Midnight Embrace Read online

  She was warm and pliant in his embrace, helpless to resist his call. He had told himself he would never do this again, yet, like her, he was unable to resist. Her life force had called to him every night she had been here, in his house. He had been deep underground, seeking the sleep of his kind, and yet her essence, her nearness, had permeated his soul. Even wrapped in the arms of the earth and trapped in the darkness, he had heard her footsteps as she walked his land, heard the rhythmic beat of her heart. The siren song of her blood had called to him in soft tones of desire and insistent hunger, until it had drawn him from the depths of the earth to her side.

  And now he stood poised above her, about to do what he had vowed never to do again. His gaze held hers captive while he listened to the seductive call of her heartbeat. She was his, to do with as he wished. His, for this night, or for every night as long as she lived. His. He had but to take her.

  "Analisa." He whispered her name, and it echoed back to him on the wings of the night.

  Analisa. Analisa. Analisa.

  She stared up at him, mute, helpless, and he knew he could not take her by force, knew that as much as he craved her sweetness, as much as he needed it, he did not want to take her life's blood by force or by trickery. He wanted it as a gift, freely given.

  One kiss, he thought; one kiss would do no harm. Her eyelids fluttered down as his mouth sought hers. Her lips were warm and soft and tasted of chamomile and honey. She was so young, so alive; being this close to her was like standing in front of a roaring fire. She radiated life and goodness. It drew him like a living flame, chasing the coldness from his being, banishing the loneliness from his soul. His lips moved over hers, ever so lightly. Desire surged within him as, ever so tentatively, she returned his kiss.

  Afraid of hurting her, afraid he could not for long resist the powerful temptation of her nearness, he lifted her into his arms, carried her swiftly into the house, and put her to bed.

  "Sleep, my sweet Analisa." He brushed a lock of hair from her brow, let his fingertips slide down the warm, sweet curve of her cheek. "Sleep and dream your girlish dreams," he murmured, "and I will make them come true."

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  Analisa awoke late the next morning, feeling wonderfully alive and refreshed. For the first time in weeks, she hadn't been bothered by the nightmare that had been plaguing her. But she'd had another dream to take its place, a wonderful dream. She had seen him in the garden, the mysterious man who had come to her in the hospital, and he had kissed her, only a brief touch of his lips to hers, yet she had felt it in every fiber of her being.

  She lifted her fingertips to her lips. Even though it had been only a dream, it seemed as though she could still feel his touch. Such a strange dream. She was certain she had actually gone walking in the gardens last night, yet she had no memory of returning to her room. Had she dreamed that, too? His voice seemed to linger in her mind. Sleep and dream your girlish dreams, he had said, his voice soft and low and strangely compelling. And I will make them come true.

  Rising, she rang for Sally, who brought her a cup of cocoa and then went into the dressing room and laid out her clothes for the morning. At first, Analisa had felt rather uncomfortable having a maid wait on her, but Sally had quickly put her at ease with her cheerful chatter; now their morning routine had become a habit. While Analisa drank her cocoa, Sally filled a basin with hot water, then left the room for a few minutes so Analisa could wash up. When summoned, Sally returned to the room, lacing up Analisa's corset and arranging the folds of her dress over her petticoats.

  She sat at her dressing table while Sally brushed her hair and then drew it up into a neat coil, leaving a few tendrils to frame her face.

  Smiling her thanks, Analisa went downstairs to breakfast. She ate quickly, then left the house, hurrying down the flagstone path that led past the gardens and the lake until she came to the circle of trees.

  She was breathing heavily as she stepped into the center. And the crypt was there, just as she remembered. It was made of white marble, shimmering in the sunlight, almost as if the marble were alive, breathing.

  Analisa.

  She heard his voice within her mind again, felt his presence there, within the grove, imagined she felt the touch of his lips on hers, the whisper of his breath against her skin.

  She glanced around, certain he was nearby. "Where are you?" she asked plaintively. "Why are you hiding from me?"

  But there was no reply, only the soft sighing of the wind through the trees.

  She placed her hand on the head of the crypt. It was cold to her touch, and yet she felt a warmth in her fingers, a warmth that spread through her hand and up her arm. With a startled cry, she jerked her hand away. Filled with a sudden unease, she turned and ran out of the grove and didn't stop running until she was back at the house.

  "Mercy, child, whatever is the matter?" Mrs. Thornfield asked as Analisa burst into the parlor. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

  Analisa put a hand to her chest. Her heart was fluttering like a wild bird trapped in a cage.

  "Who… who's…" She drew a deep breath. "Who's buried in the crypt in the grove?"

  The housekeeper frowned. "The first master of Blackbriar, I believe."

  "He's dead?"

  "I should hope so, child," Mrs. Thornfield said, displaying one of her rare smiles. "He died over four hundred years ago. Now, what is this all about?"

  "Is Blackbriar Hall haunted?"

  Mrs. Thornfield shrugged. "Rumors of ghosts are not uncommon in houses as old as this one."

  "Have you ever seen one? Here? A ghost?"

  "A ghost? No, child, I've never seen a ghost."

  Analisa sank down on the sofa, her arms folded over her chest. She was cold, so cold.

  "Have you seen something?" Mrs. Thornfield asked, her expression wary.

  "I'm not sure. Last night… I…"

  "What happened last night, child?"

  "I'm not sure. I think it was a dream. But it seemed so real. I heard a voice calling my name, at least I think I heard it, and I went out into the gardens. I saw the crypt there. And a man… a man I've seen before…"

  "I'm sure it was only a dream," Mrs. Thornfield said, her voice brisk. "You needn't worry. There are no ghosts at Blackbriar." She patted Analisa's arm in motherly fashion. "A good hot cup of tea is what you need." Pulling a warm throw from the back of a chair, she draped it around Analisa's shoulders. "I'll bring you one directly."

  "Thank you."

  With a nod, the housekeeper left the room. A few moments later, Sally came in to light the fire. She smiled uncertainly, bobbed a curtsey, and hurried out of the room. She returned a short time later with a tray bearing a cup of tea and a biscuit.

  "Anything else I can get for you, miss?"

  "No, thank you."

  Left alone, Analisa stared into the fire. They probably all thought she was crazy, asking about ghosts. Now that she was sitting there with the sunlight streaming through the windows and a fire blazing cheerfully in the hearth, it all seemed like foolishness.

  The rest of the day passed in a sort of a blur, as if she were seeing everything through a mist, as if she weren't really there at all. She picked at her dinner, causing Mrs. Thornfield to inquire after her health.

  That night, getting ready for bed, she could scarcely remember how she had spent the day.

  Sally came in to light the fire. Mrs. Thornfield brought her a hot cup of tea, and then she was alone. She drank the tea and put the cup on the bedside table, blew out the lamp, slid under the blankets, closed her eyes.

  And heard his voice in her mind, soft as smoke.

  Analisa.

  She put the pillow over her head, hoping to shut him out even though, deep inside, she knew she had been waiting for this moment all day.

  Analisa. Come to me.

  She heard the need in his voice, the longing, and knew she could not resist, knew it was not his need that drew her, but her own.
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  Rising, she pulled on her robe, stepped into her slippers, and left the house.

  The light of the full moon brightened her way as she followed the now familiar path to the crypt within the grove.

  And he was there, waiting for her.

  "Analisa."

  No one had ever caressed her name the way he did.

  She stared up at him. He was tall, so very tall. And dark. His hair, his clothing, all were black. As black as the night that surrounded them. "Who are you?"

  "Alesandro de Avallone," he replied with a low bow. "Master of Blackbriar Hall."

  "What are you?"

  "One night perhaps I shall tell you."

  "Why not now?"

  "The time is not right."

  "Have you come home to stay?"

  He hesitated, and then nodded.

  Analisa wrapped her arms around her middle. "Thank you for allowing me to stay here while you were away. I'll leave in the morning."

  "No!" He made a slashing motion with his hand. "There is no need for you to go."

  "But—"

  "It is a large house, Analisa, and I am never in residence during the day. Please, continue to make my home your own."

  She bit down on her lower lip, wondering if it was acceptable for her to stay in his house without a proper chaperone when he was in residence. But surely there were servants enough to keep gossip down. Although, except for the servants, she had no idea who would be gossiping about her. There were no other houses nearby, and except for Dr. Martinson, no one else knew she was here. Sadly, there was no longer anyone left to care what happened to her.

  "Thank you, my lord," she replied. "I should very much like to stay." She looked up at him. "Why did you invite me to stay here?"

  "Because you had nowhere else to go." It was the truth, at least as much of the truth as he was willing to tell her. He held out his hand. "Come, walk with me."

  She hesitated a moment, then put her hand in his. His skin was cool, his grip firm yet gentle. She could feel the latent strength in his grasp. For a time, they walked in silence. She was ever aware of him beside her, aware that his hand grew warmer in hers. He moved silently, his feet making scarcely a sound on the flagstone path. So silently that she glanced down to see if his feet were indeed touching the stones.

  "You have a question you wish to ask me," he said, drawing her attention back to his face.

  She looked up at him, startled. Questions? She had dozens, but how had he known?

  "Ask them, child."

  "Are you truly a doctor?"

  Even in the dim light, she saw the shadow that passed over his face before he said, "Yes, I am." It was what he had been born for, to ease the suffering of others, until Tzianne came and stole his life from him.

  "Why couldn't Dr. Martinson see you that night in my room?"

  "It is as I told you. I did not wish to be seen."

  "But you weren't invisible," Analisa insisted. "I saw you."

  "It is a mind trick, child. Nothing more than that."

  "A mind trick?"

  "A form of hypnotism."

  "Oh." She looked up at him. She had no doubt in her mind that he could mesmerize anyone with those eyes. "Where have you been all this time?"

  "Ah, you might say I was on holiday."

  "Where did you go?"

  A faint smile flitted across his face. "Not far."

  "I've never been anywhere," she said. "Have you been to London? And Paris?"

  "Yes, many times."

  "Are they wonderful?"

  "Yes," he said, and she heard a note of wistfulness in his tone. "Wonderful." He looked down at her and smiled. "Perhaps I shall take you there, one day."

  "Would you? Truly?"

  She looked up at him, her eyes glowing with excitement. He heard the increased beat of her heart, smelled the warmth of her skin. In spite of the fact that he had fed earlier, hunger stirred deep within him.

  "Are you all right?" she asked.

  "Yes, of course." He took a deep breath, calling on the strength of four hundred years to quell the hunger that burned through him like hellfire, a hunger that could be quenched so easily with just one taste…

  "My lord?"

  "What is it, child?"

  "You look so… are you ill?"

  He turned his face away, knowing that soon his eyes would betray him for what he was, that she would see the hunger ever lurking just below the surface.

  "My lord?"

  He took a deep breath, felt the hunger curl in on itself until it was again under control. Only then did he turn to face her once more. "You need not worry about me, child. I am never ill. Come, I will walk you back."

  He took her hand in his when they reached the back door. "Sleep well, Analisa."

  "Aren't you coming in?" she asked. "It's late."

  He glanced up at the sky, then shook his head. "Not for a while yet."

  "Very well then. Good night, my lord."

  He lifted her hand, brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

  "Will I… ?"

  Still holding her hand, his gaze met hers. "What is it, child?"

  "Will I see you tomorrow night?"

  "If you wish."

  "I do," she said. "Very much."

  Her words moved through him, warming him like the touch of the sun he had not seen in four hundred years. "Until tomorrow night," he said, and disappeared into the darkness.

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  He was waiting for her at dusk the following evening. Her heart seemed to skip a beat when she descended the stairs and saw him standing there. He wore a black jacket over snug black breeches. His shirt was white, open at the throat.

  "Come," he said, and ushered her into a room near the back of the manor. She stood in the doorway while he lit a fire in the hearth.

  It was a large room, one she didn't remember seeing before. The walls were paneled in dark wood. There were no pictures on the walls save one of a tall masted ship riding a storm-tossed sea.

  She moved toward a narrow bookshelf beside the fireplace. Many of the titles were in languages unfamiliar to her. A few sounded like medical journals or textbooks. She ran her fingertips over the volumes: A Study of Hemophilia by Dr. Jonathan Forsythe, Diseases of the Blood by Thomas Balderston, Die Ehre des Herzogthums Krain by Count Valvasor, Faust by Goethe, In a Glass Darkly by Joseph Sheridan Le-Fanu, The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, The Tibetan Book of the Dead.

  "You enjoy reading?"

  She turned with a start to find him standing beside her. His nearness overwhelmed her.

  "I've only just learned. Mrs. Thornfield has been teaching me every afternoon at two. She says I'm doing very well…"

  She stopped abruptly. She was babbling like a silly child, she thought. Indeed, she felt like a foolish schoolgirl standing there beside him. He was tall and dark and self-assured. She wondered suddenly how old he was. He might have been any age from twenty to forty. She wondered, too, why he wasn't married. Surely a man of his wealth and breeding could have any woman he fancied. And children. Surely he wanted an heir, someone to carry on his family name, to inherit his lands and wealth.

  She felt a quiver of anticipation as he reached toward her, then a strong sense of disappointment as he reached past her to pull a book from the shelf.

  "Come," he said, moving toward the high-backed sofa in front of the hearth. "Read to me."

  She shook her head. "Oh, no, I couldn't."

  "Of course you can." He sat down, looking at her over his shoulder. "Come, Analisa."

  Trapped by his gaze, mesmerized by the smooth seduction of his voice, she went to sit beside him. He handed her the book, then sat back, one arm resting along the edge of the sofa, waiting.

  Swallowing hard, Analisa opened the book and began to read. When she occasionally stumbled over a word, he supplied it for her. The story was titled Carmilla. It was a dark tale about a young girl named Laura who was attacked by a vampire. It told of Laura'
s childhood encounter with Carmilla, an incident near forgotten until years later when the vampire reappeared. In the end, the vampire was destroyed.

  With a sigh, Analisa closed the book. "A troubling tale, my lord. I am glad that such creatures as vampires do not exist."

  But exist they did, and he was not the only one. He thought of his ancient enemy. Would he be able to keep Analisa safe should Rodrigo learn of her presence at Blackbriar?

  His dark gaze met hers, glittering strangely, a fact she ascribed to the light of the fire. "There have always been tales of vampires, Analisa. Every civilization has its own legends and myths. The ekimmu of Sumeria, the chiang-shih of China, the vrykolakas of Greece."

  "Yes, my lord, but they are only stories told to frighten children."

  "Are they?"

  "Aren't they?"

  "Of course." He plucked the book from her hand and placed it on the table beside the sofa. "Come," he said, rising. "Your dinner is ready."

  She was about to ask him how he knew when Sally rapped lightly on the door to announce that very thing.

  Alesandro offered Analisa his hand. "Shall we?"

  He escorted her into the dining room, took his proper place at the head of the table, indicated she should sit on his right. As usual, the table was covered with a lace cloth and laid with fine china, gleaming silver flatware, and crystal rimmed with gold. She thought the cost of one plate alone would probably have fed her family for a month.

  Sally served dinner shortly thereafter: tender roast beef swimming in gravy, Brussels sprouts and mashed potatoes. And Yorkshire pudding.

  Analisa frowned. "You're not eating, my lord?"

  "No."

  The look in his eye, the clipped tone of his voice, effectively stilled any further questions.

  He requested a glass of dark red wine, which he sipped while she ate, ever aware of his deep blue eyes watching her.

  "Tell me of your life, Analisa."

  "There is nothing to tell, my lord. Were it not for your kindness, I should be quite lost."