Fangs For The Memories

CHAPTER 22

Jane sat up, blinking around her, trying to get her bearings. She was still in Rhys's bed, although he wasn't next to her.

She glanced at the digital clock. Three forty-eight P.M. She must have slept half the night and nearly all the day away. Lazybones.

She stretched, but she had to admit all that sleep had made her feel great. Beyond great. Her whole body hummed with energy. She felt as if she could jump up and run ten miles. Or at the very least, find Rhys and make love for a good, long time.

She crawled out of bed, realizing she was nude. She searched around on the floor for something to put on and finally gave up and wrapped the towel from last night around herself.

She headed to her room to get dressed. Then she'd find Rhys. He never roused before she did-at least not to get out of bed. And she'd never noticed if he came to bed in the first place, although she had slept like the dead. All of Rhys's sleep habits must be rubbing off on her.

Then again, she'd absolutely had to sleep after that last bout of lovemaking. Rhys was incredible. She didn't need to be experienced in intimacy to know that what Rhys did to her not many lovers could. He was great in bed, but she knew it was the fact that she loved him that made it all the more amazing.

She hummed to herself as she flipped on the light to her bedroom and searched through her suitcase for something nice to wear.

Maybe she should unpack, she decided as she rooted through her clothes once more to find a pair of panties. It was practical. And she wasn't even going to continue fooling herself that she was leaving.

She started to put what was left of her clean clothes in the bureau. As she worked, she wondered again where Rhys could be.

He hadn't gotten out of bed before nightfall since she arrived. A sudden sense of unease came over her. What if he'd gone outside? The sun had to be low at this time, but its rays could still damage his allergy sensitive skin.

She paused. No, she had the feeling, although she couldn't say why, that Rhys was in the apartment. His presence was just-there.

She pushed in the drawer to the bureau and turned to gather the clothes she'd chosen to wear tonight.

In the bathroom, she rushed through her morning ritual, anxious to find Rhys.

After she was dressed and had just added the final touches to her makeup, she stood back and studied herself in the mirror. She didn't look too bad. The style of her top, which wrapped around her and tied on the side, gave the impression that she had fuller cleavage. And the deep green of the velvet brought out her eyes. She couldn't see her skirt, but she knew the ruffling hemline fluttered when she walked and made her look feminine.

She had strappy heels that went with the outfit, but she decided to forgo them. She liked walking barefoot, and she was wearing the outfit only for Rhys, not to go out.

She plucked at her hair, arranging the pieces in a more hip style. Not too bad. The faint steam clouding the mirror made her reflection look softer. Then she touched the necklace that she still wore.

She smiled, lifting it to admire the stone again, but as she did, the chain rubbed against a painful spot on her neck.

"Ouch," she muttered, dropping the pendant back against her chest. She leaned forward to examine the soreness.

Two marks, angry red wounds, marred the side of her throat. She tilted her head, trying to see them better. Then she wiped her hand over the mist-covered glass. But it didn't help. Her reflection was still blurred.

She squinted and did her best to see the marks again. They appeared to be similar to the ones she'd noticed the other day on her breast. Although these weren't as healed.

She rummaged through her toiletry bag until she found a bandage. She peeled off the backs and positioned it as best she could over the small wounds.

It kind of ruined the sexy effect she was going for, but it looked a bit better than the red marks. Or at least she hoped it did. Why hadn't the steam on the mirror evaporated?

She shook her head and left the room to find Rhys. He was in the library. She knew it as soon as she reached the living room, and wondered for a second at her certainty.

Shaking her head, she chuckled to herself. Oh, yeah, she was so in tune with him that she could just sense where he was in the apartment. More likely it was just the most reasonable guess, since it was his favorite room.

She pushed open the library door and blinked. The room was pitch dark. She'd never seen it this dark. Even at night, the city lights shining through the two huge windows cast faint light in the room.

But as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she realized that heavy custom blinds covered the windows. She'd never even noticed them before.

She stepped farther into the room, brushing a hand along the wall, searching for a light switch, but before she could find one, a table lamp flicked on.

Jane jumped, her hand coming up to her chest. "Rhys! You startled me."

He sat in one of the large, comfy chairs, his clothes rumpled, his feet up on the coffee table. From the look of him, he'd been up all night. His eyes shadowed, dark.

"Have you been up all night?"

"Day," he corrected.

She wandered over to the chair across from him and perched on the edge, her hands on her knees. Again another rush of uneasiness came over her.

"Do you not feel well?" She hoped that was what was causing the apathetic look in his eyes.

He didn't answer for a moment. "Jane."

Just by the way he said her name-that one, single syllable-she knew. Funny, she should know so much from a tiny, little word. Her own name.

"You've gotten your memory back." Not a question, just absolute certainty.

He nodded, and neither of them looked pleased.

"Yes, last night."

"Are-are you okay?"

He shrugged as if it didn't matter one way or the other. "I'm… I'm as I've always been."

She didn't know what he meant by that. "Are you hurting over the loss of Elizabeth?"

"You know about her?" His question was sharp, his eyes narrowed.

"Yes."

"Sebastian?"

She nodded, then straightened the ruffle of her skirt, unable to look at his hard eyes.

"He's been busy."

Her head came up. "He was trying to protect you, and he told me about Elizabeth and Christian to help me understand what was happening with you."

"And did you understand?"

She tilted her head, her heart aching for this cold, hurting man. "Of course. Loss is a terrible thing, and I certainly do know about that. And I know how much you love your family. How responsible you feel for them. And no one could blame you for just wanting to forget."

He studied her again, those eyes of his like amber. Hard and ancient, but so beautiful.

"Don't make me sound noble."

She stood, moving over to the sofa so she could be closer to him. "Rhys, you can't continue to beat yourself up over Christian. And you can't change that Elizabeth is gone."

A muscle in his jaw ticked as if he was clenching his teeth. "Do you know anything about my fight with Christian? Do you know how Elizabeth died?"

"No, but-"

"Then you shouldn't assume that I couldn't have prevented either."

"I know you, Rhys. If you could have, you would." She pressed her hand to the knee closest to her, needing to touch him, comfort him.

He immediately stood up, moving to the fireplace. He remained with his back to her as if he couldn't bear to look at her.

She closed her eyes briefly. Uneasiness jelled to fear in her belly.

"Jane."

She'd once loved to hear her name on his lips; now she hated it.

"I made a mistake."

She closed her eyes again as every fear she'd had since she'd first touched him, kissed him, came to life in front of her.

"I'm not the person you have come to care about. I'm not even remotely like the person you think you know. And I don't want a relationship with you."

Pain ripped through her chest, but somehow it immediately transformed to anger. "You could at least look at me when you are telling me this."

The muscles in his back bunched under his shirt as he gripped the mantel, but he did turn to look at her.

For a brief moment, she thought she saw pain there, pain that matched her own, but it quickly disappeared behind an emotionless mask.

"Jane, I'm sorry that I'm hurting you."

She nodded, keeping her back straight, her jaw high, even though she wanted to dissolve into tears. But she wouldn't cry. She'd prepared herself for this. Right?

But then there had been last night.

"Are you doing this because I said I loved you?"

Rhys immediately shook his head. "No. I'm doing this because I know we aren't right for each other, and it is simply better if things just end now. Before we get too involved."

"So making love, saying I love you, that isn't too involved." She bit the inside of her lips. She wasn't going to fight this. She might not know much about men, but she did know she couldn't make one of them love her if he didn't.

But he did. She felt it. She knew it.

"So who is right for you, Rhys?" Her voice didn't sound like her own. It was as cold as his amber eyes.

"Jane. I don't want to go into this. Our relationship never should have started. It should have ended that first night, when I left you at your hotel."

"But it didn't."

"No. It didn't. And I am very, very sorry for that."

"Why? Because you don't care about me? Or because you care too much?"

Rhys stared at Jane. This wasn't going how he'd anticipated. He'd expected tears. He'd expected her to plead for them to have a new start.

He'd never expected this cool poise. Jane had always been a little self-conscious, a little unsure. But now she sat before him, her green eyes determined, her chin held high like a fairy queen. Tiny and fragile, but so regal.

She had never looked more beautiful.

Then his gaze dropped to the bandage placed diagonally over his mark. He had to make her leave. She would be fine. And much safer if she cut all ties to him.

"Listen, Jane, I don't know how to make this any clearer. I'm sorry that you believe yourself in love with me, but the fact is, I do not love you. And I'm not interested in a relationship."

She flinched, just slightly, at his straightforward words, but then her chin popped right back up, her jaw set.

"I don't believe you."

Damn, he wanted to kiss her. To pull her into his arms. To hold her forever.

But instead, he pushed all his desires aside like he had for hundreds of years. This couldn't be about what he wanted. He had to keep Jane safe.

"Jane," he said, his voice low, but he filled each word with patronizing pity. "Stop this. You are just embarrassing yourself and me."

This time she couldn't quite keep that small chin aloft. She still stared at him with those relentlessly green eyes, but he could tell his words had finally hit their mark. Finally made her doubt him.

He turned back to the empty fireplace, so he wouldn't have to see her pain. "I'm sorry that things turned out this way. But I'm sure you can see that I'm not who you thought I was. And you are not the kind of woman I'd be interested in."

There was silence behind him, and he wanted to turn around. He wanted to go to her. But he remained still, his hands gripping the mantelpiece as if he had to anchor himself to something not to be drawn to her.

"Just tell me one thing." Her voice was quiet, and although she kept her composure, he could tell she was broken. He could feel it, like a painful, gnawing ache in his chest.

"What?"

"Why did you want me in the first place?"

He closed his eyes, the pain so agonizing he couldn't pull in the breath to speak.

"Because you were there."

He heard her rise and walk toward the door, then the faint rattle of the doorknob under her hand.

He allowed himself to glance in her direction.

She paused, just briefly, and he thought, hoped, she would look at him. But she didn't. With her back still iron-rod straight, she walked out of the room. The door swung shut behind her.

Rhys looked around, unsure what to do now. Then he wandered back over to the table to take a drink from the scotch that had been his constant companion. Instead of bringing the glass to his lips, he just stared into its golden depths.

He tried to pull in a breath, but the ache only intensified, tightening in his chest until he felt strangled by it.

He'd always believed he didn't have a heart. That no vampire really did-not like a mortal.

He cursed loudly, then spun and threw his glass into the fireplace. The crystal shattered into thousands of tiny, splintery pieces.

Just like his nonexistent heart.