him, until all she saw was his face, his eyes.

"No." With a choked cry, he carried her back to the bed, dropping her onto the mattress as if her skin burned his hands.

"What is it?" she asked, confused. "What's the matter?"

"What's the matter?" He laughed, a harsh sound devoid of humor. "Ah, Sara, you foolish child. If you only knew…"

"Knew what?"

He clenched his hands at his sides in an effort to still the monster rising within him. Not for centuries had he satisfied his unholy desire with a girl as young, as pure, as Sara. Not since he'd first been made vampire had he quenched his thirst with the blood of an innocent.

"Gabriel?"

Ah, the sweet, trusting sound of her voice as she whispered his name, the unconscious yearning, the untapped passion. He could hear every beat of her heart, hear the thrumming of her blood as it pulsed through her veins, thick with desire. It was almost more than he could bear.

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep, calming breath. This was Sara, his Sara. He could not violate her. He would not take her blood, though to do so would be ecstasy.

"Gabriel, are you ill?"

"No." The word was one of harsh denial. "But I must go."

"So soon?"

"Yes." He opened his eyes and forced a smile. "I'll see you tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night." She repeated the words, holding them close to her heart.

"Good night,
cara
," he said, his voice thick, and then he was gone, running as if he, himself, were being pursued by demons.

He ran for hours, unable to outrun his loneliness, his longing, and then, filled with self-loathing, he entered the monastery. He had no need of a light as he made his way down the long, winding staircase that led to the underground catacombs where the monks had buried their dead. It was a dark place, musty with age and decay.

To punish himself, he climbed into the coffin he rarely used. Grasping the lid, he brought it down with a resounding thud, burying himself in the smothering darkness he hated.

"Monster," he murmured, and the word echoed off the sides of the oak casket. "Demon. Ghoul. Fiend. You will not touch her, you misbegotten spawn of the devil," he declared, his voice growing thick as the heavy sleep of the undead dragged him down, down, into the deep abyss of oblivion.

"You… will… not…"

He woke the following evening, a moment of panic rising within him as he opened his eyes to eternal darkness. And then he remembered where he was.

Muttering an oath, he climbed out of the coffin. He had not used it in more years than he could remember, preferring to take his rest in the big throne-like chair upstairs.

He stared at the burnished oak for a long time, reminding himself of what he was. Not a man, but a monster, fit for nothing but death and darkness.

His steps were heavy as he climbed the stairs. Deep in thought, he changed his clothes, combed his hair, donned his cloak.

As if to further punish himself for wanting what could never be his, he went out into the shadows, a bloodthirsty beast stalking its prey.

This is what you are
. The words echoed and reechoed in his head as he bent over his hapless victim.
Don't let her sweetness fool you into thinking you're still a man, capable of loving, of being loved. You're naught but a monster, every man's nightmare
…

A short time later, he was walking toward the orphanage. And all the while, he tried to convince himself to stay away from her. His Sara, his angel of light, should not be contaminated by the darkness of his soul.

He was still trying to talk himself into staying away as he vaulted the orphanage's high stone wall.

She was waiting for him. He had expected to find her tucked into bed, but she was sitting in her chair, facing the veranda doors. Her goodness, her sweetness, reached out to him, washing over him like sunlight.

"A new dress," he remarked as he crossed the threshold.

She nodded shyly. "I made it."

"It's lovely," he murmured. And, indeed, it was. The deep blue darkened her eyes, the full sleeves reminded him of angel's wings. "You are lovely."

His words brought a flush to her cheeks. "Thank you."

"So lovely." He held out his hand. "Would you go out with me,
coral"

"Out?" She looked puzzled. "Out where?"

"Wherever you like."

"I couldn't… shouldn't… anywhere I wish?"

"Anywhere."

"The ballet?"