Everlasting Desire (25 page)

“I don't know. Maybe something's gone wrong.” Daisy moved toward the front door. “Erik?”

Rising, Megan walked up behind Daisy. “I don't hear anything.”

“He's calling me,” Daisy said, her brow furrowing.

“Why doesn't he come inside?”

“He's badly hurt. He…oh, no!”

“What is it?” Megan asked anxiously. “What's happened?”

“Megan, I'm so sorry. He said Alex is badly hurt and…and Rhys is dead.”

Megan pressed her hand to her chest as the room began to spin. Rhys was dead…dead…dead. “No.” She shook her head. “I don't believe it….”

A high-pitched cry came from outside. Shouting Erik's name, Daisy opened the door and dashed out into the night.

Megan started after her, only to come to an abrupt halt as a dark shape filled the doorway.

Before her mind could register what she was seeing, pain exploded through her head and everything went black.

Rhys stood in the shadows on Centre Street, his senses reaching out toward the brown-and-beige, two-story Colonial house. The yard was well kept, the lawn green, with a few shrubs in front. Five steps climbed to the front porch. Rose bushes grew on either side of the stairs.

The stink of death shrouded the place. Under the stench of fear and blood, the unmistakable smell of vampire lingered in the air. A distant part of his mind wondered how Villagrande had gained entrance to the house.

A thought carried Rhys into the living room. He wouldn't have been able to enter the house uninvited if the family had still been alive, but murder had been done here, destroying the threshold's basic protection. He had no need of an invitation. And no need to wonder further how Villagrande had gained entrance. The blood splattered on the floor inside the entryway told the tale. Someone had unwittingly invited Villagrande inside. And died because of it.

Rhys moved silently through the dark rooms, following Villagrande's trail. The vampire had struck the four other members of the family while they slept, as evidenced by the blood-stained sheets and blankets carelessly tossed over the bodies.

Rhys lingered in the nursery where the last murder had occurred. The room was decorated with fairy wallpaper and pictures of Tinker Bell. The baby had died last. A Tinker Bell quilt, bright with blood, covered the dead infant. A Peter Pan lamp stood on the dresser beside a framed photo of a woman holding a baby. The mother and child? The woman was young and pretty, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. The baby was rosy-cheeked and blue-eyed.

Rhys swore softly. He had done some pretty despicable things in the course of his existence, but he had never killed an infant. Would he do such a thing if he existed as long as Villagrande? Would he view mortals as nothing but prey, his to do with as he pleased? The thought brought him up short and with it came the realization that he was close to feeling that way now. Or he had been, until Megan had come into his life. She had reminded him of how frail mortals were, how tenuous and precious their hold on life.

Megan. Needing to know she was all right, he closed his eyes, concentrating on the bond between them, and felt nothing. Only two things could prevent him from linking with her; she was either unconscious, or dead.

Before he could determine which, he sensed Villagrande's approach. An instant later, the vampire materialized in the room. Preternatural power radiated from him, enhanced by the fresh blood he had recently consumed.

“So,” Tomás said. “We end it, now.”

“What have you done with Megan?”

A smile that was pure evil spread across Villagrande's face. “You'll never know.”

“Dammit, where is she? What have you done to her?” He couldn't ask the question uppermost in his mind. Couldn't ask if she was dead, afraid that saying it aloud might make it so.

“Me?” Villagrande spread one hand over his heart. “I've done nothing.”

“Don't play games with me, you bastard. Where is she?”

Villagrande rocked back on his heels. “She killed Shirl. She wounded me. I will have my revenge.”

“No! Dammit, if you want a life, take mine.”

“I intend to.”

Rhys glared at the other vampire, his mind racing. How had Villagrande managed to bypass the safeguards on Delacourt's house? And having done so, what had he done to Erik, Daisy, and Alex? Had he destroyed them all?

The thought had scarcely crossed his mind when Erik and Alex appeared in the room.

Villagrande looked at them and laughed. “Three against one, Costain? Hardly sporting.”

“I don't want to have to fight you,” Rhys said. “Take the West Coast. Take my life. Just spare Megan.”

“It's too late to make deals.” Villagrande's gaze swept over the three of them. “You have all defied me,” he declared imperiously. “And the penalty is death.” And with that ultimatum, he sprang toward Rhys, fangs bared, hands transforming into lethal claws.

Baring his own fangs, Erik leaped onto Villagrande's back, but Villagrande shook him off, like a pit bull shaking off a rat. Erik slammed into Alex, and the two of them sailed through the air, a tangle of arms and legs as they hit the wall, hard.

Rhys charged toward Villagrande, the only thought in his mind to destroy the vampire who threatened Megan's life. They came together in a furious rush. Villagrande's power lashed out at Rhys with the force of a tornado.

Rhys was hardly aware of the pain as Villagrande's teeth and claws savaged his neck and chest. The physical pain was as nothing compared to the ache in his heart at the thought that Megan might be dead. If she was dead, it was all his fault. He never should have drawn her into his life.

He knew a moment of respite when Erik leaped into the fray again, momentarily drawing Villagrande away.

Alex crawled toward Rhys, his left arm dangling uselessly at his side. Holding out his good arm, he said, “Drink.”

Rhys didn't argue. With a low growl, he buried his fangs in the other man's wrist. He didn't have time to take much, but even a little helped. He spared hardly a glance for Delacourt, who lay facedown on the floor. There was no time to worry about Delacourt, no time to think of anything but his own survival. He refused to believe Megan was dead. She was out there, somewhere, and she needed him. It was that thought that gave him the strength to meet Villagrande's next attack.

They battled in silence, fangs and claws shredding cloth and flesh alike. The air was thick with preternatural power and the coppery scent of blood.

Breathing hard, Rhys fell back. Blood flowed freely from numerous bites and gashes on his face, neck, chest, and back.

With his heightened senses came an increased ability to feel pain and he felt it now with every movement he made, felt his strength ebbing. Wounds that should have healed quickly continued to bleed; the more blood he lost, the weaker he would become. His whole body screamed in protest when he moved.

Villagrande stared at him, a smug smile on his face. He had won, and he knew it.

Rhys took a deep breath. He couldn't lose. If he did, it was like signing a death warrant for Delacourt and Alex, although he wasn't sure if Delacourt was even still alive. Alex lay slumped in the corner, his pale face streaked with blood.

Dammit, he couldn't quit now. Summoning Megan's image, Rhys gathered what strength he had left. He was about to charge Villagrande when Daisy and Megan materialized in the room.

Rhys swore, his overwhelming relief at seeing Megan alive warring with his anger at Daisy for bringing her here.

Villagrande looked at the two women, then threw back his head and laughed. “Costain and Delacourt for dinner,” he crowed. “And two plump females for dessert.”

“Is that right?” Megan exclaimed. “Well, eat this!” Pulling a stake from the folds of her skirt, she sprang forward, the stake aimed at Villagrande's chest.

Daisy was moving, too. Taking a bottle from her pocket, she threw the contents in Villagrande's face.

Rhys knew a moment of hope. Was it possible that Daisy and Megan had accomplished what he couldn't? But no. With a roar of pain and outrage, Villagrande backhanded Daisy, sending her flying across the room. Her head struck a corner of the dresser, and she crumpled to the floor beside her brother.

In a move faster than the eye could follow, Villagrande grabbed the stake from Megan's hand. He tossed it aside; then, grabbing Megan by the throat, he lifted her off her feet. “Perhaps I'll have dessert first,” he said with a growl.

There was a sudden rush of movement as Erik regained consciousness. A wild cry rose in his throat when he saw Daisy sprawled on the floor, her hair stained with blood from a gash on the back of her head.

Villagrande dropped Megan and spun around to face Delacourt.

And in that one instant, when Villagrande was distracted, Rhys snatched the hawthorn stake from the floor and drove it into the vampire's back. It sliced through Tomás Villagrande's ancient preternatural flesh like a hot knife through butter, piercing his black heart. Blood fountained from the wound in a crimson arc, spraying over the room's inhabitants, as well as the walls, the ceiling, and the floor.

Villagrande turned on Rhys with a scream of rage, his eyes as wide and red as the depths of hell. And then, as if someone had jerked his legs out from under him, he toppled to the floor and lay still.

Megan ran toward Rhys, her face fish-belly white. “Is he dead?”

“Oh, yeah,” Rhys murmured.

And even as he spoke the words, Villagrande's body began to shrink in on itself, the flesh melting away, the bones disintegrating, until there was nothing left but dust.

“Holy crap!” Cradling his broken arm, Alex limped over to stand beside Rhys. “I've never seen anything like that.”

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” Megan whispered, and buried her face against Rhys's shoulder.

He ran his hand up and down her back. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“I will be.” Rhys glanced over his shoulder to where Delacourt was kneeling beside Daisy. “How is she?”

“I'm fine,” Daisy said. “Alex, are you okay?”

“Well, other than my wounded pride, my sprained ankle, and my broken arm, yeah, I'm okay.” He looked at his sister, at Erik, and at Rhys, then looked at Megan. “I'm thinking, as the only two humans in the room, that we should make ourselves scarce for a while.”

“Why?” she asked, frowning, and then, suddenly aware that all three vampires needed blood, she said, “Oh.”

Rhys glared at Alex. “Do you really think we'd feed off you?”

Alex snorted. “Delacourt's done it before. And I seem to remember you gnawing on my arm just a few minutes ago.”

“That wasn't feeding,” Rhys said, scowling.

“All right, that's enough,” Daisy said, pushing herself to her feet. “This is what we're going to do. We'll transport Megan and Alex to the nearest hospital. Megan will stay with him while the rest of us go and, uh, get cleaned up. And then we'll meet back at the hospital. All right?”

“Who put you in charge, Daisy Mae?” Alex asked.

“Have you got a better idea?”

“No, I guess not.”

“It's settled then,” Daisy said. “Let's go.”

Megan looked up at Rhys. “You can drink from me if you want.”

Rhys shook his head. “I need more than you can spare.” He ran his knuckles over her cheek. “What happened? I couldn't sense you anywhere. I thought…” He took a deep breath. “I thought you were dead.”

“We're fine,” Daisy said, smiling. “It's the zombies that are dead. I think Villagrande sent them after us, maybe just to keep us out of the way, or maybe…” She shrugged. “Who knows?”

“What happened to the zombies?” Megan asked.

Daisy looked at her as if she wasn't very bright.

“Oh.”

“As soon as they were out of the way, I grabbed you and transported us here and that, as they say, is that.”

Alex cleared his throat. “Do you think you two could reminisce about that later? I'm in a bit of pain here.”

“Sorry,” Rhys muttered. He glanced at Erik and Daisy. “Let's go,” he said, and wrapping his arms around Megan, he transported the two of them to the hospital.

Moments later, Erik, Alex, and Daisy materialized beside them.

Daisy smiled at her brother. “Make up a good story,” she said. “You used to be aces at that when we were kids.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Catch ya later.”

Megan looked up at Rhys. “Be careful.”

“Don't worry about me. Ask the doctor to check you over while you're in there.”

She rubbed her hand over his cheek. “I'm fine. Come on, Alex,” she said, slipping her arm around his waist, “let's go get you patched up.”

Rhys shook his head as he watched Megan help Alex up the driveway toward the emergency room entrance. She was quite a woman.

“Costain?”

He answered Erik without taking his gaze from Megan. “Not now.”

Erik took Daisy's hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “We'll meet you back here in, oh, say, half an hour, all right?”

Rhys nodded, his attention still on Megan. No matter how long he lived, he knew he would never see her like again. She was everything a man could want in a woman—kind, caring, with a loving heart and a generous nature, and he knew that, from this night on, his existence would never be the same. Leaving her would be the hardest thing he had ever done, but it was best for both of them. When he was gone, her life would go back to normal and so, he thought glumly, would his.

He watched her until she was out of sight, and then he melted into the darkness, where he belonged.

Feeling chilly, Megan wrapped her arms around her middle. It had been a heck of a night. Alex hadn't wanted to stay in the hospital, but the doctor had insisted. In addition to his broken arm and sprained ankle, Alex had two broken ribs and a possible concussion.

Rhys had told her to have the doctor check her over, too, but there had been no need for that as far as she was concerned. She didn't have any broken bones, and there was no cure for the nightmares she was likely to have.

Tapping her foot, she glanced up and down the street. Where was Rhys? Hadn't he and the others agreed to meet back here in half an hour? Had she been mistaken? Or maybe it had just taken them longer to get cleaned up. Cleaned up, indeed. She knew what that meant. They had all gone to feed. Good grief, she was hanging out with vampires. Megan shook her head. After all she had seen and heard, did Daisy really think she was such a nervous Nelly that she couldn't handle the truth?

Megan scrubbed her hands up and down her arms as a chill wind blew down the street. Of all the times to be without a cell phone, she thought impatiently, and then lifted a hand to her head. She had a bump the size of a goose egg where the zombie had hit her. She was, she thought, lucky to be alive.

She almost jumped out of her skin when Daisy and Erik appeared seemingly from out of nowhere. Even in the faint glow of the lights that lined the driveway, Megan could see that they had both fed and fed well.

“Where's Rhys?” Daisy asked, glancing around. “I thought he'd be back by now.”

A horrible sense of foreboding settled over Megan. Closing her eyes, she tried to find the bond she shared with Rhys, but there was nothing there. Only emptiness.

When she opened her eyes, the look on Erik's face, the pity in his eyes, turned her stomach cold.

“Come on,” he said, putting his arm around her. “We'll take you home.”

Before Megan realized what was happening, she was standing in her own living room.

“Why don't you sit down?” Erik suggested. “Daisy, would you bring her a glass of water?”

“I don't want a glass of water or anything else,” Megan said, her voice brittle. “I just want to know what's going on.”

“Why don't you sit down?” Erik repeated.

Megan sat on the edge of the sofa, her hands tightly folded in her lap. “He's left me, hasn't he?”

Erik nodded. “I'm afraid so.”

“But why? It's over. Villagrande's not a threat anymore.”

“He's afraid for you,” Erik explained. “Afraid of what might happen in the future.”

“So, just like that, it's over?”

Erik's gaze slid away from hers.

“Why didn't he come and tell me all this himself?”

Erik shrugged. “That should be obvious.”

“I never took him for a coward,” Megan said.

“I'm sure he was only thinking of you,” Daisy said. “You'll always be in danger as long as your life is tied up with his. It's one of the reasons vampires rarely get involved with mortals.”

“Is that right?” Megan asked, her anger rising. “Then how do you explain the two of you?”

“I said rarely, not never. It happens from time to time. But such pairings aren't usually successful unless…” Daisy looked at Erik and smiled.

“Unless the mortal becomes a vampire,” Megan said. “Is that what you're trying to say?” Rhys had left her. She couldn't think about it anymore, not now, when the hurt was so fresh. And so she changed the subject. “Why did Villagrande send zombies after us tonight?”
Zombies.
Megan shook her head. Even now, it was hard to comprehend.

“For no good reason, I'm sure.” Erik smiled at his wife. “Whatever his reasons, I guess he underestimated your powers.”

Daisy made a face at him. “I can't believe I was so stupid. As soon as I went outside, I knew I'd made a mistake. While I was dispatching one of the zombies, the other one got inside and knocked Megan unconscious. By the time I got back in the house, the zombie had Megan slung over his shoulder and was heading for the back door.”

“I can't believe such creatures exist,” Megan said.

“Oh, they exist all right,” Erik said. “But they're not too bright.”

“How do you…? Never mind,” Megan decided. “I don't want to know.” Zombies had once been human. Did they return to normal when whoever held them in thrall released them? Or did they remain mindless creatures with no will of their own?

“It's late,” Daisy said, patting Megan's hand. “You should get some sleep.”

Sleep? After the last few days, she didn't think she would ever get another peaceful night's sleep. And even as the thought crossed her mind, she was yawning.

“We'll stay until morning, if you don't want to be alone,” Erik offered.

The idea was appealing. But rather than seem cowardly, Megan shook her head. “I'll be all right, but thank you, both of you.”

“You've got our number,” Daisy said, giving Megan a hug. “Call if you need us.”

Megan nodded. She started to rise, intending to walk Daisy and Erik to the door, but they were gone in a swirl of twinkling blue and dove gray motes before she gained her feet.

“A neat trick,” she murmured, and burst into tears.

 

Thursday morning dawned cold, gray, and gloomy, the perfect setting for Megan's misery. She had cried most of the night, hadn't slept more than an hour or two at most, which explained why she woke with a headache and eyes that felt like they were filled with sand.

It seemed strange to wake in her own bed in her own room. Strange to know she was alone in the house. The nightmare was over. Tomás Villagrande had been destroyed. Erik and Daisy had returned to Boston. And Rhys…? Where was he? Knowing it was useless, she tried to open the link between them, but it was like trying to call a number that had been disconnected. No one was there.

Rising, she stepped into her slippers and plodded downstairs to make a pot of coffee. When it was done, she sat at the table staring into her favorite Grumpy coffee cup and wishing she could just disappear. How was she supposed to go back to her old, boring life after having known Rhys? Yes, he was dangerous. Yes, being around him was risky. But as scary as it had sometimes been, being with him had made her feel vibrant and alive. And she loved him as she would never love anyone else.

She carried her coffee cup into the living room and switched on the TV. Talk about a vast wasteland. Did anyone even watch TV in the morning? There was nothing on but black-robed judges trying to look important while they ruled on mundane cases, cheerful talk show hosts who discussed even more mundane topics, ubiquitous soap operas, and mindless cartoons. Where had all the good shows gone?

She refilled her cup twice and then, deciding she couldn't just sit around in her pj's and mope all day, she called Mr. Parker and told him she was back in town and that she would be at work that night. Early.

It turned out to be the best decision she could have made. Mr. Parker was genuinely happy to see her again. Being back at work, talking to people who didn't drink blood or disappear in the blink of an eye helped to ground her in the real world again.

Shore's was having its once-a-year sale, which meant they were even busier than usual, for which Megan was grateful. She didn't have any time to think of anything—or anyone—else.

It was after eleven when Drexel swaggered into Shore's. Clad in a fluorescent pink shirt, black velvet vest, and skintight black pants, he was a sight to behold. His face lit up brighter than his shirt when he saw Megan.

“Babe!” he exclaimed as he wrapped her in a bear hug. “I'm so glad to see you!”

“Thanks, Drexel. I missed you, too,” she said, and meant it. “Hey, I thought you were going on tour?”

“We cut it short.”

Extricating herself from his embrace, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Just my head. Ever since the fire, I've been having trouble performing on a stage unless it's outside. My shrink says it'll pass, in time. He says I should take a vacation, so that's what I'm gonna do. So, I need some new threads, something hip but subdued, you know?”

“I'm sure we can find something that will work.”

Ninety minutes and nine thousand dollars later, Drexel pulled her into another exuberant hug. “Thanks, babe. Just seeing you makes me feel better.” He smiled at her, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. “So, babe, have you decided to marry me yet?”

“Drexel…”

“I know you think I'm too young and that I'm just kiddin' around, and that I don't really mean it, but if you say yes, I'll make you the happiest woman in the world.”

“You're sweet, really, but I wouldn't be good for you or anyone else right now.”

“What happened, Megan? Some guy hurt you?”

“In a way.” Lifting a hand, Megan caressed his cheek. “If I was going to marry anyone, it would be you.”

He laughed at that. “I'll hold you to it,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek. “See you soon.”

Megan stared after him as he left the shop. Maybe she should marry Drexel. He wouldn't ask much of her, and it would be nice to share her life with someone so uncomplicated, someone who adored her….

Good grief, what was she thinking? Drexel was nineteen years old. Did she have some kind of perverse weakness for younger men? Rhys might be an old vampire, but physically he was still on the shy side of twenty-one.

Pain stabbed at her heart when she thought of him. Young or old, right or wrong, she missed him more than she would have thought possible. Why was it, when she had finally met the perfect man, it turned out he wasn't really a man at all?

She blinked away her tears as a new customer stepped into the shop. Grateful for the distraction, she hurried toward him.

 

The first two weeks without Rhys were the hardest. She went to work early. She offered to come in on her nights off and help Mr. Parker take inventory. She decided to paint her kitchen, and spent a day looking at color swatches before choosing a pale yellow. When that was done, she threw herself into redecorating her bedroom. She painted the walls a pale, pale lavender. Painted the trim and the ceiling white. She bought a new white quilt and a lavender dust ruffle for her bed, then added several throw pillows in varying shades of lavender and purple. She bought new white curtains, and ordered new carpeting, recovered the seat cushion on the desk chair to match the dust ruffle. And when she was finished, she hated it because she couldn't imagine Rhys being comfortable with all that lavender.

The next day, she painted the room sky blue, traded the lavender dust ruffle for a white one, exchanged the lavender and purple pillows for blue, and threw her paint roller away.

Later, standing in the doorway admiring her handiwork, she decided she was going insane.

“Definitely insane,” she muttered, “when you worry that a man you're never going to see again might not like lavender.”

With a shake of her head, she went in to shower and get ready for work.

 

Rhys stood outside Shore's, avidly watching Megan's every move. He was jealous of every man who entered the store and talked with her, heard her voice, shared her laughter. It was all he could do to keep from charging in and breaking the neck of the handsome young man she was currently assisting.

Hands clenched, he took several deep breaths. He had known it would be hard to stay away from her, known he would miss her, but the reality was far worse than anything he had imagined. Standing there, cloaked in the shadows of the night, he decided he was a damn fool; worse, he was a glutton for punishment. He had shared her bed, tasted her blood, asked her to marry him, all the while knowing that they could never have a life together.

He swore softly. Even with walls and windows separating them, he could detect the flowery perfume of her hair, the warm, womanly scent that was uniquely hers. And her blood…Damn! The vibrant, coppery scent aroused vivid images in his mind—images of the two of them in bed, her body writhing beneath his, her voice crying his name. He licked his lips, remembering the sweet taste of her life's blood on his tongue, the way it had flowed into him, warming all the cold places in his body as her loving acceptance had warmed the dark, empty hollows of his soul.

“Megan.” Her name slipped past his lips, as soft and fervent as a prayer.

 

Megan glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. Most people called it the witching hour, but at one time, it had been the vampire hour. Unable to help herself, she glanced toward the door, but there was no sign of her vampire.
Her vampire.
If only that were still true.

“Miss?”

She turned, forcing a smile as a tall, good-looking man came toward her. “Do you have this in a size forty-four?” he asked. “I couldn't find one on the rack.”

“I think we might have one in the back. Just let me…” Whatever she had been about to say fled her mind with the overwhelming feeling that she was being watched. Pivoting on her heel, Megan stared at the front window, but could see nothing more than a few cars parked at the curb and the lights from the restaurant across the street. But that sense of being watched persisted.

“Miss?”

“What?” She glanced at her customer, her mind blank. “I'm sorry, I…What were you looking for?”

He held up the navy blazer. “You were going to see if you had this in my size.”

“Oh, right.” With a last glance at the front window, Megan went to check the back room.

The rest of the night went by quickly. Megan couldn't stifle a sense of disappointment when Mr. Parker locked up after their last client departed. Knowing it was foolish, she still found herself hoping that Rhys would be waiting for her when she went out to her car. She should be used to it by now, but she hated going home to an empty house.