Twilight Hunger (21 page)

They both turned as Max's voice shouted for Lou from the house. Lydia gripped Lou's arm. “Could he have come back?”

“Come on,” Lou said, taking her arm as they ran across the wide expanse of back lawn toward the house. “We haven't been out of sight of the house,” he muttered. “He could have come in another door, I suppose, but—”

They reached the house, rushing inside to find Morgan unconscious on the floor and Max kneeling beside her, cradling her head and looking scared to death.

“Jesus, what happened?”

“She just collapsed!”

Lydia ran forward, knelt beside Max and touched Morgan's face. “She's so cold.”

“I think she's sick,” Max said. “Lou, can you get her
into her bed? I'm gonna see if I can find a phone number for a doctor or something.”

Nodding, Lou bent to scoop the woman up. She didn't weigh more than a minute. Then he carried her up the stairs and started hunting for the right bedroom.

 

Max sat by the strange woman's bed and stared at her. It was 2:00 a.m. Lou was long asleep in one of the guest rooms, Lydia in another. This place had a half-dozen spare bedrooms, all made up, that apparently got very little use. Thin films of dust in the spare bedrooms told Max that her odd little twin didn't have much company.

She had been unable to sleep a wink herself. So she'd come in here, and now she sat and watched the woman sleeping like the dead. The bed was a huge four-poster, with white lace coverlets over mounds of blankets and thick pillows all around her. Four people could sleep in that bed with room to spare.

This place was gorgeous. Huge and gorgeous. The adjoining bathroom was bigger than Max's bedroom. Hell, so was the walk-in closet. And the
clothes!

She rubbed her arms against a chill. When she had come in here, the French doors with the creamy sheer curtains had been open, the chill autumn night breeze wafting in. Max had closed them. But it was still too damned cold in here.

But of course all those thoughts were just trying to distract her from the real reason she was here. Oh, she told herself a thousand lies. That she just wanted to try to get used to looking at a face so like her own. That she wanted to be nearby in case Morgan awoke, to explain why they were all still here, invading her home. That
she was worried the obviously ill woman would take a turn for the worse before morning.

But none of those were the real reason.

She wanted to see underneath that turtleneck collar.

Licking her lips nervously, Max leaned forward. Morgan lay on her back, just as still as stone, her face startlingly white in the darkness, her hair spread on the pillows around her. Sleeping Beauty. Max reached closer with her hand, and it hovered just above Morgan's neck. Then she moved it closer, very slowly. Her fingertips touched the black fabric.

Careful,
she told herself.
Don't touch her skin, or she'll wake. Careful…

She pinched the edge of the stretchy fabric between her thumb and forefinger, and pulled very gently out and down ward. She leaned closer over Morgan, trying to see behind the collar.

They were there. Just as she had thought they would be. Two tiny marks, deep maroon in color.

“Dante, nooo,” Morgan moaned in her sleep.

Max jumped so suddenly she let the collar snap back against the other woman's neck as she jerked backward.

“Stay away!” Morgan rasped. Her head began to turn to one side and the other on the pillows. “No, Dante, don't come here.” There were tears squeezing out from beneath her closed eyelids now.

Max couldn't help but feel a twist of pain in her gut. This was her sister. And she had been attacked by a vampire. Max didn't know why the hell Morgan insisted on denying it, but the evidence was there, from
the marks on her neck to the words of her nightmares, begging the monster not to come back.

“No, no!”

Max leaned in again, clasping Morgan's shoulders this time. “Easy. It's all right. You're safe.”

The woman stopped struggling. She went still, her breath rushing in and out a bit more slowly than before.

“It's all right,” Max whispered.

Morgan blinked her eyes open. It seemed to take her a moment to remember who Max was. That brief instant of shock was followed by one of dawning realization. “You're still here?” she asked softly.

“You passed out downstairs. Lou carried you up here.”

She nodded, her eyes falling closed. “I'm fine. You can leave now.”

“That's not what your friend David said.”

Her eyes flew wide again. “D-David? You've spoken to—but how?”

“I was trying to find a phone number for your doctor or a family member or someone, and not having much luck, when the phone rang. It was a man named David Sumner, who seemed very worried about you. I explained what had happened—”

“There was no reason to do that,” Morgan whispered.

“He'll be here in the morning. He asked me to stay until he could arrive. So I did.”

“I don't need watching over.”

“I know about Dante,” Max said flatly.

Morgan's gaze shot to hers. “So do I. He's a fictional character in some films I wrote.”

“I meant the real Dante. The one who left those marks on your neck.”

Morgan's hand flew to the spot on her neck, but when she felt the collar there, she frowned. “There are no—”

“Save it, sister. I peeked.”

Sighing with everything in her, Morgan said, “You don't understand.”

“Why don't you explain it to me?”

Morgan sat up then, slowly. Max automatically leaned in to plump the pillows behind her, and when their eyes met that time, she felt a connection, the first one. “You don't have to deal with this alone anymore,” she told Morgan. “You've got family here now. That means something to me, even if it doesn't to you. You're my sister. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you.”

Leaning back on the pillows Max had arranged for her, Morgan lowered her eyes. “It means something to me, too.” She said it as if with great reluctance. “I just…I was shocked. I didn't mean to be…cold.”

“You'd had a rough evening.”

“But it wasn't Dante. He wouldn't hurt me.”

“No?” She tried not to show her jubilation that Morgan had finally admitted—or all but admitted—that Dante was real.

“No. It's the scarred man. He's the enemy. He's the one who attacked me. He had…” She had to pause there, battle down a sob. “He had a crossbow.”

“That must have been terrifying.”

“It was. God, I was so afraid. And I still don't know if he's…” She stopped there, bit her lip.

“You don't know if he's what? Coming back? You don't need to worry about that, Morgan. You've got
a cop, a P.I. and a counselor for runaway teens in the house. Between us, we can handle just about anything that comes up. He's not going to get near you again.”

Morgan looked at Max for a long moment, almost as if she intended to argue, but then she simply nodded. “You really aren't after anything from me, are you?”

“No. I'm really not.” Max closed a hand around one of Morgan's thin, cool ones.

Morgan returned the squeeze.

“Rest now. You'll feel better in the morning.”

Nodding, Morgan closed her eyes and sank into sleep.

I
t was late morning, and Max had fallen asleep in her chair when the creaking of the bedroom door made her jerk her self awake. She twisted toward the door, half expecting to have a fight on her hands. But it was neither a dark vampire nor the scarred Frank Stiles who walked quietly into the bedroom. It was Lou, and he was with a big, sandy-haired man who stared at Max as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

“Maxie, this is David Sumner,” Lou said. He couldn't quite manage a whisper, but his voice came out softly all the same.

Nodding, Max got to her feet, and only then did she realize she was still holding Morgan's hand. She gently let it go, placing it on the bed and giving her newfound sister one last lingering look before she turned back to the men. “Let's talk downstairs, can we? She's sleeping so soundly, I hate to wake her.”

Lou nodded and started to leave, but Sumner didn't. He moved closer, leaned over Morgan and looked at her, his eyes troubled. He touched her very gently, just laid his hand lightly on her face. She sighed deeply, but other than that didn't respond at all.

Lowering his head, the man nodded, turned and walked out of the bedroom. Max followed, closing the bedroom door behind her, and it was a good thing, because Sumner began asking questions almost immediately.

“What happened to her? Why does she look so pale? My God, her skin is as chilled as if she's been on ice overnight. And—”

“One question at a time, Mr. Sumner,” Max cut in, holding a stop-sign palm toward him and pressing her other hand to her head. “I haven't even had my morning infusion of caffeine yet, and I didn't exactly get a lot of sleep last night.”

Sumner offered an apologetic nod. “God. I can't get over the resemblance. Officer Malone—”

“Lou, it's Lou.”

“—told me about you as soon as I got here, but I just—I can't get over it.”

Max understood the reaction only too well. “I've been looking at Morgan all night, and I still can't get over it, either,” she said. “I didn't know I had a sister at all, much less a twin.”

“Neither did I,” Sumner admitted.

They reached the kitchen, where Max smelled coffee brewing and made a beeline for it. She didn't see Lydia anywhere and wondered where she'd gone. The two men sat at the table, and she poured herself a coffee and joined them. “I'm sorry, I guess I'm still unclear on your relationship with Morgan, uh, David, is it?”

“Yes, David. I'm…well, an honorary uncle. I've known Morgan ever since she was a year old. If they'd been religious types, I suppose I would have been named
Morgan's godfather, but that was never formalized. When they died…well, I was all she had.”

“You also produced her vampire films,” Lou observed, picking up a cooling, half-empty cup of coffee and sipping its contents.

“Yeah, well. I'll tell you, I didn't expect them to be as good as they were. When I saw that first script, I swear to God, I told her she should shop it around. Get a bidding war going among the real heavy hitters, you know? But she wouldn't do it. She wanted me to make her first film. So I cut her in for half the profits and did the best I could with it. She deserved more. But as it turned out, the films grabbed a following right out of the gate, and the momentum built to the success of this third one.”

Lou nodded slowly. “So how was she, the last time you saw her?”

“Not like this.” David glanced at the watch he wore. “I can't reach her doctor before ten. I'll call him then.”

“Then she
has
been ill?” Lou asked.

David drew a deep breath. “Listen, Morgan's star is just starting to rise. I don't want this getting out.”

“We're not looking for a story to sell to the scandal sheets, David,” Max told him. “If we were, then the missing twin angle would be plenty. There's something not right here, and I—we only want to help her.”

Lowering his head, David said, “I'm afraid there's not a lot that can be done for her. She, um…she has a rare condition. An antigen in her bloodstream that has medical science baffled. No one seems to know why, but individuals who have this antigen in common begin
to weaken and fade in their mid to late twenties and rarely live beyond their early thirties.”

“What…what are you saying?” Max whispered, meeting his eyes. “That she's…”

“I'm sorry. I know this must come as a shock.” David sighed, lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She's known about this since she was a teenager,” he went on without looking up. “Hell, it's what made her so driven, and why she was so determined to get a screenplay produced right away, at such a young age. She knew she didn't have a lot of time.”

Max sat there staring at him. Her eyes were burning. Her mind spinning. “That's…that's wrong, that's not—that can't be true.”

“Max,” Lou began.

“That's not it, Lou!” She shot a look at David Sumner. “You're telling me she's
dying?
”

“We didn't expect it to get this much worse this soon, but—”

“Oh, God,” Lou muttered.

Max just sat there, getting angrier and angrier. Finally she pounded a fist on the table. “This doesn't make any sense whatsoever. Look, I don't know what else might be wrong with her, but the reason she's in the state she is right now is because she was attacked by a vampire last night.”

David Sumner was silent, just looking at her, then Lou, then her again. “That's not very funny.”

“I saw the marks on her throat. I looked while I was sitting up with her and she was asleep, and when she woke up I called her on it, and she admitted it to me.” She was speaking too rap idly now, and she could see that she was scaring the shit out of Sumner. “Dante is
real. She admitted it! Although she insists he's no threat to her.”

Sumner got slowly to his feet, looking nervous. “Maybe now that I'm here you two should move along. I'm really grateful for your help but—”

“Now he thinks we're crackpots, Maxie. Sheesh, you ever hear of being subtle?”

She shot Lou a look. “You brought the CD, didn't you?”

“I brought it.”

“Well, show him. Just fucking show him.”

Nodding, Lou got up as if his limbs ached. They probably did, from that chase the night before. He glanced at David Sumner. “Give me a half hour of your time, Sumner. If you still think we're a pair of lunatics when I finish, we'll leave. No fuss, no muss. Okay?”

Sumner licked his lips, looking from one of them to the other. “I…suppose so.”

“Good. Is there a computer around this place?”

“In the study, but Morgan keeps it locked. She hates any one going in there.” The words made Maxine's antennae quiver. “I have a laptop in the car,” the big man added.

“Then let's go get it.” Lou glanced back at Max. “You better go take a nap, huh? You didn't sleep all night. The bed in your room was still made up this morning.”

She nodded, her eyes heavy. “Maybe I'll do that,” she said. “Where's Lydia, anyway?”

“Went out first thing. Into town for supplies, she said. She'll be back.”

Max frowned and thought about going for a walk around the grounds—maybe the fresh air would wake her up. But her eyelids and muscles disagreed with that
plan, so she sucked down her coffee as if it were lifeblood and refilled her cup again. She had no intention of taking a nap.

 

Morgan was weak, groggy, when she woke. And there was an empty, hollow feeling emanating, echoing, from some where deep in her center. A yearning…for Dante. It was be yond simple desire. It was beyond human love. It was an ache, a desperate, endless need. The soul-deep hunger of a woman on the brink of death by starvation.

Clenching her teeth against the emptiness, she got up, took note of the daylight still flooding in through the thin curtains on the French doors and silently cursed it. Even if Dante had survived—
God, please!
—he wouldn't be able to come to her. Not now. Not in daylight.

She dragged herself tiredly into the bathroom, wanting a fast shower, knowing she lacked the energy to take one. There was no hopping in, scrubbing down, rinsing off and hopping out. No, but she did manage to crank on the taps and peel off her clothes. She stood under the spray with her hands braced on the shower wall and her head hanging down. She couldn't get through the day like this. Jesus, she needed…

She knew what she needed. She needed Dante. She needed him inside her, his fire burning life through her veins. He had taken too much from her. Not to hurt her, God, she knew that. He was going to do what she asked. Make her what he was. Drain her and then refill her with his own life. Stiles's interruption had cost her dearly.

Something, some sense that was very much like
hearing a sharp noise but not quite, made her lift her head and listen. Was someone else in the house?

God, those strangers from last night? Were they still here?

She had to admit to a softness toward the woman who claimed to be her sister. But anyone who meant Dante harm was her enemy. She would protect him, no matter what. No matter who she had to fight.

Reaching for a towel, she stepped out of the shower, feeling cleaner but no stronger, and only a little more awake. She paused to look into the full-length mirror at her body, drop ping the towel to the floor and wondering how Dante could want her as she was. Skinny. Weak. Pale. Lifting her chin, she looked at the place on her throat where he had pierced her. Her body tingled all over at the memory of the sensations that had rushed through her then. The ultimate possession. She had been completely his—and relishing it.

Then she narrowed her eyes, her fingers dancing over the skin of her neck. There were no marks. No punctures, as she knew there had been the night before. Moving closer, she looked again, frowning. Very faint marks, barely pink against the white of her skin, betrayed the place where his incisors had been embedded in her flesh. The holes and the bruising around them were gone. The marks that remained…even they seemed to be fading before her eyes.

“It was real,” she whispered. “I know it was.”

She pulled on a robe, a different one, scarlet satin, hoping to draw energy from the color. She brushed her hair, although the act was exhausting, and finally she crept down the stairs to face the intruders. She had to convince them that she was all right and get rid of them.
Otherwise Dante would never be able to come to her again.

At the bottom of the wide curving staircase, Morgan paused, staring across the foyer to the open doors of her haven. Her study. The place she let no one invade. She thought of the floorboards beneath the rug, the hidden space below, where, for all she knew, Dante might have taken refuge last night. Her heart stuttered, and anger pushed it into a faster pace than be fore. She surged across the foyer, into the study.

Maxine stood there, looking beautiful and alive and healthy. She was staring at the drawings of Dante that lined the walls, not touching anything, not searching, just staring.

“These doors are kept locked for a reason,” Morgan said, her voice low, her anger in check.

Max jerked in surprise, her eyes wide as they met Morgan's. “You're right, I'm sorry, I just…couldn't help myself.” She came forward, a hand going to Morgan's arm. “You shouldn't be up. You're still so weak.”

“I'm fine.” She pulled her arm away, willed herself to stay angry, not to soften again toward the woman. “This is my private study,” she said. “I don't let anyone in here.”

“So I was told. That's why I had to come in.” She shrugged. “Look, I know I invaded your privacy. I thought maybe I'd find something in here that might help me save your life.”

Morgan couldn't hold Max's eyes then, because the sincerity she saw in them touched her, though she didn't want it to. “Nothing can do that. There's nothing.”

“You have to have more time,” Max said. “You have to, Morgan. I just found you.”

Morgan turned her back and denied the bolt of pain those words sent through her. “I spent a lot of time wanting that to be true. It only leads to disappointment, Maxine. I don't want to want it again. I've accepted the facts.” And she had, she thought. But not the facts as her sister knew them. Morgan knew that living a normal life was no longer an option. She had thought accepting death was her only choice, but now she had another option. A new life of endless night. It might be possible. If she could only last long enough to make it hap pen.

Max was silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was thick. “These drawings—they're stunning.”

Morgan turned, managed to face her again now that Max was attempting a lighter subject. “Thank you. They're just what my imagination tells me my character looks like.”

Max blinked. “Come on, Morgan, we're past that. You admitted last night that he was real. Don't you remember? When I saw the marks?”

Pasting an innocent expression on her face, Morgan lifted her chin, let her hair fall back and parted the collar of her robe. “What marks?”

Max frowned, moving closer and inspecting her neck. “But…but they were there. You covered them up.” She reached out and dragged a forefinger across the place where the marks had been, but when she looked, Morgan knew, she saw no traces of makeup. “I don't understand.”

“You don't need to.”

“Morgan, if this vampire is…is feeding on you, then what ever time you have left will be even less, don't
you see that? David said the last time he saw you, you were—”

“David?” Morgan flinched. “David?”

“Don't you remember? I told you last night he was coming.”

Morgan frowned, trying to sort out the confused muddle of her mind.

“He's here,” Max said. “In that small parlor off the living room with Lou.”