My Vampire and I (9 page)

I had so many more questions, but I wanted to hear what happened to Thomas, so showing great self-control, I remained silent as he continued. "My mother died suddenly," he said, his voice tinged with sadness.
I felt slightly surprised that after all these centuries that had passed, he would still feel the loss.
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"She had been ill for only a short time, and her death was a terrible shock. After the funeral and the period of mourning, my uncle came to me with the news that I was now the owner of our villa, and the inheritor of a vast fortune in land and gold. That and the investments I have made over the years has sustained me and will do so, for many more centuries, if necessary.

"Anyway, I think I left off where Thomas and I journeyed to London where we lived happily for a time. No trap had been laid or sprung by d'Arcy. It seemed he intended to leave us in peace, much to my surprise. Occasionally, we would hear some news of him from two of our friends who travelled Europe regularly. On one visit, they told us d'Arcy had taken a new lover, a young man who bore a striking similarity to Thomas. At that news, I relaxed considerably, feeling our future together was secure."

I had a feeling this story was about to take a sudden and tragic downturn. I said nothing as Marcus conjured up images of an idyllic life spent in travel, meeting famous and exotic people from around the world, and, of course, their own personal happiness.

"We were in the Highlands of Scotland one summer evening, watching the gloaming as the Scots call it—that period of time when the day is ending. Just before nightfall, the sky turns to a deep purple and the entire earth seems to hold its breath in anticipation of the serenity the evening will bring.

"Thomas turned to me, smiling and about to say something, when all of a sudden, his eyes fixed in his head.
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He reached for me and I remember, I cried out, 'No, Thomas

... no!' but I knew with astounding clarity that d'Arcy had invoked his curse. I had lost Thomas forever. He sank into my arms, his face bone white, his pale lips slightly parted, the light gone from his eyes. I screamed into the night sky that I would see him avenged. D'Arcy would die for what he had just done. That monstrous man had lulled us both into a false sense of security, merely biding his time before taking what he considered to be his just revenge upon us."

Marcus fell silent then, and I dared not say a word.

 

Instead, I curled around him, laying my face on his chest, letting him feel the wetness of the tears I had shed for Thomas. The petty jealousy I had felt when he'd first mentioned Thomas as the great love of his life, now faded away, and all I wanted to do was bring him comfort, if I could. "I'm so sorry," I whispered after a while, and he hugged me to him, telling me without words that he appreciated my compassion. He remained silent for a long time, and I knew he was reliving Thomas's final moments over and over again.

Had he ever found a way to avenge his lover's death? I wondered.
"No." His voice was flat and emotionless as he answered my unspoken question. "No, the Comte d'Arcy still lives."
"How can you be sure?" I asked.

"I know," was all he said in reply. Gently he unwrapped himself from my embrace then rose from the bed. He stood looking down at me, an unreadable expression on his perfect face. "I should take you home," he said.

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"Can't I stay?"
"Not tonight. It's late, and you have to work tomorrow."
"But I don't want to leave you alone. You seem so sad. I'm sorry I forced you to tell me all of this."

"Don't be sorry for me, Roger," he murmured, touching my hair. "I told you of him willingly. I have had many years to grieve for Thomas. I stopped mourning a long time ago." He shrugged his wide shoulders expressively. "Life, or a semblance of it, goes on."

"Will ... will I see you again?"
"Of course."
"When?"
He sat on the edge of the bed and took my hand.

"Roger." His eyes held mine with an intensity that made me shiver. "I want you to be very sure of what will be needed of you. I want you to understand the enormity of what spending your life with me will entail. I don't want you to make that decision out of emotion or compassion for what I have just told you. I did not tell you about Thomas to evoke sympathy. Go home and think of all of this carefully. Very carefully. When you want to see me again, I will know, and I will come for you."

I pressed his hand to my lips. "I love you, Marcus," I said.
"I believe you."

Effortlessly, he lifted me from the bed, and I noticed for the first time that I was fully clothed. He held me in his arms then kissed me long and hard. I closed my eyes and when I opened them, I was back in my apartment—and he was gone.

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Chapter Six

The following day, Monday, was hell on wheels at work. By five o'clock, I was so exhausted, all I could think of was going home, mixing a martini, and vegging in front of the TV. I had decided, when I'd had time to put two thoughts together during the day, that I would leave Marcus alone for a couple of days. I didn't want to appear too pushy or needy, whichever word you think is more apt. In the back of my mind, I figured maybe, just maybe he'd miss me enough to come flying through my window, and whisk me off to his hideaway in the Hollywood Hills. Quite the dreamer, ain't I?

My friend Mark called around seven. "So, how was the date last night?" he asked
"Dreamy," I told him.
"Ohmigod. That's terrific."
"Yeah, terrific ... except he's got some hang ups."
"Don't they all? Are you seeing him again?"
"Hope so. Don't know, really."
"Roger, you really need to be more assertive. Aggressive.
That kind of butch thing."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that if you want this to go somewhere, you should take control of the situation and call him."
"Call him what?"
"Call him
on the phone
and tell him you want to see him again."
"He already knows that, Mark."
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"Honey, you just have to make more of an effort that you usually do."
I hung up on him.
Kevin called a few minutes after I'd talked to Mark. "So how was the date with the vampire?"
My mouth went dry. How the hell did he know?
"What?" I managed to whisper.
"The guy that came to the party dressed as a vampire.
Wasn't he the one you had the date with?"
"Oh, yeah ... right." I laughed, a little shakily.
"So, how was it?"
"Incredible," I told him.
"Did you do it?"
"None of your business."
"That means you did. How many times? Wow, Roger.
You're usually so slow off the mark. What'd he do? Tie you to the bed?"
"No, of course not, dummy."

But he could, anytime he wanted, I thought, letting my imagination take wing. Tied down on that wonderful bed, silk scarves wrapped round my wrists and ankles, keeping me spread-eagled on my back while Marcus hovered over me, showering me with his hot kisses. Mmm-mmm...

"You still there?" Kevin's voice dragged me back from my daydream.
"Yeah."
"So you seein' him again?"
"Hope so."
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"Jeez, Roger. You need to take control, be more assertive—" I hung up on him.

* * * *

That night I lay in bed, mulling over things in my mind, time and time again. Of one thing, I was certain. I was in love with Marcus, and if he would allow it, I would give up everything for him. Crazy as it may sound, I could really see my life inexorably intertwined with his. Somehow, it just felt right, as if I had been waiting all my life for this one man to make me complete. The fact that he was a vampire should have given me pause. More than pause really. It should have made me run like hell, yet I knew I would not.

I think I knew then that I had gone beyond the mere physical attraction, powerful though that was. Having listened to him tell me something of his life, I couldn't help but feel the most tremendous admiration for him. The sheer willpower and determination it must have taken for him to have survived those first few years after he had been changed was, in a way, mind blowing. When I thought of him waking up that morning to find he was on fire— jeez, how do you cope with something like that? I don't care how butch you are. It's definitely not the way to start your day.

And the sad affair with Thomas. After waiting all those years for the right one to come along, to have some jerk snatch it all from him out of sheer spite.

I tossed and turned for hours that night. Tired as I was, sleep eluded me. All I could think of was Marcus, and the 88
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incredible hours we'd spent together. I could still feel the silky smoothness of his skin that covered the hard muscles of his body. I could taste the sweetness of his lips, smell his intoxicating scent, hear the husky tones as he murmured words of endearment in my ear.

And then, out of nowhere, something nudged at my mind.
Something nasty, distasteful ... even corrupt. A voice, insidious and evil. I tried, unsuccessfully, to eradicate it from my mind. "Roger," it whispered. "Loving Marcus will bring you death."

I sat up in bed, petrified, staring into the darkness of my bedroom and fumbling with shaking fingers for the switch on my bedside lamp. As light flooded the room, I jumped from my bed, staring wildly about me. At any moment, I expected to feel a violent attack from some malevolent being.

Nothing happened. I stood in the middle of the room, panting slightly from apprehension, fear of the unknown and the unseen. I wanted Marcus by my side at that moment. His presence would make me strong, unafraid. And suddenly he was there, holding me in his arms, crooning in my ear. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, holding him as if my life depended on it—and at that moment, I felt as though it did.

"Marcus," I sobbed, "I love you. Change me, so we can be together for all eternity."

 

Then I woke up, and I was alone ... and afraid.

* * * *
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Next morning, I set off for work, dogged by a feeling of despondency I couldn't shake. All day, my depression grew stronger. I wanted to just leave, run to the gym, burn up my frustration on the aerobics machines, but, dedicated worker that I am, I stuck it out to the end of the day. Thank goodness I did. When I called my next customer, not really looking at the line, there he was, standing at my window, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Marcus," I gasped. "Oh gee, it's good to see you."
"Have you been troubled Roger?"
"And how," I exclaimed. I looked out the window. It was still daylight. "How did you...?"
"I managed," he said quietly. "It's a little overcast. That helps. Besides I sensed your despair and wanted to make sure you were all right." "That's so good of you. I get off in a half hour. Can you wait?"
"Of course. I will sit over there," he indicated the guest area, "and read a magazine until you're done."
As he strode away, I admired his cat-like grace and grew hard remembering what those jeans and polo shirt hid.
"Are you open?" An imperious voice broke into my daydream.
I soon will be
, I thought with a smirk. "Yes, of course madam," I said with a bright smile, my day suddenly a whole lot rosier. "How may I help you?"

* * * *
"You had a bad dream last night."
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We were sitting in a bar near the bank where I worked.
Marcus looked across the table at me, his expression a mixture of concern and solicitude.
I nodded. "Yeah. It started out bad, but then you were in it. That made it better."
He touched my hand. "I'm glad I could help."

"Marcus..." I wanted to couch what I had to say as carefully as I could. At the same time, I was apprehensive as to what his reply would be. "I thought of nothing else but you last night. You said there were alternatives—one where you could take a little of my blood."

 

"Roger, don't—"

 

"No, let me finish, please," I pleaded. "I've really thought a lot about this. If you did that, like drink from me every now and then, you said I would live two or three hundred years more than the normal lifespan. What I was thinking was this,"

 

I said, warming to my proposal. "Why don't we do that as a sort of trial period thing? Then if you get tired of me, you can just stop the process and move on, free to do what you want."

 

He sat staring at me for the longest time, his beautiful lips slightly parted as though he were about to say something, but no words came. Instead, I saw his eyes glisten with unshed tears.

 

"Marcus?"

 

"Roger," he said, his voice no more than a whisper. "Do you know what you're saying? Do you think I would lead you on under the impression you were somehow dispensable? If—

and I mean
if
we undertake this arrangement, it would never 91
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be with that escape clause you just mentioned. My dear Roger..." His tone grew harder. "Do you think so little of me as to even consider that I would be tempted to discard you?"

 

"No, no—that's not what I meant at all," I said, panicking at his angry expression. "Oh God, I guess I said it all wrong.

 

What I meant was ... was ... Oh, I didn't mean to make it sound so ... so..." I broke off lost for words, the hurt look on his face making it impossible for me to complete my thoughts.

"Roger," he said at last. "I think you are possibly the sweetest man I have ever met—bar none—and I want you to know something. I hold you in much greater esteem than you do yourself. For some strange reason, you think yourself unworthy of me. Where on earth did you get that impression?

Certainly not from me, for I have told you how special you are."

 

"Yes, you have," I interrupted, as is my wont. "But see, it's really hard for me to understand how a gorgeous guy like you could ever be interested in someone like me."

 

"Stop that." Now he looked really angry. He stood up, almost knocking over the table. He grabbed me by the arm.