She sat there for a long while, their conversation replaying in her mind. She had lived before, had known him before. Memories crowded her mind, memories of Maurice and Antonina, of performing onstage at the Paris Opera, of living in the orphanage, of Sister Mary Josepha. She remembered sitting in a wheelchair, remembered the panic she'd felt as fire swept through her room. And she remembered Gabriel carrying her into the night, his dark eyes frightened. He had given her his blood, saved her life, restored strength to her legs so she could walk and dance.
He had loved her until the day she died...
It couldn't be true. She didn't believe in reincarnation. She didn't believe in vampires. The very thought was frightening. But fascinating.
Suddenly too agitated to sit still, she went into the kitchen and fixed herself a cup of hot chocolate, and all the while memories flooded her mind, memories of another life, and woven deep into the fabric of those memories was Gabriel: Gabriel reading to her, singing to her, holding her in his arms.
Gabriel begging her to go away that day she'd found him in the cellar...
"Gabriel, my angel, please let me help you."
"Angel... angel..."He had laughed then, a horrible sound that bordered on hysteria. "Devil, you mean. Go away from me, Sara, my sweet Sara, before I destroy you as I destroyed Rosalia."
"I'm not leaving," she had said, and she had crossed the room and taken him in her arms. "Gabriel, please tell me what to do," she had pleaded.
With an inhuman growl of despair, he had whirled around to face her. "Go away!"
She had stared up at him, at eyes that blazed in the darkness like hell's own fires, and knew she was looking into the face of death.
"What's happened to you?" she had asked.
"Nothing's happened to me," he had replied. "This is what I am."
He had bared his teeth and she had seen his fangs, sharp and white and deadly... And the unearthly red glow in his eyes.
"Now will you go?" he had growled, and she had replied, "No, Gabriel, I'll not leave you again."
He had been in pain, needing nourishment, needing blood, and she had offered him hers, but he had refused, begging her to go away. And she had, but only for a moment. She had gone upstairs, found a sliver of glass, and slit her wrist. He hadn't wanted to take it; she had seen the horror struggling against the hunger, and she had pressed her bleeding flesh to his lips. With a low growl of despair, his mouth had locked on her arm...
Sarah gasped as a sudden heat pooled in her right wrist, and with it, the sense of someone sucking her flesh, drinking her blood. It was a strangely sensual feeling.
"I must have loved him a great deal to do such a thing," Sarah murmured, unaware that she had said "I" instead of "she."
She sipped the chocolate, oblivious to the fact that it had grown cool.
Gabriel. He had been the loneliest man she had ever known, doomed to live in the shadows of life, to dwell on the edges of humanity, always alone, forever in darkness. And she had been his light...
She wandered aimlessly through the house, then went back into the parlor and sat down on the sofa again, the blanket wrapped around her, her mind in turmoil as she tried to accept the fact that she had lived before, that she had willingly given up all hope of motherhood, of a normal life, to be with a vampire.
PART Two Chapter Six
He stood on the balcony, his hands braced on the wrought-iron rail, watching the dark clouds tumble across the sky. It was going to rain. He could smell the moisture in the air, hear the distant sound of thunder as the storm drew closer.
It was a night that suited his mood perfectly - dark and restless.
He had lost her and found her and lost her again.
He cursed viciously for not forcing the Dark Gift upon her. She might have despised him for it, but she would have been his. Forever his. He wouldn't have to watch her grow old and die a second time...
Three weeks had passed since he had gone to her house. Ten days since he had last fed. Without her, he'd lost the will to go on, but the hunger burned bright within him, sharp as a Spanish dagger, as constant as the sun. He could feel his body weakening, feel