"You're different, all right, I just haven't figured out what it is yet," said Mercedes White.
Richard Dun smiled, projecting interest and no small measure of charm across the candlelit dining table, all part of the foreplay begun two days ago in his office when they'd met in person for the first time. Their previous phone conversations had been business oriented, but pleasant and professional, a theme that continued during their face-to-face meetings. However, he had been fairly certain there was an extra dimension to Ms. White's warm cordiality that had nothing to do with their finalization of a sales contract. Since the deal was completed she had nothing to gain by continuing to flirt with him; besides, she did not strike him as being a woman who would stoop to such tactics to further her career.
Take it to the basics, old lad, he told himself. She gave off the right vibe, you felt it, and she knows you felt it.
The lady was a stunner with a hell of a brain, and had made a decisive opening move a few hours ago when she suggested dinner at her hotel. It was eye contact and the light touch of her hand on his that told him something more than mere food might be in the offing, so he readily accepted. He'd learned long ago that when a woman took notice, it was best to lie back and enjoy the ride.
In every way.
"What is it you do besides sell successful oil companies to larger firms?" she asked.
He was reasonably sure she wasn't all that keen to hear his autobiography. Even a short summary would take days. "Well, if I'm very fortunate I get to take an outstandingly beautiful woman to dinner."
The flash in her eyes told him he'd said the right thing and then some.
A sleek waitress in the hotel's corporate colors came for their order. Richard dealt with the ritual, asked for what he assumed would be the right wine for the meal, and refocused on Mercedes.
Who was curious. "No dinner for you?"
He gave a deprecating smile. "I'm cursed or blessed with an odd metabolism. Sometimes I don't eat for days." Or even centuries.
"That is odd. What do you call it?"
"An easily ignored distraction." Eye contact, a smile. But there was no need to press the point, she got that a subject change would not be out of place. "You've not had much chance to see Toronto, have you?"
"I learned how to correctly pronounce Yonge Street and Spadina Avenue and did some shopping in Eaton Centre, but no real tourist stuff."
"Not even the CN Tower?"
She made a mock shudder. "Just looking at it makes me dizzy. I prefer my heights to be less in your face. Have you been up?"
"Oh, yes. It's a fantastic view, especially when you stand on the glass floor and look straight down. Puts you in perspective about the builders."
"They have my respectful admiration. From afar. At ground level."
"Will you have time for other things besides shop? There's a lot to do around here."
"I've a morning flight out."
"That's too bad."
"It need not be." Eye contact, a smile, and her hand touching his across the table. "There's lots to do even when one sees only the hotel."
Indeed. No mistaking that message.
If later asked about their conversation, Richard would not recall a single word; his focus was on her dark eyes and dusky skin and how they hypnotically contrasted with her short silver-white hair. It was too light to be natural, of course, but he liked the effect and wondered if she bleached it as a not-so-subtle mnemonic to coincide with her last name. Perhaps if things continued well he would discover just how far she carried out the peroxide treatment.
Mercedes was from Texas, one of the CEOs of an oil company to which he'd just completed the process of selling his own comparatively small operation, Ahryn-Hill. The actual contracts and details had been hammered out by their respective lawyers; she was here to finalize the signatures. Richard put his current name on an inordinately high stack of papers (in triplicate) which were then swept away by yet another lawyer for God knows what purpose. He had the vague idea the accountants would have a turn with them. Fine. Richard's last business ties to Texas were severed, his former employees retaining their jobs without the threat of being sacked by the new management, and the shockingly high profit he'd made would go into other investments and a generous trust fund for his godson.
With all that out of the way, he and the lovely Ms. White were able to shed their executive roles and resume being consenting adults with free time on their hands.
Out of necessity, since he wasn't dining, Richard carried a bit more of the conversation load, allowing Mercedes to eat in peace. He kept things as light, neutral, and amusing as possible. She seemed unconcerned over telling him all about herself, which was refreshing. Most Americans couldn't wait to share things with strangers they'd never divulge to their therapists. He had only the general knowledge that she was divorced and sufficiently recovered from the trauma as to have no need to recite a litany of her ex's faults.
Of course, he did have the passing thought that she might be more than she seemed. In his long and checkered past he'd come under official scrutiny from a number of governments and private interests, some of which were not above using attractive women to ferret out information. Mercedes wasn't the type, though, for even the best, most careful of operatives will give away their training sooner or later. The lady was exactly as represented; single, available, and looking for recreation.
She turned down dessert, preferring to linger over her second glass of wine. "It think I've figured it out," she said.
"A plan for world peace?"
"You. Your difference from other people. Other men, I mean."
He spread his hands slightly. "Please tell."
"It's many things. For one, you have patience."
"That makes me different?"
"Yes. It's a very rare quality in these circumstances. There have been times when I've shown a man this level of attention and he takes it as a done deal and can't wait to stampede into bed. That's told me he's less interested in me than he is in having sex, and I just happen to be the means to provide it. Confidence is one thing, but assumption is quite another. You have the confidence, but seem perfectly willing to continue letting me seduce you at my own pace. Which tells me you have regard and respect. I like that."
"I'm delighted." He was a touch nonplussed as well. He'd been a happy participant in the countless variations of the games of seduction for a very, very long time, and there were always surprises to be had. Mercedes was certainly one of them.
"I am too. My being frank hasn't put you off."
"It's refreshing."
"And a two-way street. I only ever want to be with a man who's...enthusiastic...about me. Anything less...well, a girl can just tell."
"Ms. White, you have my undivided attention. And if it pleases you, you will continue to have it for as long as you wish."
"You won't mind if I test that out?"
"Not at all."
A slow smile from her, very white teeth against her naturally dark skin, lovely lips. "Well, then."
An elevator ride, a sedate walk down a carpeted hallway, she was very collected until she swiped the electronic key to her room the wrong way. A cool and calm woman, but deliciously stirred up inside. She reversed the plastic card without fuss, the little light on the lock flashed greenrather symbolic, thatand they were inside. The room was dark, the curtains wide, showing a slice of Toronto from ten stories up and gray night sky. The distant streetlights gilded everything in a warm yellow sheen. His eyes adjusted to the dimness so it was like day to him, but Mercedes navigated more slowly, not bothering with the room lights. Out of long habit he listened for surrounding sounds that might indicate what other hotel guests were doing in their respective accommodations, but all was silent. Apparently they had this part of the floor to themselves for the present.
"Shall I order up champagne?" she asked, slipping off her heels.
"Only if you want some." In the insulated hush of the room his sensitive hearing also picked up the low thundering of her heart, the quickening of her breath.
"What I want, Mr. Dun..." She faced him, getting between him and the view. The faint radiance from the window touched her white hair, frosting it even more, yet her skin remained rebelliously dark. She barely came to his chin, how was it that she had such long legs? Her hands slid up his chest to loosen his tie. She did so smoothly and even got the top button of his shirt freed without choking him.
"Yes...?"
"I want you to help me break the damn bed."
Well, put like that
He obligingly swept her up.
Their initial encounter did not damage hotel property, though it wasn't for lack of trying. To compensate, they made quite a mess flinging their clothes about. Once committed, Mercedes held back nothing. She seemed to have an excess of energy to burn, but not to the point of foolishness. When the time came she produced that which was needed for their mutual protection in these sad modern times, but it was not such as to detract from the build of a roaring momentum. Richard chose not to mar the moment with explanations about his various immunities and joyfully got on with things.
Mercedes acted and reacted to his touch in a most gratifying manner. He responded to her in kind, one thing leading to another in the ancient dance that brings male and female to merge and be whole for a few precious moments.
It was then that he caused Mercedes to discover what else there was that made him different from other men. Her resulting cries might well have disturbed their neighbors had any been around to hear. In the dimness she'd not seen the change coming over him, but as she breathlessly exhorted him to press harder, as the throes of her climax began to engulf her, that's when he buried his unnaturally long corner teeth into the hot velvet of her throat. He broke fragile skin, swiftly, efficiently, and drew strongly on her heat, her life, actually tasting her ecstasy as it flowed through her and into him.
God, but it was incredible, triggering his own explosion.
Her responsea mirror to hiswas...dynamic. Her body arched violently under him with a sudden strength nearly a match to his own, her hands holding him in place as he rode her, her voice gone rough as tearing silk, first urging him on, then failing, then rising to a suppressed shriek, until she lost all control.
He kept his. Barely. It was more than enough on every level and for every sense, but he was careful. Too much of a good thing and he could hurt her. That would not happen. But he took himself to the dangerous edge, for she seemed to demand it; he was more than willing to provide. She'd all but ordered him to split her in two. It had been a long time since he'd been with this exigent and vigorous a partner.
Richard held fast to her, prolonging their climax, and, after considerable lingering in that exultance, gradually bringing them down. With some women, if he ceased feeding without that adjustment period, they could go into a kind of light shock. Nothing injurious or lethal, but alarming. And preventable. Besides, it was another aspect of their shared pleasure, a way of drawing it out for that much longer. There are other means to descend from a mountain peak than taking a headfirst fall. He knew he'd gotten it right when she slipped into a light doze. The long sigh of her breath and slower heartbeat told him all was well.
He lay back in the tangle of pillows and sheets, weary and invigorated and thoroughly sated at the same time, and counted his blessings. His goddess had ever been generous, particularly in providing him partners.
Some of Richard's past liaisons were disastrous, some desperately euphoric. He had played the games of each new generation, seduced, was himself seduced, with any number of variations in between. At times, turn-upon-turn, it could be glorious or appalling, frustrating or extraordinary, too ridiculous to bear, too beautiful to endure, but for the most part, wholly wonderful. He had literally bedded thousands of women over his long life, going through the forms of love, more often than not falling in love, again and again, for good or ill, year upon year, centuries of it.
And for all that...it just never got old.
He lay half curled around her, savoring her warmth, not quite asleep, when she wakened and slipped from the big bed. He felt the firm touch of her lips on his naked shoulder, an affectionate signature perhaps, before she padded off to the bath. That was nice. Women were so very, very lovely.
She wasn't long, not to his reckoning, but then his time perception was also frequently different from normal humans. After fifteen hundred years of walking the night, it'd be strange if it wasn't.
He used the pause to gather his clothes, draping them more or less over a chair, and troubled to pick up her no-doubt designer dress and do likewise. For safety's sake he located her discarded heels, kicking them well out of the way. Tripping on those lethal things was just too ignominious. Not that her own bare heels weren't deadly enough. His calves were quite bruised from where she'd dug in with them.
By the time he'd sorted the sheets into a semblance of civilized order she emerged warm, clean, patted dry, and powdered smooth from her shower. Without a word, only smiling, she came over and pushed him back onto the bed. Chuckling, he let himself sprawl crossways on the wide mattress, and she climbed on top of him, the heat from her skin radiating onto his own.
Her scent was delightfully and unexpectedly that of baby powder.
"Isn't it my turn to shower?" he asked as she hovered over him, looking intently into his face.
Mercedes bent low, lips against his neck, nuzzling sweetly with her tongue. "After," she said when she worked up to his ear.
"But"
"After. You smell like a man. I want that."
"Absolutely, whatever youah" Damn, that tickled. The insatiable houri had turned into a playful imp. Laughing, they wrestled a bit until the tempo changed and kissing began in earnest. His lips brushed the wounds on her throat once more. The nerve endings there were still sensitive, and she gave a strong involuntary tremor from his touch, almost a climax in itself that left her panting.
"Whatwhat is that you do?" she wanted to know. Her dark eyes were sharp, very aware. He knew the love play would go no further until she got a reasonable explanation. Or an unreasonable one.
He gave a deprecating shrug. "I'm a vampire, that's all."
What a look on her face. First the disbelief, a short laugh for being teased, then the dawning of comprehension that he might, just might be speaking the truth.
"But don't worry about it." There was enough light from the window for her to see him clearly. He fixed his gaze on her until her eyes dulled. "You'll forget that part. Forget it completely and only remember the rest. In the morning you'll ignore what you see here..." He touched her throat, tracing his fingers lightly over the fresh wounds. She shuddered again in reaction, gasping. "Ignore them, and remember this."
He pulled her on top.
They were slower, more savoring now. Richard liked this almost stately rendering of the dance as much as the wild rutting version. He tasted every part of her, seeking out her distinctive differences from other women, tested and learned and experimented while she did the same. He carried her to a peak several times, hardly needing to drink, and when he did it was naught but a drop or two. More than enough for his own climaxes, certainly beyond enough for hers. It took hours.
When finally she slipped into true slumber, he was near-exhausted as well, but in a good way. A little nap and he'd be fine. Mercedes would likely sleep heavily on her flight home. She'd be vague about the mark on her throat, but very definite on the fact she'd been well and truly bedded.
God, but women were lovely, particularly the confident ones like Mercedes. No fretting about the future, just taking the moment and running with it. Forceful when needed, but still essentially and undeniably feminine.
There was nothing quite like it.
Encounters like thisbeing able to make love and feedwere rare for him, especially of late. Usually he had no time to spare for the hunt or opportunities just never occurred. It made him most appreciative when they did happen. It had been a long time since he last combined the two. These nights he usually he had to separate his fleshy pleasures from his feeding, taking nourishment on the fly from women hypnotized into complete unawareness of the act. Satisfying to his appetite, but emotionally sterile, which annoyed him.
Seeking alternatives against a dearth of prey or lack of time to hunt, he'd necessarily explored the alternative of storing human blood since the invention of refrigeration. The early decades of that type of technology had been uneven in terms of success. Lately, as in the last fifty years or so, he'd enjoyed a certain consistency acquiring and keeping expired stuff from local blood banks. Cold blood was never quite as good as that taken living from a vein, but it served, saving him time and the inevitable frustration from constant casual, and even wholly one-sided encounters.
Perhaps I need to un-busy my life.
He'd done that frequently in the past, shedding complications that stole time from other needs. Certainly this sale of one of his companies could be counted toward such an end. There was no reason why he couldn't strip away a few more. Money wasn't an issue, it was time.
Richard wanted more of it. Though himself ageless, he'd touched his own icy mortality on several occasions in the last few decades. That business with the Grail, in particular, had set things off. Since then he'd gotten the feeling that there might, just might be an ending to his life.
Not from age. The face in the mirror when he shaved was ever the same, for good or ill frozen at thirty-five. He recalled when that had been considered old. He'd been ready to die then. On the night of his first and worst defeat in battle, when he'd lost all, that's when Sabra of the Lake came to him and changed everything. She'd taken his blood and replaced it with hers. Passing on the dark gift of the Goddess she served changed his world, that, and her boundless love.
He'd been so young then. And innocent, compared to what he knew now, extraordinarily, dangerously innocent. Events and experience in a harsh world eventually had their way with him, destroying and eating bits of his soul, even as new layers formed under the scars to restore what was lost.
But when he was with Sabra that feeling of youth and innocence was born anew. Sabra, the one woman with whom he could utterly lose himself, his constant star to companion him through the centuries. Linked by ties of blood and passion she was his lover, mother, sister, and friend at once and forever.
Well...not forever.
She was mortal now. Fully human. Fragile.
Though still youthful looking she had but an insignificant span of time remaining. Unless her Goddess gave her another miracle Sabra would be taken from him in only sixty or seventy years, if that long. Not enough. Not fair.
They'd talked about it, but Richard had not really accepted what Sabra saw as inevitable.
As he lay in the dark he considered that the sale of this company might have been his subconscious at work, giving him a start on that which had to happen. There'd been additional reasons, of course, but the possibility was there.
Very well. He would see about ridding himself of further distractions. Life was too short to waste time. Her life. Her time.
There were others as well who needed his whole attention, other frail mortal souls he loved. His godson, Michael, his friend and Michael's adoptive father, Philip Bourland. From them, the circle widened outward to other families and friends. Yes, he wanted to be there with them for as long as they lived.
Mercedes shifted, turning, one arm slipping over him, a smile on her lips.
This too. He wanted more freedom for this kind of sweetness.
He wondered if they'd have time for breakfast before her flight, not that he'd eat, but her companionship was extremely pleasant. Then he wondered if he could simply take some days off to fly down with her. He hated planes, but she'd make the misery worth it. Perhaps he'd take a week, give himself a break from the winter snow. He'd cut his business ties in Texas, but still maintained the penthouse flat in that outrageous pyramid building in Addison. Mercedes would enjoy a visit to New Karnak. He'd see to it.
Richard drifted gently into sleep, exhausted, yet superbly satisfied in every sense, wrapped close around Mercedes, her warmth and scent soothing him. What a woman.
Not long after he became aware of leaving her and trudging in a strange Otherside landscape. Here the pyramids had stepped, not smooth sides, and their purpose was not to preserve life but to end it. The scent of blood was everywhere, soaked deep into each stone and the very earth under his feet. He sensed it came not from past battles, but violent sacrifice. The guardians and gods of this place were dark. Countless thousands had bled to feed them, making them strong. It was a terrific distraction, but something drew him toward a tall structure in the near distance. Though it was night and safe for him, there were lights playing at its top, bright as suns. He thought they must be important, that he should investigate.
Around him were the remnants of a black and blasted forest. The tree shapes were twisted, as though they'd died in agony from their burning, but he smelled no smoke or charring, only blood and baked stone. A sere wind dried his lungs; flying sand flayed his exposed skin. He shielded his eyes with one hand, trying to see through the dust. Ahead came a boom like ugly laughter, and in the sky he glimpsed hideous creatures thrashing about in frenzy. Darkness and lightning fought for supremacy of the sky.
What in hell's name was he doing here?
He became conscious of other presences close by, other...people? They were like columns of pale light, and there was a stillness about them, but more like the patience of waiting than inherent tranquility.
He could almost discern faces in their glow, and they seemed familiar. Who was that? Michael? Another looked like the boy's mother, Stephanie, who was dead now. That one over there... Bourland? Impossible. He was as pragmatic as they come. Why would he be on this Side of things? Standing next to Sabra no less. She was in her element in a place like this.
He looked to her for an answer, but she gave no sign of being conscious of him, only looked past him to something else.
Richard understood he was in a dream, so it was all right to walk unafraid here. Otherside matters were Sabra's domain, though. If he remembered this one upon waking, he'd certainly tell her about it.
Ahead of him, huge even at this distance, was the tall structure, a pyramid looming out of the obscurity of spinning dust. It had nine large steps to the summit and was topped by a kind of block-shaped building. All the uproar was centered there. He walked toward it, struggling against the wind, which dipped and eddied in powerful gusts. The other...people?...seemed to come with him en masse like an army, but they suddenly ceased to be of importance. He stopped at the sight of a gigantic snake that was half flowing, half floating down the central steps on this nearside of the pyramid. The thing's head was as large as the enormous stone ones flanking the stairs, with a body proportional to that impossibility.
"Oh, Lady, what have we to do here?" Richard muttered, trying to quash his justified alarm.
His Goddess deigned not to reply, and he wished very hard for a sword to materialize in his hand. To hell with that, he wanted a rocket launcher loaded with an explosive warhead. None appeared, dream or otherwise, and still the monster rolled toward him. Running would be futile. Its many-colored scales flashed like fiery gems in the uneven light; the storm had torn its proud feathered crest to tatters and apparently the thing was wounded. The damage was clear but the bright glare oozing from the savage gashes in its flesh was like no blood Richard had ever seen.
The hinged jaws opened wide, but no sound came forth, drowned by the vicious, howling storm. Arching up, it looked directly at Richard, then turned toward the pyramid.
Two figures were struggling at the top in front of the blocklike structure, a stocky man and a tall woman, her red hair flying in the wind like flames. There was a keen silvery glow about her, even as a concealing shadow seemed to envelop the man. The maddening gale echoed their fight.
The man got the upper hand and held the woman's limp body close to his own, but facing outward. He was speaking to her. She looked groggyuntil her gaze fell on Richard and kindled with recognition.
He thought he heard her call him by name. The voice, her form, familiar, but how...
The snake turned back on itself, returning to the top of the structure, moving astonishingly fast for something that size.
Not fast enough.
The man raised the woman's body high overhead, then hurled her strongly away, but instead of striking the stone steps, she was caught by the storm and lifted. She fought feebly against it.
As did the snake. When it rushed up to her the hurricane wind seized that vast form as well. They spun in a ghastly dance. To Richard's horror, the thing wrapped itself around the woman in one gigantic knot. There was no way she could survive such a crushing, but apparently she lingered. Between the coils he glimpsed her face and one arm out flung toward him, her lips framing his name.
For an instant only. A blackness tore open one whole section of sky in a silent explosion, and both were pulled toward it. The snake tried to thrash clear of the trap, but could not hold its prey and still escape.
The howling eased as though drawing breath, and that's when he heard Sharon Geary's voice, clear, unmistakable.
Richardhelp me!
It was a terrible wail, straight out of hell.
Cut short. She and the snake vanished abruptly into the darkness, which then vanished of itself, folding and refolding into nothing.
They were quite gone.
Richard Dun jolted awake.
Heart hammering, he sat bolt upright in bed, sweat-soaked and trembling, so out of breath his chest hurt.
"What's wrong?" Mercedes sleepily asked from her side.
He stared at her as though she was a phantom come to haunt him. The shreds of the dream were just a little too close about him yet.
"Richard?"
Help me.
Sharon. God, what's happened to her?
"Hey, what is it?" Mercedes roused from sluggish curiosity to concern. "Bad dream?"
He nodded. He couldn't quite speak yet.
She made sympathetic sounds and held his arm, which was rigid as steel. Her comfort was wasted. What he'd experienced was far too intense to have been anything but an Otherside vision. He'd had only a few of those in his long past, and they never boded well. Was it a portent of what was to come, or something that had already happened?
Sabra would know. He must call her...
Mercedes groaned when his cell phone trilled, muttering a curse about modern times. He'd switched it off. How the devil had it
Ah. Sabra. She had a way around barriers, whether they were magical or electronic.
"Sorry," he said aloud to Mercedes and quit their bed. What time was it? Bloody late. He fished for the tiny phone in his discarded overcoat and fumbled the button.
Sabra's voice on the other end, saying his name. Relief washed over him, but not for long. She sounded very shaken.
"Richard, did you see?" she asked without preamble. She could only be speaking of one thing. Though no longer sharing the dark gift of vampirism, Sabra still retained the other talents bestowed on her by the Goddess.
"Yes. What does it mean?"
"I saw you in the vision, standing ahead of me. You saw the snake god?"
"That thing was a g" He bit off the word, mindful that Mercedes was present.
"Yes, a powerful one. He mostly sleeps, but some catastrophe has stirred him."
"What would that be? The storm?"
"The one who caused the storm. I know that something great and terrible has taken place. Until now I've only had hints that trouble might be afoot, that someone's at work disrupting balances. Whoever is causing the disruptions has been very careful to shield them and himself. I didn't know things were this bad. He got careless this time."
"You know it's a man? The one we saw?"
"That could have been a cloak of skin used as a disguise, but yes, it was male energy, but don't ask me how I know."
"What about Sharon? Was that real?"
A long pause from her. Not good, not good. "Sabra...?"
"Richard...I'm sorry. What we saw were Otherside events that have happened already."
"Oh, God. You're sure?"
"Yes."
"But" There could be no argument against it, though. It took a moment to master himself. He pushed the pain hard away.
"I know you loved her," she said in the old tongue.
He could make no reply to that in any language, though he almost felt Sabra's own love for him humming through the cell, offering comfort.
"Sharon is lost, but not in vain. The man behind it, his protections were shattered when he fought with her. She gave us that much. The vision was a warning. We have a chance to find him"
"What do you mean 'lost?' Is she dead?" It was like a fist in his gut to say the word.
"I-I don't know."
This uncertainty wasn't like Sabra; she was always self-assured.
"Are you all right?" he demanded.
"I'm...afraid."
His mouth went dry. Sabra was never afraid. Not for herself, anyway. "I'll come right over."
"No, meet me at Philip's house. They were both in it. This may involve Michael."
"In what way?" Any threat to Michael...Richard felt the creep of fear up his spine and ruthlessly stifled it.
"His ability with visions. We must talk first. Eight o'clock at Philip's?"
"I'll be there." Richard hated going out in the sun, but some things were better done under its face. He rang off, turning to Mercedes, who had clicked on a bedside light. She'd heard his side of the conversation.
"Something very bad's happened." She spoke it as a certainty, not a question.
He swallowed. "Yes. A close friend...some sort of accident. I have to leave."
"Can I help?"
"No. It'sit's bit of a family crisis."
"I'm sorry. But if you need anything..."
He could tell it wasn't a shallow offer given out of politeness. She meant it. "I appreciate it, but I..." This was terrifically awkward.
She seemed to know his thoughts. "HeyI love that you're a gentleman, but it's an emergency, so go already."
He felt a sudden, intense, and instant adoration for her. "Thank you."
"E-mail me later, though, so I know you're all right."
"I will."
"I just hope things are better than you think they are."
As do I, he thought, reaching for his clothes, his hands not quite shaking.