* *
Erin walked for hours in the rain and mist until finally exhaustion drove her toward home. A lighted window in a bookstore on the corner near the apartment caught her eye, and she stopped for a moment, staring at a display featuring her books. Almost ten years’ worth of work. A decade of her life dedicated to exorcising the demons from her past, and what had it gotten her?
Not much, she reflected. Money, success, a small measure of satisfaction, to be sure. But she was still alone, still haunted by memories. The one serious relationship she’d ever had had begun for all the wrong reasons and had ended badly. Never again would she put herself in the position of needing someone, of depending on anyone other than herself. Never again would she freely give her trust.
After all, Erin thought, grimacing, if you couldn’t trust your own mother, who could you trust?
She glanced back at her books in the window. The cover of Demon Lover leapt out at her. The picture of the vampire seemed just a little too realistic tonight, perhaps because of what she’d learned about Megan’s death. The long white fangs gleamed in the subdued light from the window, and his eyes—dark, mesmerizing, soul-stealing eyes—held her in thrall. And for some reason, Erin thought of the dark figure she’d seen at the cemetery.
Had he been real?
Or had the same imagination that had created the vampire she was looking at now conjured up the dark, menacing figure that had beckoned to her, that had whispered to her soul?
What kind of mind would give birth to such a creature? she thought in disgust. What kind of person would be obsessed by such darkness? What kind of woman would be drawn to the thing that frightened her the most?
Erin tried to shake off the gloom her thoughts brought on, but the wind blowing through the trees carried a faint whisper to her ears, making her wonder again if she could truly distinguish between fantasy and reality.
Erin. We’ve been waiting for you, Erin.
Water puddled on the streets and reflected long, wavering beams of light against the pavement. Dead leaves rattled along the sidewalk in front of her, and as Erin hurried toward the apartment, she pulled her coat more tightly around her, trying to protect herself from the coming night.
But the darkness seeped through the woolen fabric. It oozed through her skin and slivered into her soul. It made her wonder if she would ever be warm again.
The hair at the back of her neck prickled as she glanced over her shoulder. How deserted the streets seemed suddenly. It was barely twilight, but the rain made it seem much later. Gloom hung over the city like a London fog. Erin could feel its oppressive weight bearing down on her shoulders as if invisible hands were holding her back. She hurried her steps, but the apartment seemed to get farther and farther away.
Someone was watching her. She couldn’t shake the feeling. Someone was watching her from the darkness, waiting for the chance to—
A dark figure stepped from a doorway and blocked her path. Erin gasped, tried to move around him, but he moved with her. Don’t panic, she cautioned herself. Don’t make any sudden moves.
She’d lived in the city all her life. It wasn’t the first time she’d been accosted on the street, but there was something particularly frightening about the way this man stood in front of her, smiling down at her as if he knew her deepest, darkest secrets. And for one impossible, irrational moment, she thought the cover of Demon Lover had come to life before her very eyes.
We’ve been waiting for you, Erin.
He hadn’t spoken aloud, but Erin could have sworn she heard his exact thoughts. He was tall, impossibly thin, with long black hair pulled back into a ponytail. His skin was dark and swarthy, with the look of the Mediterranean, and his eyes were jet black.
As her heart pounded inside her chest, Erin thought briefly that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. It wasn’t…human to be so perfect, and suddenly an image of Detective Slade’s scarred hands swept into her mind.
The man in front of her frowned. He made a low growling sound in his throat that sent shivers of dread racing up and down Erin’s spine. He no longer looked handsome or perfect or even like a man, for that matter. He looked cold. Evil. Bestial. Like a vampire. Erin reached for her cross, then discovered it was no longer there.
The black gaze followed her hand to her throat as if anticipating the emptiness she would find there. Then slowly his eyes moved back up to her face, lingering on her lips. He smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the reflected light. No fangs, she noticed in fleeting relief, but in the next moment, Erin thought of the man at the cemetery. The menacing figure that had beckoned her to follow him into darkness. The man who would have seen her drop the silver cross into Megan’s grave.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
“Don’t you know?” he said.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“Don’t you know?”
His voice seemed to echo from a deep, dark well. His smile deepened when he saw her shiver. His eyes taunted her as he reached out and caressed her barren neck with one fingertip, tracing the invisible line of the cross. Erin shrank from his icy touch. Her stomach recoiled from the feel of his flesh against hers, and she thought her heart would thrash its way out of her chest.
She took a faltering step back from him. When he made no move toward her, she kept backing away until she felt the curb against her feet. Then she turned and dashed into the street.
A car screamed to a halt just inches from hitting her, and a horn blasted in her ears, but Erin didn’t stop. She raced across the street and only then, safely on the other side, did she dare to look back.
The man was gone, dissolved like smoke into the night. Had he been real?
She could still feel his icy finger on her skin. He’d been real, all right. The streets of New York were filled with crazies like him. He’d wanted nothing more than to frighten her. Erin supposed she should feel lucky. At least she still had her purse. And her life.
Another breeze gusted through the trees overhead, and for a moment, she thought she heard the sound of male laughter in the wind. She ran through the twilight, her heels clicking against the pavement.
Erin took the steps of the apartment building two at a time, dragged open the door and fled inside. At the top of the stairs, her numb fingers fumbled with the key to Megan’s apartment. With a muttered, “Damn,” she tugged off her glove with her teeth and tried the key again. Downstairs, she heard the front door open and close softly, then someone stepped into the corridor.
Erin’s heart jumped into her throat. Dear God, he had followed her home. Frantically she jiggled the key in the lock. “Come on,” she urged, casting a terrified glance over her shoulder. She could hear his footsteps on the stairs now, heard the telltale squeak as he reached the middle of the steps. Then the steps moved upward, toward the landing, where Erin stood trapped.
Her hands were shaking so badly she dropped the key. She heard it thump against the worn carpet, but in the murky light, she couldn’t see it. With a gasping oath, she dropped to her knees and ran her palms along the dirty floor until she felt the cool metal against her flesh. She jumped up and jammed the key into the lock so brutally she thought for a moment she might have bent it.
Then the key turned smoothly, and she could have wept with relief. But just as she pushed the door open, a cold hand closed over hers.
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