Amanda Ashley Read online

  Night creatures fell silent at his passing. He was a shadow among shadows. A darkness deeper than the night.

  He stood on the sidewalk across the street from the hospital, staring up at the window he knew was hers. She had called him here, the faint lure of her voice more powerful than his will to resist.

  He got past the nurse on duty using the same ploy he had used the night before.

  Inside Kara’s room, he stood beside the narrow bed, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest as she slept. There was a hint of color in her cheeks now. Her lips looked soft and pliable, their color like pale pink roses. Her lashes were thick and dark.

  So beautiful, he mused. So fragile. Lightly, he traced the curve of her cheek with his forefinger. She smiled at his touch, turning her head toward his hand, as though inviting his caress.

  With a curse, he drew his hand away.

  She came awake between one breath and the next, and he found himself gazing into a pair of dreamy blue eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment.

  “How are you feeling, Miss Crawford?” Alexander asked.

  “Better.” She squinted up at him, trying to see him more clearly in the room’s dim light. “Are you one of my doctors?”

  He hesitated only a moment before answering, “Yes.”

  “You saved my life.”

  “So it would seem.”

  Kara frowned, wishing she could see his face better. He seemed so familiar.

  “You must rest now, Miss Crawford,” Alexander said. He took a step backward, hiding in the dark. His blood had saved her. He knew it as surely as he knew the sun would rise in the east.

  At his words, she was overcome with a sudden weariness. “Wait. I want to know your name. . . .”

  Her eyelids fluttered down as sleep claimed her.

  Kara turned her head away while Dr. Petersen examined the stitches in her leg. “Where’s the other doctor?”

  “The other doctor?”

  “The one who came to see me last night.”

  “What was his name?”

  “I don’t know. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with long black hair. He . . . he had a deep voice.”

  “There’s no one on the staff who answers that description.” Dr. Petersen smiled indulgently. “No doubt you were dreaming.”

  “But it wasn’t a dream!” Kara glanced at Nana and Gail. “I saw him. I spoke to him.”

  “There, there,” Dr. Petersen said, patting her hand. “No need to be upset.”

  “I’m not upset. I just . . .” Kara sank back against the pillows. Maybe she had dreamed the whole thing.

  “I’ll stop in to see you tomorrow,” the doctor remarked. He paused at the doorway and glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t stay too long, Mrs. Corley. She needs her rest.”

  “I understand,” Nana replied.

  “I didn’t imagine him,” Kara insisted after the doctor left the room.

  “Now, Kara, if the doctor said there’s no one on the staff by that description, I’m sure he’s right.” Nana glanced around, her keen blue eyes taking in every detail. “It’s a nice room,” she decided.

  “It should be, for what it’s costing,” Kara grumbled. “Did they say when I can go home?”

  “Not for several days.”

  “But Dr. Petersen said I was making remarkable progress.” Indeed, every doctor in the hospital had found an excuse to come by and see the miracle patient whose internal injuries had healed overnight.

  “That’s true,” Nana agreed, “but you’ve had a bad bump on the head. Dr. Petersen wants to keep an eye on you for another day or two.” Nana took Kara’s hand in hers and held it tight. “We almost lost you, child.”

  “I know.” It was frightening, to think how close she’d been to death. It was something she didn’t like thinking about, and quickly changed the subject. “Gail, how are you doing in school? Did you pass your history test?”

  “B-plus,” Gail replied smugly. “Cherise got a C-minus, and Stephanie got a D.”

  “Don’t gloat,” Kara chided.

  “We should go,” Nana said, rising. “We don’t want to tire you.”

  “But I feel fine.”

  “The doctor said you should rest. So rest.” Nana kissed Kara’s cheek. “It’s a miracle,” she murmured, blinking back a tear. “A miracle.” She patted Kara’s shoulder. “Can I bring you anything tomorrow? A book, maybe?”

  Kara nodded. “Something to read would be nice. And maybe a strawberry malt from the drugstore?”

  Nana smiled. “Now I know you’re feeling better. Come along, Gail.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” Gail said. “I need to tell Kara something.”

  “All right, but hurry along.”

  “What is it, Gail?” Kara asked with a smile. “A secret to tell me?”

  Gail nodded as she closed the door. “That man who came to see you last night. He sounds like the man I went to see.”

  “What man?” Kara stared at her sister in alarm.

  “You’ll laugh.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “I went out to the old Kendall house.”

  “The Kendall house! Gail, have you lost your mind? Whatever made you go out there?”

  Gail picked up a corner of the cotton bedspread and began to fold and unfold it. “Well, everybody says a vampire lives there, and . . .”

  “A vampire! Oh, Gail.”

  “I thought if a vampire really lived there, and he bit you that you’d get better and live forever.”

  Kara shook her head. “Gail, there are no such things as vampires. Or werewolves. Or sea monsters, or space aliens, or mermaids.”

  Gail crossed her arms, her expression mutinous. “There are, too.”

  Kara sighed. They’d had this same argument numerous times in the last two-and-a-half years. “Are you saying the dark-haired man was a vampire and he came here to bite me?”

  Gail nodded.

  “Well, he must have changed his mind. I don’t have a craving for blood, and I don’t have any bites on my neck. And it’s daytime and I’m wide awake.” Kara took her sister’s hand in hers. “It was your prayers that saved me, Gail. Yours and Nana’s. You’d better go now. Nana’s waiting. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Kara couldn’t help grinning as she watched her sister leave the room. Vampires, indeed! Gail’s world was peopled with all kinds of monsters—Big Foot and Nessie, aliens from outer space, Dracula and the Wolf Man. Gail loved them all.

  With a sigh, Kara closed her eyes. Maybe she had dreamed him, that tall, dark mysterious stranger who had come to her in the quiet of the night.

  But she didn’t think so.

  Alexander paused, his fingers resting lightly on the computer keyboard. She was thinking of him. He could hear her thoughts in his mind, as loud and clear as if she were speaking to him directly. She was confused, wondering if he had been real or merely a shadow figure conjured from the depths of her subconscious.

  As the night grew long, he felt her loneliness, heard the silent call of her tears.

  Helpless to resist, he left the house to become one with the night. His black clothing blended in with the darkness as he moved swiftly, silently, down the pathway toward the town.

  The hospital loomed before him, the big white building shimmering against the backdrop of the night. For once, the night nurse was absent from her desk. On quiet feet, he made his way down the corridor toward Kara’s room. A moment later, he was standing beside her bed.

  She looked much improved this evening. Most of the tubes had been removed; her color was better, her breathing less labored. Her hair, freshly washed, was spread across the pillow like a splash of red silk.

  She was a part of him now, he thought, and he was a part of her in a way that no other man could ever be. In mingling his blood with hers, he had recreated an ancient, sacred bond, a living link between them that could not be broken. Her thoughts were as clear to him as his
own, her need for reassurance and comfort impossible to ignore.

  He stiffened with the realization that she was no longer asleep, but awake and staring up at him through those vivid blue eyes.

  “Who are you?” Her voice quivered with fear—fear of the unknown, fear of his answer.

  “A blood donor,” he replied. “I heard you were recovering, and I wanted to see for myself.”

  “But . . . I thought . . . last night you said . . .”

  “Last night?”

  “Weren’t you here last night?”

  Alexander shook his head, unable to voice the lie aloud.

  She frowned. “Maybe it was a dream, then.”

  “Most assuredly. Good night, Miss Crawford. Sleep well.”

  “Your name. Tell me your name.”

  “Alexander Claybourne.” He bowed his head. “And now I must go.”

  “Stay, please. I . . . I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid?” he asked. “Of what?” It had been centuries since he had feared anything save discovery of what he was.

  “Of being alone.” She smiled self-consciously. “Of the dark.” She’d been afraid of the dark for as long as she could remember, though there was no logical reason for her fear.

  “The dark cannot hurt you, Miss Crawford,” he said quietly.

  “I know.” Rationally, she did know, but she feared it just the same. “Please stay. I’m not so afraid with you here.”

  Ah, foolish girl, he thought, to be afraid of the darkness, but not the stranger hiding in its shadows. “Would you like me to turn on the light?”

  “No. The dark doesn’t seem so scary with you here.” There was a certain excitement in sharing the darkness with this man who was a stranger, an intimacy that would not have been possible with the lights on.

  “You’re not tired?”

  “No. It seems as though all I’ve done the past two days is sleep.”

  “Very well.” He acquiesced with a slight smile. “Will you tell me about yourself?”

  “There’s not much to tell.”

  “Please.” He sat down in the straight-backed chair beside her bed, careful to keep to the shadows.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  Kara laughed. “Well, I was born in Denver. My sister, Gail, was born when I was eleven. A few months later, my folks got a divorce.”

  She shrugged. Even after all these years, it still hurt. And even though she knew she wasn’t to blame, she’d always wondered if the divorce had somehow been her fault.

  “I guess they thought another baby would save the marriage,” she went on, “but it didn’t work. My mom moved us here to live with Nana—my grandmother. When I was fourteen, Mom ran off with a truck driver and we never heard from her again. We hadn’t heard anything from my Dad since the divorce, so Nana decided Gail and I should stay with her. My brother, Steve, had just started college when our parents broke up. Nana’s been both mother and father to us since my mother left. I went to college for a couple of years, and now I’m a consultant at Arias.” She shrugged. “That’s it.”

  “Who, or what, is Arias?”

  “Arias Interiors. It’s an interior design firm.”

  “I see.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Do? Ah, my work, you mean? I write.”

  “You mean books?”

  Alexander nodded.

  “What do you write?”

  “Horror stories, mostly.”

  “Like Stephen King?”

  “More or less.”

  Kara frowned. “Have you had anything published?”

  “A few things. I write under the name of A. Lucard.”

  A. Lucard! He was the hottest, most prolific writer on the market. His books consistently made the New York Times Best Seller List. Personally, Kara didn’t care to read horror. Out of curiosity to see what all the fuss was about, she had read one of his books. It had kept her up all night.

  “I read one of your books,” she remarked candidly. “It gave me the worst nightmares I’ve ever had.”

  “My apologies.”

  “What are you working on now?”

  “More of the same, I’m afraid.”

  “My little sister would love to read your books, but Nana won’t let her.”

  “Indeed? I wouldn’t think your sister would be interested in my work.”

  “Are you kidding? Gail loves monsters.”

  “And you? How do you feel about . . . monsters?”

  “I don’t believe in them.”

  “Then I hope you never meet one.” He glanced out the window. He could sense the approaching dawn, feel the promised heat of the sun. “I must go.”

  “Thank you for staying, Mr. Claybourne.”

  “Alexander.”

  “Alexander.” She could see him a little more clearly now, a tall, broad-shouldered figure silhouetted against the pale green wall. He wore a black sweater and black jeans. She wished she could see his face, the color of his eyes, the shape of his mouth. He had a most unusual accent, one she couldn’t quite place. “Will you come tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I wish you would.” She pursed her lips, reluctant to ask a favor, yet unable to resist. “Would you bring me one of your books?”

  “Of course, but I thought you didn’t care for stories about monsters.”

  “Well, I don’t but now that I’ve met you . . . well, I’d like to give your books another try.”

  “Then I shall see that you get one. Good night, Kara.”

  “Good night.”

  She watched the door close behind him, wishing, inexplicably, that he had kissed her good-bye.

  Alexander prowled the dark streets, aware, always aware, of the nearness of dawn, of the necessity of returning home before it was too late. Yet he needed to be outside, to feel the darkness that had become as much a part of him as his arms and legs.

  He moved through the city, driven by a horrible sense of loneliness, of separateness. He yearned for a woman to share his life, but dared not take the risk of divulging the truth of what he was. He could only imagine the panic that would result.

  He felt the heat of the sun at his back. Soon, the streets would be filled with people, people who lived and worked, loved and laughed, who took their world and everything in it for granted.

  With an anguished cry, he sprinted for home, for the safety of shuttered rooms.

  He bolted the front door behind him. The house was cool and dim, a refuge from the burning rays of the sun.

  Sheltered by the darkness, he climbed the stairs to his room and closed the door.

  His first thought, upon waking, was for Kara. He pushed it aside, determined to forget the young woman with russet-colored hair and dreamy blue eyes. She was an infant compared to him, a child with her whole life ahead of her. A creature of light, she had no need for a man who wore darkness like a shroud, a man who was not like other men.

  He wandered restlessly through the empty rooms of his house, unable to concentrate on any one task, his thoughts constantly turning toward Kara.

  Leaving the house, he blended into the shadows of the night. Muttering an oath, he began to run, tirelessly, effortlessly. Mile after mile he ran, his feet hardly touching the ground. But no matter how far he ran, he could not outrun the desires of his own heart. He returned home long enough to change clothes and wrap up one of his books. Certain he was making a mistake, but unable to resist the lure of seeing her again, he left the house.

  Outside, he closed his eyes and sent his thoughts toward Kara. Her sister and her grandmother had been there earlier, but now they were gone, and she was alone. And lonely.

  And thinking of him.

  I’m coming, Kara.

  He willed his words into her mind. A short time later, he was at the hospital, in her room.

  Her smile of welcome, warm and genuine, filled his heart—nay, his very soul—with sunlight.

  “Good ev
ening, Kara.”

  “Hi.”

  “You look much better.”

  “I feel much better.”

  Reaching inside his coat, he withdrew a parcel wrapped in white paper. “I hope it doesn’t give you nightmares.”

  “You remembered! Thank you.” She tore off the paper and stared at the cover. It depicted a raven-haired man bending over a woman’s slender neck; the light from a full moon glinted off his fangs. “The Hunger,” she said, reading the title aloud. “Sounds a little gruesome.”

  “Not as bad as some I’ve written.”

  “Would you autograph it for me?”

  “Of course.”

  She handed him the book and a pen, then watched as he opened it to the title page.

  He wrote for a moment, then closed the book and handed it back to her. “Perhaps you shouldn’t read it at night.”

  “That scary, huh?”

  “I’ve been told my style is dark and heavy-handed.”

  Kara frowned, remembering the other book she’d read. “Well, your style is definitely dark,” she allowed, “but I didn’t think it was heavy-handed. Actually, I thought the book I read was really very good. I mean, it was supposed to be scary, and it certainly scared me.”

  “Which one did you read?”

  “The Maiden and the Madman.”

  “One of my earlier works. I think you’ll find The Hunger far less grotesque.”

  “This cover’s quite a bit different from your others.”

  Alexander nodded. “Actually, this is more of a love story than anything else.”

  “Really?”

  He shrugged. “An aberration, I assure you. The plot for my next book is filled with enough murder and mayhem to please the most bloodthirsty of my readers.”

  “You won’t mind if I don’t buy it?”

  “Not at all.”

  Kara looked into his eyes, and forgot everything else. She had heard of love at first sight—who hadn’t? But she had never believed in such a thing. She had met other handsome men and felt varying degrees of attraction, but nothing to equal what she felt now, an allure that was almost spiritual, as if her soul was reaching out to his. Did he feel it, too? Never before had she understood how a woman could throw away everything for the love of a man, but she had the sudden unshakable feeling that if Alexander asked her to follow him to the other side of the world, she would say yes without a second thought. It was most disconcerting, and a little frightening.