the bedroom remembering, until his need for her became too painful. At those limes, he went out into the night to walk the lonely streets. No one saw him. Moving with preternatural speed, he moved from one end of the city to the other, his presence no more than a breath of cool air to those he passed by.
Anger aroused the urge to hunt, to kill, but he refused to do so. He fed only when absolutely necessary, taking only enough to sustain his existence but never enough to quench his thirst, punishing himself with the hunger because it was easier to be tormented by the lust for blood than by his constant need for Sarah.
A week passed, and his anger grew, and with it the knowledge that he could take her at any time.
He was a vampire, after all. He could hypnotize her so that he could make love to her whenever he pleased. Then he would have only to summon her with the power of his mind, and she would be compelled to come to him from wherever she might be, warm and willing, unable to resist.
He could initiate her, and in that state she would do anything he wished. Anything. She would be miserable when they were apart. She would find prey for him, kill for him, worship him if he so desired.
Or he could force the Dark Gift upon her, and keep her by his side for eternity.
But he could not make her love him.
And that knowledge filled him with rage.
And it was that rage, finally, that drove him to her door.
Sarah sat in a corner of the couch, comfortably wrapped in a blanket, watching an old rerun of the Dick Van Dyke show. She'd seen this particular episode at least a half-dozen times, but for some reason she never tired of it.
When it was over, she turned to the country music channel, her thoughts drifting toward Gabriel. Always Gabriel, she thought, annoyed. She hardly knew the man, yet she couldn't forget him. He was ever in her thoughts, her dreams. Her nightmares. Deep down, she had the feeling that she was going slowly insane. Surely that was the only explanation for the dreams she'd been having. Sometimes she dreamed she was in England, other times in France. She spoke French in those dreams. She danced. She made love to Gabriel. Only it wasn't really her, but another woman, one with blond hair and blue eyes.
But it was the nightmares that truly frightened her, that made her sleep with all the lights on. There was nothing pleasant about those dreams, and she often woke with a start, images of bloody fangs and inhuman eyes imprinted in her memory.
Last night she had dreamed of being buried alive.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep, calming breath. They were just dreams, after all. And dreams couldn't hurt you...
"Sarah."
His voice was low, resonant.
She opened her eyes and he was there, standing in the doorway across the room. He was tall and dark, like an image from one of her nightmares, and she wondered why she wasn't afraid, or at least surprised. And then she knew. She had been waiting for this moment ever since she ran out of the mansion a week ago.
"What are you doing here?"
His dark gray eyes seemed to burn into her own. "I've come for you."
"What do you mean?"
"Can't you guess?"
She clutched the blanket tighter, her eyes widening in fearful understanding. Slowly, she shook her head, refusing to believe what she saw in his eyes.
And then he was lifting her off the sofa, though she had no recollection of seeing him move.
His arms were hard and unyielding as he carried her out of the house, blanket and all. And then they were moving through the night with blinding speed. Tears stung her eyes. Stores and houses and people blurred together in a mass of color.
And suddenly they were at the mansion, in the parlor, and she was sitting in the chair in front of the fireplace with no recollection of how she'd gotten there.
She saw Gabriel glance over his shoulder; there was a soft whooshing sound, and a fire appeared in the hearth.
Magic, she thought. It was some kind of magic.
"Look at me," he said, and his voice seemed to echo off the walls of the room, of her mind, her heart.
Hands clasped to keep them from shaking, she met his gaze.
"I've thought of nothing but you this past week," he said, not sounding very happy