Embrace the Night

She was too excited to sit in a cafe, too happy to eat, so they went for a long walk in the moonlight, her arm tucked possessively through his.



Once, he paused in the shadows to kiss her brow and she wound her arms around his neck, hugging him close, shamelessly pressing her body against him.



"Gabriel, I..." Sara bit down on her lower lip, wishing she had the nerve to ask him to make love to her again. She was eager for his touch, but, knowing little of men, she wasn't sure if he was plagued by the same restless yearnings that kept her tossing and turning far into the night.



"What is it, cara?"



"I... nothing."



Gabriel gazed deep into her eyes and knew, in that instant, what she wanted. Wordlessly, he pivoted on his heel and headed for her apartment.



Inside, he closed the door, then held out his arms. With a small cry of relief, she stepped into his embrace, sighing as his arms wrapped around her.



"Is it terribly wicked of me to want you so?" she asked, refusing to meet his gaze.



"No, cara mia."



"I couldn't think of anything but you all day," she confessed shyly. "When you left so abruptly this morning, I was afraid I'd done something to displease you."



He shook his head, the anguish in her voice stabbing him to the heart.



"Will you have breakfast with me tomorrow?" she asked tremulously.



"I cannot."



"Why?"



"No questions, Sara."



"But..."



"I mean what I say."



"Will you dine with me tomorrow night then?"



He hesitated a moment, his eyes shadowed with doubt.



"I'm quite a good cook," she said, hoping to reassure him.



"I'm sure you are."



"You'll come to dinner then?"



"If you wish."



She gazed up at him, her blue eyes shining with happiness and love. "Won't you kiss me now?"



Slowly, gently, he lowered his head and claimed her mouth with his own. As always, holding her, touching her, filled him with light, driving away the darkness in which he had lived for so long.



Carrying her into the bedroom, he made love to her with exquisite tenderness, telling her with each heartfelt kiss, each stroke of his hands, each word that whispered past his lips, how much he adored her.



Her love enveloped him, surrounding him with the purity of her heart, the generosity of her spirit. She offered him her love, nothing held back, and he grabbed it with both hands, clinging to her goodness, telling himself that he couldn't be a monster, not when Sara could love him so completely.



He held her in his arms while she slept, his gaze never leaving her face. Her lashes lay like dark fans upon her cheeks. Her lips were full and pink, faintly swollen from his kisses. Her hair fell over the pillow and across his chest like streaks of sunlight. He lifted a lock of her hair and brushed it across his face, inhaling the scent, delighting in the touch of each silken strand.



"So beautiful, so innocent," he murmured, his voice thick with anguish. "Will you ever forgive me for what I've done?"



Her eyelids fluttered open and she gazed up at him, a soft smile curving her lips, her eyes aglow with the love in her heart.



"What have you done, Gabriel, that I should forgive you?"



"I've stolen your innocence," he whispered. "Taken that which I had no right to take."



Her hand reached up to caress the unyielding curve of his jaw. "You didn't steal it. I gave it to you."



"Ah, cara, you have no idea what you've done."



"I've made you happy," she said confidently. "Can you deny it?"



"No."



"I have no regrets," she said, her eyelids fluttering down. "None at all..." And for that one brief moment, neither did he.



He sat at the table, amazed at the abundance of food she had prepared - roast beef, potatoes smothered in a thick gravy, carrots swimming in butter, Yorkshire pudding. Surely she didn't expect the two of them to consume it all!



The very thought of swallowing even a forkful of cooked meat made him physically ill, but he kept his face impassive as she sat down across from him and lifted her glass.



"To us," she said.



"To us," he repeated, and touched his glass to hers.



To spare her feelings, he sampled everything she had prepared and lavishly praised her culinary efforts, and then, as soon as he could, he made an excuse to go outside, where he retched violently.



Breathing heavily, he drew in deep gulps of air, willing his tortured stomach to relax. For one doomed to subsist on a warm liquid diet, a meal of meat and vegetables was impossible to digest.



When he was again in control, he returned to the parlor. Sara was waiting for him, a curious look in her eyes, but for once she asked no questions.



They spoke of the theater, of the weather, which had been unusually clear, of her new understudy, and then, hesitantly, Sara blurted the question that had been troubling her.



"What if I become... with child?"



"You needn't worry, cara. I am unable to have children."



He watched the play of emotions flit across her face: relief at first, then sympathy, then regret.



"Do you wish to have a child?" he asked.



"Yes, of course. Someday..."



"And you shall."



"But how... I mean... I don't want anyone but you."



"I'm afraid you will soon tire of me, cara."



" Iwon't!"



"I think you will. In time, my way of life will begin to feel like a prison, and when that time comes, I shall let you go."



She frowned at him, not understanding. "What do you mean?"



"I like to keep to myself. I don't care for large groups of people, for parties. I like to dine alone." He covered her hand with his. "Forgive me, Sara, I didn't mean to hurt you. I enjoyed this meal with you very much, but the truth remains that I prefer to dine alone. My life is set a certain way, and I find it difficult to change, even for you."



"I'm not asking you to change anything," she said petulantly.



"But you are. Don't you see?"



"No." She stood up and turned her back to him. "I think you're tired of me already, that you're just trying to find a polite way to tell me good-bye without hurting my feelings."



She whirled around to face him, and she looked so young, so vulnerable, he ached inside. Tears shimmered in the depths of her eyes and sparkled on her lashes.



"Is that it? Are you tired of me so soon?"



Rising, he closed the distance between them and took her hands in his. "No, cara, I'm not tired of you. Should we spend a thousand years together, I would never tire of you. Believe that." He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed first one and then the other. "Perhaps I should go."



"No!" She bit down on her lip, and he could see she was trying to gather her composure, her dignity. "I mean, I'd like for you to stay."



"If you wish."



"I don't mean to be a burden to you."



"That you could never be. Come now, dry your eyes."



Obediently, she wiped away her tears.



"What can I do to make you smile again?" he asked indulgently. "Shall I buy you a pretty new frock? A bauble of some kind? Your own opera house? Tell me, cara, what would you like?"



"For you to love me."



"I do love you, Sara," he replied fervently. "I love everything about you."



"Show me?"



With a wordless cry, he swept her into his arms and lowered her to the floor. And there, on the colorful Persian rug in front of the hearth, he made love to her in such a way that she would never doubt his feelings for her again.



Maurice stood in the shadows across the street from Sara's apartment, waiting.



His hands clenched and unclenched as he imagined Sara in her benefactor's arms, willingly surrendering to Gabriel what she so adamantly refused to give to him.



He swore softly. What was there about that man that attracted Sara? Admittedly, Gabriel was handsome in a dark, brooding sort of way. Admittedly, he was rich. He was also suave, arrogant, and sinister.



Maurice shook his head. It was inconceivable to him that Sara was unaware of the latent evil that lurked in Gabriel's hooded gray eyes. She was an innocent, pure of heart and soul. Surely she could sense the danger that radiated from the man.



But days had passed, and he realized that she was so smitten with Gabriel that he might have been one of Satan's minions and she wouldn't have cared. It was the fact that she might be in mortal danger that had finally convinced Maurice he had to do something, that he had to prove to Sara that Gabriel was not the man she thought he was.



But then, Maurice wasn't sure just what kind of man Gabriel really was, or what harm he intended for Sara Jayne. He only knew that there was something not right about Sara's benefactor, and that was why he was standing here in the shadows, waiting.



He straightened, a warning chill slithering down his spine when he saw the door to Sara's apartment house open. A moment later, a tall figure swathed in a hooded black cloak descended the stairs.



Gabriel.



Maurice waited until the man was well ahead of him, and then began to follow him.



It was like trying to follow a shadow. The night seemed to embrace Gabriel like a long-lost lover. It surrounded him, enveloped him, became one with him.



Maurice was running now, his footsteps muffled by the damp grass alongside the road.



And then, as if swallowed up by the night, the man disappeared.



Maurice blinked, and blinked again, unable to believe his eyes. One minute Gabriel had been there, a dark silhouette against the night, and the next he was gone.



A coldness, like that of the grave, swept over Maurice as he turned back toward the city.



"Slow down, Maurice, you're not making any sense."



"I'm telling you, Sara, the man disappeared right before my eyes. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone." Maurice shivered as he followed Sara Jayne into her apartment, carefully locking the door behind him.



Sara made a low sound of exasperation. "Are you trying to tell me you think Gabriel is a ghost or something?"



"I don't know what he is, but he isn't human."



"You're letting your imagination run away with you," Sara chided. "It was cold and foggy last night, that's all. He probably turned a corner and you lost sight of him."



"No!" Maurice grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "Listen to me, Sara Jayne, you've got to stay away from that man. He's evil."



"Maurice, you're hurting me!" She twisted away from his grasp, then stood rubbing her shoulders. "This isn't funny."



"Damn right it isn't!" He took a step toward her, then stopped when he saw the warning in her eyes. "Has he... have you... ?"



Sara glared at him, her eyes narrowed. "Have I what?"



"Never mind, I can see that you have. Why, Sara Jayne? What is there about this man that attracts you? Can't you sense the evil that surrounds him?"



Sara sat down on the sofa and smoothed her skirts. "I think you should go now," she said, her voice coolly polite.



Maurice took a deep breath. "Sara Jayne, please listen to me." He began to pace the floor, too agitated to stand still. "I know you think I'm overreacting, that I'm just jealous because you've been spending so much time with him, but that's not it, I swear! You're in danger. Promise me you'll be careful. Next time he comes here, forget your infatuation with him and..."



Maurice's voice trailed off and he stared at her. She didn't believe a word he was saying.



"I'll see you later, at the theater," he said, thoroughly disheartened. "Please be careful."



She saw Maurice to the door, then stood there for a long moment, watching him walk away. He'd always seemed like such a level-headed young man, his feet solidly planted on the ground. This babbling about Gabriel disappearing in the mist was ludicrous. Evil, indeed! Gabriel had never shown her anything but kindness...



Evil... unbidden came the memory of the peculiar red glow she had seen in his eyes when they made love. But that had been nothing more than a trick of the light...



She had never seen him during the day... But surely a man of Gabriel's wealth was extremely busy. Even on the Sabbath? taunted a small voice of doubt.



With a shake of her head, Sara thrust her troubling thoughts aside, refusing to give heed to Maurice's foolish accusations. Gabriel was no more evil than she was!



He was waiting for her outside the opera house that night. She studied him carefully as they walked the short distance from the theater to her apartment. Elegant was the first word that came to her mind. As usual, he was dressed in black evening clothes. His linen was snowy white; his cravat impeccable. His cloak was as black as the night, and she had the sudden fanciful notion that Gabriel was a part of the night, dark and mysterious. He moved with an unusual gracefulness for such a big man; his steps were incredibly light, as if his feet hardly touched the ground. She would have given anything to be able to move like that.



Her gaze moved to his face. Just looking at him made her smile. He was so handsome. The burns that had once marred his smooth flesh were gone as if they had never existed. There was a ruddy glow to his cheeks. His hair was the color of midnight, his eyes as gray as the storm clouds swirling overhead. And his lips... ah, those lips that kissed her with such mastery, such passion.



She felt an odd little quiver in her stomach as his hand tightened on her arm. Soon, she thought, soon he would kiss her again.



"You're very quiet this evening," Gabriel remarked as they reached her door. "Is something wrong?"



"No. I was just wondering..."



He lifted one thick black brow in question as they entered the parlor. "Wondering?"



She crossed the room and lit one of the lamps. "If we were going to make love tonight."



She turned to face him, and he thought he had never seen anything as lovely as Sara Jayne Duncan, with her guileless sky-blue eyes and her cheeks burning with embarrassment.



He lifted a lock of her hair and let it fall through his fingers. "You've not grown tired of me then?"



"Oh, no."



"Ah, Sara," he murmured, "your innocence humbles me."



"Hardly innocent anymore," she replied with a saucy grin.



"Indeed." His voice was quiet, filled with self-reproach.



"Gabriel! You're regretting what we've done again, aren't you?"



"No."



She lifted her chin so she could see him better, her hands fisted on her hips. "You're lying. If I don't regret it, I don't know why you should."



"You're too - "



She stamped her foot angrily. "Don't you dare tell me I'm too young!"



"I won't." He cocked his head to one side, his eyes alight with amusement. "Is your temper tantrum over?"



"I'm not having a temper tantrum. I'm simply tired of being treated as if I were a child. Look at me, Gabriel. I'm a woman, with a woman's needs, a woman's desires."



"You are indeed," he murmured. "Sometimes it's hard for me to remember that you're all grown up."



"Maybe this will help you remember," she suggested, and throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him.



There was nothing childish about her kiss, he admitted. Nothing at all. He felt the taste of her spread to all his senses as desire flared between them, more potent than brandy, hotter than a thousand suns.



She moaned softly, pressing herself against him, and he had no thought to deny her.



He removed his cloak and her pelisse and dropped both over a chair; then, taking her by the hand, he led her into the bedroom. With exquisite tenderness, he undressed her, the heat in his eyes chasing away the chill of the room. She was vaguely aware that it was raining. Lightning flashed across the sky; there was a dull rumble of thunder.



Gabriel's gaze held hers as he undressed, and then he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, stretching out beside her.



She looked like a porcelain angel, he thought, a seraph newly fallen to earth, her eyes the color of the daylight sky he had not seen in more than three hundred years, her hair the color of the sun at midday.



He pressed a finger to her lips when she started to speak. And then, as if she were made of delicate crystal that might shatter at any moment, he made love to her. His hands moved over her, barely touching her skin, yet her whole body sprang to life, quivering, reaching, yearning toward him. He kissed her, his lips skimming her eyelids, the curve of her cheek, the smoothness of her brow. She felt his teeth graze her throat, his breath like the desert wind, heard a groan rumble deep in his throat.



She arched beneath him in silent invitation, her hands reaching for him, wanting to touch the hard wall of his chest, to span the width of his shoulders, to draw him to her, inside her, forever.



"Forever," he whispered, and she wondered if he had read her mind.



And then he was a part of her, his breath mingling with hers, his heart beating with hers, and she knew that if he loved her forever, it would not be long enough.