Several times, he heard Sara's voice in his mind, calling to him, begging him to come back. He felt her pain, her loneliness, her confusion, but he never answered her, and finally he closed his mind against her, refusing to torture himself by listening to her cries.
His only joy was in riding his big black stallion. Each night, he raced across the dark land, reveling in the horse's speed and power, remembering how Sara had shrieked with delight the night he had taken her riding. She had urged him to go faster, faster. Cheeks flushed, her lips parted, she had turned to face him. His Sara, so full of life...
He reined the stallion to a halt and sat staring into the distance. Sara. What was she doing now? Had she decided to marry Maurice? Gabriel's hands curled into tight fists as he thought of the young man's treachery. Were it not for Sara, he might still be imprisoned in that cottage, writhing in pain as a relentless thirst drove him slowly mad. Maurice and Sara...
Sensing his agitation, the stallion shifted uneasily beneath him. Gabriel spoke to the horse and the animal quieted immediately.
And still Gabriel sat there, staring sightlessly into the distance, his mind filling with images of Sara in Maurice's arms, in Maurice's bed.
Gabriel threw back his head as a long, anguished cry rose in his throat, and then he urged the stallion into a run, flying like the wind across the darkened land.
But he could not outrun his misery, or the image of Sara with another man.
A mortal man who could walk with her in daylight.
A man who could give her sons.
She had finally put him from her mind. She stopped trying to read his thoughts, stopped trying to send her thoughts to him. She spent her every waking hour with Maurice, mentally extolling his virtues, telling herself that she loved him. They danced onstage together. He was the prince to her Aurora, the Albrecht to her Giselle. They shared candlelit dinners after the theater. They went walking together in the early afternoon. They spoke of marriage. She let him kiss her, and occasionally she endured his caresses, but she refused to let him move in with her.
She went on a shopping spree and bought herself a new wardrobe: hats, shoes, petticoats, gowns and day dresses, feather fans, lacy parasols, a sleeping gown of gossamer silk.
She redecorated her apartment in shades of mauve and white.
She indulged her every whim. She danced as she had never danced before.
And at night, alone in her bed, she cried herself to sleep.
He felt a presence when he stepped into the Hall - a presence he recognized. And loathed.
She was wearing a dress the color of fresh blood. Her hair, black and glossy, fell over her shoulders in loose waves. Her complexion was glowing, and he knew she had fed recently.
"What are you doing here?"
"Giovanni, mon amour, is that any way to greet an old friend?"
"We are not friends," Gabriel retorted sharply.
"Lovers, then," Antonina purred. "Even better."
Crossing the room, she ran her hands across his shoulders and down his arms, appreciating the solid feel of him, the latent strength that rippled beneath her fingertips.
She felt her blood stir as she gazed up into his eyes. "Ah, Giovanni, I have missed you."
Gabriel took hold of her hands and pushed her away. "What do you want, Nina?"
She pouted prettily. "Do I have to want something? It's been decades since we last met, cara mia. I just wanted to see how you are."
"I'm fine. Go away."
"Don't be rude, Gianni." She walked around the Hall, running her fingertips over the ancient tapestries, pausing at a narrow window to gaze into the courtyard below.
"Why are you here?" she asked without turning around. "Who are you hiding from?"
"I'm not hiding from anyone," Gabriel replied. Except Sara. Except myself.
Antonina glanced at him over her shoulder. "You cannot lie to me, Gianni."
She stared deep into his eyes, and even from across the room, he felt the heat, the power, of her gaze. A thousand years she had walked the earth. He knew of no vampire older, or more powerful, than Antonina Insenna.
"Have you fallen in love again, Giovanni? Is that why you have buried yourself in this dreary castle?"
She had always been the most perceptive of women, Gabriel thought bleakly. There was no point in lying to her, yet he could not bring himself to admit the truth.
"When I buried Rosalia, I vowed never to love again," he