Vacation with a Vampire & Other Immortals (7 page)

“Not all of it.” She lowered her head so that her curls fell damply across her cheek, then peered up at him from behind them with a sheepish grin. “I fell asleep
then,
too.”

“Well, then, this will please you doubly. How about watching the moonrise instead?”

She frowned. “But it must be nearly…”

“Midnight,” he filled in. “But it’s a half-moon. They rise at midnight, set at midday, more or less. Very predictable, the moon.”

“Yes, I love that about Her.”

He lifted his eyebrows at her personification of the luminary, but other than that, let the comment go. “How quickly can you get dressed?”

“Five minutes.”

“That fast?”

“What’s to take time with?” she said, lifting the towel from her shoulders and using it to rub her hair. “It’s warm outside, so there’s not a lot to put on. Not to mention I’ve barely got any clothes to choose from, so making a selection won’t take long.”

“Well, we can remedy that. I noticed a few colorful items washing up on the shore, near where the boat’s docked. Probably your clothes. Go on, get ready. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

He turned to go, leaving her to it. And he wondered why he’d proposed what could be construed, he supposed, as a romantic evening together. Why would he put himself through that, take that risk, just because she had stopped herself from invading his privacy? Was it really all that impressive that she had managed not to do something that almost anyone would see as rude and unacceptable?

Given his experience with women in the past? Yes. It
was
that impressive.

“H
ere we are.” He nodded toward a tipped-over log that lay on the beach, just where the palm trees met the sand.

They were in a different spot from where she’d fallen asleep earlier. They’d circled the shoreline a little bit farther and come to a cozy cove where he’d built his own private dock.

“You can sit right there,” he told her. “I’ve found that the log makes a comfortable back-rest.”

But she didn’t sit. She was too busy staring at the small sailboat tied to the pier he’d built in a tiny inlet where the water was shallow and mostly still. It was a small sailboat with a large motor attached, though its sails were tightly furled at the moment. The name
Santa Maria XIII
was painted in a beautiful, old-world-style script across the stern. She wondered about that
XIII,
even as she experienced a pang of longing for her own lost vessel. The feeling faded, though, as she noticed colorful items littering the shoreline. Frowning, she pointed. “Are those…?”

He smiled. “Your clothes and belongings have been washing up all evening. I spotted them earlier but wanted to check on you before coming down to gather them up.”

“You spotted them…all the way from the house?”

“The workshop.”

“That’s a long way to see—especially in the dark. You must have very good eyesight.” Suddenly her theory was seeming less and less ridiculous. Could he really be…? She couldn’t even think the word.

“Excellent, in fact—particularly my night vision,” he said.

She tried to hide her look of…well, shock, she supposed. Her crazy supposition was seeming more and more possible. To avoid his probing eyes, she started forward toward the debris on the shoreline, but he held up a hand. “I’ll get them. You should rest.”

“I’m fine at the moment, Diego. But thank you.” She walked with him, and as the frothy surf washed over their bare feet she bent and began gathering up items she’d thought were long gone. A bikini top, no bottom in sight. A pair of denim shorts. A couple of tank tops and a T-shirt. She picked them up one by one, wringing them out as best she could and then draping them over one arm. She located one tennis shoe. A lot of good that was going to do her, she thought, when she failed to find its mate.

“It’s better than nothing, though,” he said, speaking as if in response to her thoughts. That was, of course, impossible.

Or was it?

When they’d picked up everything, she found herself closer to the little dock, and she studied his boat for a moment. “It’s small,” she said. “But nice.”

“Wait until you see the new one,” he said proudly.

“Don’t tell me. The
Santa Maria…XIV?
”

He smiled, but didn’t confirm it.

“Have there really been thirteen other boats, Diego, or does the number mean something else?”

“I…are you sure you have all your clothes?”

“Just how long have you been here, Diego?”

He averted his eyes. “A long time.”

“And you only go to the mainland…what did you tell me? Once a month?”

“Once a season, if I can manage it. But if supplies get low, I sometimes have no choice.”

“I see. And when was the last time you went? For supplies, I mean.”

“Just this past April. I was—” He stopped there, then began again. “Or it might have been March. I don’t really keep track.”

But she knew it had been April. April 10. The day she’d received her death sentence and gone to the shore to process the news. The day she’d met her guardian angel. And he’d been there, too. She knew it now for sure. She’d known it as soon as he’d said April, and he’d seen her know it, and then quickly tried to cover—to change his answer. But it was too late, and he knew it.

“It was you I met, you I kissed that night, wasn’t it, Diego?”

He met her eyes again, held them. “Don’t be ridiculous. How could it have been?”

She shrugged. “I guess you must be…some kind of…supernatural being. You spoke to me mentally. You knew my name. You heard me crying out for help on the night of the storm. Didn’t you?”

He lowered his head, saying nothing.

“How would it hurt you to tell me the truth, Diego? I’m dying, remember?”

He heaved a great sigh, then turned to focus on his small sailboat. “So what do you think of her?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I think she shouldn’t be in the water. You don’t leave her there all the time, do you?”

“Of course not. Only when a trip is imminent.” He looked at her. “I put her in earlier tonight.”

She blinked, afraid to ask why, but he answered, anyway.

“You’ll be well enough to leave soon.”

Was it too soon for her to ask him to let her stay? No. No, it was the right time, but she hadn’t worked up enough courage to do it yet. Gnawing her lower lip and trying to compose a rational argument in her mind, she began walking through the warm sand, back toward the log where he’d suggested they sit. “I have a confession to make,” she said softly, hoping to work her way up to what she really wanted to talk about.

“And what’s that?”

She reached the log, curled her toes in the sand, then turned and sat down, getting comfortable and eyeing the horizon for the promised moonrise. Nothing in sight just yet, though. “I’m afraid I was a little nosy today. I kind of…looked around the house a little.”

He nodded. “I know. You didn’t go into my bedroom, however.”

She felt her eyes widen. “How did you know?”

He shrugged. “Why didn’t you go into my bedroom, Anna?”

She blinked, still blown away that he had known. “It would have been out of line,” she said softly. “An invasion of your privacy. I just… It was outside my comfort zone, I guess.”

“But looking around the rest of the place wasn’t?”

“No.” She lowered her eyes. “Maybe a little bit.”

“So why did you?”

“I was curious. About you.”

“I see. And did your explorations sate that curiosity?”

“No, not at all. If anything, they only sharpened it. The cornerstone of the cottage says 1965. How can that be, if you built it yourself?” She tipped her head to one side, waiting, expecting him to at least try to formulate an answer that made sense. But that wasn’t what he did at all.

“I’m a very private man, Anna. That’s probably obvious to you.”

She blinked. “Well, yes. I mean, you live all alone on a deserted island. Can’t get much more private than that. But…why? What made you want to live this way?”

He looked away. “I can’t help but wonder what part of the word
private
you don’t understand?”

“You’re being mean now.”

He looked back at her. “Sorry.”

“It was a woman, wasn’t it?”

He rolled his eyes and walked closer, but passed her to bend down near the log. He pulled out a bottle of wine and two glasses, then filled one to the brim and handed it to her.

“Nice,” she said. “Aren’t you having any?”

“Of course,” he said. And then he filled his own glass, sank into the sand beside her, leaned back against the log and pointed. “Look, here it comes.”

She fell silent, though her questions were still screaming in her mind. She shut her lips tightly, determined to enjoy this night to the fullest. Relaxing there, she sipped the wine, which was delicious, and leaned back and watched the moon climb into the sky, lopsided and a bit less than half-formed, rising slowly above the water and sending a long beam outward, like a glowing arrow pointing straight from the moon to this very stretch of beach. Pointing right at her. At them.

“That’s amazing. So beautiful,” she said.

“I agree.”

His words were soft and his eyes, she found when she looked his way, were on her. Not the moon.

“Diego,” she whispered. “I won’t be here very long.”

“I know.”

“And I won’t snoop anymore.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“But I want…” She got lost in his eyes. There was a passion in them that was beyond anything she’d seen before. A desire she’d never seen focused on her. “I want you,” she whispered, even though it wasn’t what she had intended to say at all.

“That would be a mistake,” he told her.

She smiled broadly. “How could it be? I’ve got nothing to lose, Diego. I’m dying. And my guardian angel told me to do exactly what I wanted to do with the time I had left. And what I want to do right now is kiss you. And so I’m going to.”

She leaned up, and he didn’t pull away. Her lips moved close to his, then, boldly, pressed against them. He remained motionless as she slid her hands over his shoulders and around to the back of his neck, then threaded her fingers into his hair and held him to her so she could press harder, kiss deeper.

She felt him shudder, and then he gave in. He wound his arms around her waist and bent over her, pushing her back into the sand so that his body was angled over hers, and then he kissed her. He kissed her like she’d never been kissed before, and every single part of her came alive.

“Diego,” she whispered. “Diego.”

She arched upward against him, felt the hardness of his arousal pressing into her thigh. And then, to her stunned amazement, he rolled away, sitting up, blinking in the night as if his entire being were shattered.

“Diego?” she asked.

He said nothing. She sat up, as well, sliding a hand over his shoulders from behind.

“Please, talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I can’t do this with you, Anna. I know where it’s going to end, and I don’t want to go there again.”

She closed her eyes. “I want to stay here, Diego. I want to stay here, on the island with you, for whatever time I have left in this life. It can’t be more than a month—six weeks at the outside.”

“No.” It sounded as if he had to force the word through a space too tight for it.

“But…but I’m dying. I don’t have anything to go back to. I’ll stay out of your way, I’ll do whatever you need me to do, but please, don’t make me go back.”

He rose to his feet, so that her hands fell from his broad shoulders. She stayed where she was. “You need to leave. And you’re obviously strong enough to do so. We’ll set sail tomorrow night at sundown.”

“Diego, please!”

“Don’t beg, Anna. It’s beneath you.”

“I don’t have a damn thing to lose.”

“There’s always your pride.”

“You’re a hard, cold man, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “I’m going to my workshop for a few hours. I don’t want to be bothered.”

“Fine. You go to your damn workshop, you selfish bastard.”

He walked away, seemingly unperturbed by her parting shot. Anna sank to her knees in the sand and wept bitterly. And she wasn’t even sure why.

S
he sat there in the sand, staring out at the half-moon and drinking the bottle of wine he’d left behind. When she was all cried out, she sat in silence for a while, trying to analyze just what was behind her roiling feelings. They were confused and tumultuous, far from the peaceful, blissful state she’d found while alone at sea.

That state, she decided, had been one of calm acceptance. She knew she was dying. She had made a choice to spend her time on the sea, and she had been enjoying every moment of it.

That was no longer the case, and she struggled to figure out why. Why, for example, wasn’t her dying request to Diego something entirely different? Why wasn’t she begging him to loan her his sailboat so that she could continue on the path she had chosen, to die at sea, maybe sail close to this island again when she sensed the time was near and just anchor offshore, so he could come get his boat when it was over?

That request would have made more sense to her. To him, too, probably. But she had no desire to borrow his boat or head back out to sea. Her only wish was to stay here on this tiny chunk of paradise. And not alone, either. She wanted to stay here with
him.
There was something so…so compelling about him. Something that felt…intimately connected to her. She wanted to touch him, to be close to him all the time, and she barely knew the man. And yet it felt as if she knew him. It felt as if she’d known him all her life.

And loved him even longer.

She was no longer so much at peace with dying. Rather than that calm, blissful state of acceptance she’d felt before, there was now a sense of time running out. A sense of urgency to use what time was left to get closer to him, to this place.

She closed her eyes, lowered her head and sighed. Maybe it was just the approach of her own end making her feel such a wild array of nonsensical emotions. Maybe everyone got all tied up in knots when they knew they were short on time. Of course they did. Why wouldn’t they?

Okay, so she needed to get a handle on this. Probably apologize to him, and maybe try to explain what had led to her outburst. And then she would get back to the task at hand, convincing him to let her stay. Because no matter what he said, she had no intention of leaving. He would have to carry her bodily off this island if he wanted to get rid of her. Whether to tell him that, too, was still up in the air in her mind.

She opened her eyes, feeling better, empowered, calm, resolved, and found herself focusing on a stain in the white sand.

A red stain. Like blood.

It was right beside the spot where Diego had been sitting, on the side of him that had been farthest from her. She frowned, bending closer, wondering if he’d been injured and unaware of it, or—

And then she saw the wineglass, sitting empty on the log, and knew it wasn’t blood. That stain was wine. She bent closer, sniffed. Yes, it was wine. He’d poured himself a glass, but as her mind replayed the events of the past hour, she realized she had never actually seen him take a single sip of it.

And in her mind she heard the actor Bela Lugosi in the role that had made him famous, saying, in his thick Romanian accent, “I never drink…wine.”

“Oh, come on, Anna,” she said aloud. “Just cut it out, already.” And yet her eyes were glued to that stain in the sand.

She shifted her gaze to look out at the moonlight beaming down on the water, as perfectly beautiful as if it were the backdrop on a movie set. And her mind kept on taunting her.
He’s nocturnal. He said so himself. And you’ve certainly never seen him in the daylight.

“He hasn’t seen
me
in the daylight, either,” she argued.

No food in the house. And not just curtains on the windows, but heavy drapes, and window shades, and shutters to boot.

“Just because he doesn’t like the sun, doesn’t mean…”

You’ve got to get a look inside that bedroom.

But then her thoughts ground to a sudden halt, as she heard him cry out in what sounded like pain. She was on her feet, turning toward the path back and even starting forward, before she realized she hadn’t heard the shout with her ears.

She’d heard it with her mind.

And she felt it still, that sense of him, hurting and in distress, ringing in her head, a feeling, not a sound. She was compelled to go to him. She dropped her wineglass beside the empty bottle in the sand and ran.

He’d been careless. Angry, frustrated, stupid and careless. Because he wanted so very badly to believe her when she told him she wanted to stay on this island…to stay with him. But he’d been told the same thing before. By a woman in the very same circumstances.

He’d taken his angst out on his work, and now the circular saw lay on the floor, its teeth clinging to bits of his flesh, and his forearm was gushing blood at a pace that would kill him in very short order.

“Oh, my God! Diego!”

And then she was there on the floor beside him, and acting without any kind of hesitation or panic or delay. She looked around, assessed the situation and sprang into action, grabbing a box cutter from his workbench and quickly slicing the power cord off the saw. Kneeling beside him, she wrapped the cord around his arm, above the gash, then knotted it once, tightly. Getting up again, she grabbed a big screwdriver and laid the blade atop the cord, then knotted the cord again over the blade to create an instant tourniquet. She twisted the screwdriver, tightening the cord around his arm, and he couldn’t help but cry out in pain.

She shot him a look—and he saw tears welling in her eyes. One spilled over and rolled slowly down her cheek. “Don’t die,” she said.

He couldn’t look away. “I…tend to bleed like…like a hemophiliac,” he explained. “It’s not going to clot.”

“I’m the same way,” she told him, wonder at that in her eyes, and then she pushed her questions aside. “I can stitch it up.”

He shook his head. “The pain—I have a very low threshold for pain.”

“Then what? We can’t just leave the tourniquet on indefinitely. You’ll lose your arm.”

“What time is it?”

“What earthly difference does
that
make?”

“Please…”

She shrugged. “About three-thirty, but I’m only guessing.”

“Two hours, then.”

“Until what?”

“Sunrise,” he told her.

She looked at him sharply, holding his head in her lap now. “And what happens at sunrise, Diego?”

He averted his eyes, but he’d heard the knowing in her voice. She’d either known what he was all along or she was beginning to figure it out. “If you can help me back to the house, get me to my room, I’ll be fine.”

“Before sunrise, right? I have to get you to your bed before sunrise? And then you’ll be fine?”

“Yes.”

She tipped her head to one side, staring at him, and he saw her deciding not to press him for the truth. Not now, at least, when he was in imminent danger from a cut that shouldn’t have been all that serious. And
certainly
shouldn’t have bled as much as it had. He saw her looking at the amount of blood on the floor around him, and he read her thoughts almost without trying.

“You’re going to have to tell me sometime,” she said softly. “But at least now you won’t be in any condition to make me leave tomorrow night.” She pulled his uninjured arm around her shoulders and got to her feet, helping him to rise with her.

His knees nearly buckled beneath him, and she got a better grip around his waist and said, “Diego, this is worse than it ought to be. It’s not that bad a cut.”

“It’s the blood loss. And the pain. If I make it till morning, I’ll be all right.”

“Right. If you make it till morning.” He looked bad. He looked worse than bad, he looked near death, she thought.

They walked—stumbled, really—together to the house, and she got him inside. Somehow they managed to get up the stairs, and at his bedroom door he paused, leaning on the wall as if it was all he could do to remain standing.

“Key…in my pocket.”

Nodding, she thrust a hand into the pocket of his khaki trousers and felt around, finding the key and pulling it out, and quickly unlocking the bedroom door. Then she helped him inside, into utter blackness.

“I was dying to get a look in here,” she told him. “But not like this.” Her attempt at levity fell flat, though. They shuffled forward through inky darkness, and then he fell onto a bed that she hadn’t even seen. She leaned over him, feeling around to get her bearings. She got him straightened out as best she could. Then, holding her hands in front of her, she made her way back to the open door, guided by the light that came from beyond it, and found, as she had expected, a light switch just inside the doorway. She flipped it on and turned for her first glimpse of his bedroom.

And then she blinked, because it was just an ordinary bedroom, with one notable exception. “There are no windows,” she said softly. She looked at him, lying there on the bed. “Why are there no windows, Diego?”

He didn’t answer. He was lying still, and his skin was startlingly pale. She hurried to the bed, climbed onto it beside him, kneeling there, her hands on his shoulders. “Diego? Diego, just tell me what to do—please.”

He opened his eyes to mere slits. “I…need…”

“What? Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you. Just tell me. Diego? Diego, what is it?”

He stared at her, trying hard to keep his eyes focused, she thought, but she could see the pupils dilating and contracting over and over.

“I’m dying,” he said.

“No! No, Diego, you are
not.
Tell me what to do.
Tell me.
”

He tipped his head back as his eyes widened in a burst of pain and his mouth opened wide, and she saw his incisors. She jumped from the bed, moving backward away from it, but only three steps. And then she stopped herself, swallowed hard, stood still, staring at him. “My God, it’s true. I’ve been thinking it all night, but I just didn’t think it was possible. You’re…you’re…”

“A vampire,” he whispered. “But you already knew, didn’t you? Isn’t that why you came?”

She frowned. “You’re talking crazy now. It’s the blood loss, I guess.” She swallowed and moved close to him again. “You saved my life, Diego,” she whispered. “And I know you’re the one who spoke to me that night so long ago. It seems like forever. But I know it was you. You’re the reason I took what time I had left to do what I wanted. You’re the reason I’m even here.” Lifting her chin, she nodded once, firmly, unsure whether he was even hearing her. And it didn’t matter. She was talking mostly to herself, anyway.

She moved to the bed, put one knee up on the mattress, then the other, and leaned close to him. “I’m dying, anyway. I have nothing to lose. Take what you need, Diego. Take it from me.”

He opened his eyes and met hers again, and his were glowing now, glowing from somewhere within, glowing and sort of…feral. It was frightening, and yet she couldn’t look away. Lifting her hand, she reached behind her head to pull her hair around to one side. She slid her other hand beneath his head to lift it gently from the pillows as she bent even closer. His cool lips brushed against the warm skin of her neck. Taking a breath, then another, she closed her eyes, bracing herself. His mouth parted, and his hands slid upward to gently cup the back of her head. Then his grip turned fierce, and he bit down with a growl that reverberated right to her soul.