Hotter Than Hell

MOONLIGHT BECOMES YOU Linda Winstead Jones

CLAIRE PRESSED HER BACK TO THE WALL AND listened to the footsteps. When she was certain her prey was moving away from her, not toward her, she leaned forward to peek around the corner and watch him walk down the dimly lit hallway. Watching her neighbor walk away was not exactly a chore. Not in those jeans.

Too bad he was a vampire.

When he turned the corner and was out of sight she stepped into the hallway proper and silently followed in his footsteps. It sounded crazy, she knew that, but there were too many coincidences to ignore. He never went out in the daytime. He was much too pale, as if he had never seen the sun. He always wore black. Even those jeans he seemed to favor were a faded shade of black. She never saw him bring home groceries of any kind. Yes, he was lean, but the man had to eat something. He was definitely mysterious, and the one time he’d caught her eye she’d been sure he was hypnotizing her, even though the glance had lasted only a few seconds. Or maybe one full second.

Just last week she’d found an inexplicable dusting of dirt in the hallway outside his door. Dirt! This apartment building was surrounded by concrete, and the amount of dirt she’d seen was small but more than what would’ve been brought in on someone’s shoe. Maybe it was some of the dirt that lined his coffin, or—gross—the remains of a dusted enemy vamp. When she’d gone back to check the dirt more closely to see if it looked like potting soil or bone dust, it had been gone. Someone had disposed of the evidence.

One night not so long ago she’d been awakened by an absolutely unearthly howl that had sent chills down her spine. She wasn’t sure if it had been a victim’s plea or a monster’s cry of victory, but the sound had been memorable and unnatural.

There was yet another telling clue that all was not as it should be. Marlie James from the second floor had a new cat. The feline Houdini was tough to contain and very often ended up wandering throughout the building. Fluffy wouldn’t come to the third floor. Marlie had walked up once with the cat in her arms, but before she’d reached her destination Fluffy had screeched and escaped her owner’s arms and run down the stairs. Animals knew. Animals sensed danger when humans did not, and Fluffy obviously sensed danger on the third floor.

Claire’s apartment shared a common wall with the newest resident of the complex, here on the third floor of this less-than-magnificent but relatively trendy apartment building in downtown Atlanta. He played music often. Apparently he didn’t care for popular tunes, but was stuck in the forties. Claire recognized some of the songs he played as those her grandparents had favored. Obviously her neighbor had been turned into a vampire in the forties, and he was still drawn to the music of the era in which he’d been human. What other explanation made sense?

Claire didn’t jump to conclusions without checking as many facts as possible. She’d done an extensive search on the Internet and found almost nothing about her neighbor. Simon Darrow, that was his name, had lived in four places in the past three years. Before that, nothing—that she could find, at least. That in itself was odd. The man hadn’t popped out of thin air! True, she wasn’t a detective and she didn’t have access to every useful Internet site, but still, she should’ve been able to find more.

It didn’t help Darrow’s case that he’d moved into the building right before people from the neighborhood started to disappear. Charlie on the first floor, who everyone knew hit his wife when he drank too much. The often-obscene panhandler who’d been a regular on the southeast corner for as long as Claire could remember. That punk who’d robbed old Mrs. Bernard and gotten off with a slap on the wrist. All of them gone in a mere six weeks. Just gone. The people who’d disappeared would not exactly be missed, but she couldn’t allow that to cloud her judgment.

Add the insignificant detail that Claire had been reading quite a few vampire novels lately, and it all made perfect sense.

The common belief was that vampires didn’t exist, but Claire knew to the pit of her soul that there was more to the world than most people realized. Granny Eileen had spoken often of ghosts and were-beasts, of vampires and curses. There had been a time, a span of several years in fact, when Claire had chosen not to believe the tales her grandmother had spun so effortlessly, but in the past few years it seemed that her eyes and ears had been opened. Legends had to be based in fact, and it wasn’t her fault that most people had to deny that fact in order to survive from one day to the next.

Her overactive imagination didn’t hurt matters at all.

It was obvious that something was going on with her neighbor, and like it or not, vampire made sense. The dirt, the howl, Fluffy, the missing people…yes, it made perfect sense. No one would believe her if she didn’t collect proof.

Claire walked down the hallway on quick tiptoes, hoping that when she glanced around the next corner she’d catch a glimpse of her neighbor as he made his way to the stairwell. The elevator was out of order once again—no surprise there—and to reach the stairs she and everyone else on her end of the floor had to walk two and a half short hallways. Down the hallway, right, and then right again before reaching the stairs.

She wouldn’t follow her subject outside, she hadn’t entirely lost her mind, but she had decided to keep a detailed record of his comings and goings as best she could. One never knew what small detail might be helpful.

When she reached the corner she flattened her back to the wall as she had before, and she listened. She heard nothing, but then her neighbor did have an easy step, even in those heavy black boots he usually wore. Another vampire trait, she supposed. The easy step, not the boots. Maybe he was floating an inch or so above the floor, since he didn’t know anyone was watching. She leaned slowly forward to take a glimpse down the hallway…

And found herself nose to chest with her vampire neighbor.

Claire caught and held her breath, as her heart threatened to break free of her chest. There was no way she could outrun him, whether he was a vampire or not. That meant she’d have to wing it. First, she had to regain the ability to breathe.

“Are you stalking me?” he asked, a touch of humor in his deep voice.

“I…you…of course not.” Claire managed a tight smile. “I lost an earring. I thought maybe I dropped it earlier this evening, on my way in after work.”

“Too bad. I was rather hoping I had a pretty stalker.”

Yes, there was something unnaturally hypnotic about his eyes, which were such a dark brown they were almost black. She could feel herself being sucked in by those eyes. That had to be a vampire trick.

He thought she was pretty?

The man, who was taller up close than she’d imagined he would be, offered his hand. “Simon Darrow. I live next door to you.”

After a moment of paralyzing fear, she put her hand in his and shook. “Claire Murphy. I know.” His hand was oddly warm, for someone who was possibly undead.

He released his grip and leaned casually against the wall. “So, what does this earring look like?”

“What earring?”

“The one you lost,” he said, that hint of good humor remaining in his hypnotic voice.

“Oh, yes.” This was the perfect opportunity for her first real test. Since arriving at her suspicions about her neighbor she’d been wearing a small gold cross all the time. She slept in it, showered in it, wore it when she went to the gym on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She grabbed the cross between her fingers and held it up so he could see. “It matches this. A tiny little cross with a teeny diamond chip in the center.”

Simon—quite an old-fashioned name, eh?—didn’t touch the cross, but he didn’t recoil, either. She had to judge that test as inconclusive, since she wasn’t quite ready to leap forward and press the cross against his forehead to see if he began to smoke or howl in pain. He turned away from her and searched the dingy carpeting, his eyes scanning the faded fibers. Claire pretended to do the same, though her eyes often flitted to her neighbor. Oh, he really was studly, more so up close than from a distance. His dark hair was shaggy and a tad too long but was not completely neglected, and he had a very finely sculpted masculine jawline. The body, as she had already noted, was not bad at all. She took it all in, appreciatively and as surreptitiously as possible.

“I don’t mean to hold you up,” she said after watching him bend over to examine what turned out to be a piece of lint. “I imagine you have somewhere to be.”

“I’m not working tonight.”

“You work at night?”

“Not much call for jazz musicians during the day. The club’s closed until the weekend. Some sort of plumbing issue.”

Her head crept up slowly so she could once more check out his face, which was much more interesting than the old carpet. Simon Darrow wasn’t pretty—his features were too masculine to be called pretty—but his face was definitely fine. “You’re a musician?”

“Piano. I have a small electric keyboard at my place, but I practice while you’re at work so I won’t disturb you.”

A considerate vampire. “I’m sure I wouldn’t mind hearing you practice,” she said, determined to be no less considerate as she took a couple of unnecessary steps and her eyes scanned the floor for a nonexistent earring. This was an opportunity she could not let slip by. “So, if you’re not playing tonight, where are you headed?”

“Just out to grab a bite,” he answered.

Interesting choice of words. “Oh, really?”

“I thought I’d check out that sandwich shop down the street.”

“They close at seven so you’ve already missed them, and to be honest their food is better at lunch.”

“I’ll find someplace else, then.”

This was a golden opportunity that might never come again. She had her neighbor right where she wanted him, and he had no idea that she suspected his secret. “Maybe you can…” she swallowed hard and gathered her courage, “have dinner with me.”

“I knew it,” he said in a lowered voice touched with gentle wit. “You are stalking me.”

“I am not,” she protested. “You’re new to the building. I’m simply adhering to the Southern Women’s Code, Section One, Paragraph Three. Feed Thy Neighbor. I could make spaghetti,” she said before he could argue again that she was stalking him. “And garlic bread.”

He didn’t sneer at the garlic bread any more than he’d sneered at her cross. Hmm. Maybe she was wrong about him. Even though she was drawn to Simon Darrow in a way that had to be unnatural, and there were a number of unanswered questions about him and his life, and Claire knew to the pit of her soul that there was more to the night than what made the newspapers and the evening news, her neighbor might be exactly what he appeared to be. A man with a mysterious past who’d had the misfortune to move into the building just when people in the general area started disappearing and someone spilled dirt in the hallway.

“I love spaghetti,” he said. “But I’m meeting some people later so I really should get going.”

Her heart sank a little. “Okay. Maybe another time. I don’t want to be in violation of the Southern Women’s Code.”

“Heaven forbid.” He smiled, and it was very nice.

Claire decided to take a chance, one more time. “How about tomorrow night? About seven?” Normally on Tuesdays she went to the gym after work, but it would really be no chore to skip a workout. Wouldn’t be the first time. She held her breath and waited for another refusal, another excuse.

“Sure.” Simon glanced down at the carpet one last time. “I’m sorry to say I don’t think we’re going to find your earring.”

“Yeah,” Claire sighed. “Me neither.”

Claire didn’t expect Simon for about an hour. Her homemade spaghetti sauce was simmering, and the garlic bread was ready to be popped into the oven. The pasta would go on at the last minute. After changing her clothes three times, she’d settled on an outfit that made her look at least three pounds lighter. The slightly snug black shirt showed off her boobs—the advantage of carrying a few extra pounds—and the knee-length skirt was flattering and comfortable. It was pretty without being an obvious date outfit. There were very cute open-toed shoes with high heels that made her legs look better than they really were waiting close by, but she’d save those for the last minute, like the pasta.

Giving in to her curiosity, she opened the door to her apartment and slipped into the hallway, tiptoeing on bare feet to Simon Darrow’s door to press her ear to the wood.

Was he in there? She knew he wasn’t working, and since she was feeding him in less than an hour he couldn’t be out looking for supper. Unless he needed supper of a different sort…

If he was in there he was being very quiet. Why didn’t she hear him practicing on his portable piano or showering or just moving about in his apartment? She held her breath and closed her eyes, listening for signs of life. Maybe he wasn’t in at all. Oh, if he stood her up she would never forgive him! Not that this was a date, or anything like it.

“I knew you were a stalker.”

Claire’s head popped up and she found her vampire neighbor standing in the hallway, one hand behind his back, that smug and yet undeniably appealing smile on his pale face. Why did he continue to hold his hand behind his back? Was he carrying a knife, or maybe even a short sword? Not that vampires needed such weapons.

She had to think fast. Again. “I heard an odd noise,” she said. “I thought maybe you’d fallen and…and…couldn’t get up.”

His smile faded very quickly. “Do you think someone’s in there?” The hidden left hand popped around as he reached into his pocket with the right. Instead of a knife or a sword, he held a very pretty bouquet of mixed flowers. “These are for you,” he said absently, all but thrusting them at her.

Claire took the flowers…not that she had any choice considering the way they were shoved at her chest…and carried them to her nose while Simon opened the door to his apartment and stepped inside, worried about a burglar he wouldn’t find. Vampires were known to be very romantic, at least in the books she read, but she would’ve expected the flowers to be blood red or starkly exotic. Instead they were springy and bright and very much not reminiscent of the undead. It had been a very long time since any man—or whatever—had given her flowers.

“What kind of sound was it?” Simon called from inside his apartment.

Flowers in hand, Claire stepped into his apartment through the door he’d left wide open. When Mrs. Tillman from across the hall opened her door to peek out—nosy old woman—Claire closed the door to Simon’s apartment. She didn’t miss the disapproving glare from her stodgy neighbor.

Claire’s eyes scanned the main room, which was laid out much like hers but was decorated very differently. Simon had a state-of-the-art CD player, but no television, at least not in this room. A couple of comfortable chairs, but no sofa. Blinds instead of curtains. Framed antique album covers instead of family pictures or art. The lines were stark and clean, and he used little color in his decorating scheme. There were no mirrors, not that many men would hang mirrors anywhere but the bathroom.

There was no coffin in sight, but of course he’d keep that in the bedroom, if he had one.

“What kind of noise?” he asked again.

Claire rose up on her bare toes and dropped down again. “It was just kind of a thud. You know, now that I think about it the sound probably came from upstairs or downstairs. My mistake. Sorry.”

Simon glanced into the bedroom and the bathroom, and then returned to her with a very skeptical expression on his face. “Everything appears to be fine.”

Claire shrugged her shoulders and glanced back to the kitchen, which like hers was open to the main room. It was clean and uncluttered and probably for the most part unused.

“You are so odd,” he said as he walked toward her.

“I’m not odd,” she said defensively.

“You’re definitely odd,” he argued. “Don’t get me wrong, I like odd girls. Ordinary girls are boring and predictable. I have a feeling you’re neither.”

Her life was both predictable and boring, but she wasn’t about to share that information with Simon. Not now.

“Thanks for the flowers,” she said, trying desperately to change the subject.

He took the bouquet from her hand and tossed it onto the closest chair. The blooms looked so out of place there, so wonderfully bright against the black leather. “No more games, Claire. What do you really want from me?”

She opened her mouth, but did not get a chance to speak.

“No more lies about lost earrings or noise from the apartment, no more quotes from the Southern Women’s Code. What do you really want?”

She could defend herself and swear she had not lied, but those eyes of his…they would see. Somehow he would know. “Honestly?”

“Please.”

She licked her lips and listened to one thud of her heart before answering, “I don’t know what I want.”

Simon moved in closer, hovering in her personal space, stealing her breath and making her heart pound even harder. He leaned toward her, his mouth heading directly for her throat. Something in her wanted to back away and clap her hand over her vulnerable artery, but another part, a deeper part, wanted to lean into him, to meet him halfway.

Maybe she was hypnotized and didn’t know it. Maybe she was moments away from calling her studly neighbor “master” and begging him to bite her.

Deep down Claire considered the possibility that Simon wasn’t a vampire at all. She’d allowed her imagination to run away from her, that’s all. He was just a man like any other. Well, not like any other but still…he might be just a man. She closed her eyes as he placed his mouth on her throat and kissed. He didn’t bite, he kissed. Her reaction was immediate and intense. It was no wonder she read and fantasized about vampires. There was no place on her body as sensitive as her neck. Well, one, but other than that…When it came to erogenous body parts that were not located between her legs, she’d prefer a man at her neck over her breasts any day. Simon knew exactly how to kiss her neck.

One fine, strong hand gripped the back of her head while he kissed her throat gently. Claire felt that kiss everywhere. Her knees went weak, her insides tightened, she grew wet…just like that.

Why had she suspected him of being a vampire? It was easy to rely on imagination when reality sucked. Well, usually reality sucked, but at this moment it did not. Not at all. Simon kissed her throat and her body responded with an unexpected fierceness. Her body was pressed against his, and so she knew she wasn’t the only one affected.

“What do you want?” he whispered against her throat.

“Don’t you have another question?” she asked breathlessly. Men could be so single minded. Why did he feel the need to talk at all?

“No,” he said briskly.

Claire could hardly speak at all when she answered. “I want more.”

Simon sighed. “Finally, an honest answer.”

His hand slipped beneath her skirt. She was shocked at first, but then…not so much. It was a natural if rather quick progression, and she would not pretend to be demure or hesitant when she was neither. Simon’s hand, large and warm, caressed her inner thigh and then moved up with agonizing slowness. The higher that slow hand moved, the more intensely Claire felt the caress. She held her breath and waited for contact. Almost there…almost…bingo.

Simon touched her through silk panties and she shuddered. All the while he kissed her neck. If he was a vampire, if he really did drink blood, he could have every drop of hers as long as he didn’t stop.

He didn’t stop, and Claire felt herself spiraling out of control. Control. Did she have any? Had she ever? Her head tilted back, and as Simon took full advantage of the new position by kissing a portion of her throat he had missed, his hand slipped into her panties to touch bare, damp flesh. He did not hesitate, he did not falter. It was as if he knew her body well, as if he had touched her this way before and knew exactly where and how. His hands were warm and large and foreign…and yet somehow not so foreign. Claire wriggled a little, her panties slipped, and she spread her legs slightly. Simon took advantage of that new position just as he had when she’d offered him a better shot at her throat. His touch changed, it shifted, and then he slipped one finger inside her.

It had been a long time since any man had touched her, and she came hard and fast, convulsing, gasping, holding onto Simon so she wouldn’t fall to the floor. The orgasm itself didn’t take her by surprise—good heavens, she’d been rushing toward orgasm since he’d placed his mouth on her throat—but the intensity did. She came, and she came, and she grasped Simon hard as the waves washed over her.

“Oh, my,” she whispered when she was able.

Simon held her up, thank goodness, but he took his hand away and he no longer gave his attentions to her throat. After a moment he released her and backed away. Claire straightened her clothes and smoothed her hair. She must look a mess, and Simon…Simon, looked as calm and collected as he had before he’d touched her.

A quick glance down proved what the press of his body to hers had told her, that he had not been unaffected. Well, didn’t this change everything? She’d started out determined to prove that he was a vampire, and had ended up here, shaking from an unexpected orgasm and shamelessly wondering when there would be more.

She tried to be logical, for once. If vampires had no heartbeat then there was no blood flow, and without remarkable blood flow what she saw straining his jeans would be impossible.

“I’ve always had a thing for odd girls.” Simon collected her bouquet from the chair where he’d deposited it so indifferently. With greater care, he handed the flowers to her once again. She took them.

“I’m really not…well, maybe I am a little odd.”

Surely vampires didn’t smile that way. This look was definitely not evil. Then again, maybe she was quick to judge Simon not a vampire because he’d just had his very talented hand in her panties.

Claire twitched and then jumped. “My sauce!”

“You left it on the stove?”

“Yes!” Claire ran to the door. “When I…when I heard that noise I had just put it on to simmer.”

“It’s probably fine.” Simon followed her, and while they were in the hallway Mrs. Tillman’s door opened a crack once again. Even though Claire couldn’t see the old woman, she heard a decided scoff from behind that door. Talk about odd.

At the doorway to her apartment, Simon hesitated. Without thinking, Claire gave a wave of her free hand and said, “Come on in.” So much for that test. She’d invited him in, and that was one of the vampire rules that seemed to be unbreakable. A vampire could not enter a home unless it was invited, and she’d invited Simon into her apartment without so much as a second thought. Darn. Too late to do anything about it now.

Simon studied her apartment as she had studied his, as she rushed to the stove and turned down the heat, then fetched a vase from beneath the sink and filled it with water. As in his apartment, there was a low, open bar between the kitchen and the living area. Simon could sit on the couch and watch her, and she could keep a close eye on him, as well. She had a small shaker of garlic salt close at hand, just in case he tried to move too close too fast. Besides, he wouldn’t be so foolish as to eat his next-door neighbor. Everyone would be looking at him for the crime if that happened. Mrs. Tillman had seen them together. No, she was as safe as she could be, given the circumstances.

If he’d intended to do her harm, he’d had his chance.

She had to admit, there was an inexplicable animal attraction about Simon Darrow that really got under her skin. Maybe it was because she hadn’t had sex in such a long time. Maybe it was because she hadn’t had really good sex for years. She didn’t count what had just happened as sex because, well, she’d come alone. That wasn’t the same, and of course, the evening was young.

Simon was extremely attractive, pale skin aside. At the moment he looked more beautiful than ever, but of course her vision had been temporarily affected. In truth he wasn’t horribly pale, just untanned. It was clear he preferred the night to the daytime, moonlight to sunshine. Maybe it was a musician thing, not a vampire thing. The same could be true of the black wardrobe and the odd hours he kept.

He turned his head to look at the stack of books on her end table. “Bite Me,” he read aloud, as he perused the titles. “The Return of Dracula. Night of the Undead. The Vampire Stan.”

“That one’s kinda funny,” she said, wondering how he would react to the collection of vampire novels. “It’s a spoofy thing.”

“Intriguing reading material.” He looked at her again, and somehow those almost-black eyes darkened. “Do you have an interest in vampires?”

Just as she’d been ready to dismiss her suspicions and simply embrace the man, he asked that question in a voice that was less than casual. Do you have an interest in vampires?

“I suppose I do,” she confessed. “Particularly vampire romance.” She shivered a little. It was the neck thing, she imagined. Her hand rose up and touched her neck, there where Simon had kissed her and brought her to the edge of paradise with his mouth alone.

Simon sighed. Claire tried to ignore his reaction as she put on water to boil and preheated the oven for the garlic bread, but in truth the fact that he asked the question made her wonder…why did he care if she read about vampires or not? Obviously he did care. He was actually annoyed by the books she’d left sitting out, and that put her right back where she’d started.

Still, he hadn’t bitten her when he’d had the chance. Maybe sometimes vampires needed sex, too—lack of blood flow aside.

“You know,” Simon said after an uncomfortable bout of silence, “I’m really not very hungry. I should go.”

“No!” Claire left her not-yet-boiling water behind as Simon stood, unfolding his body with that unexpected grace that seemed only slightly unnatural. There was a mirror in her bathroom, another in the bedroom. If she could just get him to stand in front of one of those mirrors…if she could just be sure…“You need to eat something,” she said softly.

“I’m not going to starve,” he responded.

“What do you have at your place if you get hungry later?” she asked logically. “Frozen dinners? Soup and crackers? I make very good spaghetti.”

“I wish you would be honest with me,” he said, a touch of anger coloring his voice. There was a pleasant melodiousness to his voice, she decided, even when he was mad. “Something strange is going on here. There was never any earring in the hallway, there was no noise from my apartment, and I’ve never heard of any Southern Women’s Code. I think yesterday you were following me, and tonight you were snooping.”

“I’m not…”

He moved in very close and placed one finger over her lips. “I talk, you listen. You’re much more transparent than you intend to be.”

Claire couldn’t move. Somehow he held her in place with that one finger on her mouth, and with his eyes. His magical, mesmerizing, unbelievably dark eyes. Her heart beat too hard. He knew that she’d discovered his secret, and now he was going to kill her. This time when he lowered his head he was going to bite down on her neck and feed and that would be the end of everything for her.

Claire Murphy was found dead in her apartment. The body was discovered by a nosy neighbor, Mrs. Iris Tillman, who was bothered by the gross smell. Miss Murphy has no family and she will not be missed by anyone. Oh, and by the way, it seems someone had taken all her blood, but who cares?

“Maybe I am transparent,” she whispered, angry at the knowledge that she could die here and now and no one would care. “You didn’t seem to mind a few minutes ago.”

“No, I didn’t mind at all. I’ve been dreaming about getting you in that particular position for weeks. I’ve been dreaming about more, Claire. To be honest, I’ve been watching you since I moved in,” he said in a lowered voice. “There’s no boyfriend, and you’re in bed every night very early and very alone.”

“If you work at night how do you…”

“Shhh,” he ordered gently. “I know. I’ve also known all along that if I touched you just right you’d come apart, and you did. Before tonight, when was the last time you came, Claire Murphy?”

She swallowed hard before answering half-heartedly, “Does it count if I was alone at the time?”

“No. That most definitely doesn’t count.”

“Hey, wait,” she said indignantly. “You’ve been stalking me!”

“Just a little.”

Claire was frozen in place as Simon lowered his head to her neck. His lips pressed there at the place where neck became shoulder, and a rush of sensation shot through her. She shouldn’t be so easy, what had happened in his apartment aside. Her insides clenched and her knees went weak, and all he had done was lay his mouth on her throat. The kiss was gentle, and yet it made her feel as if she were melting.

“I know what you want, Claire Murphy,” he whispered against her flesh, “and it isn’t spaghetti or a fictional earring.” His hand slipped beneath her shirt and raked against her back until he found her bra clasp and very easily unhooked it. “I want the same thing you do. I have since I first saw you in the hallway, more than a month ago. Does that surprise you? It surprises me. I don’t normally want things I shouldn’t have. I learned better long ago.”

How long?

Claire wanted to believe that what had driven her to suspect her neighbor of horrible crimes and unnatural abilities was nothing more complicated than her overactive imagination combined with the need to be touched and an undeniable attraction, which was apparently reciprocated. Her reasons for suspecting Simon of being an unnatural being were loneliness, boredom, and the craving for what he was offering her at this very moment, as he removed her tangled blouse and bra and tossed them to the floor.

He lowered her to the sofa. This time there would be more than a heated sexual moment that came and went too quickly. This time they would be naked and he would be inside her, and…oh, my. His mouth was warm on her breasts, and vampires were not warm. They were dead and cold. Unless they’d just fed and he’d picked up something besides flowers while he was out. Simon was not at all cold. In fact, his skin was hot, and she was almost certain she could hear the beat of his heart against her belly, where his chest rested as he sucked her nipple deep into his mouth. She wanted him at her neck again, but certainly didn’t complain. He would return there soon enough, she imagined.

He didn’t move back to her neck, not right away. Instead he unfastened her skirt and began to shimmy it down.

“Not so fast,” she whispered. “Not this time.”

“Trust me, this won’t be fast.”

She found comfort in those words, comfort from this man she had suspected of being a vampire moments earlier. What silly thoughts, thoughts she easily dismissed as he kissed his way down her body, which was naked but for the gold cross she’d taken to wearing. He didn’t seem to mind that tiny piece of gold, which was another point in his favor.

It was not the only point in his favor. Simon Darrow had a fine, sensuous mouth that was determined to explore every inch of her body. Where she was ticklish, where she was sensitive, where she had never been kissed before, he tasted her. He even lifted her leg and kissed her behind the knees, introducing her to an unexpected burst of joy. She felt that surge of joy everywhere, and yes, if he’d touched her where she was wet for him she would’ve come. She would’ve screamed. Again.

It occurred to her, as Simon trailed that lovely mouth very slowly up her inner thigh, that he was still completely dressed. That was so wrong.

“Take off your clothes,” she whispered, her voice raspy and demanding.

He laughed lightly, and his breath was warm against her skin. “Not yet.” He spread her thighs and touched her intimately with his tongue. He flicked his tongue, he teased her with light strokes and flickers, and then he moved in and rasped against her harder, fiercer. Claire came so hard she screamed and her back arched up off the couch. She grabbed Simon’s head and pulled him closer, and he did not fight her but pressed harder and deeper, slipping his tongue inside her as she shook.

And he hadn’t bitten her once.

“You said it would not be fast,” she said breathlessly, delirious and sad, shaking and satisfied, needy and happy.

“It’s not over, Claire,” he promised as he crept up and over her body and finally, once again, placed his mouth at her throat and sucked against that sensitive skin. “Women are wondrous creatures who can come again and again and again in a very short period of time.”

“I’ve heard that’s true,” she said as she turned her head more to the side to allow him the greatest possible access.

He nipped at her skin, but just a little. Naked, entirely vulnerable and recently satisfied, her mind began to work somewhat properly. What if she only imagined that Simon was warm and that his heart beat? That could be part of the spell he had cast on her. Why else would she be so, well, easy? Not that she was complaining. Far from it. In all the books she read vampires were sensuous creatures who wallowed in intense sexual encounters. She certainly felt as if she were wallowing, at the moment.

She no longer thought Simon was a vampire. Not conclusively. There was one other test she could try tonight, just to be certain. The sun had already set so she couldn’t study what happened to him in the daylight, but there was a mirror in her bedroom and if she could just see his reflection in it she’d be satisfied.

Claire took Simon’s head in her hands and drew his wonderful mouth away from her neck. “You have to be at least six foot two, and this sofa isn’t more than five feet long.”

“I can manage.”

“I have a perfectly good bed.”

“Beds are boring and ordinary. Everyone has sex in a bed.” His eyebrows lifted slightly. “What about the kitchen counter? The balcony? The elevator.” He grinned quite wickedly.

“I know you prefer odd, but I really am boring and ordinary,” she said as she reached down to fiddle with and then unfasten his belt buckle. He strained the denim with his erection, and she could not wait to have him in her hands, to touch him, to arouse him the way he’d aroused her. She gently forced him up and back, and placed her mouth on his neck. Yes, he was most definitely warm. His heart pounded. He shuddered, and she was glad.

“You’re neither boring nor ordinary,” he said. “You just haven’t discovered that for yourself yet. I see it, even if you don’t.”

Claire knew the truth about herself. She was nothing if not pragmatic. She was average looking, and her hair was an ordinary dark blond that rarely did what she wanted it to do. She was usually between ten and fifteen pounds overweight, and there were a variety of clothes in three different sizes in her closet. Fat clothes, ordinary clothes, and a handful of very nice I have a dream clothes.

She was a failure where men were concerned. More rightly, they had always failed her, which was why she now satisfied herself with reading on weekends instead of dating or painting her toenails or shaving her legs for some man who in the end…

But now was not the time for that old tirade. A very handsome man who was hard for her had just promised her again, and again and again. And maybe another again. She’d lost count. If she could just prove to herself decisively that he wasn’t a vampire, he might be the perfect man. At least for a while. No man was perfect forever.

“But you want the bed anyway, don’t you,” Simon whispered.

“Yes.”

“Fine.” Unsnapped and partially unzipped, still more dressed than not, Simon left the couch. He offered her his hand and she took it. He pulled her up and headed for the bedroom. It wasn’t as if he had to search. The apartment was laid out just like his own, in a mirror image.

Speaking of mirrors…

She led Simon toward the bed, and when they were in the center of the small room she stopped and turned to face the mirror above her dresser. There he was, gorgeous and black-clad and somehow animalistic. He definitely had a wild magnetism. She was so happy to see him there, reflected in all his human glory, that she smiled…until she realized that she was there too, in all her fifteen-pounds-overweight glory.

“Yikes.” She turned away and headed very quickly for the bed and the safety of a coverlet where she could hide. She jumped into the bed and pulled the lilac comforter across the plumpest parts of her exposed body.

Simon followed her at a slower pace, laughing. Not at her, at least she didn’t think so. When he peeled back the comforter that she’d grabbed to protect herself from his gaze, his smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed. “Don’t hide. You’re gorgeous.”

Claire knew she was anything but, but she didn’t argue. At this moment, so turned on he was probably not seeing straight, Simon believed it to be true. That was enough for her. At this moment she didn’t even care if he was a vampire or not. He’d brought her flowers and thought she was gorgeous and made her come so hard her head was still spinning. Nothing else mattered.

He quickly shed his clothes, and she was not disappointed by the body he revealed. Lean and perfectly sculpted, he had a runner’s body. And an impressive erection she could not look away from. If he was shy at all, she’d never seen any evidence of that shyness. If he had a single second thought or an ounce of hesitation, he hid it well.

Even if it was their first time together, there would be no awkwardness, no uncomfortable moments where she wondered what was expected of her or they bumped foreheads. No, this was an extraordinary night, and Claire felt as if she were caught in a wonderful dream, as Simon joined her on the bed.

The sensation of his bare body against hers was breathtaking, and when he kissed her on the mouth she held his head in her hands and gave that kiss all she had, because she could give him no less. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him close, pulling him toward what she craved.

“Oh!” She twitched and pulled away slightly. “I’m such an idiot! Do you have protection? A condom?” Anything?

“I can’t have children, and I carry no disease.” The words were pragmatic, simply spoken.

“Why should I take your word on that?” she asked, certain that many a woman had been fooled by similar promises.

“I will never lie to you, Claire.”

She shivered to the bone. Those were important words, and he spoke them as if they were truth. Of course, she wasn’t sure any man was capable of never lying. Still, the expression in his eyes was one of honesty as well as passion. Maybe she was a fool, but she believed him.

Yesterday she’d been stalking him down the hallway, convinced he was a vampire. Tonight he was in her bed, and she didn’t care what he was.

He understood that she liked his attentions at her neck, and while he didn’t neglect the rest of her body he spent many wonderful minutes there. Claire touched the hard curves and planes of his body, and discovered he was particularly sensitive just below the belly button, especially if she touched him there with the tip of her tongue. As she had suspected, there was no awkwardness, no hesitation.

Her curtains were open, so moonlight lit Simon’s face as he spread her thighs and guided himself into her. Making love with him was like dancing with a lifelong partner, like waltzing without conscious thought—and maybe an inch or two above the dance floor. She didn’t think at all with him inside her, not about vampires, not about being odd or boring, not about mirrors or crosses or garlic. There was just his body and hers and the way they came together.

It did cross her mind once, briefly, that the water on the stove was probably boiling by now, but it was a thought that did not last long.

Simon looked at her face, he held her eyes with his as he rocked above and inside her, pushing deeper and deeper with each thrust. The way he looked at her…he saw her, in a way no one else ever had. He knew her. He wanted her.

He held himself deep, and for a half second it seemed that his dark eyes were touched with streaks of red. Flashes of fire lit the depths. Claire came again, and with Simon inside her it was more powerful than before, more important. Her body convulsed around his, and he came, too. They were so incredibly connected, so very much together, that she wondered why she’d ever been satisfied with anything less.

And to top it all off, like the cherry on top of a hot fudge sundae, he drifted down and kissed her neck.

Claire’s job was undeniably tedious, and on Wednesday her mind was elsewhere as she mindlessly entered data into her computer. She yawned a time or two, and fielded the questions from her coworkers who were sequestered in nearby cubicles. Do you feel OK? Are you coming down with something? You look like you didn’t get enough sleep last night, what happened? You’re a little pale, someone said.

She finally decided to tell them that a noisy neighbor had kept her up half the night. That was close enough, though in truth she was much noisier than Simon.

Maybe if she’d felt closer to any one of them she might’ve said more, but while they were friendly coworkers they weren’t exactly friends. Most of her good friends were now married and had kids, so she didn’t see any of them on a regular basis, not like in the old days. Oh, they got together and had lunch now and then, but the talk always turned to potty training and which kid had learned the alphabet at the earliest age and which schools in the area were the most acceptable. There were occasional weekend barbecues or infrequent and horrific blind dates that made conversations about three-year-olds seem scintillating. No, her friends had changed, and so had she. Claire didn’t feel like she could call even them to share what had happened.

Besides, what had happened with Simon last night had felt so very, very personal. More intimate than sex, more important than the laughing and the touching and the orgasms.

This morning was still a blur. Simon had given her a fabulous kiss that had led to more, and then he’d gone home—a conveniently short trip. Claire had been left with no time to get ready for work. She’d showered quickly and grabbed clothes from her closet. The long blue skirt and blouse were comfortable. If the blues didn’t exactly match and she’d forgotten to put in earrings, well, if anyone noticed the lack was excused since she hadn’t gotten much sleep.

She never had gotten around to putting on those sexy shoes that made her legs look good. Maybe tonight—if there was a tonight.

More than once during the day she’d remembered that moment when it had seemed she saw fire in Simon’s eyes. She hadn’t been herself at the time, and there was a red neon light across the street. Maybe his head had been in just the right position at that moment to catch a glare. That had to be it.

There were logical explanations for all the clues that had led her to believe he was a vampire. The dirt might’ve come from a potted plant, even though he didn’t have any living plants—or fake ones, for that matter—in his apartment. The howl might’ve been an overly excited Fluffy or—considering some of the sounds she’d made last night—a very happy woman somewhere on the third floor. The hypnotizing eyes…Simon just had great eyes, and that was enough of an explanation to suit her.

So she didn’t tell anyone that she’d suspected her neighbor of being a vampire, or that she’d decided she was wrong and last night they’d eaten spaghetti in her kitchen—both of them starving from marvelously vigorous and unrestrained sex—she wearing nothing but her bathrobe, he in nothing but those incredibly sexy black jeans. She didn’t tell them that for the first time in a very long time, she was happy. Tired, but happy.

Happy as she was, she tried not to get her hopes too high. She’d been burned before, after all. A man who wanted a woman in bed might say or do anything to get her there, and then…then there were phone calls that never came, an old girlfriend who just happened to make an appearance, or that horrible “It’s not you, it’s me.” For all she knew she’d get home and find out that her neighbor had moved during the day just to get away from her, or else he had a wife who’d show up out of nowhere, or else—worst of all—he’d ignore her and pretend that nothing had happened.

Claire was thinking about Simon so intently her fingers quit moving across the keyboard. She simply stared at the screen, imagining the worst. The worst, at this moment, had nothing to do with vampires.

She jumped when the phone on her desk rang, and answered it quickly with a too-curt, “Claire Murphy.”

“Hello, Claire Murphy.”

She smiled. No one else had a voice like that. No one else could make her shudder simply by saying her name. “Hi, Simon.”

“What are you doing?”

“Working.” Trying to, anyway. Her heart lurched. “How did you get this number?”

“I asked the building manager where you worked, and then I used all my detective skills to thumb through a phone book.”

Would he go to so much trouble just to inform her over the phone that it wasn’t going to work? That he was already tired of her? That he was married?

“What time do you get off work?” he asked, and when he did the connection faltered a little. Apparently he was calling from his cell phone.

“Four-thirty.”

“That’s too long. Ever leave work early?”

“Sometimes.”

“Leave now,” he said, his voice low and commanding and sexy as hell. “Right now.”

Claire’s heart fluttered. “I really shouldn’t…”

“To hell with shouldn’t. I need you.”

Her mouth went dry, while between her legs she was anything but. “I suppose I can take half a sick day.”

“Do it.”

With that, he ended the call. No “See you later,” no “Bye, now,” No “I can’t wait.” Just a command and a click and a dial tone.

Claire closed down her computer program and picked up her purse. Her hands were trembling, and she couldn’t wait to get home. Usually on pretty days she walked home, but maybe today she’d grab a taxi. She informed her boss that she was going home, and since she’d been yawning and droopy-eyed all day he didn’t give her the third degree. In fact, he told her that she looked a little flushed and should stay home until she was sure she didn’t have anything contagious.

Claire agreed and headed for the elevator with a decidedly un-sick spring in her step. Simon needed her. All the way down, she had one thought in her mind. Please, don’t let him be a vampire or a jerk. Let him be just a guy. Maybe even the guy.

Less than a minute later she stepped off the elevator intent on grabbing a taxi and quickly making her way home, but she hadn’t taken two steps before a hand fell on her shoulder. She almost screamed she was so startled, but when she spun around she smiled widely and her heart…her heart did something odd and unexpected.

“I told you I couldn’t wait,” Simon said. He took her hand and they headed for the front door. “I can’t get you out of my head,” he mumbled, and he didn’t sound entirely happy about the fact.

“I thought about you today, a time or two,” Claire said, hefting her purse on her shoulder and picking up the pace. Simon’s steps were longer than hers.

“I went to bed after you left for work, and I woke up thinking about you,” he said.

“Only good thoughts, I hope.”

“What do you think?” He looked at her, and his step instantly altered. For her, he took shorter, slower steps.

At that moment Claire realized that her life had changed in a matter of hours. She realized that she had found the perfect man. She realized that if Simon was a vampire…she didn’t care. Not that she could tell him any of that. Not yet.

They exited through the front doors and into the afternoon sunlight. Simon’s eyes narrowed as the sun’s rays caught him full in the face, but he didn’t explode or catch on fire or recoil. That was good. He gripped her hand in his and it felt very right. That was even better.

Claire had fallen in love before—many times, if teenage crushes counted—but she’d never fallen in so far so fast. Simon was a wonderful lover, an incredible lover, and when they weren’t in bed he introduced her to his musical passion. Jazz. Maybe she would never love the music the way he did, but she did quickly find a few favorite tunes in his collection.

Simon was passionate about his music, almost as passionate as he was about her. He made her laugh, again and again. They danced. Naked. With her head resting on his chest she heard his heartbeat and it always made her smile. How could she have ever suspected him of being a vampire?

Mrs. Tillman kept close watch on their comings and goings as the days passed, and her disapproval was obvious. Once they even heard the whispered words, “foolish girl” drifting from the old lady’s slightly opened door. Claire didn’t have time to worry about one sour old woman. Not when her life was going so wonderfully well.

She felt incredibly silly when Charlie from downstairs, one of the three neighborhood lowlifes she’d believed had disappeared thanks to a bloodsucking vampire, showed up one evening in his usual classless manner, screaming at his wife and making loud, unintelligible excuses for his long absence. If Charlie wasn’t a vampire’s victim, odds were the other two were either in jail or had simply moved on to harass some other neighborhood.

Simon had removed her collection of vampire books from the end table in the main room and stored them on the bookshelf with other novels. She wasn’t sure why they bothered him but they did. Again, she didn’t care. Lately she hadn’t had any time for reading, in any case. Why escape into fiction when reality was so wonderful?

He kissed her neck frequently, but he didn’t bite. Much.

On Friday night, the club where Simon played reopened and he insisted on taking her with him. He didn’t have to insist very hard; she was anxious to go. She’d heard him play on his portable piano, and they’d listened to numerous recordings, but she wanted to see him on stage with a band, lost in the music she knew he loved.

And he did love it. At the small but crowded nightclub Claire sat at a small table near the raised stage. She sipped wine and watched as Simon and the other three musicians made beautiful, fast, and furious music. They all loved what they did, not just playing their instruments but creating this music. Simon’s face lit up when he performed. Claire had always known he had remarkable hands, but to see them fly over the piano keys and make such music, that was magic. It was a different kind of magic than that which her grandmother had told her about, but still, it was magic. Until tonight she had only seen Simon look this happy in bed, and yes, she was a little jealous.

But more than that, she was happy for him. Everyone should have something or someone in their life that they loved so much.

When the evening was over, at an hour much later than Claire had ever been out even on a Friday night, they walked from the club heading toward the apartment. It was a trip of just a few blocks, which was one of the reasons Simon had chosen her apartment building. The evening was a bit cool, but with Simon beside her she didn’t feel too chilly. He was very warm, very much alive, and she smiled contentedly as she remembered that she’d once believed he might be a vampire.

She was still convinced that such creatures were real. She knew in her heart that there was more to the world than most people ever saw. But Simon, Simon was just a man. The perfect man, perhaps, but still…a man. He was warm-blooded, his heart beat well, he didn’t mind going out in the late afternoon sun.

…and he ate her garlic bread.

They held hands very easily, as they walked toward home. Claire couldn’t remember when she’d ever felt so close to a person, when she’d ever felt so much a part of someone’s life. This relationship which had begun so very oddly was important, and if she had her way it would only become more important in days and weeks and years to come. Only one small detail kept her from perfection.

“There’s something I should tell you,” she said as they reached the front entrance to the building. She sensed there were possibilities with Simon, possibilities that went beyond sex and shared laughter. Such a connection couldn’t be built on a lie, no matter how small.

And this lie wasn’t particularly small, to be honest.

As they walked up the stairs, she gathered the strength to begin. “Do you remember when you accused me of stalking you?” she asked.

“Four days ago?” he responded lightly. “Yes, my memory works well enough to remember that.”

“Well, you weren’t entirely off the mark.”

They continued to climb. “You wanted my body,” he teased.

“No! Well, yes I suppose I did, but that’s not why I was following you.”

A small line appeared between his eyes, a hint of a frown. “What, then?”

Claire licked her lips as they entered the third floor hallway, where a few days ago she had attempted to gather proof that Simon was not what he appeared to be. “I thought you might be a vampire.”

She expected an outburst of laughter, and was prepared to order him to be quiet so he wouldn’t wake the neighbors. He continued to walk steadily, and there was no laughter. He didn’t so much as smile. “Why would you think such a thing?”

It seemed like a long way to the section of the third floor where their apartments were located. Maybe this conversation would be best finished in her apartment or his, since he wasn’t taking the news as well as she’d expected he would. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe she should’ve kept the truth to herself for a while longer.

It was a little too late for that particular revelation.

“Why?” he prompted.

Claire ticked off her reasons. “I never saw you during the daytime, for one thing, and I never saw you bring in food, and you listen to that old music…which I understand now, really I do, but I didn’t before I knew you…and I could swear that when you looked at me you were looking right through me, looking into my soul in a way that was not at all human. And, ok, I Googled you and you’ve moved a lot in the past few years. A man who doesn’t want his immortality to be discovered might…” she hesitated after her breathless rush of words, realizing how ridiculous it all sounded “…move frequently,” she finished in a lowered voice.

Finally they reached her apartment, and she grabbed her keys from her purse. Simon said nothing as she fumbled with unlocking the door, and she was terrified that she’d ruined the best relationship she’d ever had simply by telling the truth.

“What about now?” he asked as they stepped into her apartment. “Do you still think I’m a vampire?”

“No!” she insisted. Here, alone, the door closed behind them, she could take Simon’s face in her hands to look him in the eye. Yes, there was power in those eyes but it was perfectly ordinary power, right? Maybe what she saw, what touched her, was a power only she could see.

“Because I didn’t gag on garlic bread or explode in the sun?”

“Because I love you!” she insisted.

Once again Simon went very quiet, and Claire cursed herself. It was too soon for those words that sent some men running. Simon was a man, just a man, and he would run like hell from those words delivered too soon. But it was too late to take them back, and in truth she didn’t want to take them back. “I love you,” she said again. “It happened too fast and it took me by surprise but that’s the truth. I don’t want any kind of lie between us and that’s why I wanted to tell you about my ridiculous notions.”

He seemed to relax a little. “Did you tell anyone about your theory?”

“No. Who would I tell? My girlfriends would never believe me. Co-workers? I’m pretty sure that would get me fired, or sent to counseling at the very least. There’s really no one else to tell.” Except Granny Eileen, and she’d been gone five years.

“That’s good.” More relaxed than he had been as they’d entered the apartment, Simon began to undress her. As always he took his time, caressing skin as it was revealed, kissing her mouth and her throat, raking his talented hands across her body. He played her as well as he played his piano, and they did make music.

Simon removed his clothes, with her help, as they walked into the bedroom. Once there, he did not rush to the bed as he sometimes did, but held her so that she was facing the mirror while he stood behind her. They were both naked, both entirely bare, but for the small gold cross that caught a glimmer of light from the other room. Simon’s hands covered her breasts. His fingers rocked back and forth, very gently, and she found herself leaning into him, reveling in the sensation of her skin against his. There had been a time when Claire had been embarrassed to look at herself this way, but Simon thought she was beautiful and he’d said so so many times she was beginning to believe him. He bent his head and kissed her shoulder.

“Do you really love me?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“Just for today because you like the way I make you feel, or for forever? Think before you answer,” he added quickly. “Forever is a very long time.”

She did think, but in truth she’d known the answer before he’d even finished asking the question. “Forever,” she said.

“For better or for worse?”

She nodded, and his hands slipped lower, where he aroused her with a deliberate slowness while his eyes held hers in the mirror. She saw a flash of fire there, and this time she knew the fire was real, not a reflection of neon.

“I was bitten in 1941,” he said.

Claire gasped, but did not move.

“It was hard at first, adapting to a new way of life. I had no one to help me, no one to teach me. I was bitten and abandoned to find my own way in a new world.”

Claire’s heart pounded as Simon spoke calmly and his hands caressed.

“It’s the immortality that’s hardest to take, I must admit. You’d think it would be wonderful, a gift instead of a curse, but friends always grow old and die and it’s impossible to stay in any one place for very long before people start asking questions about why I don’t grow older. Immortality is lonely. Very lonely.”

“Are you saying…”

“I’m not a killer,” he interrupted. “At least, not an indiscriminate one. Since ’41 I’ve killed three people. Two were trying to kill me. The other was a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

“I did not know my own strength.” His hands continued to arouse her, and his eyes held hers in the mirror. The flame there had died, but she did not fool herself into thinking it had never existed. “You have a choice to make. If you’d like I can pack my bags, change my name once again, and go somewhere so far away no one will ever find me. Say the word, and I’m gone.”

“I don’t want you to go!” she whispered, horrified at the idea that he might disappear from her life. “What’s the other choice?”

Simon lowered his head and nipped at her bare shoulder. “You know, Claire. You know. Come with me, if you dare. It’s your choice.”

“I don’t want you to go,” she said again. She didn’t want to go back to the life she’d lived before Simon had come into it.

“That’s not an answer,” he protested.

“There must be another way!” But she knew there was not. When I was bitten. I’m not a killer. Come with me.

Claire slowly tipped her head to one side. That was her answer. She would not lose Simon. Not now, not ever.

“Look,” he whispered.

His hands now rested against her bare stomach, and as she watched they began to change. Long nails grew in the blink of an eye, and hair sprang up on his arms, his hands, his face. What had been lean, pale muscle grew larger and was almost instantly covered with dark fur. The shape of his face changed from the handsome face she had come to love to one that was caught between man and wolf. The teeth that grew long and sharp were fierce, but the eyes were Simon’s. She knew those eyes.

He raked his fingers, his claws, across her belly. Sharp talons did not break the skin, but they did leave fine red marks in their wake. She looked so pale, so vulnerable, with those powerful claws moving against her flesh. And yet, she was not afraid.

“I’m no vampire,” Simon said, the voice his and yet not his. It was throatier. Deeper. Colored with the force of an animal even though he touched her with the gentleness of the man she loved. “Whiny bastards,” he added beneath his breath. “Look at me without flinching, without being filled with horror. Look at me and understand that if you choose me we will never have children. We will never make a home that will last more than a few years. For an eternity, we will only have one another. Still love me, Claire? Still want to come with me?”

Because she knew those eyes so well she saw the pain there. Simon thought she would say no, that she would be terrified by what he had become…what she would become if she joined him. She should be terrified, but she was not. In fact, she remained amazingly calm. The face of her lover was no longer beautiful, but it was still his face. He was a werewolf—a shapeshifter, a Jekyll and Hyde—a monster to the minds of most just as a vampire was a monster.

But in spite of his current appearance, Simon was the best man she had ever known. She loved him. He was hers.

She reached up and touched his head, surprised by the softness of the fur that met her hand. She gently but surely drew him down until his mouth touched her neck. That was all the answer she had to give.

It didn’t hurt much when he bit her, when his sharp teeth broke through the flesh at her neck. A heartbeat later she felt the power of the animal that was inside him enter her blood, rushing through her veins with a burning sensation that traveled quickly throughout her body, changing her. Feeding her. Making her stronger. Simon held her with tenderness, though his limbs looked as if they could not offer tenderness.

There was pain, as the burning increased, but Claire welcomed the pain as she welcomed the rush of energy and strength. A new element was added to her body, and it shook her to the core. She and Simon were completely joined, much as they had been during sex, and she dismissed everything but the way it felt to be held in this way, to be joined. To be bitten.

The teeth were withdrawn from her neck, and Simon became a man once again, quickly, smoothly, and completely. Again, he met her eye in the mirror.

“When?” she asked. “When will I change?” For a moment she felt a tickle of panic, but the panic did not take root. It did not last.

“Some changes will come to you immediately. Others will arrive with the rise of the next full moon.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” she blurted. “You changed and there’s no full moon tonight. I thought…”

“Don’t believe everything you read, love,” Simon said with that touch of humor she adored. “You’ll learn all you need to know, in time. I’ll teach you. I’ll teach you everything.”

He led her onto the balcony that overlooked downtown Atlanta. Already Claire felt stronger, more alive. In addition she felt something she had not expected…an increased pull to Simon, who was, in a way she had never expected anyone to be, hers. Forever hers. He was in her blood, now, and she was in his.

“I was so sure there was a vampire in the building.” She laughed lightly and easily.

“There is.” Simon said. “When you come into your full abilities you’ll sense when a vampire is near.”

“I knew it,” Claire whispered. “Is there like a club or something? Monthly meetings?”

“Vamps and Weres don’t get along, but we refrain from fighting openly so we won’t bring undue attention to ourselves. Existing in a world that doesn’t believe in us is tough. Keeping it that way is even tougher.”

“Who is it?” she asked, searching her mind for the most logical answer. The young guy from the first floor, Charlie, the handyman…

“Mrs. Tillman. Don’t let the doddering old lady act fool you. She can be a nasty bitch when she feels like it.”

“But she’s old.”

“Only because it suits her at this moment in time to be old.”

Claire pictured Mrs. Tillman’s sour but unthreatening face in her mind, and imagined that mouth coming down on her neck. She shuddered, and Simon wrapped his arms around her in response. “At least now I understand why you were so upset at my teeny obsession with vampires.”

“Teeny?” he teased.

“Miniscule.”

The moon was not full, and still Claire drank in its power. The moon was a living thing that fed her, that called to her like a drug she needed in order to survive, in order to be strong. The moon’s rays washed over her much as Simon’s hands did, and she knew she had made the right decision in offering him her neck. No wonder he was so often out at night. To be bathed in the moonlight was magical.

“When did you know…” she began and then faltered. “When did you see that I…”

“That you were meant to be mine?”

“Yes.” The words sounded so right, so true to her heart. Meant to be mine.

“The day I moved in I saw you come in from work, and…”

“The day you moved in?” she interrupted. “Why did you wait so long?”

“I knew if I was right and you were the one then you would come to me, in time. You did so, in your own unique way. You were drawn to me, Claire. That’s why you became obsessed. From that first glance, we were united.” With his fingertip, he touched the gold cross she wore. “I’m just glad this isn’t silver.”

Claire turned and leaned over the balcony railing, face lifted to the moon. A cool night breeze washed over her bare body and she opened her arms to drink it in. Even the brush of the wind on her skin felt finer, sharper, more beautiful.

Simon kissed the wound on her neck, a wound she knew would quickly disappear. “You are remarkably gorgeous tonight,” he whispered in her ear. “Gorgeous and powerful and mine in a thousand ways.” His body was molded to hers, and she felt as if she not only absorbed power from him but also gave back, in some way she could not yet explain. The night was at their feet, waiting to be claimed and conquered. Her life had just begun.

Again, Simon kissed her neck. “Moonlight becomes you, love,” he whispered against the sensitive skin. “Moonlight becomes you.”