a beacon of light, bright and shining, untouched by darkness or evil. He knew the darkness that surrounded him would seem blacker still when he left her. But leave her he must.
"Good night, Kara."
"Good night, Alexander. Thank you for the book."
He smiled at her, then left the room. He would not, could not, see her again.
Kara stared after him a moment, then opened the book to the page he had autographed.
"To Kara May your faith keep you safe from the monsters of the world." And then his signature, written in a bold scrawl: Alexander J. Claybourne. And beneath that: A. Lucard.
She didn't know what made her read his pseudonym backward, but when she did, a shiver ran down her spine.
D...R...A...C...U...L...A.
"Dracula."
Kara spoke the word aloud, then laughed. A fitting name indeed, for a man who wrote the kind of books penned by Alexander Claybourne.
Chapter Three
He wasn't going to see her again. It was a promise he made to himself upon waking the following evening.
He repeated the words in his mind as he sat at the computer.
He typed them on the screen.
He spoke them aloud.
He wasn't going to see her again.
An hour passed. Two.
Unable to resist the lure of seeing her one more time, he took a quick shower, pulled on a pair of black trousers and a dark gray sweater, and left the house.
He stopped at the florist and bought a huge bouquet of roses yellow ones because she reminded him of sunlight, pink ones that matched the color of her lips, white ones to match the innocence in her eyes. And a single perfect red rose.
It was just after seven when he entered the hospital. He clenched his jaw as he walked down the corridor toward her room, overwhelmed by the scent of sickness and death. He knew it was only his imagination, yet, as he passed by the intensive care unit, it seemed as if he could see the spirits of those near death hovering above the bodies on the beds, their wraith-like arms reaching for him, silently begging him for what only he could give.
Cursing softly, he turned away, walking blindly down the corridor. He should leave now, he thought. He should never have come here in the first place.
And then he was outside her room, opening the door. And she was smiling at him, her blue eyes clear and bright, her cheeks flushed.
"I was hoping you'd stop by," she said, pleasure evident in the tone of her voice.
Alexander returned her smile as he handed her the bouquet.
"They're beautiful," Kara murmured. "Thank you."
"You put them to shame."
Kara felt herself blushing. "You flatter me, sir."
"Not at all."
"There's a vase in that cupboard," Kara said. "Would you mind putting these in water for me?"
With a nod, he opened the cupboard door, found the vase, and filled it. Taking the flowers, he placed them in the vase, then set it on the table beside the bed.
"So," he said, sitting down in the green plastic chair. "How are you feeling this evening?"
"Much better. Dr. Petersen is quite impressed with my recovery." She smiled. "He says I can go home tomorrow."
"That is good news, indeed."
Kara nodded. "My brother called today. He's in South America."
"Doing what?"
"Building bridges."
"Has he been there long?"
"About a year. He really likes it, although I'm not sure if it's the country he loves or the beautiful Bolivian girl he's dating. Do you have brothers or sisters?"
"No."
"I have a sister, too. Gail. But then, you met her,didn't you?" Kara laughed softly. "She told me she'd paid you a visit."
"Yes," he replied, smiling. "She came looking for a vampire."
"I'll bet she was disappointed when she didn't find one."
Alexander nodded. "She's quite a brave girl, to go hunting vampires in the middle of the night."
"She's obsessed with all things paranormal," Kara remarked, shaking her head. "When she grows up, she wants to be a vampire hunter."
"An unusual occupation in this day and age."
"In any day and age, I should think, since vampires don't exist."
Alexander shrugged. "The inhabitants of some countries would strongly disagree with you."
"You're not serious."
"Indeed. It's only been a century or so since England outlawed the practice of driving stakes through the hearts of suicides to insure that they didn't become vampires."
"You sound as though you've made quite a study. But then, I guess that's natural, since you write about them."
"Yes. In ancient times, people were quick to notice that when a wounded man, or beast, lost a great deal of blood, his life force grew weak. They believed that blood