With the Power of his mind distracted, the deer roused from its trance. He felt muscles quiver as she tried to get her feet under her.
Go, then, he thought, sitting back and releasing her entirely. With a twist and a heave, she was up and running.
He’d had enough. Fastidious, he licked at the corners of his mouth, feeling his canine teeth retract and blunt, oversensitive as always after a prolonged feed. It was hard to know what enough was anymore. There had been no spells of dizziness since the one beside the church, but he lived in fear of their return.
He lived in one specific fear: that he would come to his senses one day, his mind reeling with confusion, to find Elena’s graceful body limp in his arms, her slim throat marked with two red wounds, her heart stilled forever.
That was what he had to look forward to.
The blood lust, with all its myriad terrors and pleasures, was a mystery to him even now. Although he had lived with it every day for centuries, he still did not understand it. As a living human, he would no doubt have been disgusted, sickened, by the thought of drinking the rich warm stuff directly from a breathing body. That is, if someone had proposed such a thing to him in so many words.
But no words had been used that night, the night Katherine had changed him.
Even after all these years, the memory was clear. He had been asleep when she appeared in his chamber, moving as softly as a vision or a ghost. He had been asleep, alone…
She was wearing a fine linen shift when she came to him.
It was the night before the day she had named, the day when she would announce her choice. And she came to him.
A white hand parted the curtains around his bed, and Stefan woke from sleep, sitting up in alarm. When he saw her, pale golden hair gleaming about her shoulders, blue eyes lost in shadow, he was struck silent with amazement.
And with love. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He trembled and tried to speak, but she put two cool fingers over his lips.
“Hush,” she whispered, and the bed sank under new weight as she got in.
His face flamed, his heart was thundering with embarrassment and with excitement. There had never been a woman in his bed before. And this was Katherine, Katherine whose beauty seemed to come from heaven, Katherine whom he loved more than his own soul.
And because he loved her, he made a great effort. As she slipped under the sheets, drawing so near to him that he could feel the cool freshness of night air in her thin shift, he managed to speak.
“Katherine,” he whispered. “We — I can wait. Until we are married in the church. I will have my father arrange it next week. It — it will not be long…”
“Hush,” she whispered again, and he felt that coolness on his skin. He couldn’t help himself; he put his arms around her, holding her to him.
“What we do now has nothing to do with that,” she said, and reached out her slim fingers to stroke his throat.
He understood. And felt a flash of fear, which disappeared as her fingers went on stroking. He wanted this, wanted anything that would let him be with Katherine.
“Lie back, my love,” she whispered.
My love. The words sang through him as he lay back on the pillow, tilting his chin back so that his throat was exposed. His fear was gone, replaced by a happiness so great that he thought it would shatter him.
He felt the soft brush of her hair on his chest, and tried to calm his breathing. He felt her breath on his throat, and then her lips. And then her teeth.
There was a stinging pain, but he held himself still and made no sound, thinking only of Katherine, of how he wished to give to her. And almost at once the pain eased, and he felt the blood being drawn from his body. It was not terrible, as he had feared. It was a feeling of giving, of nurturing.
Then it was as if their minds were merging, becoming one. He could feel Katherine’s joy in drinking from him, her delight in taking the warm blood that gave her life. And he knew she could feel his delight in giving. But reality was receding, the boundaries between dreams and waking becoming blurred. He could not think clearly; he could not think at all. He could only feel, and his feelings were spiraling up and up, carrying him higher and higher, breaking his last ties with earth.
Sometime later, without knowing how he had gotten there, he found himself in her arms. She was cradling him like a mother holding an infant child, guiding his mouth to rest on the bare flesh just above the low neck of her night shift. There was a tiny wound there, a cut showing dark against the pale skin. He felt no fear or hesitation, and when she stroked his hair encouragingly, he began to suck.
Cold and precise, Stefan brushed dirt off his knees. The human world was asleep, lost in stupor, but his own senses were knife-keen. He should have been sated, but he was hungry again; the memory had wakened his appetite. Nostrils flaring wide to catch the musky scent of fox, he began to hunt.
Chapter Twelve
Elena revolved slowly before the full-length mirror in Aunt Judith’s bedroom. Margaret sat at the foot of the big four-poster bed, her blue eyes large and solemn with admiration.
“I wish I had a dress like that for trick-or-treat,” she said.
“I like you best as a little white cat,” said Elena, dropping a kiss between the white velvet ears attached to Margaret’s headband. Then she turned to her aunt, who stood by the door with needle and thread ready. “It’s perfect,” she said warmly. “We don’t have to change a thing.”
The girl in the mirror could have stepped out of one of Elena’s books on the Italian Renaissance. Her throat and shoulders were bare, and the tight bodice of the ice-blue dress showed off her tiny waist. The long, full sleeves were slashed so that the white silk of the chemise underneath showed through, and the wide, sweeping skirt just brushed the floor all around her. It was a beautiful dress, and the pale clear blue seemed to heighten the darker blue of Elena’s eyes.
As she turned away, Elena’s gaze fell on the old-fashioned pendulum clock above the dresser. “Oh, no — it’s almost seven. Stefan will be here any minute.”
“That’s his car now,” said Aunt Judith, glancing out the window. “I’ll go down and let him in.”
“That’s all right,” said Elena briefly. “I’ll meet him myself. Good-bye, have a good time trick-or-treating!” She hurried down the stairs.
Here goes, she thought. As she reached for the doorknob, she was reminded of that day, nearly two months ago now, when she’d stepped directly into Stefan’s path in European History class. She’d had this same feeling of anticipation, of excitement and tension.
I just hope this turns out better than that plan did, she thought. For the last week and a half, she’d pinned her hopes to this moment, to this night. If she and Stefan didn’t come together tonight, they never would.
The door swung open, and she stepped back with her eyes down, feeling almost shy, afraid to see Stefan’s face. But when she heard his sharp indrawn breath, she looked up quickly — and felt her heart go cold.
He was staring at her in wonder, yes. But it was not the wondering joy she’d seen in his eyes that first night in his room. This was something closer to shock.
“You don’t like it,” she whispered, horrified at the stinging in her eyes.
He recovered swiftly, as always, blinking and shaking his head. “No, no, it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
Then why are you standing there looking as if you’d seen a ghost? she thought. Why don’t you hold me, kiss me — something!
“You look wonderful,” she said quietly. And it was true; he was sleek and handsome in the tux and cape he’d donned for his part. She was surprised he’d agreed to it, but when she’d made the suggestion he’d seemed more amused than anything else. Just now, he looked elegant and comfortable, as if such clothes were as natural as his usual jeans.