Vacation with a Vampire & Other Immortals (2 page)

D
iego leaped easily from the gleaming hardwood deck of the
Santa Maria XIII
onto the pier without need of a gangplank. He didn’t own a dock of his own on the mainland because it was fairly important he not show up at the same coastal port town too often. This one was in the mishmash of peninsulas and islands along the blurred edges of North and South Carolina, where it was often tough to tell which state one was technically inhabiting. He’d used it before. The closest town was Kendall, but this long public access pier was beyond the town limits, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing much to mark it besides one of the most beautiful lighthouses he’d seen. Tall, black and white, simple, but elegant and solid. It seemed as permanent as the rocky peninsula on which it stood. And far more elegant than the man-made walking path, pretty park benches and manicured flower gardens that surrounded it.

He’d tied his sailboat securely and knew she would still be there on his return. It wasn’t often he ventured onto the mainland. He viewed doing so as a necessary evil, a task he performed as seldom as he possibly could—about every three months or so. And even then, only by dead of night, when he was far less likely to encounter humankind. He preferred the smell of the sea to that of their sweat and their sex and their fear of all things unknown. He preferred the innocent perfection of nature to the mistrust and cynicism of man. Part of nature…once, yes, man had been that. But he’d veered so far from natural that he no longer qualified. He was all but a machine at this point. He’d lost his connection to his mother.

They would call
him
unnatural, he supposed, but in his own mind, Diego was the most natural creature he could imagine. Not that being a vampire made him naturally good. Some of his kind were as bad as the humans were. Some were worse. Far, far worse.

He walked in silence along the pier, hating that the energy of peace, of blessed harmony, was slowly being overcome by the raucous and unnatural thoughts and emotions of the world of man. He’d tried his best to prepare for the mental onslaught, but, as usual, he’d failed.

He felt anger and rage. Couples arguing, men fighting, parents shouting at their children. He felt the despondence of the homeless and the cravings of the addicts. He felt the fear of the innocent, not yet cruel enough to hold their own among the melee. He smelled the chemicals and exhaust in the air, and he wished for nothing more than to complete his task as quickly as possible and return to his haven, where none of that existed.

And then he felt
her.

He’d reached the landward end of the pier and stepped from it onto the little path that meandered past the lighthouse. She wasn’t far from him—a few dozen meters at most—and her emotions were overwhelming her. They were mixed, but the most prominent among them was sadness. And in spite of himself, he tuned in to her above all the other noise in his mind. He focused on her and listened in, and he heard the thoughts racing around in her head.

My life is ending before it’s even begun…

How can it be true? How can it be true? How can it be true?

What will happen? Is there a heaven? Do I deserve to go there?

Should I do it? Can I possibly be that selfish, even now?

What about Lauren? What about Nate and Cindi?

The kids are going to have to learn to fend for themselves, anyway. It’s not as if Lauren’s capable of taking care of them.

They’re adults. They’ll manage. God knows I did.

I deserve some happiness.

I don’t have much time left.

I could just go. Just buy the boat and go…

God, it would be so beautiful. So peaceful. So restful.

How can I be so selfish?

He frowned, pulling away from her jumbled emotions and telling himself it was none of his business, anyway. Turning, he started to walk in the other direction, toward the town and the victim he would take tonight. A criminal or an abuser or a thug. No one worthy of using up this beautiful planet’s precious resources. Like lancing a boil, removing one of those. He was performing a service. And he only allowed himself the pleasure a few times a year, when he came in for supplies. The rest of the time, those supplies were his sustenance. Stolen from one of the various blood banks, clinics and hospitals that were his usual sources.

He was running low on supplies out on the island. It was time to restock. And while dealing with humans and their world full of misery was something he dreaded, he had to admit that he looked forward to the taking of a live victim on these quarterly excursions. There was nothing quite like the rush of warm, living blood—not to mention the power of it.

Dying. Dying. How can I possibly be dying?

Her thoughts stopped him again, and he turned once more, gazing along the shore, spotting her. She was on the same path as he was, on one of the benches, but farther out on the long finger of the earthen pier, near the tall lighthouse at its tip. The sentinel stood impassive, as always, its black barber-pole stripe flawlessly twining upward, to the sunlike yellow glow at the top. He loved lighthouses. Perhaps because they were as close as he would get to ever seeing actual sunlight again, aside from that reflected in the mirror of the moon.

She was sitting on a stone bench, the lighthouse at her back, her gaze on the sea. He sniffed the air and caught the scent of her tears, of her skin. The soap and cologne she used, the shampoo.

He should stop right there. He should not notice anything more about her. Because what he had already noticed was tugging at him. She was dangerous.

Like Cassandra had been. Cassandra, who’d come to him at the end of her mortal life, knowing exactly what she intended. Making him fall so deeply in love with her that he would have done anything for her. Anything.

And then destroying him once she got what she wanted. When all the while, all she’d had to do was ask.

No, he wanted no part of any beautiful woman in misery. But then, just then, he caught the scent of something else about this weeping woman. Her blood.

And it was unlike the blood of most mortals. It held the antigen that made her…a relative of his, to put it most simply. She possessed the rare Belladonna antigen. Just like Cassandra had.

Hell, she was one of the Chosen. That made her doubly dangerous to him.

Mortals with the antigen were the only ones who could ever become what he was. Vampires sensed these special humans and were compelled, often to their own detriment, to protect and watch over them. For a vampire to harm one of the Chosen was, it was said, impossible.

He’d only encountered one other. The woman who’d brought him to his knees with a heartache so crippling, he’d vowed there would never be another. And that alone made him want to leave this one to her suffering. She likely deserved it, anyway.

Again he tried to walk away, knowing now, at least, why her emotions outshouted all the other mental energies wafting on the airwaves this night.

And again his steps halted and he turned in her direction. Compelled, like a feline by the scent of catmint. Every instinct in his body was telling him to help her, to ease her pain, to go to her—while every thought in his brain told him the opposite.

He could not resist going to her. He couldn’t.

Sighing, vowing that he would only speak to her briefly, be of help if he could, and that then he would leave and never so much as
think
of her again, he followed the twisting path to the bench where she sat, still weeping.

He stood over her, looking down at her. She lifted her head, sensing him there, but didn’t even gasp in surprise. Her eyes narrowed. But she said nothing.

She was beautiful. Utterly beautiful. Auburn curls, wild and thick, falling over her shoulders, and huge blue eyes that seemed to reflect the soul of the sea itself. Her skin was pale already, and she had a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, spilling just slightly onto her cheeks.

And in spite of himself, he felt her pain so sharply and so keenly it nearly brought tears to his own eyes.

“There cannot be anything so dire as to make a woman as beautiful as you are weep this bitterly.”

She blinked. “I’ve just been told I’m dying.”

“We’re born dying, lady. But in truth, there’s no such thing as death. We’re eternal beings, whether we choose to stay or move on.”

Her brows bent toward each other. “I wasn’t given a choice.”

“You will be. When the time comes, you will be.”

Her frown deepened. “How can you know that?”

He shrugged, not telling her that despite his vow only moments ago, he would probably be the one to give her that choice. Not yet, not now. It was too soon. He could feel the life force in her and sensed there was time yet for her. But when the time of her death came, he would return and offer her the choice, or some other vampire would find her and do it. For she gave every sign of being worthy.

Though he’d thought that about Cassandra, too. Blinded by his own treacherous heart.

Not so this time. Not yet. Not if he didn’t let himself be.

He would return, yes, when her time was near, and he would ask her if she wanted to live on as one of the Undead. He would offer her that option. He decided it on the spot, which was very unlike him.

She rose from the bench, her eyes staring into his as she blinked her tears away. “What should I do?”

He held her gaze, peering deeply into her eyes, slipping his will inside her mind, and finding it a beautiful place to dwell. Damn, he liked this woman. In her unguarded mind, he poked through all the litter. Obligation. Guilt. Other people’s needs. More guilt. He pushed all that aside and whispered, “Let go, Anna. Let go and show me your truest heart.”

As he whispered the words, he willed her to comply. He saw her eyes widen when he spoke her name, and then he felt her surrender. Her own will melted under the force of his mind. He saw her standing at the helm of a wooden sailboat. He saw her with the wind in her hair and the sea waves beneath her vessel, riding them like a triumphant Valkyrie.

“You want to sail,” he said softly. “You long to be one with the sea and with the creatures who live there, and with the sky and the wind.” It stunned him how much her idea of perfection matched his own. “You need to sell the house and use the money to buy the boat of your dreams.”

“I do?”

“It’s what you truly want.” And with those words, he withdrew his will from her mind, leaving open the trail he’d blazed for her, through all the baggage and useless guilt.

“But what about my sister? What about her kids?”

He blinked at her. “Why do you cling to the need to be needed?”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

He shrugged.

Lifting a trembling hand, she touched his face, then drew her fingertips away. “You’re not real, are you?”

You were put upon this planet to make the most of your life, Anna. To do so, then, cannot be deemed selfish, can it?
His mind spoke directly to hers.

She was looking up at him as if he had spoken aloud, but knowing he hadn’t. Her hair danced on the sea wind, almost as if reaching toward him. Her skin was pale, paler, even, than his own. And her eyes…as blue as the sea. Her beauty was beyond anything he’d ever seen.

Don’t go there, he told himself. Tell her something to help her, and then go about your business and forget you ever saw her. Do it.

But as she stared at him, a smile toyed with the corners of her full, ripe lips. “I’ve dreamed of you, I think.”

“And when was that?” he asked softly.

“All my life.” Her hands rose, one touching the nape of his neck, fingers lingering there, and he felt every point of contact to the core of his being. “That you would come to me now, of all times…”

“I’m just a stranger, passing by and offering unasked-for advice.”

“But you knew my name. And my deepest desires.”

He should have been alarmed at having revealed so much, but he couldn’t seem to drum up a hint of common sense. She was listening to him, and it was helping her. And more. He felt he was touching this woman’s soul, and it was affecting him as much as it was her. Why was that? How could it be?

He whispered again to her mind, eager now to help her and then be on his way, because the feelings swirling inside him were beyond anything he understood, and he needed to be alone to figure it all out.

No loving creator would give a woman desires and then forbid her from fulfilling them. It is not selfish to wish to live your life to its fullest, no matter how long or how short it might be. To do so is sacred. It’s your calling. It’s why you are here. The sin would be to do anything less. I promise you that.

“Are you an angel?”

He smiled at her question.
Follow your heart,
he told her.
It is the guidance you’ve been given all your life. It shows your true north. It leads you true—always.

It was a philosophy he believed in. Admittedly, doing so had earned him the worst hurt of his existence, but it had also led him to paradise. The life he led now was blissful, if lonely. And he wouldn’t have found it without the heartbreak that came before.

He felt her mind gently sliding into agreement, felt peace settling over her like a soft, warm blanket. Like the velvet night itself. He felt her nodding, and even sensed relief floating into her soul.

He had helped her. And now, he told himself, it was time to walk away.

He started to go, but she caught his shoulders in her small, gentle hands, somehow compelling him to look down into her eyes one more time. And then she rose on tiptoe, her lips moving close to his.