A Whisper of Eternity Page 7

  With a shake of her head, she pulled a bottle of bleu cheese dressing out of the fridge. Just because she hadn't seen him in the daytime and hadn't seen him eat didn't mean he was a vampire. Vampires were ugly, disgusting creatures with long fangs and hairy hands and foul breath who skulked in the shadows of the night preying on the innocent and unsuspecting, and…

  "Stop it!"

  Leaving the salad on the counter, untouched, she went upstairs to look at the painting she had done of him, noticing, for the first time, that it was no longer facing the wall, as she had left it. Who had turned it around? Why hadn't she noticed that before?

  She stared at the painting, thinking again that it was the best, most lifelike portrait that she had ever done. His hair gleamed inky black in the light of the moon, his eyes seemed to follow her around the room; she could almost hear her name on his lips.

  Turning the painting toward the wall, she left the room, and closed the door behind her.

  He was at her door with the setting of the sun. He filled his eyes with the sight of her, his need to make her his almost overpowering. He had followed her through the centuries, never able to make her fully his, waiting impatiently for her soul to be born again, searching, always searching, until at last he found her again.

  But this time she had found him. Had some deep inner need she was unaware of led her to this place, this house? To him? Had her soul been searching for him even as he had been searching for her?

  Her smile looked strained when she opened the door. "Hi, Dominic."

  He frowned, aware of her nervousness. "Is something wrong?"

  "No, why?" She stepped back, allowing him entrance to the house. Closing the door, she went into the living room, very much aware of the man behind her.

  A faint smile curved his lips when they entered the living room. "I see you got the flowers."

  She laughed softly. "Really, Dominic, you didn't have to send so many. They must love you at the flower shop."

  "You should always be surrounded by roses," he said, moving toward her.

  "Who are you?" The words slipped out, unbidden.

  "You know who I am."

  "What are you?"

  "Search your mind, your heart. You know what I am."

  "It's impossible. I don't believe it."

  "The painting you did of me is most accurate."

  She shook her head in denial. "No."

  "I have followed you through the centuries. Always I have found you. But this time, you found me."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "This house. Why did you buy it?"

  She frowned. "Why? Because I liked it, of course. It was just what I was looking for. What other reason could there be?"

  "I live below this house."

  "Below it? Like in the basement?"

  "No. There is another house beneath this one."

  "And you live there?"

  He nodded.

  "That doesn't mean you're a vampire."

  "You know it is true."

  "No." She didn't believe in vampires or ghosts or reincarnation. "If you're a vampire, prove it."

  She had no sooner spoken the words than the air around her grew thick, charged with energy, like the buildup before a storm. Dominic's dark eyes blazed with an unholy light, his lips drew back to reveal his fangs. Preternatural power danced over her skin, raising the hair along her arms and at her nape.

  "Now," he said, his voice smooth and silky. "Now do you believe?"

  A wordless cry erupted from her lips, and then she fainted.

  When she came to, she was lying on the sofa. Dominic stood at the window, looking out at the night. She noted that he was wearing black again, and that it suited him perfectly. She wondered if he owned a long ebony cloak, or if that was just a Hollywood affectation. Her heart pounded in her ears as she stared at his broad back. She had asked for proof, and she'd gotten it, in spades!

  As though sensing she had regained consciousness, he turned slowly to face her. "Now," he repeated, his voice low and mesmerizing. "Now do you believe?"

  She did, but she refused to admit it, even to herself. If she accepted the fact that he was a vampire, she would have to accept all of it, and she just couldn't. To do so would shake the foundations of everything she believed in. There had to be some other explanation. If there wasn't, if he was indeed a vampire, as he said, then everything else he had told her was probably true, as well. She had been a queen, a slave, a dancer, a teacher, a doctor, and all the other things he had said. Her dreams were not really dreams at all, but actual memories of past lives. Her past lives. She had been Jocelyn and Kiya and Annie Williams and Nysa and who knew how many others. If she accepted it, if she admitted it was true, it would change her whole life, change everything she believed in.

  Dominic took a step toward her, paused when she recoiled.

  "Are you afraid of me now?" he asked quietly.

  "Yes. No. I don't know."

  "I will not hurt you, my best beloved one. I have searched for you, followed you, throughout time."

  "Why, when I've rejected you at every turn?"

  "Do you not know that we are destined to be together, querida? Our souls were mated long ago."

  "You want to make me a vampire."

  "Only if it is your wish. Many times in the past I have offered you the Dark Gift to save your life."

  "And I've always refused." That much was obvious, she thought, since she was still mortal.

  "Yes."

  "And still you persist."

  "I will have you for my own, my best beloved one, if I have to follow you into eternity."

  "I don't want to be a vampire."

  "Then I will love you as you are. We will be together in this life, as we have been together in your past lives. I will be at your side when death claims you, and I will find you when your soul is born again."

  Talking of her own death sent a shiver down Tracy's spine. She had always been afraid of dying. Was it because she had experienced it so many times? Or because so many of her deaths had been violent or premature?

  "How long have you been a vampire?"

  "Two thousand and twenty-three years."

  She stared at him in amazement. What would it be like to live for more than two thousand years? Never to grow old? Never to be sick? Never to see the sun… to watch your friends grow old and die while you stayed forever the same.

  "It must be a lonely life," she remarked.

  "It can be."

  "Have you been lonely?"

  His gaze rested gently on her face. "Only when I could not find you."

  His words, low and from the heart, obliterated whatever fear of him remained, though she was still wary. He was, after all, a vampire, and whatever memories of him she might have from past lives, she was no longer Nysa or Kiya or any of the others. She was Tracy Warner now, a twenty-first-century woman with a life and a career of her own. If, as he said, she had loved him in the past, it seemed she would have to learn to love him all over again in the present. And what if she didn't? She stared up at him, thinking he looked like an immense dark cloud looming over her. He didn't seem like the type of man who would just let her go if she decided she didn't want him around.

  "Do we start over every time we meet?" It was one of a thousand questions churning in her mind.

  He sat down in the chair across from her. "Yes."

  "And do I always die in your arms?"

  "Yes."

  "Have you ever… drunk my blood?"

  He shook his head. "No."

  She saw the yearning in his eyes as he said, "I have been tempted, many times, but, no."

  "Why not? Isn't that what vampires do?"

  "You have never wished for it."

  "Why haven't you just taken it by force?" She lifted a hand to her throat, probing softly. "Or when I'm asleep?"

  "Is that what you want?" He didn't move, didn't alter his tone or expression, yet something she didn't comprehend changed in the air be
tween them. Though he remained where he was, it seemed as if he was leaning toward her, waiting.

  "No!"

  "You would find it most pleasant."

  "Never mind. I want to see where you live."

  If he thought her request odd at such a moment, he didn't say so. Instead, he held out his hand. "Come."

  He led her out the door that led to the backyard. Turning right, she followed him down a narrow path that seemed to end in a tangle of trees and shrubs that she had planned to clear away when she found the time. Just beyond the shrubbery was a narrow iron door that, as far as she could see, had no handle or latch of any kind.

  Dominic put his hand on the door and it swung open on well-oiled hinges. Beyond the door, she saw nothing but blackness.

  Dominic crossed the threshold, pulling her along behind him.

  Tracy jerked her hand from his. "I'm not going down there. It's dark."

  A wave of his hand brought several candles to life.

  The passageway led steadily downward, not leveling out until they came to another door. Dominic opened this one as he had the other, revealing a large, square, windowless room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were of stone. A large fireplace took up most of one wall, accounting for the house's second chimney. Bookshelves lined another wall, a third was covered with drawings of a woman. Stepping farther into the room, Tracy studied the pictures. She was not surprised at what she saw. A queen in a long gown; a dancer clad in a provocative costume reminiscent of Salome; a schoolmarm clad in a long-sleeved, high-necked dress; a young woman wearing a veil and flowing robes.

  Looking at the drawings made her uncomfortable and she turned away. The room was sparsely furnished. An easy chair faced the hearth. There was a large ottoman on one side of the chair, a small table on the other. A sofa stood at a right angle to the chair.

  Opening a door, Dominic beckoned for her to follow. "My bedroom," he said.

  There were no windows in this room, either, of course. Windows would be impossible so far underground. There were paintings of all shapes and sizes on all four walls—paintings of sunrises, nothing but sunrises. An armoire of dark cherrywood stood in one corner. There was a small desk and matching chair.

  And in the center of the room, a sleek black casket lined with rich black satin.

  She stared at the coffin, stared at Dominic, and then at the casket once again.

  She blinked as the room went out of focus, spinning around her faster and faster, sucking her down, down, into blessed oblivion.

  He caught her before she hit the floor.

  Chapter 8

  She woke cradled in Dominic's arms and knew, on some subconscious level of awareness, that he had held her this same way many times in the past. A fire burned in the hearth, providing the only light in the room.

  He smiled faintly when he saw she was awake.

  "I don't remember ever fainting before I met you." She had an almost irresistible urge to laugh out loud as she muttered, "At least not in this life."

  "Are you all right now?"

  She nodded. "I think so."

  But he made no move to let her go, and she made no attempt to rise. Somehow, the effort seemed too great. Or maybe it was just that she was numb inside, overwhelmed by what he had told her and what she had seen. Maybe she was dreaming again.

  He was a vampire.

  He was over two thousand years old.

  She had lived before, many times.

  She shook her head to clear it, and shook off her lethargy at the same time. It didn't matter who she had been before, only who she was now.

  As for Dominic… she looked up and met his gaze. "Where do we go from here?"

  "Wherever you wish."

  "And if I wish to go upstairs?"

  Sitting back, he took his arms from around her. "You are free to go, as always."

  Not sure that she trusted him, she scooted off his lap. For a moment, she stood looking down at him, waiting. When he made no move to stop her, she walked toward the door and left him sitting there on the sofa, staring after her.

  Upstairs, she thought of all he had told her. How did it feel to live such a long life, even if it was only half a life? Did one get tired of living? Oh, but how could that be? He had seen the history of the world unfold, seen mankind evolve, been there throughout the ages. How wonderful it must have been, to have seen so much, learned so much. And yet, how lonely, to have no one his own age to reminisce with, no one to grow old with, no one who shared his past, his memories. How sad, to fall in love with someone and lose them over and over again. As he had lost her… as she had lost him.

  No! Whatever her past lives had been, they were gone now. She couldn't spend this life thinking of the ones before. She would go crazy if she did. She was Tracy Warner now. Not Kiya. Not Jocelyn. Not Nysa, or Annie Williams or any of the hundreds of other women she might have been.

  She moved through the house, drawing the curtains over every window, locking every door, even though she knew nothing would keep him out.

  Vampire.

  Undead.

  She changed into her nightgown and climbed under the covers. She didn't turn out the light.

  He didn't have to be with her to know what she was doing. If he opened his mind, let his senses expand, he could read her thoughts. Tempting as it was, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what she was thinking. Not now.

  He stared into the fire, his preternatural sight showing him colors that mortals never saw. He saw each flame in vivid detail, each wisp of smoke, each ash that fell. The fire burned brighter, its energy fed by his rising frustration. Stubborn woman! Would she never give in? Was he fated to follow her forever, always watching her, always loving her and yet always losing her?

  He was the most powerful creature on the face of the earth. He could destroy life with a thought, bend mortals to his will. He could change his appearance, control the elements, bring this house down with a wave of his hand. Had he wished, he could supplant her will with his own. But he did not want to force her to come to him. He wanted her love, freely given.

  And he would have it, sooner or later.

  She woke in the morning feeling foolish. No matter what she had said last night, in spite of everything Dominic had told her, in spite of her own vivid dreams, she didn't truly believe in reincarnation. One birth, one life, and one death—that was what she believed in. And she didn't believe in vampires, either. She did believe in the power of suggestion and in hypnotism and both of those possibilities made more sense than believing she had lived a hundred other lives or that Dominic was a two-thousand-year-old vampire. She knew there were people who believed they were vampires. They engaged in role-playing games online, wore nothing but black clothing, and only came out at night. Some claimed to be immortal. Some claimed to drink blood. But, no matter what they pretended to be, they were just people acting out some bizarre fantasy. And no matter what Dominic said, what he tried to make her believe, she wasn't Annie Williams. She wasn't Kiya or Nysa or Jocelyn. She had never been a queen or an exotic dancer. She was just plain old Tracy Ann Warner, artist, and happy to be so.

  As for Dominic… well, he was just too weird. She'd be better off if she never saw him again.

  After breakfast, she put on her bathing suit. Glancing in the mirror, she resolved to lose ten pounds before summer's end, and then blew out a sigh. She made the same resolution every year.

  Grabbing her beach bag, she tossed in an orange, a bottle of water, her suntan lotion, and a paperback novel. She found a blanket and a towel and went down to the beach to work on her tan.

  Hoping to see Bryan, she gravitated toward Tower Ten. She felt a moment of disappointment when she saw another lifeguard on duty. With a shrug, she spread her blanket on the sand, slathered herself with suntan lotion, put on her dark glasses, and lost herself in her book.

  After an hour, she put the book aside, took off her sunglasses, and waded into the surf. She yelped as the water swirled around her ankles. Gee, but it was
cold.

  Determined, she waded deeper into the water, then dove under a wave and began swimming.

  She let out a shriek when something came up behind her and brushed against her arm.

  "Hey, it's only me."

  "Bryan!"

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

  "Well, you did." Treading water, she turned to face him. "What are you doing out here?"

  "I always come out for a swim before I go to work. When I saw you…" He shrugged. "Hope you don't mind a little company."

  "No, but I was just about to go back in."

  "I'll race you."

  She made a face at him. "Like I have a chance of beating a lifeguard."

  "Well, because I'm a lifeguard, I'll give you a head start."

  "Well, because I'm out of practice, I'll take it."

  She struck out for shore, her adrenaline pumping. She had been on the swim teams in high school and college, but that had been a few years ago. She hadn't had a chance to get in much practice since college. Now, it felt good to be in competition again, even if she didn't have a hope of winning.

  She risked a glance over her shoulder to see Bryan coming up behind her. He swam with seemingly effortless ease. And he was gaining on her.

  And then he passed her.

  He was standing on the shore, grinning, when she emerged from the water. "You could have been a gentleman and let me win," she said, shaking the water out of her hair.

  "I thought about it," he said, "but then I decided you'd rather lose honestly."

  "You were right." She walked up the beach toward her blanket, and he followed her. "How soon do you have to go to work?"

  He glanced at his watch. "I've got a few minutes."

  She plopped down on the blanket. "Want to keep me company until then?"

  "Sure." He dropped down beside her. "Are you doing anything tonight?"

  "Not really."

  'Wanna go to the movies?"

  "I'd like that."