Amanda Ashley Read online

  With an effort, she drew her gaze from his. “How long does it take you to write a book?”

  “Not long. Three months, sometimes four.”

  “How long have you been writing?”

  “About twelve years.” He smiled at her as if he knew she was asking these questions because she feared another lingering silence between them. “Enough about me. Will you be going home soon?”

  “Not for another few days. And then I won’t be able to go back to work right away.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Fine.”

  “I’m glad. I should go now. You need your rest.”

  “That’s what everyone says.”

  “Then it must be true.”

  He stood up, knowing he should go, yet reluctant to leave her. She was like a beacon of light, bright and shining, untouched by darkness or evil. He knew the darkness that surrounded him would seem blacker still when he left her. But leave her he must.

  “Good night, Kara.”

  “Good night, Alexander. Thank you for the book.”

  He smiled at her, then left the room. He would not, could not, see her again.

  Kara stared after him a moment, then opened the book to the page he had autographed.

  “To Kara—May your faith keep you safe from the monsters of the world.” And then his signature, written in a bold scrawl: Alexander J. Claybourne. And beneath that: A. Lucard.

  She didn’t know what made her read his pseudonym backward, but when she did, a shiver ran down her spine.

  D . . . R . . . A . . . C . . . U . . . L . . . A.

  “Dracula.”

  Kara spoke the word aloud, then laughed. A fitting name indeed, for a man who wrote the kind of books penned by Alexander Claybourne.

  Chapter Three

  He wasn’t going to see her again. It was a promise he made to himself upon waking the following evening.

  He repeated the words in his mind as he sat at the computer.

  He typed them on the screen.

  He spoke them aloud.

  He wasn’t going to see her again.

  An hour passed. Two.

  Unable to resist the lure of seeing her one more time, he took a quick shower, pulled on a pair of black trousers and a dark gray sweater, and left the house.

  He stopped at the florist and bought a huge bouquet of roses—yellow ones because she reminded him of sunlight, pink ones that matched the color of her lips, white ones to match the innocence in her eyes. And a single perfect red rose.

  It was just after seven when he entered the hospital. He clenched his jaw as he walked down the corridor toward her room, overwhelmed by the scent of sickness and death. He knew it was only his imagination, yet, as he passed by the intensive care unit, it seemed as if he could see the spirits of those near death hovering above the bodies on the beds, their wraith-like arms reaching for him, silently begging him for what only he could give.

  Cursing softly, he turned away, walking blindly down the corridor. He should leave now, he thought. He should never have come here in the first place.

  And then he was outside her room, opening the door. And she was smiling at him, her blue eyes clear and bright, her cheeks flushed.

  “I was hoping you’d stop by,” she said, pleasure evident in the tone of her voice.

  Alexander returned her smile as he handed her the bouquet.

  “They’re beautiful,” Kara murmured. “Thank you.”

  “You put them to shame.”

  Kara felt herself blushing. “You flatter me, sir.”

  “Not at all.”

  “There’s a vase in that cupboard,” Kara said. “Would you mind putting these in water for me?”

  With a nod, he opened the cupboard door, found the vase, and filled it. Taking the flowers, he placed them in the vase, then set it on the table beside the bed.

  “So,” he said, sitting down in the green plastic chair. “How are you feeling this evening?”

  “Much better. Dr. Petersen is quite impressed with my recovery.” She smiled. “He says I can go home tomorrow.”

  “That is good news, indeed.”

  Kara nodded. “My brother called today. He’s in South America.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Building bridges.”

  “Has he been there long?”

  “About a year. He really likes it, although I’m not sure if it’s the country he loves or the beautiful Bolivian girl he’s dating. Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “No.”

  “I have a sister, too. Gail. But then, you met her, didn’t you?” Kara laughed softly. “She told me she’d paid you a visit.”

  “Yes,” he replied, smiling. “She came looking for a vampire.”

  “I’ll bet she was disappointed when she didn’t find one.”

  Alexander nodded. “She’s quite a brave girl, to go hunting vampires in the middle of the night.”

  “She’s obsessed with all things paranormal,” Kara remarked, shaking her head. “When she grows up, she wants to be a vampire hunter.”

  “An unusual occupation in this day and age.”

  “In any day and age, I should think, since vampires don’t exist.”

  Alexander shrugged. “The inhabitants of some countries would strongly disagree with you.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Indeed. It’s only been a century or so since England outlawed the practice of driving stakes through the hearts of suicides to insure that they didn’t become vampires.”

  “You sound as though you’ve made quite a study. But then, I guess that’s natural, since you write about them.”

  “Yes. In ancient times, people were quick to notice that when a wounded man, or beast, lost a great deal of blood, his life force grew weak. They believed that blood was the source of vitality, and so they smeared their bodies with blood, and sometimes they drank it.”

  He paused, imagining the warm, coppery taste on his tongue. “Vampirism has been documented in Babylon, Rome, Greece, Egypt, China, Hungary. In ancient Greece, the people believed in the lamia, who were reported to be demon-women who lured young men to their deaths in order to drink their blood.”

  Kara shivered. She had never believed in such nonsense, but Alexander spoke with conviction, as though he actually believed such creatures existed. But he would have to believe at least a little, she thought, in order to write such convincing books.

  She glanced at the novel he had given her the night before.

  Alexander followed her gaze. “Dare I ask if you’ve read any of it?”

  “I’ve read half of it,” Kara replied. She had spent the better part of the day reading. Once she’d started, she had been unable to put it down. It was a dark book, and yet she had been touched by the vampire’s love for a mortal woman.

  “And?”

  “I can see why it made the best-seller lists. I didn’t think I’d like it. Not after the other one. But this . . .” She frowned. “The vampire seems so real, so tragic. I can’t help feeling sorry for him.”

  Alexander nodded, pleased that she had seen the humanity in his hero.

  “It’s quite different from what you usually write, isn’t it?”

  “Quite.”

  “Does it have a happy ending?”

  “Do you really want me to tell you?”

  Kara shook her head. “No, although I must confess, I was tempted to read the end to see how you resolved the conflict.”

  “How do you think it should end?”

  “Happily. There’s enough misery in the world.”

  Alexander nodded. More than you can imagine. For a moment, his thoughts turned inward, and then he stood up as he sensed Kara’s sister and grandmother approaching.

  He turned toward the door as Gail and her grandmother walked into the room. Both came to an abrupt halt when they saw him.

  Alexander grinned wryly as Gail stared at him. He didn’t need to be clairvoyant to read her thoughts. She was
wondering what he was doing there, wondering what her grandmother would say if she found out Gail had gone to see him alone, late at night.

  Alexander winked at the girl, hoping to put her at ease, and then realized Kara was making introductions. He shook her grandmother’s hand and smiled at Gail, who looked relieved when neither her sister nor Alexander divulged her secret.

  He stayed a few more minutes, aware of the older woman’s curiosity. Kara’s grandmother, Lena, was too polite to stare or ask impertinent questions, but he felt her furtive glances, knew she was wondering where her granddaughter had met him, and why he was visiting her.

  As quickly as possible, Alexander bade Kara good night and took his leave.

  He was not often trapped in such a small space with mortals. That close, he had been all too aware of them, acutely conscious of the differences between himself and humanity, of their weaknesses and frailties.

  Outside, he drew in a deep breath, his nostrils filling with the myriad scents of the night.

  He thought of Kara, and cursed the dark loneliness that inhabited his soul.

  As soon as he was gone, Nana fixed her attention on Kara. “Who was that man?”

  “You mean Mr. Claybourne?”

  “Of course I mean Mr. Claybourne,” Nana retorted. “What does he do? Where did you meet him? How long have you known him?”

  “Really, Nana, you sound just like Sergeant Joe Friday,” Kara exclaimed, grinning. “Just the facts, ma’am,” she said in a fair imitation of Jack Webb.

  “Don’t be impudent, Kara Elizabeth Crawford.”

  Kara sighed. When Nana used that tone, Kara felt like a child again instead of a grown woman.

  “I just met him a couple of days ago. He donated some blood, and he came by to see how I was doing.” She waved a hand toward the book on her bedside table. “He’s an author.”

  Gail picked up the book and read the title. “A. Lucard! He’s A. Lucard?”

  Kara nodded.

  Gail shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “Are his books as scary as everyone says? Can I read this when you’re done?”

  “Yes, his books are scary, and no, you can’t read it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re too young.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “Girls, that will do. Gail, why don’t you go get me a cup of coffee?”

  Gail lifted her eyebrows. “Do you really want a cup of coffee, or are you just trying to get rid of me?”

  “Just do as you’re told, miss.”

  “Oh, all right,” Gail grumbled.

  Kara took a deep, fortifying breath as she watched her sister leave the room.

  “Now, missy,” Nana said, “tell me what’s going on between you and Mr. Claybourne.”

  “Oh, for goodness sakes, Nana, what do you think’s going on?”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.”

  “Nothing’s going on. I just met the man!” Kara shook her head in annoyance. She loved her grandmother, but sometimes Nana’s old-fashioned ideas of right and wrong made her want to scream. “I’m in the hospital, for heaven’s sake. Hardly a fit place for an affair, should I decide to have one.”

  “Kara!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It just seems odd, his coming here.”

  “What’s odd?” Gail asked. She handed a paper cup filled with black coffee to her grandmother.

  “Nothing.” Nana sat back and sipped her coffee, listening while Gail told Kara about her day at school. A few minutes later, the chimes that signaled the end of visiting hours sounded throughout the hospital.

  “Are you still coming home tomorrow?” Gail asked.

  “Yes.”

  Gail turned toward her grandmother. “Can I come with you to get Kara?”

  “No, you have school.”

  “I could miss a day.”

  “No. Tell Kara good night. We must go.”

  Gail hugged Kara. “I never get to do anything,” she complained.

  “When I’m feeling better, we’ll go shopping.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Good night, Kara,” Nana said. “I’ll be by tomorrow about ten.”

  “Good night, Nana.”

  Kara lay back on the pillows. Now that she thought of it, it was odd that Alexander Claybourne had come to see her. After all, she had donated blood to the Red Cross on several occasions, but she had never known where the blood had gone. And even though she had often wondered who had received it, and if it had perhaps saved a life, she had never gone looking for the recipients.

  So, maybe he was just more curious than she was. Or maybe he had some sinister motive. . . .

  Kara shook her head. It wasn’t like her to be suspicious. Nana often said Kara was too trusting, too gullible, for her own good, and maybe she was. But she preferred to think the best of people instead of the worst. She knew there was evil in the world, but she saw no point in dwelling on it just because the six o’clock news couldn’t talk about anything else. After all, there was good in the world, too. And Alexander Claybourne proved it. He had donated blood to a total stranger, and then come by to see how she was doing.

  She frowned as she stared at the flowers he had brought her. How had he found out who had received his blood anyway? Wasn’t that information confidential?

  She plucked the red rose from the vase and sniffed its fragrance. Whatever else he was, he was the most generous man she had ever known. The flowers must have cost him a small fortune, she thought. Roses from a florist were never cheap, and there were at least three dozen buds, all perfectly formed.

  They were beautiful, she mused. Then she smiled. He had said she put them to shame. It was one of the nicest compliments she had ever received.

  Smiling, she put the rose back in the vase and reached for his book, eager to discover how the romance between the vampire and the mortal woman ended.

  Chapter Four

  Kara quickly grew bored with staying home. She was used to being on the go. As a consultant, she often traveled to nearby towns to advise large companies on redecorating their offices. She had been returning from just such an assignment when the accident happened. One minute she’d been driving on the highway listening to Billy Ray Cyrus; the next thing she remembered, she was in the hospital swathed in bandages with no memory of how she’d gotten there. She was lucky to be alive.

  She flipped through the TV channels. Soap operas and talk shows, talk shows and soap operas. With a grimace, she clicked off the set and picked up Alexander’s latest book. She had asked Nana to buy it for her. Unlike The Hunger, which had had a strong romance and, much to her delight, a happy ending, this book, titled Lord of Darkness, was strictly horror. It was a frightening story, and yet, when she tried to analyze it, she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was that made it so scary. The horror wasn’t lurid. The bloodletting wasn’t so gory that it was disgusting. Perhaps it was the fact that it all seemed so plausible, so real.

  Alexander had been right about one thing, though. She didn’t read his books at night.

  She put the book aside when Gail came home from school. “Hi, Pumpkin. Have a good day?”

  “It was all right. I got a B on a math test.”

  “That’s great. Nana baked cookies this morning. How about bringing me some, and a glass of milk?”

  “Okay.” Gail tossed her sweater and books on a chair and went into the kitchen. She returned moments later with two tall glasses of milk and a plate of oatmeal cookies. “Where’s Nana?”

  “She went over to Mrs. Zimmermann’s to play canasta.”

  “Oh.” Gail sat down on the end of the sofa. “How’s the book?”

  “It’s good. He’s a very talented writer.”

  “Why do you think people say a vampire lives in his house?”

  “That should be obvious, even to a kid like you,” K
ara said with a grin. “The man writes about vampires and werewolves.”

  “I guess. His house was really dark inside when I went there.”

  “You didn’t go inside, did you?”

  “No. But I could see inside a little.” Gail nibbled on a cookie, her expression thoughtful. “There weren’t any lights on.”

  “Maybe he’d gone to bed.”

  “It wasn’t that late.”

  “Some people do go to bed early, you know.”

  “Maybe. It’s funny, though.”

  “What’s funny?”

  “Well, me and Stephanie and Cherise have gone out there lots of times during the day, and we’ve never seen anybody around.”

  “So? Maybe he sleeps late and writes at night.”

  “Vampires sleep during the day.”

  “Oh, for goodness sakes, Gail, will you please stop thinking every stranger you meet is a vampire or a werewolf.”

  “All right, all right. Are you going to eat that last cookie?”

  “No, go ahead.”

  Gail polished off the last of the cookies, finished her milk, then stood up. “I’m going over to Cindy’s. Do you want anything before I go?”

  “No, I’m fine. Don’t be late.”

  “I won’t. See ya later.”

  “Bye.”

  Kara looked out the window, wishing she could go outside. It was a beautiful afternoon, bright and clear, a perfect day for a long walk through the park. She couldn’t wait until her leg was better. She hated being waited on, hated being house-bound, hated lying on the sofa with her leg propped up on a pillow. And, as much as she loved her grandmother, she couldn’t wait to go back to her own apartment. Nana had raised a fuss when Kara decided to move out of the house, but Kara had needed to be independent, to live on her own, even if her apartment was less than a mile away from home.

  She wondered what Alexander Claybourne was doing, and if she would ever see him again, and if he thought about her as often as she thought about him.

  Alexander prowled the woodland behind his house, battling his desire to see Kara again.

  It had been six weeks since he’d last seen her. Six interminable weeks.