Dead Perfect

Her footsteps echoed on the cement floor. Ronan walked without making a sound.



“It’s spooky in here,” she remarked.



“Is it?”



“Don’t you think so?”



“No, but then I’ve never been afraid of the dark.”



It wasn’t entirely dark inside the building but it seemed eerie somehow, to be wandering around inside when the main part of the post office was closed.



She followed him to his box, waited while he opened it and withdrew a handful of letters and a package.



“Anything good?” she asked curiously.



“A few letters,” he replied, thumbing through the envelopes. “The usual junk mail.”



“What’s in the package?”



He glanced at the return address. “Probably my latest book. Nellie Brown always pre-orders a copy and sends it to me so I can autograph it for her.”



“I hope no one ever compares your autograph with mine,” Shannah said.



He grunted softly. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He tossed the junk mail in one of the trash containers; then, taking Shannah by the hand again, he left the building.



He paused outside, his hand tightening on hers as he glanced up and down the sidewalk.



“What’s wrong?” Shannah asked.



Lifting his head, he sniffed the wind, then moved to the curb and looked up and down the street.



“Ronan?”



“It’s nothing,” he replied after a moment. “Let’s go.”



“You’re scaring me.”



“Get in the car.”



She quickly did as she was told. Ronan slid behind the wheel and pulled out of the parking lot.



She noticed he glanced in the rear-view mirror several times and that he took the long way home.



“What was that all about?” she asked when they pulled into the driveway.



He shrugged. “I guess I was being paranoid.”



“Is there another James Bond trailing you?”



“I think so.”



“You’re not serious?”



“’Fraid so.”



“Who?”



“Your friend, Hewitt.”



Shannah stared at him. “I don’t believe you. How could he find me? He doesn’t even know my real name.”



“You said he bought one of my books. My post office box is in the back.” He swore softly. “I knew putting my address in there would come back to haunt me one of these days.”



Shannah glanced out the back window as Ronan cut the engine. “Do you think he followed us here?”



Ronan shook his head. Hewitt didn’t have to follow them. He already knew where to find them.



“I guess that book tour wasn’t such a good idea,” Shannah remarked, and then she frowned.



“Why would he follow me?”



Ronan shrugged, content, for the moment, to let her think she was the one Hewitt was looking for even though he knew better. Hewitt wasn’t looking for Shannah. He was hunting a vampire.



They started their new life together the following evening. Ronan woke an hour or so before sundown. Though legend and lore had it that vampires were helpless until the sun went down, he had found that he could rise before sunset so long as he stayed inside, out of the reach of the sun, hence the heavy draperies that covered all the windows in the house.



He slept in a large room located in the basement. The door, made of stone, had no handle and was virtually invisible to the human eye. A heavy iron bar on the inside of the door ensured that, should an intruder inadvertently discover the entrance, he wouldn’t be able to gain access. The walls were also made of stone, as was the floor, which was covered with a thick gray carpet. There was an easy chair in one corner, a couple of tables, a large armoire where he kept his clothing, a small sink and a shower behind a hand-painted screen, and the bed in which he slept. He had no need for lights.



Rising, he showered and dressed and then went upstairs.



He found Shannah still sleeping. She looked incredibly young and vulnerable lying there, her cheek pillowed on her hand, her hair spread over her shoulders.



Hunger surged through him, and with it the urge to slip under the covers, to draw her into his arms and satisfy both of his cravings.



In the future, he would have to feed before he sought her out. He was about to go in search of prey when she stirred. A sigh whispered past her lips. Her eyelids fluttered open.



“Ronan. Good morn…” She laughed softly. “I guess I should say good evening.”



He nodded. “Why don’t you shower and dress? I’ll meet you downstairs.”



“All right. What time is it?”



“A little after seven.” He hated daylight savings time, when the days were longer and the nights shorter.



Approaching the bed, he brushed a kiss across her brow. It was a mistake. He could hear the slow, steady beat of her heart, smell the blood flowing in her veins. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his lips. The taste of her, the very nearness of her, only increased his desire to hold her, to taste her, to possess her fully and completely as only a vampire could.



“I’ll see you downstairs,” he said, his voice thick, and then he fled the room before his hunger for her blood and his desire for her flesh overcame his will power.



It took only moments to find his prey—a young woman waiting for a downtown bus. He mesmerized her with a look and led her away from the bus stop toward a movie theater on the next block. He bought two tickets and led her inside to a seat in the back row. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he drew her close, taking what he needed while she stared, spellbound, at the screen.



Speaking to her mind, he told her to forget what had happened and remember only that she had, on impulse, gone to the movies.



He returned home quickly and was sitting on the sofa when Shannah descended the stairs.



She was lovely, as always. Her hair fell down her back in waves of black silk, her eyes were bright, her smile warm. She wore a pair of white jeans that clung to her like a second skin and a green sweater that flattered every feminine curve.



“I’m going to fix something to eat,” she said. “Are you sure you won’t join me…oh, I keep forgetting.” She frowned at him. “Why do you eat alone? Are your table manners that bad?”



He laughed softly. “What are you going to fix, breakfast or dinner?”



She frowned. “Well, since this is now going to be my morning, I guess I’ll fix breakfast. Most important meal of the day, you know. Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”



“Not tonight. I think I’ll write for a while,” he said. “We can go out later, if you like.”



“I’d rather stay home. I’m feeling a little tired.”



He looked at her sharply, wondering if it was time to give her a little more of his blood.



“I’m all right,” she said. “It’s just going to take a little while to get used to these hours.”



With a nod, he left the room and went down the hall to his office. Sitting at his desk, he fired up the computer and pulled up his latest work in progress, then he sat back in his chair and stared at the screen, wondering how long he could keep her from finding out who and what he was, and what she would do when she discovered the truth.



And then there was Jim Hewitt, vampire hunter, to consider. It was obvious the man was hunting him. Sooner or later, he would have to confront Hewitt. Most likely, he would have to kill him.



With a shake of his head, he put everything else from his mind and tried to focus on his story, but to no avail. He was all too aware of the woman in the kitchen. Her presence filled his senses. Each breath he took carried the scent of her hair, her skin, her blood, the light flowery fragrance of her perfume, the strawberry scent of her shampoo.



His heart beat in time with hers. His fangs pricked his tongue. His hunger, so recently fed, stirred to life once more. She was here, under his roof.



She was mortal.



She was prey.



He listened to her footsteps as she moved around the kitchen, the swish of cloth against her skin, the clink of dishes as she set the table, the sound of running water, the sizzle of bacon frying in a pan.



And his hunger grew.



Cursing softly, he rose and shut the door, hoping that would help, but to no avail. Had he been blind and deaf, he could have found her in the bottom of a well at midnight. He had taken her blood and given her his. There was a bond between them that could not be broken so long as she lived, a bond that called to him relentlessly, urging him to drink deeply, to drink it all and then give it back to her. To do so would heal her once and for all. It would make her what he was, a creature of the night. Undead. A vampire.



Once again, he reminded himself that she had come to him seeking just such a thing.



As he had so often, he wondered if she would want the Dark Trick if she knew that he could give it to her.



Pushing all thoughts of Shannah from his mind, he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand, frowning as the words that flowed across his computer screen echoed his own internal struggle.



He had been writing for several hours when her knock came at the door.



“Come on in,” he called.



She opened the door and peeked inside. “Am I interrupting?”



“Yes, but it’s a welcome one. I was just about to quit for the night.”



“Good. There’s a movie on TV I’ve been wanting to see. Do you want to watch it with me?”



“Sure.” He saved his work and switched off his computer, then followed her into the living room.



She curled up on the sofa and he sat beside her, scarcely aware of the story being enacted on the screen. His whole being was centered on the woman beside him, each breath she took, each movement she made, each beat of her heart, the way the lamplight shone in her hair, the curve of her cheek, the smooth line of her neck, the pulse that beat in the hollow of her throat.



She laughed at something on the screen and the sound wrapped around his heart like a mother’s love surrounds her child.



He had it bad, he thought ruefully. After more than five hundred years, he was hopelessly, helplessly, in love.