Embrace the Night

The next two weeks were the most miserable of Sara's life. She filled her mornings with long rehearsals, and her afternoons with Maurice. He took her shopping, to lunch, on long walks, onapicnic. She refused to discuss Gabriel or the cottage, refused to relate what had happened between herself and Gabriel at the hotel.



She took a nap late each afternoon, then went to the theater. She tried to lose herself in her dancing, but she found no joy in it. Her feet felt like lead; her heart seemed to be made of wood. The ballet mistress scolded her nightly, admonishing her to pay attention, to listen to the music, but to no avail. There was no joy in her heart, no music in her head, nothing but the sound of Gabriel's voice bidding her good-bye.



If her days were long, and her dancing less than perfect, her nights could only be described as hellish.



She was tormented by nightmares - dark dreams filled with phantoms and fiends, ghouls with eyes that glowed, demons with fangs dripping with blood. Her blood.



Night after night, she woke in a cold sweat. On several occasions, she slipped out of bed and lit the lamp, checking in the mirror to make certain there were no bites on her neck.



As bad as those dreams were, there were others that were worse - horrible nightmares in which the fiends that chased her had Gabriel's voice, Gabriel's eyes.



These dreams started innocently enough. They would be walking in the park, or they would be dancing while he sang to her, and then, gradually, she would be overcome with a sense of dread. A shroud of darkness would overcome her, stealing the strength from her legs so that she couldn't run, and then he would be there, bending over her, enveloping her in the folds of his cloak until she was aware of nothing but the blood-red glow in his eyes and the smell of her own fear. And then he would smile, exposing his teeth, the canines long and sharp.



And then the true terror began, flooding through her with each wild beat of her heart as he bent over her. Horror would clog her throat, trapping her scream inside, so that she could only stare up at him, as helpless as a kitten caught in the jaws of a wolf. She would feel his lips on hers, his hands caressing her back. And then, just as she had convinced herself there was nothing to be afraid of, she would feel the sharp sting of his teeth at her neck.



Taut with fear, she would close her eyes, waiting for the pain, but there was no pain, only a gradual awareness of sensual pleasure that started deep within her and vibrated outward. To her horror, she would tilt her head to the side, exposing more of her neck to the ravages of his teeth. Heat would pulse through her, its warmth hypnotic, so that, when he finally drew away, she cried out in protest, begging him to take more, to take it all. At her words, he would laugh softly and then plunge his fangs into her neck again, a low growl of demonic ecstasy rumbling in his throat as he drained the blood from her body.



She would wake up screaming then, her body trembling violently, the bedclothes soaked with perspiration.



After the first few nights, she tried to stay awake, but after a strenuous day of rehearsing and dancing, her body demanded rest.



She had tried sleeping with the light on, but even that failed to banish the demons that haunted her, and when that didn't help, she asked one of the other dancers to stay with her for a couple of days, thinking Jean Marie's presence might keep her nightmares at bay, but her screams frightened Jean Marie so badly that the girl packed up her things and left while it was still dark outside.



As a last resort, she asked Maurice to come and spend the nights on the sofa. It didn't stop the dreams, but it was good to have him there when she awoke in tears, good to feel the solid strength of his arms around her, to hear his voice telling her that everything would be all right.



Another week passed, and then another. Maurice proposed to her again, and when she refused him, he asked candidly if she would consider letting him move in with her.



"I'm here most nights anyway," he said with irrefutable logic. "And it would be so much more convenient if my belongings were here, as well."



"I don't know..." Sara shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea."



"You're not thinking of a reconciliation with him, are you?"



"No. Whatever we had is over. It's just that..." She shrugged, and then smiled at him. "I just can't. What would people say?"



"All right, Sara Jayne," he said good-naturedly. "We'll let it go for now. But I promise you, we'll talk about it again. Soon." He winked at her. "I'll be by to pick you up later."



She kissed him good-bye, then went to sit by the window. Why was she so reluctant to share her life with Maurice? He loved her. He was kind, thoughtful, fun to be with, intelligent, generous. He would make a fine husband, yet she made excuses for not wanting to share her apartment with him, excuses that had never occurred to her when Gabriel had taken her in his arms.



Gabriel. She missed him, missed him more than she wanted to admit. She relived every moment she had spent with him, from the first time she had seen him on her balcony at the orphanage to the last night in his hotel room. She remembered being held in his arms while he danced her around the room, remembered the joy they had shared when she discovered she could walk.



She glanced at the ballerina doll Gabriel had given her. He had been kindness itself in those days at the abbey, buying her gifts, singing to her, caring for her. He had taken her to her first ballet, letting her see for herself that it was as beautiful, as wonderful, as she had imagined. He had taken her riding on his horse, letting her experience the stallion's marvelous speed and power. He had fulfilled her every wish, her every dream. The clothes in her closet, the food on her table, the very apartment in which she lived, were all possible because of Gabriel's generosity.



But, more importantly, he had made her feel loved, cherished. Even when she had been trapped in her wheelchair, he had made her feel beautiful, desired. It was a rare gift, the ability to make another feel important. Until she had met Gabriel, she had always felt as if she had been a burden, first to her family, and then to the nuns. But Gabriel had given her a sense of self-worth, and she knew that, even if she were still bound to her chair, he would still find her desirable.



He had given her something else, as well. He had allowed her to comfort him. Clearly she recalled the night in the park, when he had knelt at her feet and begged her to hold him, to comfort him. A single tear slipped down her cheek as she recalled the abject loneliness she had read in the depths of his eyes, his hunger for the gentle touch of her hand.



She loved him. Loved him with her whole heart, and nothing that had passed between them could change that simple fact. She loved him. And he loved her.



They'd been apart almost three weeks when Sara gathered her courage and went to his hotel. She had dressed with care in a long-sleeved white silk blouse and a pink skirt. She wore a wide-brimmed white hat trimmed with feathers and flowers, and a pair of white gloves.



Taking a last glance in the mirror, she left her apartment, her heart beating double-time at the thought of seeing Gabriel again.



She lifted her chin defiantly as she walked up the stairs to Gabriel's room, ignoring the disapproving glance she received from the hotel clerk. She knew he was probably thinking she was a harlot, since no lady deserving of the name would call on a man who was not a relative unless she was adequately chaperoned. But what she had to say to Gabriel was best said in private.



She knocked on his door twice, then stamped her foot. She should have known he wouldn't be here. He was never about during the day; in fact, she couldn't ever remember having seen him before dusk.



What didhe do all day that he was never available?



Frowning, she went outside and summoned a carriage to take her back to her apartment, and then, before she could change her mind, or question her reasoning too closely, she instructed the driver to take her to the cottage on the outskirts of town.



"Shall I wait, mademoiselle?" the driver asked.



"Yes, please. I shan't be long."



"Very well, mademoiselle." Touching his finger to his hat brim, he parked the carriage in the shade afforded by a tree a short distance away.



Lifting her skirts, Sara made her way to the front door, only to find that it was locked. Making her way to the back of the house, she peered through the broken window.



"Gabriel," she called softly. "Are you here?"



She listened a moment, and then repeated her question, a little louder. Again, no answer, only a strong impression that he was inside.



With a grimace, she gathered her skirts and climbed over the low sill, letting out a sigh of exasperation as she snagged her petticoat on a piece of glass.



And then she was inside the cottage. The absolute quiet of the place was overwhelming. Was it her imagination, or could she hear the house breathing? She was certain she could hear the hammering of her heart.



"Gabriel?"



Hardly daring to breathe, she tiptoed through the house, her apprehension growing with each step.



And then, as if drawn by a magnet, she found herself at the cellar door.



She lifted a trembling hand, intending to knock on the door, when her courage deserted her. Whatever lay behind that door, she didn't want to know.



She was about to leave when the door swung open and she found herself face to face with Gabriel.



He was not happy to see her.



" Cara, what are you doing here?"



"That's what I was going to ask you."



Gabriel crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him.



Sara met his gaze and frowned. "Are you all right?"



"Fine," he replied tersely. In truth, it took a great deal of effort for him to stand there. He judged it to be mid day, when his strength was at its lowest ebb. It was possible for him to stand there now only because there was almost no light at the bottom of the stairs, and because he'd needed so badly to see her face one more time.



"Are you sure?" Sara asked doubtfully. "You look a trifle pale..."



"I'm fine." He leaned his shoulder against the door jamb in what he hoped was a casual pose. "What do you want, Sara?"



"Couldn't we go upstairs and talk?"



"I'm rather busy at the moment."



"Busy?"



"No questions, cara."



She bit down on her lip, resisting the urge to scream at him, to insist that she would no longer be bound by that ridiculous promise, but something in the depths of his eyes warned her to keep silent.



Gabriel clenched his hands in an effort to keep the overpowering lethargy at bay. His gaze was drawn to her throat, to the pulse throbbing there. He hadn't fed in several days, and her nearness, coupled with the knowledge that she could appease his demon thirst, was a temptation he feared he could not long resist. Even now, he could smell the blood flowing in her veins, hear the rapid beating of her heart.



"Sara, you must go. I'll come to you tonight if you wish. We can talk then."



She nodded, bewildered by his apparent weakness, by the strange pallor of his skin, the sudden harsh rasp of his breathing. Was he ill? She glanced at the door behind him, wondering what secrets he was hiding there.



"Sara... please... go."



"I'll see you tonight?"



"Yes," he rasped. "Tonight."



He watched her climb the stairs, and then he fell back against the door, his strength nearly gone.



He released a deep sigh when he heard the front door close. Then, and only then, did he return to his retreat.



The image of Sara's face, lined with concern, followed him into oblivion.



She knew Gabriel was in the audience even before she set foot onstage. The knowledge that he was there, that he would be watching, set her pulse to racing. For the first time in almost three weeks, she felt like dancing.



Maurice slanted her a quick, questioning look during the pas de deux, and she knew he was aware of the change in her. How could he help it, when her feet suddenly felt lighter than air, when her leaps were effortless, joyful, when her solo was once again filled with passion and joie de vivre!



He was at her side the minute the final curtain came down. "He's here, isn't he?"



"Who?"



"Don't be coy, Sara Jayne. You know very well who. Gabriel. He's out there, isn't he?"



"I don't..." She nodded her head, knowing it was useless to lie. "Yes."



"You can't mean to meet him!"



"I do."



"I won't permit it."



"I think you forget yourself, Maurice."



"I forget nothing! I remember how frightened you were when you left his hotel the last time. I remember the nightmares that haunted your sleep, that made you afraid to be alone. He was the cause of that fear, those nightmares. And now you mean to start it all again!"



"I'm sorry. I have to see him, at least one more time."



"Why?" Maurice's voice and expression were filled with anguish, with a deep-seated need to understand. "Why, Sara Jayne? What hold does he have over you?"



"None, it's just that I owe him so much - "



"You owe him nothing!"



"But I do. Don't you understand? He's given me everything I have. Everything! My apartment, my clothes, my dancing, I owe it all to him."



"And what does he expect in return?"



"He's never asked me for anything."



Maurice made a low sound of disbelief.



"It's true! He's the nearest thing to family that I have, Maurice. I can't hurt him."



With a sigh of resignation, Maurice turned away, his steps heavy as he left the stage. He had never thought of himself as a brave man, or a foolish one, but surely what he was contemplating proved that he was the most courageous of men or a complete and utter fool.



Sara studied Gabriel carefully as they sat in their favorite cafe later that night. Earlier, she would have sworn he had been ill. His skin had been stretched taut over his skull, his eyes had burned as with a fever, his voice had been harsh and edged with pain. But now he looked strong and fit. He was clad in black, as usual. There was a ruddy glow to his cheeks, a gleam in his eye. Sara shook her head. Had she imagined it all?



"Something troubles you, cara?" he asked, and his voice was as deep and resonant as always.



"No, nothing."



"What did you want to see me about?"



"I wanted to apologize for my actions the other night. I had no right to question you. I ask you to forgive me."



As always, her honesty humbled him. "You have every right to your questions, cara," he replied quietly. "I am only sorry I cannot give you the answers you desire."



"Are you in some kind of trouble? Is that why you're hiding out in that cottage?"



How like her, he thought, to be worried about him. "No, Sara, I'm not in trouble. Not the kind you mean, at any rate. I told you before, I lead a very secluded life, one that must seem strange to a woman such as yourself."



"I... had you been ill since I saw you last?"



A muscle worked in Gabriel's jaw. He must have looked like death itself when she saw him at the cottage that morning, and now she was wondering at his apparently miraculous improvement.



"No, cara, I have not been ill, not the way you mean." He had been soul sick, though, he thought bleakly. He had missed seeing her each evening, missed the joy of her laughter, the warmth of her caring. He had missed watching her dance. It had only been his overwhelming desire to see her again that had given him the strength to rise while the sun still commanded the sky.



"This afternoon..." She caught her lower lip between her teeth, afraid to pry further for fear of making him angry.



He met her confused gaze. It would be so easy to clear her mind of her questions and doubts, so easy to mesmerize her with his revenant power, to wrap her in the illusion that all was well. But he could not do that, not to Sara. The very thought of invading her mind was repulsive. And yet, she deserved an explanation of some kind. Unfortunately, he had none to give but the truth, and that was trapped in his throat.



"More wine?" he asked instead.



Sara nodded. "Please."



"So, cara, what is it you wish to do now?"



"What do you mean?" She sipped her wine, her gaze fixed on Gabriel's face.



"Do you wish me to be gone from your life?"



"No!"



Her quick denial, the fervor in her tone, pleased him beyond words, and saddened him beyond pain.



"We cannot go on as before, Sara. You have too many questions that I cannot answer." He looked deep into her eyes, his own filled with sadness. "And you're afraid of me now, I think."



"I'm not," she said quickly, but she was lying, and they both knew it.



"You have nothing to fear from me, cara. I would never hurt you."



"And Maurice?"



"No harm will come to the boy, but he is delving into things which do not concern him. If he persists, he will live to regret it."



Sara nodded, her mouth suddenly dry.



He felt her confusion, her fear, and it sickened him to know he was the cause. Now he truly hated what he was, hated it because it was keeping him from the one thing he wanted more than his next breath.



"Sara..." Whispering her name, he leaned across the table and reached for her hand. "I wish there was no need for secrets between us. I wish, with all my heart, that we could go on as before, but I fear that is impossible now."



"What are you saying?"



"I'm leaving Paris tomorrow."



"Leaving? Why? Where are you going?"



"It's for the best. I've kept you at my side long enough. I want you to live your own life. Marry. Have children."



"No..."



"You have so much ahead of you, cara. I want you to live your life to the fullest, to experience all that life has to offer."



"Why are you doing this?" She was weeping now. "I said I was sorry."



Gabriel glanced around the cafe, aware of the curious looks coming their way. He tossed a few coins on the table to pay for Sara's meal and the wine, draped her cape over her shoulders, and led her from the cafe.



She sobbed quietly on the short walk to her apartment.



"Gabriel..."



He silenced her words with a kiss, then drew her into his arms and held her close until her tears subsided. He removed her cape and gloves, and then, with a gentleness that bordered on awe, he undressed her and carried her to bed. He quickly shed his own garments, then slid in beside her and gathered her into his arms.



"Please don't leave," she murmured.



"Don't think of it now," he chided softly, and claimed her lips in a kiss that was filled with a bittersweet passion.



He made love to her all the night long, his hands memorizing the incredible smoothness of her skin, the silky texture of her hair, the tantalizing taste of her lips. He buried his face in her neck and drew in a deep breath, drowning in the sweet scent of her warm, supple flesh.



His hands adored her, his voice caressed her, surrounded her, until she could think of nothing but Gabriel - the wonder of his body, the magic in his hands, the sweet caring in his voice as he whispered her name.



And then his flesh merged with hers and they were one being. Two hearts beating as one, two souls joined together. He buried himself deep within her, sheathing himself in her warmth, burying his darkness in the light of her touch. Enveloped in her warmth and humanity, he let himself forget, for the moment, that he was in reality a demon disguised as a man.



He made love to her thoroughly and completely, until she fell asleep, sated and exhausted, in his arms.



He held her until he felt the stealthy approach of the dawn, and then he kissed her one last time.



Rising, he dressed quickly, then wrote her a short note, telling her that he had left the city while she slept, begging her to go on with her life.



He left the note where she would be sure to find it, and then he pressed a gentle kiss to her brow.



"Farewell, cara," he murmured.



And knew at that moment that if he still had a heart, it would be breaking.