Knowing he had no right, he bent down and kissed her cheek, and then he was gone, as silent as the sunrise.
PART One Chapter Two
He reached his lair in Crosswick Abbey minutes before the sun climbed above the horizon. Bolting the door behind him, he rested the back of his head against the solid wood, his skin still tingling from the promise of the sun's warmth.
Closing his eyes, he tried to remember what it had been like to walk in the light of day, to welcome the touch of the sun on his face, to bask in its warmth.
With a muttered oath, he pushed away from the door and crossed the floor. Sinking down in the huge, thronelike chair that was the room's only piece of furniture, he stared into the blackness of the hearth.
She was in pain, and she wanted to end her life. There were all kinds of pain, he thought. Sara's wasn't physical; it went much deeper than that, piercing her heart, her soul. Sweet and sensitive, she felt she was a burden to the handful of nuns who ran the Sisters of Eternal Mercy Orphanage.
His heart ached for her. She had been born to wealthy parents, but from the day of her birth, theDuncan family had been plagued by a constant stream of bad luck. Two ships belonging to the fleet owned by her father were lost at sea; a fire destroyed a part of their home. In the following year, Adalaina Duncan gave birth to a stillborn son. Shortly after Sara's third birthday, her father was killed in a carriage accident. Only then did his wife learn that he had gambled away not only their fortune, but the shipping line as well. His creditors, previously kept at bay by his good name and his fervent promises to make good on his many outstanding notes, had foreclosed on the family estate. Sara's mother, stricken by her husband's death and the loss of her home, had abandoned her daughter, never to be seen again.
It was no wonder Sara was bitter, he mused. Perhaps he should have told her that she was the single ray of sunshine in his own miserable existence, that her life had purpose, even if it was only to bring light into one man's world of darkness.
But he couldn't tell her that. Much as he longed to give her comfort, he couldn't give her hope when he had none to give.
He felt the sun rising, felt the faint lethargy that came with the dawn, a lassitude that grew ever stronger until it rendered him powerless. When he'd first been made, centuries ago, he had been unable to withstand the overpowering weakness that had come with daylight. Drained of his strength, he had been forced to seek total darkness during the daylight hours, to sleep the restorative sleep of the undead. But as he got older, and stronger, he found that he was able to take his rest later in the day, to rise earlier at night, though the touch of the sunlight still meant death. He feared the touch of the sun, the agony of a fiery death, as he feared nothing else.
Those early days had been filled with confusion and frustration. The lust for blood had filled him with self-loathing, yet he had been unable to resist the urge to drink, and drink, and drink, until he was sated with it. His hearing, sharpened to a new awareness, was bombarded with noise. The sound of thunder was deafening. Only with long practice did he learn to shut out the thoughts of others, to regain a sense of inner quiet. His eyesight was nothing short of miraculous; his strength was that of twenty men. Like a child with a new toy, he had tested the limits of his powers, his endurance. And in the testing, he had heedlessly brought pain and death to those helpless mortals who had unwittingly crossed his path.
Filled with loneliness, cut off from mankind, he had leftItaly and wandered through the world, searching for a safe haven,anew place to call home. Gradually, he had learned to control the blood lust. He had learned it wasn't necessary to drain his prey, or take so much that life was lost. He had learned to hypnotize a victim to his side, take only enough to appease his need, and leave, with the victim never realizing what had been done. And still there were times when the urge to