Part 9 (1/2)

He shouldn't. He told himself he really shouldn't. She'd asked him not to pry into her mind, and he had honored that request, for the most part.

But he didn't think he knew any man, mortal or otherwise, who could have resisted just a tiny bit of exploration. He moved closer to the bed until he stood right beside it, his thighs touching the mattress. He lowered his hand, planning to lay it atop hers very lightly, to enhance their connection, let him view her thoughts more vividly and with less effort. But before he could make contact, her hand moved, turned and gripped his wrist hard. Her breathing quickened just a little. And still she slept.

He stared down at her face, then closed his eyes and focused on her mind, her thoughts, her touch. And then he was there, inside her dream. He saw two nude people, writhing on the bed: himself and Mary. She was lying beneath him, her legs wrapped around his waist, linked at the ankles. His hips were snapping as he drove into her, and hers moved in time, receiving him. He felt her need mounting, her desire building, and yet she couldn't reach satisfaction. Not in her sleep. Not in a fantasy.

He burned with wanting her, wanting to a.s.suage her hunger-but he knew that would mean facing the temptation to a.s.suage his own. And he needed her trust right now. He would lose it if she learned what he was, and if he lost her trust, she would die.

Even with Tommy gone, he felt the menace surrounding her lie a nimbus. She was still in danger.

He stroked her face and her hair, leaning closer, whispering to her mind with his, coaxing her dream along with erotic images projected into her mind and words spoken softly into her ear, until she s.h.i.+vered and trembled with the release his will and deemed inevitable. And then her arms curled around his neck and her face turned up to his. He kissed her. He knew he shouldn't, but to deny himself even this brief taste of her was more than he could bear. He kissed her, and her mouth moved beneath his, lips parting, tongue tasting. Her fingers splayed in his hair as she kissed him, and he took full advantage of the opportunity to explore her mouth.

But she was sliding ever closer to lucidity, climbing slowly from the dream state, and he knew it had to end before she opened her eyes.

He eased into her mind with the command that she must sleep. That all this was just a pleasant dream and nothing more. He couldn't quite bring himself to tell her to forget. No, he wanted her to remember, because he would.

He felt her falling away into the depths of slumber, and he lifted his head from hers. Tucking the covers around her once more, brus.h.i.+ng astray coppery curl from her check he forcibly ignored the soft, inviting rush of blood flowing just beneath her skin, the delicate, steady thrum of its pulsing there. Involuntarily he licked his lips.

Then he closed his eyes, and forcibly turned away from her, striding out of the room, and out of the house. He needed blood. It wouldn't take long.

When he crept back into the house a half hour before dawn, sated and warm thanks to the local blood bank's flimsy locks but no less hungry for her, he smelled something that made him slightly queasy. Following the aroma and his sense of Mary in the kitchen, he found her there, scooping yellow omelettes with flecks of green and brown and red onto plates. Two of them.

Mary?” he asked. ”Why are you up so early?”

She looked toward him, smiling brightly. The way she sparkled his morning took his breath away. ”I set the alarm an got up early so I could make you a special breakfast before you had to leave for work.”

He looked at the plate, then at her. His stomach twisted ”You shouldn't have gone to the trouble-” ”It's the least I could do, after all you've done for me.” She shrugged. ”You said you eat out most of the time. I thought a home-cooked breakfast would be a welcome change.”

”That's... I don't know what to say.” He truly didn't. He couldn't actually... eat that thing. Could he? And yet it touched him to his core that she wanted to do this for him. To take care of him-the way he wanted to take care of her.

She smiled again and pulled out his chair. I'm going to go out walking today and if I should pa.s.s a shop that sells them, I'll buy you a coffeemaker. I don't know how you manage to start the day without coffee.” She pulled out a chair and sat down. ”Well?

Dig in.”

Licking his lips, he sat in the chair opposite her. The smell of the omelette wafted up to his nostrils, and his stomach rebelled again. He glanced at his wrist.w.a.tch. ”I'm not going to have time to do this luscious meal justice.”

”I'm not gonna be offended if you have to eat and run. I know you have to get moving early.”

He nodded and watched her eat a few bites. But she kept looking at him, and he knew d.a.m.ned well she was going to be wounded and offended and, worst of all, suspicious if he didn't eat the food. Bracing himself, he picked up the fork, squared his shoulders and shoved a bit into his mouth.

Sold food was a misnomer. It wasn't solid at all, but a mushy ma.s.s that only got more soggy as one attempted to grind it to a digestible consistency with one's teeth. He tried his best to turn the sound of revulsion leaping up from his gut into moans of ecstasy. He almost gagged when he had to swallow, but he managed to force it down, and then he shoveled in another bite, and another.

He devoured fully half of his meal, then pushed his chair away from the table.

Bits of the horrible thing still clung to his teeth and tongue, and his in the crevices of his mouth. 'That was the most delicious omelette I've ever had, Mary. Truly. Thank you.

I'm so sorry I have to go.”

”You're welcome. And don't apologize.”

He was already halfway to the front door. His body was not designed to digest solid food. His liquid diet was absorbed into his blood stream directly from the stomach.

The rest of the tract-h.e.l.l, he didn't know, but he'd always a.s.sumed it was simply shut down. It certainly hadn't preformed any noticeable function since he'd been transformed.

He closed the door behind him, and stumbled to the car, his keys in his hand as his stomach convulsed. His plan was to get into the car, drive out of sight and then-but no, it was too late for that. Dropping the keys on the car's front seat, he slammed the door and ran across the narrow side road and into a decorative copse of pinon pines.

And then he fell to his knees as his stomach rejected the meal in terms so violent he thought his body was being torn apart from within.

When if finally stopped, he moved a few steps away, fell to the ground, and lay there, shaking trembling, chilled trough and oddly weak. He remained that way for several moments, until disgust forced him to get to his feet again and move farther.

There was a stream a few yards away, runoff from the mountains leading into the sea.

He went to it, dipped his hands full of icy cold water and filled his mouth with it, over an over, swis.h.i.+ng, rinsing and spitting until he had rid his mouth of every crumb he could manage.

He need a full bathroom, with a shower and sink and, most of all, a toothbrush.

And floss. He s.h.i.+vered, and then he moved on into the scrubby excuse for a woodlot over the narrow deer path.

The sun was on its way. He could already feel its touch on the air, though it had yet to peek over the ocean. He followed the trail, a shortcut to the cemetery, and emerged into the place from the rear. It was an old cemetery, with several family plots, each one consisting of one large stone an several smaller ones, all surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. They occurred in various sizes and styles, but nearly all the groups here were grouped that way.

A few more recent graves stood alone. Up the hill a bit were the crypts, including his own. His name was engraved on the top, chiseled into the granite, in all caps. He'd purchased it, allegedly for his father, even staged a fake funeral a month ago, in preparation for his move here, knowing he would need a backup shelter from the daylight.

The door was sealed and looked like all the others. But there was hidden catch to release the lock from the outside. He did so, glancing around, opening his senses to be sure he wasn't observed. Then he opened the door and went inside. He closed it behind him an slid home the additional locks he'd installed on the inside of the crypt.

He sighed as he faced the four-by-eight rectangle and the stone slab upon which he was going to spend the day.

Chapter 9.

The full moon was tonight.

No matter how else Mary tried to occupy herself though the day, that was one of the three thoughts that kept circulating through her mind.

The second was a question. Why hadn't Michael taken his car this morning?

She lied to think he had decided at the last minute to leave it for her-except that she'd found the keys lying on the front seat and the car unlocked. Which just didn't seem in keeping with his past as a police officer.

He'd left in such a hurry-almost as if he were desperate to get out of her sight.

She'd run to the window to wave him off, but he'd seemed... almost ill, suddenly. The way he stopped near the car, fumbling with the keys, dropped them, then went staggering off at an uneven run across the street and out of sight.

Had someone picked him up? Did he have a car pool he'd forgotten about or something?

No matter, she could just ask him when he got back home. She was sure there was some explanation.

The third thing on her mind was the dream she'd had last night. G.o.d, it ha been so real. In the dream he'd made love other, and it had been intense and incredible and the most erotic thing she'd ever experienced, real or imagined.