Vacation with a Vampire & Other Immortals (4 page)

A
nna struggled to open her eyes, but they seemed to resist her efforts. It was no surprise. She had a lot more trouble waking up, and a lot more trouble
staying
awake, lately. She seemed to be becoming almost nocturnal. The sun’s energy was just too much for her slowly weakening body, she supposed. Hadn’t Mary told her that would happen? The essence of nighttime was so much softer, easier to take. Even on the boat, she’d…

The boat…

Her sailboat!

Her eyes flew open wide, and she sucked in a breath so sharply that it hurt her chest. Her arms flew out, hitting something that clattered to the floor, and she pushed herself upward all at once. And then, slowly, her wide-open eyes showed her that she was not in the ocean, fighting to keep her head above water, being battered by the waves and the storm. No. She was warm, and she was dry. The surface beneath her was soft, and the room around her, one of utter beauty and…peace.

Odd, that she would think that, but that was what it felt like to her. Peace.

The walls were red-brown wood, full of swirls and knots. There was a small cobblestone fireplace on one of them, with a rounded opening, and a glass screen in front. There were flames dancing and heat flowing. Huge windows lined the room, but they were all closed off now, by dark shutters from the outside. There were a few pieces of furniture, all apparently made of raw wood-slabs and coated in thick gleaming layers of shellac. Someone had attached legs to them to create tables, backs to create chairs, added cushions to some for relaxation. The one she rested on was a sort of fainting couch, she thought. She was lying on a brown plush pad, and matching pillows were tucked between her body and the wooden back, which was, she thought as she tugged one of the pillows aside, gorgeous. Hand carved to resemble the graceful body and long swooping neck of a swan.

Sitting up slowly, she looked down to see that her hands were clutching a cream-colored blanket made of the same sort of fabric one would use to make a baby’s first teddy bear. So soft. And then she noticed the shirt she wore—it wasn’t her own. It was a man’s tank-style undershirt. White, ribbed. Her arms were bare. She lifted the blanket and saw she had on a pair of men’s boxer shorts.

She tried to remember how she’d come to be here, who had rescued her from the storm-tossed sea that had devoured her beautiful sailboat. Her
Spanish Angel?
But for the life of her, she couldn’t recall anything more than waking in the water, struggling to keep her head above the surface, choking on the brine, and finally losing her battle. Peace had surrounded her as she had gone sinking down. And peace was what she had awakened to just now.

Was this heaven? Did they dress you in men’s underclothes in heaven? Did they heat heaven with a crackling wood-fire?

Maybe. If heaven was, as she had come to suspect through all her hours of pondering and meditation, what one expected it to be, then maybe this was her heaven. A private, cozy cottage, where she was warm and safe and dry. She’d always wanted a cabin of wood, with a cobblestone fireplace. If this were
really
heaven, her cottage would be situated on a beach.

Beside her luxurious bed were a pitcher of water and a wooden bowl filled with tropical fruit. There were figs and nectarines and berries. She didn’t particularly like figs. Would there be figs if this were heaven?

She stared at the bowl and imagined a juicy steak appearing there. Just to test it out. But nothing happened. Where
was
she?

As her senses expanded, seeking more information, she heard no sounds of traffic outside, no horns or motors or sirens. She didn’t even hear an occasional passing car.

She eased the blanket off and sat up straighter, then swung her legs around and lowered her bare feet to the floor. She started to stand, but a wave of dizziness put her right back down. Her head swam, and her body began to complain at her for daring to move at all. Pain pulsed, soft, then more loudly, from her back, from her legs, from her shoulders and one hip. The dizziness became an insistent throb, and she lowered her head into her hands, closing her eyes and moaning softly.

Not heaven,
she thought.
Not even close. I’m definitely still in my body.

“You shouldn’t be trying to get up yet.”

It was a voice. A familiar voice. Deep and resonant and male, with the accent she’d heard so many nights in her sleep. Her angel?

His hands closed on her shoulders, and he spoke again with concern. “Are you all right?”

She lifted her head slowly, expecting…she didn’t know what. A radiant being in white robes with a halo floating above his head?

It wasn’t quite that. But he
was
radiant. And so blessedly, blissfully familiar. His skin was light, for a man who was clearly of Latin descent. Oh, the usual coppery tones were there, but it was almost as if it were backlit somehow. And his beloved eyes… Deep brown eyes like chocolate left too long in the summer sun, and lashes so thick she was almost jealous. Her own only looked that way with the help of mascara and eyeliner. He came by them naturally, just like the heavy brows and the full lips.

“It’s you,” she whispered, and she almost choked on the tears that welled up in her throat. “I really am dead, then. Why does it still hurt?”

His eyes seemed to well up, or maybe she was just thinking that because her own were wet. “No, pretty one. You are not dead.”

Was his voice as beautiful as it seemed? Or was she experiencing some sort of ecstatic state induced by nearly drowning? “If I’m not dead, then…how can you be here with me?” she asked softly.

He frowned, then lifted a hand to indicate the room around them. “This is my home. Where else would I be?”

“Then…you’re not an angel?”

His smile was quick, but restrained, too. A flash of perfect white teeth only partly revealed. “No,
pequita,
I am no angel.”

“But I know you. I do. I know you. We’ve met before. At the lighthouse, before I…” Her head ached harder, and she frowned, pressing her hand to her forehead.

“You’ve been through a terrible trauma. Your mind is playing tricks on you, no doubt.”

“No, I
do
know you. I’ve dreamed of you. All my life, really. When you came to me that night—”

“Your mind is playing tricks on you.”

“No. You knew my name that night. You called me Anna. And I know yours. It’s Diego.”

That seemed to bring him up short. He went still, and his gaze darted away from hers, turning inward, but only very briefly. “I’ve been speaking to you while you slept, Anna. I’ve told you my name several times. But this is the first time I’ve heard yours.”

“Why are you lying to me?” she asked softly.

He met her eyes again, holding her gaze steadily as if to show her how sincere he was being. How truthful. “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. That’s just confusing you now. And it doesn’t matter, anyway, does it? The past rarely does, you know. You are here with me now, safe and sound, and I can get you back to your people just as quickly as you wish. So there’s not a thing in the world for you to worry about.”

She nodded very gently, even while thinking that she had no “people” to go back to, and now no boat and no money.

“You should lie back down. Your poor body is bruised and battered from end to end. You need rest, so you can heal.”

She thought so, too, but didn’t obey. Not yet. “How badly am I hurt?”

“Nothing is broken,
pequita,
and I don’t detect any internal injuries. I think it would be harder on you to make the journey to the mainland in your current state than it would be to just remain for a few days and let your body heal.”

“The mainland?” She frowned and lifted her head again. “Where are we?”

“We’re on my island. I call her Serenity, because that is what she has given me.”

“Your island?”

“Yes.”

“And…you live here with…?”

“With the animals. With the birds. With the ocean waves and the palms and the coconuts. And…with peace.”

“There’s no one else?”

“No. No one else.” He shrugged. “Until now. But I promise you, you are safe with me. I will not harm you. And I’ll take you back as soon as—”

“Can I see it? I need to see it—please.”

“The island?”

“Yes. Please, Diego, I need to see it.”

He hesitated, staring at her as if trying to see more than what she was saying, and she experienced the oddest sensation, as if he were probing her very soul. And then he seemed to make a decision. He bent closer, sliding his arms underneath her body and lifting her up.

“Wait! You don’t have to carry me.”

“You’re in no condition to walk on your own. And it’s not the first time, after all.” She barely had time to glimpse the other rooms in his home as he swept through them toward a large wooden door that seemed to be made from one single board and was completely covered with the images of animals and symbols, like she would have expected to see on some Native totem pole.

He nodded at the handle, which was a wrought-iron ring. “If you would,” he said.

She grasped it and pulled. And the door swung open, revealing…paradise. Stone paths wound in a dozen directions amid exotic flowering plants, the likes of which she had never seen. Orchids, maybe. Birds-of-paradise, perhaps. And others, huge blossoms and tall grasses, all emitting the most beautiful fragrances she’d ever smelled. There was a fire circle in the center of it all, made of stacked rocks, with a bare, sandy patch of ground surrounding it and a chair entirely carved from a tree trunk close beside. Beyond the flowers and paths and fire circle, palm trees stood tall and graceful, along with other trees she couldn’t have named. And beyond those she saw a very large roof. “What’s that?”

“My workshop. I’m building a new sailboat.”

A tiny animal—like a miniature deer—grazed nearby. Its head came up, soft eyes meeting hers, nostrils flaring slightly. But it didn’t run away. It looked at the man who held her, and he looked back. Anna watched his face, more caught up in his expression than the odd little animal. He looked at it the way an adoring father looks at his child. He loved it. He smiled at it, and she looked back at the tiny deer as it returned to grazing. Something moved in her peripheral vision, and she glimpsed a peacock strutting along one of the winding paths that led into the forest, its long tail dragging behind.

She looked and looked and looked. And the more she looked, the more beauty she saw unfolding beneath the nighttime sky, that was clear and glittering with stars. And then, slowly, she swung her wide eyes to his again and asked, “Are you
sure
this isn’t heaven?”

D
iego was both pleased and troubled by her reaction to the haven he’d created. Pleased, because it gave him pride to share what he had chosen to surround himself with. The natural beauty. The place he’d worked on until it became his idea of paradise. And yes, heaven, because he would never see the real thing, being an immortal. Or if he did, he wasn’t sure he would be allowed in. Weren’t vampires damned?

The only thing his paradise lacked was the presence of other people. But he’d chosen to make it that way. And he’d protected his solitude with every power at his disposal.

But he was worried by her reaction, too, because she seemed to love Serenity Island just a little bit too much. He didn’t want her here any longer than she had to be. And that was a difficult thought to maintain while holding her cradled in his arms, her body resting against him, her arms linked around his neck.

She twisted to look over his shoulder, back at the house, a two-story structure of logs and cobblestones. “It’s like something out of a fairy tale,” she said. “Did you build it?”

He nodded, realized her striking sea-blue gaze was no longer focused on him and spoke. “Yes. Over the course of…several years.”

“But how?” she asked, her wide eyes meeting his once more. “There were lights inside…I saw—”

“I use the sun and the wind.” He pointed with his chin, since his arms were busy holding her. Her eyes followed his gaze to the windmill standing on the highest hill on the island, visible like a sentinel in the distance. He’d had to anchor it in place the night of the storm, but he’d since set it free again. Then he showed her the solar panels lined up on the roof of his home. There were more at the workshop. “Batteries store the excess. I’m never short of power here.”

She drew her eyes from the roof to gaze into his once more. “The world could learn a lot from a man like you.”

“I want no part of the world,” he whispered.

She swallowed, silent for a moment, searching, and he felt almost as if she were probing his mind the way he had probed hers. But she wasn’t capable of such a trick, was she? She was no vampire. And yet he felt himself erecting a mental barrier to his mind, the way he would do were some strange vampire trying to read thoughts he wanted to keep to himself.

“Where did you get the lumber?” she asked at length. “The stone?”

“From the mainland,” he explained. “A little at a time. All
Maria
could carry in a single trip, and then back for more when I ran out.”

“Maria?” she asked, tilting her head to one side.

The wind lifted her hair and made it dance. He nearly lost himself in watching it.

“My sailboat. The
Santa Maria XIII.
”

She frowned very slightly. “That name inspires about a half dozen questions.”

He looked away. “It’s just a name.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” She waited, but when he didn’t elaborate, she went on. “And you live here all alone?”

“It’s the way I prefer it.” Had he sounded a little defensive just then? He wondered.

“I’ve been doing something very similar myself. Bought a sailboat and set out, all alone. There’s something about being one-on-one with the sea and the sky that just—”

“Nourishes the soul,” he said softly.

“Yes. And clears the mind. It feels…holy. Like a sacred pilgrimage, somehow. Is that how it is for you, too?”

“I…love this island. And I love the natural beings that inhabit it. Every plant and animal and bird. I’m not quite as fond of people.”

She nodded as if she understood that sentiment, but she didn’t elaborate. After a few moments she said, “The sky is so clear now. It’s hard to believe it was so violent only hours ago.”

He carried her to the log chair and lowered her into it, since holding her was so very disturbing. He’d fed, and fed well, hoping to alleviate the natural cravings that he knew would arise in him with her close by. Oh, he couldn’t harm her. But drinking from her didn’t have to harm her. Quite the opposite, in fact. And warm, living blood was so much more enticing than the cold, bagged liquid that usually lined the refrigerator in his tiny kitchen. He’d created it in case of interlopers, to make it look as if an ordinary mortal lived there. No food in the cupboards, but there were dishes.

Since her arrival, he’d moved all the bagged blood to the cooler in the workshop, so she wouldn’t stumble upon it by accident. He didn’t need her knowing what he was—not yet. He wasn’t ready. And she still had time.

Even as he lowered her into the chair, he sensed the warm, living blood pulsing just beneath her delicate skin. Enticing him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d—

Yes, he could. And it was far better if he didn’t.

“It’s been almost twenty-four hours, actually, since your ship was dashed against the barrier rocks offshore,” he told her.

She shot him a quick look, her brows arching. “I slept the entire day?”

He nodded. “Don’t sound so appalled. I did, as well.”

“Well, no wonder, after the night you must have had.” He lowered his eyes. “And I’m not appalled that I did. I do most of the time. More and more, in fact. But I want to know more, Diego. How did it happen?” she asked. “How did you know I was in trouble?”

He pursed his lips and averted his eyes, knowing that the truth would sound unbelievable. She would either guess that he wasn’t quite human or presume he was lying to make himself sound like a superman. And he didn’t like either option. So he chose a third. He lied.

“I was out for a late-night stroll and found you lying on my beach, in the surf.”

“Must have been a shock to you.”

He shrugged.

“So you picked me up and carried me back to your…your home.”

“What else could I do? Certainly not leave you there to die.”

“And you undressed me,” she whispered, her voice going deeper, softer.

“It had to be done. Your clothes were soaked.” He paced away a few steps, then added, “But they’re clean and dry now.”

“I owe you more than I can ever hope to repay,” she said softly. “And I’m sorry to have interfered with your solitude.”

“It’s not as if you had a choice in the matter.”

“Still…I’ll try not to bother you overly much.” She shrugged. “In fact, you’ll probably rarely see me. I’ve become almost entirely nocturnal. There’s something about the sun that makes me sleepy. The night, though…that brings me alive. At least as much as anything can, these days.”

He frowned at her, even while wondering if that was a side effect of having the Belladonna antigen. He didn’t remember it bothering him when he’d been human, but then again, he’d been young when he’d been given the Dark Gift. Twenty-five. She had to be in her mid-thirties, at least. Perhaps even a bit older. Few of the Chosen lived to see forty. They either became what he was—a vampire—or they quietly died. Mostly the latter, since few ever knew the truth about what the antigen in their blood meant, much less knew a vampire they could ask to transform them.

He realized how little he knew about her and what she was experiencing. He wanted to know more, but not now. She looked tired. Weak.

“You’re pale,” he said. “We should get you back inside.”

“But it’s so beautiful out here. Can’t we stay a little longer?”

He tilted his head to one side in thought, then nodded his consent and moved to the fireplace. He’d built it by digging a bowl out of the sandy soil, then lining it with stones so tightly interlocked that it was as if they’d been laid with cement. The surface surrounding it was lined with angle-cut stones in an ever-widening circle. He’d cleared the area around that, as well, so that no spark would ever land and set fire to his haven. Usually he used a domed screen to cover it, for even greater protection.

As a vampire, he had more than one reason to fear open flames. And yet there was something so primal and so pleasing about them that he couldn’t resist. His kind had a love-hate relationship and an abiding fascination with fire. Maybe that came from never being able to see the sun.

As always, the kindling stood nearby, and he bent to work, building a small campfire for her. As he worked, she spoke.

“You don’t have to stay out here just because I am. If you want to go to bed, I mean…”

“I tend to be a bit nocturnal myself,” he told her.

“Really?” She frowned, and he knew she found that odd and wanted to ask why, wanted to dig a little. But she restrained herself with a sigh and moved on to a new subject. “Can you see the ocean from here? I haven’t caught a glimpse of it yet.”

“From the second story you can. But there’s only my bedroom up there. And the bathroom, of course.” With a luxurious tub and shower he adored, and a toilet that had been installed just in case his hideaway was ever discovered. It was a cover. But it was a working toilet. It hadn’t been used since the last time a mortal had set foot on this island. Cassandra. But he wasn’t going to think about her.

“What made you build so far from the shore?” she was asking.

“Shelter from the storms. Privacy from any passing ships that might grow curious. But it’s only a short walk along that path to the beach. And you can hear the ocean from here. Listen.”

She did. He watched her close her eyes to listen, saw the way her senses sharpened, and knew the moment she heard the waves whispering over the beach by the way her entire being practically sighed in contentment. Yes, this place had that same effect on him.

And then her eyes opened again. “I know the full name of your sailboat, but not yours,” she said. “Who is the man who saved my life?”

He rose from where he’d been hunkered by the fire, put a palm flat against his waist and bowed slightly toward her. “Diego del Torres,” he said.

Smiling, she said, “I’m Anna Seville.”

But he already knew that. He’d known it from the night he’d met her, two months ago. It was a name that had been whispering through his mind ever since. “I’m very glad you didn’t die, Anna Seville.”

Her eyes lowered quickly, as if to hide some rush of emotion, and he heard her mind’s knee-jerk response.
I’m dying soon, anyway. I thought I was ready, but now that I’ve met you, seen this place… I’m not sure of anything anymore.

But aloud she only said, “I’m glad, too. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the chance to see this beautiful place, and to meet you. Thank you for saving my life, Diego.”

“You are more than welcome.” He stared into her eyes—and into her mind—for a long moment, then finally decided to say what needed to be said. “And that is true, Anna, despite what I’m going to say next. And I hope you won’t take offense.”

“You saved my life. I think you’ve earned the right to say whatever you feel you have to.”

He nodded. “You cannot stay here.”

She frowned, all the pleasure vanishing from her face.

“A day or two more, yes, naturally, while you recover from your injuries, but once you’re well enough to travel, I will have to take you back to the mainland.”

Her eyes shifted away from his, and she blinked rapidly. “I understand. This is your haven. Mine was broken to bits by the storm. That doesn’t give me the right to horn in on yours.”

He nodded slowly. “I’m glad you understand.” He wanted to say more, but there was a feeling creeping over him, one he knew all too well. “It’s nearly sunrise.”

She seemed to shake off the discomfort—hurt, perhaps—his words had inspired in her and looked at him again. “I want to watch it come up over the ocean. Can we?”

“Sadly, no. I have…I have a severe sensitivity to sunlight, Anna. That’s the condition that has forced me to become…nocturnal, as you put it earlier. And I need to retire soon.”

She blinked, opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I suppose you’ve heard all the vampire jokes you care to by now.”

He felt his eyes widen a little but schooled his expression at once. “More than I care to, in fact.”

“Don’t let me keep you, then,” she said softly.

He nodded. “I don’t think you’re in any condition to walk to the beach to watch that sunrise. Not today, at least. Perhaps tomorrow morning?”

She nodded. “You’re probably right. If I find myself too weak to walk back, I most likely won’t be able to rouse you. If you sleep soundly, that is.” She tilted her head. “Do you? Sleep soundly, I mean?”

“Like the dead.” He said it with a straight face, saw her expressionless reaction last for an expanded moment, and then she smiled.

“I get it. Vampire joke.”

He returned the smile with a wink. “Make yourself comfortable here, Anna. While you were asleep, I stocked the house with fruit and spring water. There are fresh fish in the kitchen if you need more sustenance than that. I caught them for you earlier. Enjoy the day. I’ll see you this evening.”

She frowned at him, but nodded. “All right. Good night, then.” She rolled her eyes. “Good day, I mean. I guess.”

“Just say ‘good rest.’”

“Okay, that, then.”

“Do you want me to help you back inside before I go?”

She seemed to think about it, this involved thrusting her lower lip out just a little, a habit he was already finding he enjoyed. “No,” she said at length. “I’ll stay outside a bit longer. I think I can manage to limp back into the house when I’m ready.”

“Be careful. Take your time.”

“I will.”

He nodded, sensing that she would not listen to him, anyway, and walked away, wondering if his secrets were safe. He’d taken every precaution he could think of to ensure they would be.

He’d done much the same when Cassandra had shown up here, only to learn later that her innocence had been an act, and that she had known what he was from the very start and set out on a mission to seduce him, to use him, to get what she wanted from him and then walk away forever.

And that was precisely what she had done.

It was not going to happen to him again. Not ever.

Not even with Anna Seville.