A Whisper of Eternity Read online

  His arm slid around her waist to draw her closer and when she didn't resist, he deepened the kiss, stealing her breath away until all she could do was cling to him as the world slipped away and there was nothing left but Dominic's mouth on hers, his body pressing intimately against hers, his hand caressing her back, lightly skimming the outer curve of her breast.

  His touch filled her with such pleasure it was almost painful and she moaned softly, a wordless plea for more, or less.

  Dominic drew back, his gaze burning into hers, his body trembling with a deep-seated desire that was far more than the yearning for physical fulfillment.

  Muttering an oath, he gained his feet. He stood there staring down at her, his eyes blazing. And then he was gone.

  Tracy stared at the floor where he had been standing, flabbergasted by his sudden disappearance.

  She took a deep breath. My, oh my, but that man knew how to kiss! If he had kissed her like that in any of her previous lives, it was no wonder she hadn't been able to resist his advances. To tell the truth, she was glad he had vanished when he did because she wasn't sure she would have been able to tell him no if things had gone any further. One thing was for certain—if any of her boyfriends in this lifetime had kissed her like that, she would have lost her virginity long ago.

  Which left her wondering if she had said no to all the others just to surrender her virtue to a vampire. She shook her head in bewilderment, not certain if she felt like laughing or crying. She had refused to let him make her a vampire in all her past lives, and she wasn't about to let him make her one now, either. She really didn't know anything about vampires other than what she had seen in movies and the little Dominic had told her. Knowing Hollywood, she doubted if their portrayals of vampires were any more accurate than their portrayals of cowboys and Indians in the Old West.

  So, where to find out the truth? Would Dominic answer her questions? If she had access to a telephone, she could hook up her laptop and do some research online, but for now that was out of the question.

  Books? She thought of the library with its shelves and shelves of books. Would a vampire have research books on vampires? There was only one way to find out.

  She went to the library first thing in the morning. The door opened on well-oiled hinges. Stepping inside, she opened the curtains wide. Sunlight poured into the room.

  She had never before seen so many books, except in a library. A sliding ladder provided access to books on the top shelves.

  She started in one corner of the room. There was no rhyme or reason to the arrangement of the books. Paperbacks were tucked in beside expensive volumes bound in leather. His taste in reading was varied, from Shakespeare and Steinbeck to Chaucer and Dickens, as well as novels by more contemporary authors. She found encyclopedias, dictionaries, books of poetry and limericks, and novels in just about every genre imaginable, from westerns to horror.

  She was about to give up when she hit the jack-pot. Located at the top of the last shelf were three rows of books, all of them having to do with vampires. Some were novels by Elrod, Huff, Yarbro, Hamilton, and Herter; some were research. She glanced over the titles: The Complete Book of Vampires, V is for Vampire: An A to Z Guide to Everything Undead, The Vampire Encyclopedia, The Vampire Gallery, and Vampires, Restless Creatures of the Night.

  There were also a couple of books on Transylvanian-born Vlad Dracula, also known as Vlad the Impaler, who had killed thousands of people by impaling them on wooden poles, surely one of the most horrible deaths imaginable. In spite of his cruelty, he was hailed as a hero in Romania for defeating the Ottoman Turks.

  She also found several editions of Bram Stoker's Dracula. It was said that while trying to find a model for his vampire, Stoker had come across the history of Vlad Dracula, who fit Stoker's vampire perfectly. Vlad had died under mysterious circumstances; he had been decapitated, and it was rumored that his body had never been found. She recalled hearing somewhere that Stoker's novel had never been out of print since it was first published in 1897.

  Whether vampires were real or not, they certainly garnered their share of literature. Plucking several books from the shelf, she curled up on the sofa and began to read.

  In the next few hours she discovered that, according to the books, a true vampire was a dead body. It wasn't a spirit or a ghost or a demon from hell. Some believed that vampires weren't human at all, but a separate and distinct species. Unless they met with some sort of fatal accident, like a stake through the heart, they were immortal. They needed the blood of the living to survive. They had superhuman strength and while they were helpless during the day, they were practically unstoppable at night. Of course, since they were already dead, they were naturally hard to kill. They lived in graves. They had the power to control animals and could even turn into bats or wolves or dissolve into mist…

  She shivered. She had seen that firsthand.

  Around noon, she went into the kitchen and made herself a sandwich. She chewed thoughtfully, enjoying the taste of mayonnaise, tuna, tomato, and whole wheat bread. Did Dominic ever miss chewing? Did he miss the taste of solid food? Did he even remember what it had been like to sit at a table and eat a meal? Did he ever get tired of a warm liquid diet?

  The thought soured her appetite and she threw the remaining few bites of her sandwich in the trash. After tidying up the kitchen, she went back to the library.

  She supposed it was to be expected that the authors couldn't agree on vampire characteristics. Some books said that vampires had no reflection. Some said they did.

  She tried to remember if she had ever seen Dominic's reflection in a mirror or window.

  One book said vampires could not be active during the day. Another book said they could move about during the day or the night. The books also mentioned contemporary men and women who took on vampire characteristics—sleeping during the day, always wearing black, claiming to drink blood, and, in some cases, actually doing so.

  She knew the books she was reading were based on conjecture and old myths and ancient tales; still, the more she read, the more fascinated she became. One book said that in Eastern Europe it was believed that vampires had two hearts or two souls and since one heart or one soul never died, the vampire was immortal. Other beliefs were that if a vampire wasn't found and killed immediately, it would first kill the members of its family, then kill the people in the town or village where he lived, and finally kill the animals. Another belief was that if a vampire could go undetected for seven years, it could travel to another country and become human again. It could marry and even have children, though the children were all doomed to become vampires when they died.

  Closing the last book, she put it on the table, then leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes and tried to remember what she knew to be true about her own personal vampire. She never saw him during the day. He could dissolve into mist. He had transported her across country without her being aware of it. He seemed able to appear and disappear at will. He had put some sort of spell on the doors and windows. He cast no shadow. For some reason, that was the most disturbing thing of all.

  It was a small house set deep in a dark wood. She lived there alone save for a gray cat and a one-legged crow. The townspeople were afraid of her, yet they came to her when they needed help, for her power to heal was known throughout the countryside. Some called her a healer. Some called her a witch. And a witch she was. It was a craft she had learned at her mother's knee. Some came to her seeking power or vengeance or riches, but those she turned away. Her magic was only for good, for finding that which was lost, for healing, for hope.

  She had been alone the night he came to her, a tall, dark man with piercing gray eyes. A man who was not a man at all. She had known that the moment her eyes met his, known that, whoever he was, he possessed an otherworldly power far beyond her own.

  Frightened of that which she did not understand, she had sent him away, and he had left without protest, only to return again the next night, and the next.
Each night he brought her a gift: a bouquet of wildflowers, a cat carved of jade, a ruby necklace, a seashell.

  Gradually, her curiosity overcame her fears and she invited him into her home, only to listen with growing disbelief to the tale he told her. She had heard of vampires, of course, but never believed such creatures existed. And then he told her another tale, of a man who loved a woman so much that he followed her through time. He told her stories of past lives and as he related each one, she knew deep in her soul that he spoke the truth.

  And she loved him again. He begged her to join him, to accept the Dark Gift so that they might be together forever, never more to be parted. At first, the thought was repugnant, but as time passed, she began to relent.

  "On All Hallows Eve," she said, "on that night, I will become as you are."

  With a glad cry, he swept her into his arms. "At last, my best beloved one," he had shouted exultantly. "At last you will be mine!"

  But it was not to be. Unbeknownst to her, people from the town had been spying on her. They had seen Dominic, for that was his name, coming to her in the dark hours of the night. Foolish, superstitious folk, they believed him to be the devil, believed that she was in league with him. Just after midday on All Hallows Eve, they came for her, to accuse her. In spite of her protests, in spite of those who spoke in her behalf, saying that her magic had only been used for good, they had declared her guilty of witchcraft and sentenced her to hang as the sun went down.

  And once again she had died in his arms. She had not died instantly when they slapped the horse out from under her. She was still fighting for breath when he came for her. She heard his wild cry of rage and disbelief the terrified screams and shouts of the townsfolk as he sent them scattering like sheep from a wolf.

  But he was too late. Too late. Gazing up into his tormented gray eyes, she whispered his name with her last breath…

  Tracy woke with a cry. Once again, his face had been the last thing she had seen. Was she fated to die in his arms in this life, as well?

  And that was the first thing she said to him when he appeared at sundown.

  "Will I die in your arms again?"

  "I believe you are fated to do so," he replied, his voice calm and unruffled, as if she asked him such odd questions every night. "Until…"

  "Until what?" It was a foolish question. She already knew the answer.

  His gaze moved over her face, lingering on her lips. "Until you accept your destiny."

  The touch of his gaze was like a physical caress, reminding her of the kiss they had shared the night before.

  Rising, she took a step toward him only to find that he was moving toward her as well. There was no need for words, neither question nor answer. He wrapped his arms around her. She rose on her tiptoes and their lips fused, drawn together like a honeybee to a flower, like a moth to the brightest flame.

  He deepened the kiss, and she felt his longing, his hunger, his need, not just for the relief of his physical desire but to ease his hunger. It was a huge and painful thing, one he had learned to control but could never conquer, a thirst he could satisfy but never fully quench.

  She moaned softly, aching for his need, hating herself because she could not give him that which he most desired.

  His eyes were blazing with vampire fire when he broke the kiss and drew back. "Do not blame yourself, my best beloved one," he said, his voice husky, and then, as he had the night before, he vanished from her sight.

  Tears stung her eyes, though she wasn't sure if she wept for his pain, or for her own.

  The next day, Tracy set about making the house her own. She needed something to do, something to keep her mind from paths she was not ready to travel. On this day, painting was not the answer.

  She opened all the windows in the house, then rearranged the furniture in the living room and the dining room, no easy task considering how heavy the pieces were. Her bedroom came next. The physical exertion felt good, freeing somehow.

  She paused just after noon for a quick lunch, then went upstairs. She set up the studio to her liking, laying out her paints and brushes, moving the easel here and there until she found just the right place in front of one of the windows. She picked up one of the brushes, and then laid it down again. Perhaps she would paint later, but for now, she wanted to be outside, to smell the earth and the flowers, to see the blue sky.

  It was pleasant, walking through the gardens. After a time, she strolled toward the wall, drawn there in spite of herself. She spent several minutes staring at the gnarled old tree that grew nearest the wall. She was certain she could climb the tree without much trouble, but the wall… was it really electrified? Or was that merely a threat to keep her from trying to leave?

  But Dominic St. John didn't seem like the kind of man who would make empty threats and in the end, she decided not to take the risk. And what would be the point? He would only find her again.

  Returning to the gardens, she picked a huge bouquet of roses and carried them into the house. She arranged the flowers in a large jar—there were no vases to be found—and placed the jar on the mantel.

  Humming softly, she went into the kitchen to fix dinner. She had never liked cooking so her meals tended to be quick and simple, running more to sandwiches and salads than anything else. Tonight it was a ham and cheese sandwich on wheat bread, a green apple cut into quarters, some cottage cheese, and a frosty glass of iced tea.

  She felt a growing sense of anticipation as she sat at the table, watching the shadows outside the window grow long. He would be waking soon, rising from wherever it was that he slept away the hours of daylight. Did he ever miss the sun? Was he ever sorry he had accepted the Dark Gift from Kitana? What was it like, to live for hundreds and hundreds of years, never to be sick, never to grow old? Was it a blessing beyond measure, or a curse without end? Why wouldn't he tell her where he slept? He hadn't kept it a secret from her at home.

  Rising, she quickly washed and dried her few dishes and then went outside. The setting sun set the sky aflame as it went down in a blaze of fiery reds and ochre and orange.

  She sensed his presence behind her and when she turned, he was standing there.

  For stretched seconds, they stared at each other, and then Dominic held out his hand. Without hesitation, Tracy put her hand in his. As if by prearrangement, they turned and walked along the path that led through the gardens.

  "How was your day?" he asked.

  She shrugged. "Fine. I spent most of it rearranging the furniture. I hope you don't mind."

  "Of course not. My house, like my life, is yours."

  She wasn't ready to hear that just yet and because she couldn't think of anything else to say, she asked, "How was your day?"

  He looked down at her, one brow arched in wry amusement. "Quiet."

  Tracy grinned. "It must be lonely, sleeping alone all the time."

  "You could change that."

  She stared at him. "You aren't suggesting that I…" She swallowed hard. "That I sleep beside you during the day?" The thought of lying next to his cold, unmoving body sent a chill down her spine.

  "Of course not. But if you would accept the Dark Gift, we could sleep away our days together."

  He stopped walking and drew her into his arms. "Do you know how often I have yearned to succumb to the darkness with you beside me? How often I have wished to wake with you in my arms?" His hand stroked her cheek. "How oft I have wished that your face would be the last thing I see at daybreak and the first at the moon's rising."

  "Dominic…"

  He pressed one finger to her lips, silencing her. "Be mine, my best beloved one. Let us be together in life and death, as we were meant to be."

  "But I don't want to be a vampire, Dominic."

  "I know." He blew out a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. "I know." He had tried to persuade her to join him countless times. Always, she refused, choosing mortal death over sharing his life with him.

  Taking her by the hand, he
started walking again. "You might enjoy being a vampire," he remarked. "You would see colors and textures as never before. You could paint for hours and never grow weary. Music becomes more than mere sound, sight more than mere vision. You would see the world as never before, experience life as never before. There are so many things I long to show you, to share with you."

  He stopped suddenly, his gaze moving over her, lingering at the pulse throbbing slow and steady in the hollow of her throat. "Tracy…"

  She stared up at him, at the hunger glowing in his eyes. Fear made her heart beat harder, faster.

  His hand tightened on hers. He took a step toward her, his gaze fastened on her throat.

  "Dominic."

  He looked up, his eyes burning into hers. "Tracy, in all the times I have known you, I have never tasted you. Let me now," he pleaded softly. "Just one taste."

  "I'm afraid."

  "One small taste, my best beloved one. There is nothing to fear."

  "Will it… will it hurt?"

  "No, I swear it."

  She stared up at him, torn by doubt and yet wanting to ease the awful pain she saw in his eyes. How could she refuse him again? How could she not? She put her worst fear into words. "Will it make me what you are?"

  "No."

  "And you'll only take a little, you promise?"

  "I promise."

  She lifted a hand to her throat, touched the pulse beating there. To her amazement, she found that her curiosity was stronger than her fear.

  "All right, but remember, only a little," she murmured, and wondered if he was as surprised by her answer as she was.

  "Querida!" He pulled her into his arms and kissed her tenderly.

  She pressed herself against him, everything else forgotten in the wonder of his kiss, the pleasure of his touch as his hands moved over her body.

  He rained feather-light kisses over her cheeks and brow, kissed the tip of her nose before he claimed her lips once more.

  Drowning in waves of pure delight, it took her a moment to realize that he was dropping kisses along her neck, just below her ear. She knew a moment of sharp, primal fear when she felt the touch of his teeth at her throat but it was quickly swallowed up in what came after. As he had promised, there was no pain, only a deep sensual pleasure unlike anything she had ever known.