Terminal Lust (3 page)

Chapter Three

Standing in the vast lobby of the hotel, Desmond reviewed Madame Evangeline’s confirmation email once more.

As you have requested Mr. Jacobs, you have been booked into the Castillo Hotel and Resort on Peaks Island in Maine. All of your accommodations have been arranged
.

Desmond put his phone away as he approached the concierge.

“Welcome, sir.” The cheery older gentleman rambled on about the hotel’s facilities, but Desmond was stuck in a dismal state with no eagerness about his evening plans, so the man’s enthusiasm fell upon deaf ears.

Sliding the room card into the slot, he pushed the door open. The breathtaking view perked his mood up dramatically. In all his long life, he had never seen a sight quite like this. Perhaps he was completing an unintentional bucket list tonight.

Dropping his overcoat on the floor by the massive king-sized bed, he walked through the clear, tubular-shaped room. Neon blue surrounded him, with magnificent creatures swimming all around. The underwater hotel was a remarkable destination. This view of under-the-sea alone was enough to make his last night of existence worthwhile. Nose pressed to the glass, he examined the sponge-like coral reef and colorful vegetation outside the window, the small schools of vibrant fish swimming by…. So much life, yet the room and all it offered gave such peace and serenity.

Taking in the rest of the astounding suite, he grinned at the hot tub directly across from the bed. No need for privacy here. Watching the sea creatures in all their glory while soaking in the tub would be a joy for his date when she arrived, even if that was the only bliss he could offer a stranger tonight.

***

Covering her graying skin with makeup seemed to make her look even worse in the mirror. The more she worked at it, the less real she looked. Feeling useless in her vain attempt at sprucing herself up, she called the hotel salon and asked for someone to come up to her penthouse suite and give her a makeover.

The knock on the door brought a sense of relief and she walked with weak legs to answer it.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” A petite brunette in a pink beautician’s tunic nodded with a pleasant grin and strolled into the room, a large bag bristling with the tools of her trade slung over her shoulder.

“Hello Ms. Thatcher, my name is Pricilla.” Approaching a small vanity by the window, she placed a white towel on the surface, and laid a daunting array of beauty supplies on the terry cloth. She tugged out the padded bench from under the table and Ambrosia sat, praying the woman could make her presentable.

“I can see where you were having difficulty; this makeup is much too dark for your creamy fair skin.”

Pricilla was being kind with her choice of words. Ambrosia knew her complexion was comparable to a corpse now. With gentle hands, the beautician wiped the unflattering makeup off with soft sweeps of cool, moistened cotton pads.

“There now, a fresh start.” Her bright eyes showed no shock or surprise as she pampered the sickly reflection that Ambrosia stared at in the mirror.

“I was trying to look a little more—healthy.” Embarrassment washed over her but was quickly gone as she watched the progress of her makeover.

“A little more bronze over these areas…there now, you look as though the sun has been kissing your skin.”

“Wow, can I keep you with me everywhere I go?” Ambrosia eyed her reflection in amazement, and then it dawned on her how silly her comment was. This was likely the last makeup she would ever wear. She blinked the forming tears away. “Thank you, Pricilla; you’ve done an amazing job.”

“Well, I think there are a few more things we can do to pamper you.” She pulled out nail polish and emery boards.

***

Taking a deep breath, Ambrosia tried to settle the insane butterflies wreaking havoc on her hollow stomach. Another dose of painkillers was helping, but not being able to eat made a mess of her already destroyed digestive system. Vertigo started to set in; the spinning imbalance sparked a wave of nausea and unease.

A rush of cold sweat started over her face and neck again, finally enveloping her entire body. She pulled her handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at the moisture, careful not to smudge her masterpiece of fake coloring.

When the door opened, she gasped in shock.

“You?”

“I can’t believe it’s you.” Dark eyes entranced hers.

“We met at the—I bumped into you at the fair?” Ambrosia clutched her tight chest trying to inhale.

“Are you okay?” Desmond took her by the arms as her knees buckled.

“I’m having trouble—” She forced the air in and out as panic started to set in. Was she losing control of her lungs?

He assisted her to the bed and helped her to sit.

“Ambrosia, right?” His voice grew fainter.

“Yes.” She tried to speak and everything faded to blackness.

“Thank you, Doctor. I will call down if anything changes.” His deep velvet voice was followed by the clicking of a door closing. She opened her eyes.

“What happened? Where am I?” Her heart raced. Everything was blurry–she couldn’t focus properly.

“Ambrosia, it’s Desmond. You came to my room and passed out.”

“Room three thirty three?”

“Yes, that’s right. How are you feeling?” With a gentle motion, he smoothed her hair back from her face and caressed her cheek.

“I don’t feel right, I can’t move my legs, I can’t see properly.” Ambrosia’s voice cracked.

“It’s okay, I’m right here.” Cold fingers wrapped around her hand.

“Desmond, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t, I shouldn’t have come, and I thought I could handle it, Desmond I’m—”

“Hush now. I know everything. I’m right here; you don’t ever have to be alone again.” His cool fingers trailed along her neck.

“I’m dying.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. I had no business coming here tonight.” She struggled to rise, frustrated and embarrassed that her weakness was so evident. Couldn’t the universe spare her a little grace for one night?

“You don’t remember, do you?” He slid his arm behind her back, supporting her as she sat up.

“Remember what? The fair?” She stiffened, pulling away

“Well, yes, that, too.” He tucked her close to his side.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t recall anything else?”

“About what?”

“About me, about us. Ambrosia, don’t you know me?”

“Should I?” She strained to see his face better. His features blurred, but so close, she could see more than just vague outlines.

“Three thirty-three,” he whispered, his breath cool against her ear.

“What?”

“Three thirty-three has been our signal for months now.”

“Signal?” Her cloudy brain began to clear—just a bit—and a flicker of light shone.

“Every night, we met, you and I. I always sent you back at three thirty-three, so you would make the connection when you awoke.”

“I don’t understand?”

The coolness of his palm cupped her cheek as she fought off another flash of cold sweat.

“My beloved Ambrosia, why can’t you remember me? Everything we shared?”

“I don’t—where did we meet?” A wave of frustration washed over her.

“In our dreams, my love. You are my soul mate.”

Ambrosia’s chest heaved and she grew lightheaded. All the strength in her body drained and she lost control of her muscles and slumped over. Just as her doctor predicted, everything in her body was shutting down.

“Three thirty—thr—”

“Hush now.” He pulled her close and kissed her cheek, his arms wrapped tight around her.

“The gypsy told me, but I didn’t believe her.”

“What did she tell you?”

“That I went to you in my sleep, that we would love one another for eternity.” The gypsy’s words began to make sense—which worried her. “I thought she was crazy, why don’t I know you?” Labored breathing evolved into wheezing.

“Your body is weak; it’s using all its strength to function. Maybe you just didn’t have enough energy left to remember.”

“I wish I had longer. I wish I knew you—” The room faded to black.

Chapter Four

He laid her gently back on the bed, her eyelids fluttering, but her limbs limp. Terror overrode his logic.

A sudden knock pulled him from stasis and he stumbled to open the door.
Aldon
! He dragged his mentor to the bed.
Tell me what to do.

You have no other choice; you have to act now
. Aldon’s thoughts shot through Desmond’s head.

It’s wrong, she doesn’t know yet. She doesn’t even know who I am. I can’t change her unless she can make her will known
. He kept the conversation silent to avoid frightening her any more than she already was.

If you don’t change her, she won’t have any will left, she’ll die
. Aldon shot a fierce look at him.

From the end of the bed, he absorbed her sallow face, emaciated hands and arms. “She doesn’t have long.” Aldon’s voice shattered the silence of the underwater room, and Desmond’s heart jumped.

“If I change her without giving her a choice, she may hate me. You can’t take back immortality.”

“You can’t give it if she’s already dead, either.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“It most certainly is.” Aldon’s emphatic tone shifted to a fierce growl. “Tonight, I expected to end the life of my friend—my son. Now there is a chance you can be happy and I won’t have to endure this morbid deed. If you don’t change her, I will, for your own sake.” He moved from Desmond’s side to stand beside the bed.

She lay with her head dropped to the side, her pulsing jugular exposed, and Desmond quailed at the purpose evident on Aldon’s face, his looming posture as he bent close to Ambrosia leaving no doubt of his intent.

“No, you won’t.” Desmond’s lips curled and his fangs extended. “Back away from her, right now.”

“Then do it. Her pulse is slowing. Listen to her heart. It is going to stop any minute now.”

He listened, and what he heard carried urgency, as though he was standing on the edge of a fifty-story building and about to jump, not as a vampire—but as a mortal who faced the end of his life.

The soft thumping began to fade.

“Now, Desmond, dammit, or so help me.” Aldon leaned over her, brushing a few strands of limp hair away from her neck.

An overwhelming rush of fear and possessiveness erupted and Desmond shoved his maker aside. The agony of his breaking heart grew with every inch he drew closer to her throat. Either way, turning her or letting her die, he faced losing her again.

“What if I can’t stop?” His voice shook. “I didn’t feed, Aldon, the frenzy—”

“I will stop you if I have to. I swear it.”

The thuds became sporadic and her chest heaved as she gasped for air.

“Now dammit, do it now,” Aldon hissed.

Desmond knelt down beside her and kissed her forehead. The sweet scent of her skin had faded, but it was still intoxicating all the same. Pangs of thirst ran rampant through him and he tensed with bloodlust. He pushed away from her; his feeding instinct had been triggered. Fighting down the fear, he slid his arm behind her frail back and tugged her limp body across his lap, cradling her in his arms. With iron will, he clung to the last semblance of self-control he had to keep from ravaging her defenseless neck. Her chest had stopped moving, her heartbeat a faint vibration.

“Desmond, time’s up.”

The bitter venom began to seep from his fangs as he lowered his mouth to her tepid skin. After a second of hesitation, he gathered his courage and sank his teeth into her delectable flesh. The warmth of her blood spewing into his mouth sent a spasm of bliss through his body. His thirst took hold and he sucked harder, digging his fangs deeper into her lean tissue.

The sour flavor of cancer was only a minor distraction in his indulgence of her essence. This exquisite moment of creating an eternal bond with the woman of his dreams filled him with rapture.

“That’s enough.” Aldon’s words barely registered, as his crazed hunger engulfed the last of his restraint.

Enough
! Aldon’s superior strength pulled him back as her warm juices spilled down his chin. “Pull yourself together. There isn’t much time.” Aldon held up one razor sharp nail-tipped finger. “Now, before it’s too late.”

Her blood was coursing through his veins, but his sense soon overtook Desmond’s feeding delirium. He nodded and pulled back his shirtsleeve, exposing his wrist. Pain shot through his arm when Aldon sliced his flesh open, leaving a gaping wound. As his blood began to spill, he held his wrist over her mouth, letting the fluid drip onto her slightly parted, pale lips. He watched as the blood seeped into her mouth, but nothing happened. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch or respond.

“It’s not working.” Terror consumed him.

“Don’t stop, just keep trying. Let the change happen.”

Suddenly, Ambrosia’s head shifted a little, her lips and mouth started to move. Her tongue eased out, slowly collecting the crimson liquid, and she began to moan. Her hands gripped his arm and pulled it closer to her open mouth. She drank his blood savagely. With her eyes still closed, she began to overpower Desmond, savagely sucking his life.

After a few moments, Aldon reached over, placed a finger under her jaw, and pressed upward. Her head dropped, as she sank into unconsciousness again.

“Desmond, are you all right?”

“I—yes, I didn’t expect her to take so much, so quickly.”

Aldon patted his shoulder. “Are you weakened? Did she drain you?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what?”

Desmond stared at her, lying in his arms, watching the change begin. “I’ve never turned anyone before.” He held her tight, but his body went numb with shock.

“Yes, it is a most difficult task, one that comes with regret, relief, and much confusion. It will ease over time.”

“We’ll see when she awakes. It may not ease at all.” Guilt washed over him as the taste of her blood lingered in his tingling mouth.