sound of that one bit and she stared at him in sudden alarm, wondering if she had made a fatal mistake in coming here.
Sensing her inner turmoil, he said, “Shannah, I mean you no harm.”
She didn’t know why, but she believed him. Still, she couldn’t stay. “I can’t, really…”
“Of course you can.”
“No. I have to go home. My apartment…” That was hardly a convincing argument. Her whole apartment would fit inside his living room. Of course, he didn’t know that. She thought of her small place, and compared it to his house. There was nothing at home that she would miss. And whether it was the man or his mansion, she felt much better here than she had in months. That made no sense, of course, but then, these days, very little made sense. Still, she couldn’t move in with this man. This stranger. She had been raised better than that.
She shook her head. “No,” she said again, “I couldn’t, but thanks again for your hospitality.”
He smiled faintly. “When I get back, I’d like a chance to convince you to stay. I won’t be gone long.”
She watched him turn and walk away, heard the front door open and close as he left the house.
What a strange man he was. Why would he want her to stay here, with him? Perhaps because he was a strange man? The thought sent fear flooding through her. Maybe he really was some kind of homicidal maniac. Maybe the reason she suddenly felt so good was because he was a drug dealer and he had slipped her something last night. Maybe he planned to sell her on the white slave market.
Maybe she had better get the hell out of here while she still could!
She turned off the stove and ran out of the kitchen. She wasn’t going to hang around to find out what kind of man he was, or just what plans he had in store for her. She was leaving this place right now, clothes or no clothes.
Chapter Five
Ronan stalked the ever-changing shadows of the night, a predator in search of prey, a hunter on the prowl. He loved the night, the taste of the wind on his tongue, the anticipation of the hunt. There had been times, in the beginning, when he had despised what he was, loathed what he had to do to survive, but those feelings hadn’t lasted long. He had once been human, prey to what he had become. Now he was the predator; preying on mortals was natural to his kind. The memory of mortality and its inherent weaknesses were dim, overshadowed by the passing of time. The revulsion he had expected to feel the first time he satisfied his unnatural thirst had never materialized. One taste of the rich red elixir of life had driven all thought of repugnance from his mind. Nothing had ever tasted sweeter. Nothing had ever satisfied him more.
Now, he moved through the darkness with ease, his preternatural senses testing the evening breeze. Sounds and smells assailed him on every side as he sought for the one who would satisfy his hunger.
He bypassed a young couple holding hands, so caught up in each other he doubted either of them would have noticed had he chosen one or both of them.
He moved past an old man sitting on the sidewalk in front of a seedy tavern, as well as several boisterous young men who reeked of booze and drugs.
Moving on, he passed a rookie cop walking a lonely beat.
And then he saw her, a middle-aged woman about to enter a single-story house at the end of a quiet street. Falling into step beside her, he mesmerized her with a glance and pulled her into the shadows beside the building. Taking her into his embrace, he took that which he needed to sustain his existence, and left her standing there, bewildered but unhurt, his memory erased from her mind.
With his thirst sated for the moment, he turned toward home, his thoughts on the woman who waited for him there. What would she think of his proposition? Dare he tell her the truth of what he was? In five hundred years, no one who had discovered the truth of his existence had lived to tell the tale. He remembered all too well the way his kind had been hunted in centuries past, hordes of frightened people storming through cemeteries, digging up the graves of suspected vampires, mutilating the corpses.
These days, people were generally too civilized to believe in the supernatural, although vampire hunters still plied their trade. He knew it would be a mistake to tell Shannah the truth. Why, then, did he feel compelled to do so? And why, of all the people he had known through the centuries, was he tempted to work the Dark Trick upon her? It was nothing to him whether she lived or died, yet the thought of her death filled him with an aching sadness he had not felt in hundreds of years.
Perhaps it was just that he had been alone for too long. How often had he seen young lovers entwined and yearned for the closeness and the intimacy they shared? How often had he hungered, not for blood, but for the love of a woman? For one kiss, freely given?
Eager to see Shannah again, he quickened his pace, relishing the touch of the night air on his face.
Lights burned in the downstairs windows of the house. He grunted softly, thinking how odd it looked. Before Shannah, the house had always been dark when he returned. With his preternatural vision, he had no need for artificial lighting.
No one had ever left a light burning for him before. A smile curved his lips as he hurried up the long narrow drive. It faded as he opened the front door. He didn’t have to enter the house to know that it was empty. To know that she had gone.
Pulling the door closed behind him, he went out into the night once more, his senses reaching out, his head lifting to sniff an errant breeze for her scent. He found it quickly, followed it easily, much like a hungry wolf on the trail of fresh blood.
It led him to a four-story red brick apartment building on the far side of town.
Sitting on the sofa clad in a pair of comfy old sweats and a pair of heavy socks, Shannah reached for the book she had stolen from Mr. Dark, if that was indeed his real name. Somehow, she doubted it. Not that it mattered, she thought as she opened the book.
She had fled his house as though pursued by demons. Keeping to the shadows, his robe clutched tightly around her, she had made her way home, praying that she would remain unobserved, especially by the police. It would have been difficult indeed to explain what she was doing running through the streets clad in nothing but a robe and her underwear. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen anyone, and no one had seen her. She wondered now if she had overreacted. He had been nothing but kind to her since she showed up at his front door.
With a shake of her head, she turned her attention back to the book. There was a poem on the first page.
In the darkness, I dream of light
Under Sol, I beg for night
Each dawn I die, at dusk reborn
Eternal shadow
Alone
Forlorn
Though short, the aching loneliness inherent in the words touched a chord deep within her. Had he written the poem as well as the book? He didn’t seem like the poetic type, she thought as she turned the page.
In minutes, she forgot everything but the story unfolding in front of her. Never before had she read anything that captured her attention so quickly. His writing was compelling, riveting, so visual she could see every scene unfolding in her mind as though she was there in the midst of the story, living each adventure with the vampire and his lady love.
She was so captivated that she was hardly aware of time passing. She was completely caught up in the plot. She was the heroine, in love with a man who was not a man at all, and her life was in danger…
She practically jumped out of her skin when someone knocked on the door. Frowning, she wondered who it could be. She wasn’t expecting company; no one except her parents knew where she lived.
The knock came again, louder and more insistent. Rising, the book clutched in one hand, she went to the door. “Who is it?”
She knew the answer even before she heard the deep timbre