The Eternal
by Shiloh Darke
All rights reserved
Copyright © Aug. 2009, Shiloh Darke
Cover Art Copyright © Aug. 2009, Shiloh Darke and Charlotte Holley
Gypsy Shadow Publishing
Manchaca, TX 78652
http://www.gypsyshadow.com
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this eBook may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and eMail, without prior written permission from Gypsy Shadow Publishing.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Dedication
To my mother Charlotte Holley, and my friend Denise Bartlett, for reading and re-reading my finished manuscript and pointing out every single typo (per my request). I know you guys took a lot out of your own busy schedules to help me. I love you both so very much!
To my husband, my heart, who always has faith in me, even when I can't find any of it on my own. To my children, who always teach me the importance of patience and love.
Also, thank you to Jodie Headrick, Tasha Sims, and Joan Harris, for reading while I wrote, and waiting for the next chapter with heated breath. Thank you for begging me to finish, even when I had given up on ever being able to.
And finally
In loving Memory of my Nana,
Hazel F. Jones
Thank you for always telling me I was meant for better things
Praise for The Eternal!
. . . This book is full of magic and mystery with a bit of romance thrown in for fun! The author is spell-binding, her characters are real. This book is a thrilling fast paced read that will keep you on the edge of your seat and make you believe that vampires, demons, and learned wizards can truly exist in our modern world!
Reviewed by Ciaran Corby author of The Dark Mage, Soulbreaker and more!
. . . I found The Eternal intriguing. As I was reading about Shameer and his emotions with the witch who cast the spell on him, and the haunting feeling that lingers over him, I could practically feel that same trepidation. Shiloh Darke sketches descriptions, and expressions, of the characters that make them believable. I absolutely love the matching of the couples. They are charismatic in their actions with a vibrant energy making this read so interesting. Shameer and Jessica, Colin and Chelsea mix some romance and fascination into the storyline giving the story that certain pizzazz. This well-written tale hooked me from the beginning. With a great plot, and a myriad of in-depth characters, this fast-pace story is marvelous.
Sensuality rating: Very sensual
Reviewer: Linda L.
* One *
He made his first move at the close of day. As the sun set, his eyes fluttered open. A cursed man, born of the darkness, he was older than most souls could claim to be, yet his appearance led people to believe him no more than thirty. Long hair, worn well past his shoulder blades, hung nearly to his waist and had only the slightest hint of gray streaking through its lush ebony strands. Not a wrinkle marred his smooth, gently tanned face. It was doubtful he had ever known hard labor in the light of the sun.
Dispirited, he roused himself from his dreamless, Cimmerian repose. A sigh escaped him as he moved to the mirror, the ultimate reminder of just how not human he really was. The mirror was tall―almost twelve feet high and ten feet wide, its ornate frame trimmed in silver and gold lattice designs. It was a finely crafted piece of art, one of the most extraordinary pieces he had ever had the pleasure of owning. His steel gray eyes traveled the length of the mirror, over every inch of the framework, as if searching for some flaw. Finally, he let himself gaze on the reflective glass of the mirror itself, staring blankly, his face devoid of any expression. He beheld only the reflection of the room, elegantly furnished in period pieces that would make any art or antique collector envious.
The canopy bed in the heart of the chamber was exquisite. Carved of ancient oak, the elaborate design of the wood was enough to inspire poetry in the souls of mortals. The headboard was etched in a motif of lovers entwined in each other's arms, oblivious to the rest of the world. The four columns rose to the ceiling with yards of black silk spilling in elegant drapes from their crowns, falling in glorious splendor to the floor.
The rest of the room was a beautiful sight. An armoire stood in the corner, attaining to a height that nearly matched the mirror. On the opposite wall stood an elegantly polished table with four imposing carved gargoyles for legs. The high-back wooden chair behind it was wrought with a similar figure, its wings spreading to form the chair's back. His chamber was truly a resplendent sight to behold. The room was utterly devoid of windows, but candles blazed warmly, placed strategically to light the room. Although he had allowed his home to be wired for electricity, he had staunchly refused to allow the workmen into this, his inner sanctum.
The absence of even one glowing electric lamp gave the illusion of crossing into the past when entering this sanctuary, this temple he had created―yet its effect, though romantic and gracious, was lost to him tonight. None of it could hold his interest, nor give him consolation; he was not even the slightest bit moved by it, for it was not what showed within the reflection of the mirror which captured and held his gaze, but sadly, what was not. It had been over three hundred years since he had seen his reflection within the depths of any looking glass. Emptiness consumed him. In all his human life, he had never imagined of all the faces he would miss seeing over the centuries, his own would torment him the most.
Somewhere above him, a clock began to chime the hour. Tilting his head, he listened to the ringing. Six, the bell tolled; seven, it rang out; eight, the sound vibrated in his ears; nine, the hour of darkness. The nights did not last as long in the summer. It mattered little to him; in fact, he preferred it. The less time of shadow he had meant less time to be tormented by the emptiness of his lonely existence.
Moving to the armoire, he surveyed the choice of clothing before him. Although all the clothes were immaculate, there was not that much of a selection. Black and white silk shirts, black and gray slacks, blue and black jeans, and matching vests of suede or soft leather filled the space.
Choosing a soft white tunic-style shirt, he pulled it over his head and tucked it into the black jeans he had left on from the night before. The shirt had a vee-shaped neckline that exposed just a slight tuft of sable chest hair. Turning back to the closet he selected a black suede vest as an accent to the ensemble.
After walking unceremoniously to the bed, he sat on its edge to pull on the matching knee-high boots and tied the strap to secure them at the top. He stood to survey himself in the mirror, smirked; and then shrugged, knowing it was a hopeless gesture. It was staggering how some habits never died. He was like a maimed soldier who had lost his leg only to be plagued by the continual itching in a limb he could never hope to scratch.
He imagined how he must look, his black mane of hair braided down his back past his shoulder blades. Though he'd been told he was a beautifully handsome and dashing male, he was sickened by the thought.
Being handsome had become a curse to him. Once, being able to turn a young maiden's head was something that thrilled him. Now, he found himself wanting to warn them. Stay away from me; I am cursed! He remembered the time he realized just how deep a curse his immortality was. Once again, he turned to the mirror, but this time, he didn't even truly see the structure. He was lost in the memory of losing the woman he loved more than he had ever believed possible.
* * * *
Robes of white silk covered the frail, withered body. Silver hair fanned out across the pillow―thick, luxuriously soft, hair that had once been blessed with the purest of golden color. Her breaths were shallow now . . . difficult for him, with his heightened senses, to be certain she even still drew breath. He could hear her weary heartbeat slowing, of course; he watched her sleep, knowing she was dying, and found himself silently wishing he could die as well.
Her name was Lillian. He had met her when she was sixteen, an innocent who had found her way effortlessly into his immortal heart. She had stolen past the armor he had built around himself for protection from love, without even knowing it. Had he known the hurt it would cause him would never heal, he would have fled far from her charm.
He had first encountered her one night deep in the forest, trying desperately to spring the traps her uncle had set for the unsuspecting deer that roamed his land. She raced around completely unaware of her observer, triggering the traps with sticks. He had watched her, thoroughly ensnared by the beauty of the girl before him. He had only watched her then, an angel with golden hair and eyes that burned with the blue fire of sapphires.
The moonlight made her seem almost like Fae folk. A magical fairy, sent to lure him to her, was Lillian. A part of him had wanted to go to her then. Yet something held him back, warned him. Now he sat with his head in his hands, his eyes burning from the tears his unnatural body would not allow him to shed. He wanted to turn back the hands of time. He found himself longing to be able to go back, to ignore the voice that had prompted him to let her remain human. More than anything else at this moment, he longed to have her young and healthy; beautiful, free of pain, beside him forever.
Eighty-two years had passed since he had first seen her. Since that night, she had taught him to feel again, simply by being who she was. He had been blessed to share almost a century with her, but instead of being thankful for the little time he had received, he found himself craving, longing for more. He looked at her and watched the arduous toil she suffered just to breathe. She was as beautiful to him then as she had been in her youth. His shoulders trembled with repressed grief. It had been so long since he had lost someone, for he had never let anyone else get that close to him before―not since the change.
Her cold trembling, frail hand touched his cheek. He looked up; his gray eyes locked on her bright blue ones. Sadness made them look as dark as the deepest part of the ocean. She smiled weakly before drawing another ragged breath to speak. The voice he heard was weary, cracked with time, and husky with age as she said, "It is time, my love. You must let me die." She ran a soft, wrinkled hand through his hair. "My beautiful, ageless man," she said as she stared at him, "I shall take your face in my memory with me to heaven."
She paused, coughed painfully as a spasm of pain wracked her body, then she dropped her hand from him and turned her eyes away. She stared at the ceiling and whispered, "I have loved you well and long, my beloved. But now I find it is my mother's face I long to see." She looked back at him, holding his gaze for an eternity within an instant, and then she drew her last soft breath. Her eyes lost their fiery luster of life, and the first look of peace he had seen on her face in years wrapped itself lovingly around her in place of the pain; she was gone.
Taking her hand in his, he squeezed it gently, placed a kiss on her palm, then reached up, lightly closing her eyes before pressing his lips softly to hers. Leaning back, he put her hand on the bed beside her. "Then, you must go to her, for if it is she who calls you, I have no right to ask that you stay."
* * * *
The creaking of the door summoned him unceremoniously back to the present. "Shameer?" his brother Colin said softly, "Abigail has asked if you will be joining us for tea." Abigail and her husband Davis were the last descendants of the families who had served his own, eternities ago―when they were all still human.
Their loyalties had never wavered through the years and the trials that followed. Their children and grandchildren had become more like family than servants. Unfortunately, Abby and Davis were blessed with only one child, a dainty, beautiful girl named Angelica who had disappeared over two years ago. Shameer had tirelessly sought for months to find her, but to no avail. Finally Abby, having resigned herself to the inevitable perception deep in her soul that the girl was dead, begged him to cease, wanting nothing more than to let her soul rest in peace. As a result of their loss, Abby and Davis would be the last of the family line to serve Colin and him.
Shameer had always encouraged his servants to pursue their own dreams, to leave Colin and him and attend themselves. Abigail and Davis, like their parents before them, had gone to college to attain rich educations, but they returned to serve Shameer and Colin, sharing their wealth of knowledge. Angelica had just finished her third year at the university and was on her way home for a visit when she had disappeared.
Shameer had cared for the girl much as an uncle might, listening with pride and joy when she shared her adventures, and had even felt the stirring of more―the love a father might feel for his child. He closed his eyes, he banished the disturbing memories that threatened to overtake him. Once again, he reminded himself of the vow he had made to Lillian after she died. He would love no other; he would never again torture himself by watching his love grow old and die. Was it a vow he had made to Lillian, or to himself?
He really didn't know; he only knew he could never let his heart be broken like that again. He shook himself from his reverie, cleared his throat and said, "Tell her thank you Colin, but I must go." Turning, he followed the light spilling in from the entrance of the room. He looked at Colin, wondering if his brother had ever regretted the choices the two of them had made, or if Colin resented him for the role he'd had to share.
Colin smiled, his eyes meeting Shameer's. Colin silently shook his head and replied to the unspoken question, saying, "I do not resent you, brother. The choices we made may have been big mistakes, but I made mine on my own, the same as you. I am as much to blame for my circumstances as you are for yours."
A staid hush fell between them for a moment before Colin spoke again. "I have no regrets concerning you, but I wonder at times if you have regrets because of me."
The question hung heavy between them a moment, like a fetid over-ripe fruit left too long on the vine, then Shameer answered quietly, "I regret you must live, and age, eternally; I regret more that you are sentenced to hear all my dark thoughts and demented ramblings. I worry sometimes that it might drive you mad to partake in my dark thoughts on the atrocities I must commit." He watched his brother's face, waiting for the answer to his tacit question.
Colin studied Shameer's visage, appraised the tumult he could see burning inside, just beneath the surface, before speaking. "Aye, there is a certain inconvenience to that," he said with a shrug. "I do not overly enjoy the images I receive on the nights you hunt." He paused for a moment, before adding, "But then, I do not think I would know you as well as I do, were it otherwise."
Shameer smiled sadly at Colin's words. The two of them were twins, bound to share much more than a family resemblance. Colin too, bore a curse, though it was not the same as the one Shameer suffered. Colin was also condemned to be alive through eternity, but instead of thirsting for blood as Shameer did, Colin was damned to age ever so slowly and to endure the imprecation of his clairvoyance, which forced him to see every evil Shameer must perform to survive. During the three hundred years they had lived with their afflictions, Colin had aged in appearance a mere thirty years, while Shameer still looked to be thirty-two, the age he had been when they had fallen victim to the witch. Colin had the appearance of a very fit sixty-year-old.
There would be no release from the curse for Colin; he would never die, but he would never cease to age, unless the witch herself decided to free him by killing him. She had told him he would not die even then, but would revert to his thirty-two year-old appearance, and begin the whole aging process over again. Anger made Shameer close his eyes at the thought of what had brought them to this. It had been a woman―a treacherous, evil witch.
* * * *
She was a gloriously beautiful woman with fiery red hair and amber eyes capable of searing holes in a man's soul. Hers was a special kind of sorcery that drew men to her like wild animals lured into a trap by the scent of fresh, red meat. She was possessed by that magic, because it also ruled her, turning her into a malevolent creature that seemed forced to execute cruel deeds.
A gypsy, born under the sign of the soothsayer, she had an evil streak in her which gave her the taste for mercilessness. When she met the twins, beautiful . . . so alike in every way . . . she set out to possess both of them.
Both brothers were easily beguiled by her beauty. She had awakened a feverish hunger that burned like an illness within them. She knew she had them under her spell and used their vulnerability to her advantage, taking turns seducing each, playing them both for dupes, until they were wholly addicted to her as though she were a powerful drug.
Jealousy smoldered between them. The siblings who had once been so close to each other soon learned to despise one another, each almost to the point of wishing the other dead. The anger brewed between them until one day, it exploded into violence. Only then did they realize how unhealthy their involvement with her was. United once more they faced her together, in an attempt to break the hold she had over them.
She realized she was being cast aside. Her eyes took on an eerie green color as the seductress spat out her angry curse. "You have made a serious mistake!" she growled. "You believe yourselves too good to partake of all I can offer. Two brothers, so alike in every way! Now you shall have an added similarity." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it echoed mightily inside their heads.
Pointing a forefinger toward Shameer, she spoke forcefully, "Beginning with the rise of the next full moon, you shall feel the change in your body." She paused and then added, "My love, you shall no longer be able to dance in the daylight." She smiled wickedly, "You shall be ruled by the night and hunger for the blood of mortals."
She let her gaze travel sensuously over his body, his broad shoulders, muscular arms and chest and narrow hips, before regarding his smooth glowing face, a gleam of lust filling her eyes. "Oh, yes, my beautiful man; you shall stay forever young," she said. She devoured him with her stare. Then she turned toward Colin, her eyes glazing a bit, a look of distaste crossing her features.
"And you, you gentle, docile fool," she thundered at him. "You may look the same as your twin, but you have neither his fire nor his passion." She scorned him openly, making Shameer fear more for his brother's curse than for his own. "Therein lies your malediction," she continued. "You shall watch your brother stay eternally young while you age little by little, while you hear and see what he thinks and sees when he is forced to feed. You will be privy to his every thought."
She smiled a vile, wide angry smile before continuing. "But you will not share in his youth. You will age through your immortality, you soft fool. Moreover, when you can no longer get up and move because the old bones just won't go, you shall still draw breath. You will never be able to die."
A small look almost akin to regret touched her features before she cocked her head to the side and spoke once again. "That is a little harsh, even for me. Hmmm . . ." She thought for a moment, then added, "If you can find a woman to love you enough, then she can set you free from the curse. She, of course, would have to love you enough to kill you. And once you have aged into a decrepit old man, there is little chance of your finding a young beauty who would have you!"
Her laughter, harsh and cruel, filled the air a moment before she continued. "For every century, you shall age ten years. There, I'll give you a chance to find a woman worthy of killing you!" Her cackling laughter continued to roll in the air even after her body faded into the morning mist.
* * * *
A shiver escaped Shameer as he remembered all the malice she had called down on them. To this day, her look of hatred and madness still haunted him. He also remembered how his mistrust of women had come about after that; how every word any woman said to him from then on, he believed to be utter lies. He cared for none of them, until he found Lillian. She had won his heart that first night, scurrying around trying to save the defenseless animals her own uncle hunted and killed for sport.
Looking over his shoulder as he ascended the stairs into the upper part of the house, he felt as if he were leaving all safety behind by exiting the darkened room. At the top of the stairs was a statue of yet another gargoyle. It was a silent stone sentry . . . watching, waiting. For what? Shameer found himself wondering more times than he could count.
As he looked at the carving closely, he thought about the similarities between himself and the creature the statue represented. Shaking his head, he whispered softly, "Yes, we are indeed brothers, my friend." He looked then toward the fireplace where the painting of his beloved Lillian still hung, he continued to murmur to the gargoyle, "Both of us are truly cursed, oh beast of stone."
The portrait no longer tormented him, over one hundred and fifty years after her death. The pain had ebbed to a dull ache. He still missed her. He still loved her. He was sure there would never be another to take her place within his heart. He kept the portrait as a reminder . . . a reminder to him never again to torture himself by loving a mortal.
He had not closed himself off to other women completely. There were times when he had chosen to have passing relationships with women, just as a diversion . . . a way to dull the loneliness he felt, despite his brother's constant presence. He squared his shoulders and sighed, knowing he was selfish to think that way. He believed of the two of them, Colin's existence must be far more sad and lonely. In fact, Shameer gave thanks silently for Colin's presence. Eternity was not as unhappy with his brother by his side.
He moved toward the door, feeling relief that tonight he would truly be allowing himself to hunt. In all his years of existence as a vampire, he had surrendered to the need that drove him to feed on human blood, but once he had learned to feed without killing, he had never again allowed himself to kill an innocent. He never took more than he needed to survive. The only time he was tempted to allow himself the kill was when he found his victim another person's aggressor. Usually when he truly hunted, it was for rapists, murderers, and those who would do harm to children. He did what he could to keep such monsters from striking again. To him, it was part of his pact with God for being what he had no choice but to be.
Abigail came from the kitchen, her graying hair pulled neatly into a tight bun. She wiped her hands and looked knowingly at Shameer, "So ye won't be joining us then? Is it the hunger vexes ye so?" she asked in a compassionate voice.
He paused at the entrance of the fortress, looked from Abigail to his brother, whom he knew would suffer tonight. "I am sorry, Colin." His eyes met hers again and he forced a smile. "I would it were not so," he whispered and lowered his head before turning to disappear through the door. "I shall be back by dawn."
* * * *
He slid through the darkness like a silent, slinking wraith, listening to the rhythmic throbbing of other people's hearts, each in its own pattern, each oblivious to his listening ears. Some even thought they were alone in this world of the night. As he walked the streets searching for his prey, he noticed a drunk lying beside the road and paused to draw nearer, to listen to the man's pulse.
The man's heartbeat was still vigorous; Shameer could feel his blood coursing through his veins. It would be so easy to take the small amount he needed from this poor, pathetic soul. The man would not even notice Shameer's presence, would have no memory of the little amount of life force he had taken from him.
Drawing closer still, Shameer had almost reconciled himself to the taking of this man's life-blood when he heard what he had been originally seeking. His head whipped toward the sound no mere mortal could have heard, not at the distance he could perceive it.
"No," the small voice pleaded in what was little more than a whisper. "I want to go home," the voice begged. "Please, just take me home."
The child couldn't be more than six or seven years old, but that wasn't going to stop her kidnapper. Shameer could hear the evil thoughts the man had toward the child, could see with an uncanny sixth sense the scene as it unfolded.
"Shut your fucking mouth," he ordered, and then added with a glowering sneer, "You ain't going nowhere! I guarantee it. Your mommy ain't gonna know what happened to you for the next twenty years."
Sickened and angry at the explicit nature of the man's thoughts, Shameer took to the air, flying straight to the alley where the ruffian had the child held tightly by the throat, ready to snap her poor neck. The man, whose hand was fumbling with his belt, said in a hoarse, grating voice full of perverted lust, "Now, be a good little girl and please your new-found uncle and maybe I'll let you see your mom, precious." He leered at her, baring his rotten teeth, and added, "Yeah, please me and I might just take you home."
The child's eyes widened and she squeaked out another whimper, "You're a bad, bad man."
Shameer descended on them and faster than human eyes could have seen, he snatched the child from her would-be attacker and deposited her safely on the roof. Gently, he gave her mind just the hint of a suggestion, "Go to sleep child; when you awake, you will be safe in your bed." Immediately, her young psyche acquiesced to his hypnotic thought and she curled up on the rooftop to sleep.
Before the man could even collect his bearings, Shameer descended on him, dragged him off his feet and into the cold night air, high above the streets and the city below. The man uttered a half scream, half whimper as he looked down to see the distance he would have to fall to reach the earth. He stammered thickly, "What the . . . who are you? What the hell do you want?"
Shameer raised an eyebrow, ground out a low, menacing growl, "You aren't so brave now, are you?"
"What the shit are you talking about, you crazy fuck?" The man's eyes widened as Shameer gave him a wide smile, flashing the white expanse of his perilous fangs. "Oh God!" he moaned.
Shameer drew closer to the man, fixed him with his cold, steely gaze and said, "God may not have heard you threaten that poor, helpless child, but I did. Even now I can feel the souls of your other victims crying out for justice for what you did to them. So I think it is only fair you turn yourself in to the police."
The man dared to laugh, "You are crazy! I'd get the death penalty if I turned myself in." He shook his head while he held fast to Shameer's arm, the only thing keeping him from falling.
Shameer smiled even wider, "Better them, than me," he said as he shortened the distance between them. "I would spend eternity torturing you, before I sent you to hell."
The man nodded furiously and pleaded, "Okay, okay, I'll do anything you ask, just let me go!"
Shameer nodded at that, agreed, "Oh yes, you will; but first," he pulled the man's shirt away from his neck, "I'm starved."
* * * *
The man walked bewildered to the doors of the police station, a blank, vacant stare on his face. He didn't know why, but he just felt compelled to confess to the unsolved serial murders of twenty young girls, ranging in age from five to thirteen years of age. He had killed his first victim when he had been a mere seventeen. He never felt any remorse. He had never cared about their family's pain. It had never occurred to him that he should.
But for some reason he couldn't fathom, suddenly, he did care. Tears rolled down his face as he went to the desk and told the policeman standing behind it he wanted to confess to the unsolved murders. His last thought as they led him to his jail cell was of the strange archangel he had dreamed of who had promised him a lifetime of hell if he did not accept the punishment he was due from mortal man.
* * * *
The child snuggled deeper into her covers when he placed her into her own bed. She had been missing for a week, and her mother had finally passed out on the couch from exhaustion. Shameer covered the little girl with her blankets, and laid her favorite stuffed teddy beside her.
When he walked back through the house, he planted the thought in the mother's head to check in her daughter's room when she finally got up to drag herself to bed. Smiling to himself, he felt as if he had done something good tonight.
The night is still young, he thought as he walked out the front door, checked to make sure it was locked and left the quiet neighborhood to its peaceful slumber. Perhaps, he thought, I will go out to one of the clubs. He was suddenly in the mood for a possible way to pass the time which was not so glum.
* Two *
Jessica awoke with a start. Cold sweat covered her entire body; she shivered and tried to calm her racing heart. Her whole body felt weak and worn, as if she had been running in a marathon. Throwing the covers back, she got out of the bed and began searching through her drawers for a pair of sweat pants and a tank top.
Her clothes found, she pulled off the nightgown that had been clinging to her and tossed it into the dirty clothes hamper. Going into the bathroom adjoining her room, she sat on the side of the tub and turned on the hot water. She let it run for a few seconds to let the hot come up before turning the cold on just enough to keep the water from being scalding. She pulled her long hair up and tied it into a loose knot to keep from getting it wet.
Then she turned the shower head on and stepped in, pulling the curtain around her like a shielding cocoon, as though it were more to protect her than the floor of the bathroom. The water was refreshing and she leaned into its warmth, letting it soothe her aching nerves.
That dream. Always that dream. Why did it plague her so? As she washed , she willed herself to forget it, but it loomed again darker than before, taunting her, making her cringe all over again. It stuck in her head like a well-rehearsed song . . . a song that had haunted her regularly since she was sixteen.
Turning off the water and stepping out of the shower, she grabbed the nearest towel. After drying off, she stepped into the sweat pants, and then pulled the tank top over her head. She walked into the bedroom once more and eyed the pair of felines that lay relaxed on her bed, regarding them with a dreamy affection for a moment. Well, if she never got the chance to be a mother, at least she'd have her babies, she thought. The fact her babies were of another species didn't matter that much. Chuckling, she made her way out of the bedroom and down the stairs toward the kitchen.
She glanced at the clock on the wall, noticed the time with some shock; it was only a quarter to eleven. So much for going to bed early, she thought to herself. In the kitchen, she crossed to the cabinet and got out a simmer pot, setting it on the stove, before grabbing the milk out of the refrigerator. She poured about two cups of its creamy whiteness into the pot, she placed the pot on the burner and set the stove to minimum heat.
As the milk began to warm, she opened the cabinet, pulled out the powdered cocoa mix, and added it to the milk, stirring until the mixture took on the appearance of a dark, heady chocolate. Reaching for a cup with one hand, she turned the stove off with the other and grabbed the handle of the pot. She poured the hot cocoa into the cup and set the pan back on the stove.
Moving to the end of the cabinet, she pulled out a bar stool and sat on it, stirring absently as she reviewed the dream which had awakened her. It wasn't all bad. There were parts of it that were wonderful, in fact. She could write a book from the love story imprisoned in that dream. Why did she think of it as being an imprisoned love story?
Jessica had been born with a gift; the gift of second sight. She had always had the ability to predict the future and see things before they happened. And she'd always had crazy dreams about a past that was impossible for her to know, with a being that could never have existed. The dreams, when they came, always filled her with a deep-seated joy, as if she was coming home to a place where she had always belonged.
Parts of the dream, however, were very disturbing, evil things that haunted the lovers. Smiling a little, she thought if it weren't for the man in her dream being a vampire, she'd think maybe it was a past life memory.
She smirked, shook her head, saying to no one in particular, "I don't even believe in all that crazy stuff." Her expression grew sad. Parts of this dream existence of hers were so real and compelling they left her soul longing more for the reality of her dream world than for the dream of her real one.
* * * *
Lillian walked down the darkened garden path feeling an uneasy kind of excitement. She had known him now for over six months. He came out of the darkness one night to offer his help in springing her uncle's traps before another innocent animal became its victim. Tired of seeing all the carcasses of the creatures her uncle trapped for no reason other than the sport of it, she had started making nightly trips into the forest behind her uncle's keep a few months before she had met him.
She shook off the chill that struck her at the thought of her uncle and continued walking, pulling the cape tighter around her shoulders as she secured the hood atop her head. When Shameer first made his presence known to her, he had very nearly frightened her witless. But they had become fast friends and he had joined her every night since that first, though in the beginning she had been wary of him.
Because of the reaction most men had to her, she had learned never it was never wise to trust them fully. Even her uncle had a habit of looking at her with lust in his eyes at times. She had learned early on in their relationship to avoid being alone in his company. Rolling her eyes toward the heavens, she thought of how many times she had been thankful for being able to bolt the door to her bed chamber.
Even so, she still sometimes had the feeling he could enter her room when he chose, and that he did. Sometimes she roused, feeling as if he had been there just moments before, looking down on her as she slept. As she hurried down the path now, she closed her mind to the nagging thoughts of her uncle; she was on the way to her love.
The man she knew, cursed or not, was her soul's mate. She had grown accustomed to having him to come to. When he told her of the news of his leaving, how he planned to go away without her, she had felt as though something good inside was gone out of her.
When she told him of her forced engagement to Sir Ravenmoore, Shameer had offered to take her with him. Now here she was, rushing to meet him, so he could take her away from the fate of a loveless marriage. Being forced into an arranged marriage such as the one her uncle had made, to someone she couldn't like much less love, was something she couldn't even fathom. To be a woman in this century gave an unfair advantage to the man. They decided what a maid wore, what behavior was acceptable, whom she could marry . . .
At the turn of the stars, they could ruin her as well. A woman could not show her affection without the holy union of marriage. If she did so and was found out, she was frowned on at best―or even killed for her infidelity or cast out and left to starve, at the mercy of the wolves and the elements.
Lillian pondered why it was acceptable for men to have as many lovers as they saw fit, and even to brag about it. Why did it not soil their reputations, especially when their actions undoubtedly were the cause of many a poor girl's undoing?
Cursing the era she had been born into, she looked up at the stars. Someday, she thought wistfully, women will be just as important to society as men. She debated asking Shameer to bring her across to his ways, to live only at night, never to see the light of day. The thought was appealing in some ways, but for all eternity? She wasn't sure she had the strength or the courage to watch every mortal she loved die.
* * * *
Jessica jumped as the phone rang, knocking the stool over as she reached for the noisy intruder on her private reverie. "Hello?" she said a bit breathlessly into the receiver.
"Hey wench! Are you asleep?" the voice on the other end asked. It was Chelsea, her best friend and fellow Wiccan. They had been friends all through high school, and when Jessica had found out Chelsea's mom was a practicing witch, she had asked to be tutored along with Chelsea in the way of the Wiccan path.
Neither girl actually followed the craft in a devoted way, although they both had unique abilities. They used crystals for meditation, and Chelsea gave tarot readings out of her mother's Wiccan Way Book Shop. Chelsea was a master of spells, while Jessica's talent had always been her powers of precognition. Sometimes Jessica could read through people's lies to know the truth.
"No," Jessica answered, moaning. "I was for a while, but . . . I had another one of those dreams."
She could almost hear Chelsea shake her head. "I can't seem to get rid of this energy. Want to go out?" After a pause, she asked, "One of those dreams? That means you dreamed of your vampire, right? Man, Jessica, you could write one heck of a romance."
Jessica shrugged, "Nah," she said simply. "I'm not writer material. I don't have the patience," she added absently before asking, "So, what did you need?"
Chelsea giggled, "I don't need much, just some music, a dance floor, some cute dance partners, a pina colada, and a girlfriend to go with me. Are you game?"
Eyebrows lifting, Jessica asked wearily, "And if I say no?"
"You could never refuse me, could you?" Chelsea replied with her own question. "Come on, silly, let's go dancing." There was an impatience in her tone that told Jessica her friend would go whether she did or not. "You know you want to," she added.
Jessica sighed. It was dangerous to go out by yourself, especially where Chelsea wanted to go. Sixth Street was a fun hang out, but you just didn't go out there alone, not when you were a pretty, young woman.
Jessica sighed, "Don't you have to work tomorrow?" Maybe she could talk her out of it.
"Yeah, so?" Chelsea laughed off the question. "Since when has that ever stopped us before?"
Jessica groaned, but knew her friend had a point. They had gone out and stayed out all night before when they had to work in the morning. Oh well, she thought, it wasn't like she was going to get any more sleep tonight anyway. "Okay, give me half an hour," she said.
Chelsea giggled. "Great, I'll just walk on over. Open the door for me."
Jessica frowned, asked, "Don't you have your key?"
Chelsea cleared her throat before replying, "No, I lost it . . . sorry."
Jessica let her jaw come unhinged; she shifted her weight to one foot and started to smart off, then thought better of it. That was the fourth key she had given Chelsea. Finally, she said, "That is the last key I am giving you." In another instant, she saw the key in her mind's eye and added, "When you get your car back, look in the driver's side floorboard!"
Chelsea blew Jessica a raspberry over the phone and complained, "I hate it when you do that! I can't get the car back till next week! It's in the shop."
Jessica put the receiver back in its cradle and threw her now cold cocoa down the drain. She grabbed the pot and poured its ingredients in the sink as well, then rinsed the pan and the cup and turned them upside down on the drain board. Before heading upstairs, she flipped the lock so Chelsea could get in and thought how many times she had been so astonished at her friend. Chelsea was worshiped by men, who actually threw themselves at her. For the life of her, Jessica couldn't understand why. Sure, her friend was beautiful, but it wasn't as if she were some sultry sex goddess. Stop that, she scolded herself inwardly. Chelsea was very beautiful, and even Jessica had to admit it.
Back upstairs, the cats looked at her expectantly. "Oh no, you don't," she told the felines. "It isn't time to eat yet. Go back to sleep." Then she opened her closet, surveyed her wardrobe, and selected a pair of jeans and a black tank top before she tossed her sweats to the bed. Sabbath, her black cat, pounced on it while Neeka, the calico, watched with her usual disinterested air of boredom.
Jessica pulled her pants and tank top on, then the sheer blouse she always wore over the tank top. Having dressed with a minimum of forethought, she went to the bathroom to apply a light film of makeup. Satisfied with her look, she walked back into the bedroom. She wasn't surprised to see Chelsea on the bed petting the cats. "So, what took you so long?" she asked with a sideways grin.
Both the cats purred contentedly for Chelsea as she stroked their fur. She looked up at Jessica, said, "Ohh, girl, you look good."
Jessica smirked. "Yeah right." She knelt and pulled on her boots before standing back up to survey Chelsea, who was dressed in a soft pink silk blouse and a black mini skirt with matching black boots something like her own. "So do you," she told Chelsea. "Ready to go?"
Chelsea nodded. Setting the cats aside, she stood and dusted the cat hair off her skirt. "Bye, kitties," she mewed to them as she left the bedroom.
Jessica looked from her friend to the cats. "Traitors," she said with a smile to the cats, who both seemed content to clean themselves at that moment. "Keep the bed warm for me."As she walked down the stairs, she prepared herself for the night ahead as she headed out the door and toward the car. As they drove, Chelsea bombarded Jessica with questions, "So, was this dream any different?"
Jessica tilted her head and thought about it before answering, "Not much different from the others," she answered. "It was another one of those dreams where I was someone else, and in love with a vampire who took my breath away." She smiled in Chelsea's direction before adding, "Sometimes though," she sighed, "sometimes it just feels so real."
Chelsea pondered what Jessica said about the dream. "Maybe it was; in some other realm of existence, it was?" she offered, her eyes searching her friend's face. "Vampires don't exist here, but maybe they do in some other dimension, and you are in communication with the soul of the other girl?"
Jessica made a face and asked, "But why would I see these dreams I have in first person if that were the case? Wouldn't I just be an observer?"
Chelsea considered that, then nodded, "You're probably right. But it is a nice dream, for the most part, right?"
Jessica parked the car and locked it when they got out. As they walked to the club, she found herself wishing the vampire lover was real, at least on some level.
* * * *
About two hours later, Jessica sat looking around the bar. Utterly bored, she wondered how she had let Chelsea talk her into coming here . . . again. She never felt comfortable in places like this. It was just a sea of lonely, unhappy people, looking for someone to share a meaningless and usually disappointing night of sexual immorality, so they could brag to their co-workers about it the next day and then forget it.
Not that she didn't like sex. Or at least, she liked the kissing and playing that usually led up to sex, but since she was a twenty-six-year-old virgin, she was still a little sketchy as to how she felt about the deed itself. Her inexperience, coupled with the fact that whenever she had gotten into a sexual situation, she always got these weird premonitions about how the relationship of the moment was doomed. The feeling not only had the effect of ending the sexual contact cold right there, but it put her out of the mood and generally axed the entire relationship as well. Face it; it was bad enough to know the sex was going to suck before it even happened, but to see how and why the relationship was going to fail? Why bother?
She sulked down at her pina colada as she stirred it yet another time and thought about her last failed attempt at a relationship. That one had been a joke, and not a very pleasant one at that.
He had actually been an interesting person, if you liked sadomasochism. He relished talking about how, when their relationship evolved, he was going to initiate her into the rites of sexual slavery. She cringed even now at the thought of how she would look―let alone feel―kissing a man's boot while he whipped her with a stick. Did people really get off on that kind of thing?
The one time they had been making out and he decided to spank her with the heel of his hand on her bottom, she had seen images of him spanking another woman in her own bed when she had let the creep stay in her spare room for a week because his apartment was being fumigated. After Jessica had left for work the next morning, he had called the other woman, and they had played in her bed. What kind of freaky sick dude was he, anyway? And why did she always draw that kind of man to her?
The thing that still bothered her about that one was, she hadn't known about it at the time it actually happened, but just incidentally saw it nearly a month later. She shook her head. She supposed a man had to have a mind before you could read it. Face it, some women just weren't meant to have a man. She had resigned herself to being one of them.
Her eyes moved to the dance floor, focusing on Chelsea, who was dancing provocatively to the music with a man that was extremely attractive as well. Jessica watched with a growing tension as the two of them moved as one, longing to be held like that made her feel empty inside. Men seemed a lost cause to her. It wasn't that she didn't like them; on the contrary, she was very attracted to the opposite sex. Yet, as was evidenced by her sitting alone while her friend was surrounded by at least five different guys at a time here in the club, they clearly must not be attracted to her.
Oh, what a joy to be invisible, she thought wistfully. She always had been so inconspicuous she might as well be part of the furniture. When her friends had dates back in high school, Jessica had been a wallflower, more interested in her studies and in graduating than in boys. Since the boys who sought her out were the class rejects and nerds, it was no wonder she had no dates to speak of. Of course, there were a few of them she had actually liked all right as friends, but thinking of any of them as a boyfriend, the sexual energy or chemistry was always lacking, sadly.
They were always plenty turned on at the prospect of being with her, but more times than not, the only part of her that turned, was her stomach. She shook her head as she watched how Chelsea enjoyed being surrounded by the men dancing around her. Chelsea was like a fish, swimming happily in a sea of men and loving every minute of it; she thrived on it.
Suddenly, Jessica found herself wishing she could be more like her friend. Why should Chelsea always have all the luck, she asked herself, even if she was gorgeous? Chelsea had always been the beautiful, popular one. Her eyes were a celestial blue even the sky itself would be envious of; so different from Jessica's brown ones.
Their hair, on the other hand, was not that different. Jessica's was a dark shade of rosewood brown and fell in soft waves past her waist. Chelsea's was only somewhat shorter and almost as wavy, with auburn highlights throughout.
Biting her bottom lip, Jessica found herself wondering what Chelsea had that she didn't. Her look of thoughtfulness turned to one of slight disgust as she answered herself silently, a smaller butt, that's what! She rolled her eyes at the thought and stood to go to the restroom, but when she turned, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
Her power of premonition hit her full force with the face of the man from her dream. The vampire lover she knew so well from her dreams was there―in the bar, and he had seen her. In her mind's eye, she could see the look on his face. It mirrored her look of shock and confusion.
She searched instinctively for the gaze she felt burn through her clothes all the way down to her skin, leaving her feeling naked, but she was still completely unprepared when her eyes at last met his. It was him. Although she had seen it, she still had dared not believe it. Jessica felt her heart start to swell. She found it suddenly hard to breathe. Minutes passed as they simply stared at one another. Neither moved; neither's gaze wavered. Jessica felt as though he were caressing her, though they stood a world apart, across the room from each other.
She wanted his touch. More than anything, she wanted to feel his hands on her. Visions of lying beneath him naked as she had when she had been Lillian in her dreams took her breath away. Ashamed of the turn her thoughts had taken, her cheeks flaming, she turned and fairly ran to the restroom.
* * * *
Shameer sat stunned, his heart hammering heavily in his chest. He didn't know why, but something within him was inexorably drawn to her. Unable to stop himself, he rose to pursue her. This feeling was by far the most intense perception he had felt in over a hundred and fifty years. In more than a century, no woman had even kept his interest for more than a day, and even then, they hadn't had this effect on him.
Now, in no more than an instant, this woman had not only captivated him, but had set his body and his very soul on fire to boot. This was not what he had planned. He had been going to find a lady who was perhaps lonely herself, offer her company, and perhaps have a mindless fling. This was not a girl he could do such a thing with.
This girl was one who called to his innermost heart. She was the one he knew he could not walk away from. He knew he should stop. He knew to follow her was against every rule he had set for himself since Lillian's death. But he was completely unable fight the force that drew him to her; his pace quickened. He had no choice but to follow her and follow, he would.
* * * *
Standing in front of the mirror, Jessica wet her hands in the sink, and then used one to dampen her forehead and the back of her neck. When she stood again to her full height, she stared into the mirror's depths, close to tears. It's just in my head, it is just my imagination, she told herself. This was not one of her premonitions! She was just imagining things from that crazy dream. He just resembled the man in her dreams. That wasn't Shameer. It couldn't have been. There was no way humanly possible. Shameer was a vampire, and vampires didn't exist.
"There is no reason for you to act so stupid," she scolded herself aloud. "He's just another pretty face." She nodded at her reflection in the mirror, trying to believe what she said. "Yeah, that's it. Just another completely, surreally gorgeous man, probably out looking to get laid."