was born in the winter of 1502."
She frowned a moment. "But that would make you..."
He nodded. "Three hundred and eighty-four years old."
It was impossible, inconceivable. And yet she knew it was true.
"You always said you were too old for me," she mused, and then she began to laugh uncontrollably.
Gabriel watched her from beneath hooded lids, his emotions in turmoil. He had made love to her, had given her his blood and taken hers. Though he had not taken enough of her blood to initiate her, they now shared a bond that could never be broken.
Sara looked at him, helpless, as her hysterical laughter dissolved into tears. And then he was holding her, his face buried in her hair. She felt his shoulders shake and she knew he was crying, too.
"Gabriel?" She drew away, her own tears forgotten in her need to comfort him.
A single tear hovered in the corner of his eye. A tear tinged with blood. Very carefully, she wiped it away with a corner of the bed sheet.
She stared at the bright red stain on the white linen and realized, for the first time, the full horror of who and what he was.
Vampire.
The undead.
Creatures who slept in coffins by day and prowled the darkness at night, preying on the weakness, and the blood, of others.
Gabriel was a vampire.
He saw the knowledge in her eyes, saw the realization that came as she recalled incidents from the past.
"That's why I never saw you eat," she said tonelessly. "Why I never saw you during the day. Why the burns on your face healed so quickly..."
She gasped as another startling realization came to the fore. He was the monster who had plagued her nightmares not so long ago.
"It's true," he said flatly. "All of it. Look at me, Sara. What do you see?"
"I see the man I love." She spoke the words confidently, but he saw the doubt shadowing her eyes.
Gabriel shook his head. "No, Sara, I'm not a man. I exist, but I don't live. I grow old, but I don't age. Face it. Accept it."
She looked at him warily, wondering why she wasn't more afraid. Sadness dragged at his features; his eyes were haunted, filled with more pain than a mere mortal could ever endure.
"Do you despise me now?" he asked.
"No."
"But you're afraid of me."
"A little."
"I won't hurt you, cara. Believe that. And if you can't believe my words, then look inside my mind and see the truth for yourself."
"Look inside your mind? What do you mean?"
"We share a bond, Sara. A blood bond. If you but try, you can read my thoughts."
"Is that why I heard you calling to me?" Gabriel nodded, waiting for her to take the next logical step.
"But I heard you before you took my blood." He nodded again, his hands clenching as he watched her try to fit the pieces together. "Have you taken my blood before?"
"No".
"You gave me yours." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.
Time hung suspended while she waited for his answer.
"Yes."
"When I was burned," Sara said. "That's why I got better so fast. You gave me your blood, and it made me strong. It made me walk..."
"Yes."
"But that wasn't the first time, was it? You gave me your blood when I wanted to die because I thought I was never going to see you again. I remember now. You came to me in the night. I thought it was another dream, but it was real, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"You saved my life. Twice."
"And you have saved mine, miserable though it might be."
He yearned to hold her, to bury himself in her sweetness, but he could not. In spite of the blood bond between them, he felt as if a chasm as wide and deep as hell separated them.
She licked her lips, needing, dreading, to ask the question that had been gnawing at the corner of her mind.
"Am I a vampire now?"
"No!" The word was torn from his throat. "I would never bring you over, Sara. You must believe that if you believe nothing else."
The relief in her eyes was like a dagger in his heart.
"Sara..." He glanced at the open door, then slid out of bed. "Someone's here."
"Maurice," Sara said, rising. "I forgot he was coming by."
"Go then."
"Will you be here when I get back?"
"No. I'm going to Spain."
She stared at him, wanting him to stay, yet afraid of what it would mean if he did. Vampire. The mere idea was vile, repugnant. Unbelievable.
Before she could speak, she heard Maurice's knock