Secrets of the Night Special Edition (108 page)

* * *

A light rain tapped against the window as Stevie tossed in bed. Looks as if I'm not going to get any sleep at all, she lamented, flopping onto her back and staring at the ceiling. Would she ever forget this day . . . and night? Never, not if she lived to be one-hundred. First, her arthritis forced her to quit her job, and then the man she cared for--She groaned and squeezed her eyelids shut. Galan is a vampire, Galan is a vampire. Don't let it be true. But it was.

She should have known not to trust him, not after all the disappointments in her life, when she'd loved and trusted others who had failed her.

Pain and money worries forgotten, she could think of nothing and no one but Galan. Memories of him flooded her mind, all the good times they'd shared in the weeks and months since their first meeting. She remembered his rescuing her from the mugger and driving her home, walking her to her apartment. All those flowers he'd given her came to mind, not to mention the orchids. He was everything she'd ever wanted in a man, but he wasn’t human.

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she recalled his kisses, his touch, his whispered love words. Oh, God, she loved him. Nothing would ever change that. Then why had she spoken to him in such a mean way? His hurt look taunted her, and she'd give anything to take back those awful words she'd flung at him. But what else could she have done? Accept him for what he was? Pretend he was like any other man? If they married--a condition he'd never mentioned--what would he do while she grew old and gray and feeble and he stayed young, as handsome as ever? Sure as anything, he'd tire of her and find another woman to love, a probability she didn't want to consider.

He'd told her he hadn't killed those men, but how could she believe anything he said? She had to believe him, because otherwise, she couldn't handle his guilt. Couldn't take it. Reaching for a Kleenex to blow her nose, she stopped, an idea tugging at her mind. She had his phone number. Funny, she'd forgotten that. She'd call him tomorrow night and apologize for her words, not tonight, though. Her feelings were still too raw. Could they take up where they'd left off, put all these bitter words behind them, pretend everything was normal again?

She could dream, couldn't she?

A million heartbeats later, her tears dried, and she fell into a restless doze. Her sleep deepened, an eerie dream forming in her mind, then--What? ! A touch on her shoulder jolted her from a groggy sleep. Galan! He'd come back after all.

She forced her eyes open.” Oh!” Terror paralyzed her.

A woman with a pearlescent face and long, black hair bent over the bed, her clawlike fingers jerking the blanket back.

"No!” Stevie bolted upright. Who was this creep?

Never mind, get out of here!

The woman laughed, a dry, sibilating sound, sending shivers down Stevie's arms and legs.” Don't try to fight me, for it will gain you nothing.” She smiled, a wicked, evil grin.” I have the power of life and death over you. No one escapes Rosalinda.”

"No one will find you here, not even Galan. No doubt he's forgotten you already.” Her captor's voice echoed within Stevie's cell, where pitch blackness surrounded her, showing nothing, not even the walls.

Stevie's pulse pounded in her ears so hard she thought her head would burst. She shuddered inside her thin blanket as she strained her eyes to see her prison. How had she arrived in this hellhole? God, how? The last thing she remembered was a raven-haired woman by her bed. Then . . . nothing.

"And did you get my name?”  The harsh voice tormented her.” It's Rosalinda.” With long, clawlike nails, she tapped Stevie's arm, a gesture that made Stevie jerk back.” I'm a vampire, like Galan.” She laughed, a piercing, brassy laugh, a shriek that sent chills racing over Stevie's body.

The cell reeked of mold and dead animals, of things Stevie didn't dare think about. Slippery slime coated the stone floors, prompting Stevie to keep her hands in her lap.

The vampiress's pungent scent of musk mingled with the other smells, producing a nauseous mixture that sickened Stevie. Water dripped from overhead, a continual discomfort that added to her misery, chilling her skin and dampening her blanket. Iron bands encircled one wrist and ankle, connected to a long chain that extended to a massive pin on the wall.

"This cell is called an oubliette.” Rosalinda's grating voice continued.” Do you know what that means?” 

Nausea churned in Stevie's stomach, and she swallowed again and again. Her skin turned hot, then cold. She could only stare, not even able to see her captor.

"I asked you a question!”

"No, you tell me,” Stevie said. As if she gave a damn about a French word.

"Oubliette comes from the French word for 'to forget'. A long time ago, prisoners were left in this castle dungeon and simply forgotten.” She laughed, an eerie sound sending shivers down Stevie's arms and legs and making her stomach churn with fear.” As Galan will forget about you, if he hasn't already. Oh, incidentally, I'll let you keep your blanket. Wouldn't want you to freeze to death.”

"Let us have illumination,” the vampiress said, “so you can see my features. I need only touch this torch on the wall, and voila! light!” She cackled with satisfaction as a fire came to life, blazing from the torch.” After all, it's only fair that you should see the one who captured you, the one who will ensure that you die in this prison.”

The smoke burned Stevie's eyes, making them water, but the light revealed her captor's features--the albino skin, long black hair, her hands with their clawlike nails. Diamonds glittered on her ears, neck, and wrists, like gems on a ghoul.

"What do you want with me?” Stevie struggled to ask.

"It's my way of getting even with Galan. We were lovers once, did he ever tell you that?” 

Lips clamped tight, Stevie refused her the satisfaction of an answer. Lovers? Galan and this fiend? It couldn't be true.

"No, of course he didn't tell you, but I have always had a special place in Galan's heart. Oops! My mistake. Our kind has no normal heart, nor do we need one. But you get my meaning. He'll be so happy to see me again.” She ran her fingers through her long strands of hair, thrusting out her full breasts.” The men all adore me, and I've spent far too much time with others. It's driven Galan wild with jealousy.”

She adjusted her gown's low bodice and flung her hair behind her shoulders.” I shall depart now, and when I come back--maybe in a century or two--you'll be nothing but dust.” She screeched, a sudden, unexpected sound that made Stevie jump.

"Farewell!” The witch extinguished the light, leaving the cell as dark as before, with only the stench and slime to remind Stevie of her surroundings.

Shudders shook her body from her neck to her feet as her gaze covered the four pitch black walls of the dungeon. Nausea roiled in her stomach, and she continually swallowed, forcing down sour bile.

Stevie's head sank onto her chest. How had she gotten here? She delved into her brain, tracing every minute from the time she'd gone to bed until now. But she couldn't solve the puzzle. The most important question--how would she get out? Would she get out? She raised her head and glanced around with only a faint hope that a glimmer of light would shine into her cell, but there was no light, not even a damn window. The shackle imprisoned her, the rusty metal scraping against her skin, already making it raw. With her one free hand, she tucked the blanket closer around her, the hard stone floor intensifying the pain in her joints. God, she had to get out of here!

"Help!” A scream tore from her throat, almost inhuman in its intensity.” Someone help me!” Please, please, she prayed, fighting tears, someone help me.

No answer.

With quivery fingers, she reached down to grasp her shackle and jerked it, trying to loosen it. No luck. Stifling her disgust, she felt around on the icy stone floor for a pin, a piece of metal, anything she might use to unlock the shackle around her leg . . . and came up empty. She twisted around and yanked hard with both hands, trying to pull the chain loose from the wall, but it held fast.

Despair froze her blood. She'd die alone in this dungeon. God! She'd starve to death if she didn't die of thirst before then.

She screamed again, screamed to burst her lungs.” Help! Get me out of here!” The sound echoed off the walls, as if to say, You'll never escape.

Suppressing tears, she shifted her position on the frigid floor and tried to think of other matters, anything to get her mind off the prison.

Galan. Only a miracle would bring him back to her. She'd never see him again, never know his passionate kisses, the comforting strength of his arms, the seductive pleasure of his low, melodious voice. She had to admit she loved him, and if she could do it over again, would she have refused him? She didn't know! One thing she did know--she should never have spoken to him so sharply.

Images of him teased her--his chiseled features, the wavy coal black hair and obsidian eyes, but especially, his pale skin. Tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded raw power and pure masculinity . . . but he wasn't a mortal. And he was gone from her life forever.

Painful memories of her father surfaced, of his illegal dealings and their years of estrangement. She wished that somehow she could reconcile with him. Now she'd never have the chance to make up for his misdeeds. She remembered Galan's words at the restaurant. You are not responsible for your father's sins. Easy for him to say.

Her thoughts rambled, her depression deepening.

She'd never again get the chance to help others, never attend the university and earn a degree in social work, never do all the things in life that meant so much to her.

Never see Galan again.

No, don't think like that!

She had to get out of here. She grasped the shackle, but it didn't budge.

She jerked at the chain on the wall. No luck.

God, please save me. I don't want to die.

* * *

Pacing the carpeted floor of his living room, Galan kicked a footstool out of his way, cursing his foolish dreams. How could he blame Stevie for her revulsion, not to mention, contempt? What had made him think she could ever love him, that they would have a future together?

Stevie, I miss you so. There would never be another woman for him. He knew that as well as he knew he'd stay a vampire for the rest of his days.

If only he were human again, to walk in the sunlight and breathe the fresh morning air, and yes, if only he could have Stevie as his wife, father their children, love her as a man was meant to love a woman. To join his life with hers throughout eternity--ah, that would be bliss. If only he had the elixir . . .

* * *

He had to see her one more time. In the early evening darkness, Galan rose from his coffin, every thought on Stevie, each memory a torment. Three nights had passed since he'd revealed his vampirism, hours of painful memories, a time of recriminations. Far better if he hadn't betrayed his true nature, let her think he was mortal like any other man. But no, he had aimed for honesty. He had wagered that she'd still care for him . . . wagered and lost.

Later tonight, he'd visit her clandestinely, as he had in the past. Hours to wait . . .

The moon rode high in the sky when he finally arrived in Stevie's bedroom . . . and found her bed empty! By St. Aidan, where was she? Staying with a friend? Another man? God, no! If she had found another man to love, he'd hunt him down, then tear him apart, limb by limb.

The next night was the same, and the night after that. Worry gnawed at his insides, as a rat chews on a rope, rendering him confused and helpless. If only his brain were clear, if only painful anxiety didn't cloud his thinking, he'd know immediately where she was.

Moloch. Why hadn't he considered him sooner? The fiend had gone back on his word and captured Stevie, damn him to hell! What if the whoreson had already transformed her into a vampire, or worse still, a revenant? He pictured his beloved Stevie as a revenant, a soulless, mindless creature, with no thoughts or emotions of her own, but a robot, made to obey Moloch's orders.

Confront the demon! No time to lose!

* * *

Near death, Stevie languished in her cell, as still as a cadaver. Thirst tortured her. Like a clump of dried leather, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, her lips dry and swollen. Every part of her body throbbed with pain, a deep, stabbing agony like nothing she'd ever known. Too weak to scream, she couldn't even part her cracked lips. Listlessly, she tugged at the chain and grasped the shackle, determined to make one last effort to break free. Both still held fast. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she sobbed dry gasps of pain and despair.

She had to escape.

Galan, she silently cried, please come save me.

But how could he find her?