Everlasting Desire (Everlasting 2)

Greg frowned. “I thought she was sick. At death’s door.”

“She was, but I guess you could say she had a rather miraculous recovery.”

“What happened? Did they find a cure? Is she going to be all right?”

“I really can’t say, I mean…well…” Megan stared at him, wishing she could just tell him the truth. “All I know is that she isn’t sick anymore, and she’ll probably have a nice long life.”

He frowned, then said, I guess you know she broke it off with me.”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. I was hoping to change her mind. Is there someone else?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Looks like she was just stringing me along,” he said, his voice bitter. “I should have known a girl like that would never stay with a lug like me.”

“I’m sorry,” Megan said again. She couldn’t help thinking that she sounded like a parrot that only knew two words, but what else could she say? She couldn’t tell Greg the truth.

He nodded. “I hope she’ll be happy,” he muttered. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

Megan stared after him as he turned and walked away. Poor guy. With a shake of her head, she closed the door. She stood there a moment, thinking how unfair life was.

She was about to go upstairs to take a quick shower when the doorbell rang again. Thinking Greg might have returned, she opened the door.

“Shirl!” Megan experienced a moment of fear and confusion when she saw her friend on the front porch. Clad in an off-the-shoulder white sweater and a pair of slinky black pants, Shirl looked even more exotic and exquisite than usual.

“Hi, Meggie,” Shirl said, brushing past her. “I’ll only be a minute. I just came by to get my things.” She tossed her handbag and coat on the sofa.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know I’m moving out.”

Megan started to deny it, then decided against it. “Where are you going?” Please, she thought, please don’t let her be moving in with Rhys.

“I’m going to live on a yacht.”

“A yacht! You know someone with a yacht? Someone willing to share it with a vampire?”

“Yes, his name is Tomás Villagrande, and he’s the most remarkable man I’ve ever known. I was afraid of him when I first met him, but now…he’s simply amazing.”

“That’s what you said about Greg,” Megan reminded her. “Have you already forgotten him? He was here a few minutes ago looking for you.”

“Really?” Happiness flared in Shirl’s eyes for a moment, then was quickly gone.

“I thought you loved him.”

“I do. I did. But he could never have given me the kind of life I wanted.” Shirl paused a moment, her expression melancholy, and then she shrugged. “And even if he could, it would never work out between us now.”

“I don’t know what you said to him the last time you saw him, but he looked crushed when he left here.”

“You didn’t tell him the truth, did you?” Shirl asked sharply.

“Of course not.”

“Good,” Shirl said, obviously relieved. “Come upstairs with me. We can talk while I pack.”

Megan stared after Shirl, then followed her up the stairs. “So, who is this guy, Tomás? What does he do?”

“He’s a vampire,” Shirl said, an unmistakable note of excitement in her voice. “The oldest vampire in the world.” She pulled a suitcase from the top shelf of her closet and started throwing clothes into it. “He’s very powerful and very rich.”

“Does he know Rhys? Are they friends?”

“They know each other.” Shirl moved to the dresser, quickly taking things from one drawer after another. “I don’t know if they’re friends. Somehow, I don’t think so.” She pulled another suitcase from the closet and began filling it with shoes and handbags.

“Are you leaving L.A.?”

“No. Tomás says he wants a change of scene,” Shirl replied airily. “He’s thinking of staying here for a while.”

Megan didn’t know much about the intricacies of vampire politics, but she remembered reading online that there could be only one Master Vampire in the city, and right now, that was Rhys. If Tomás was the oldest vampire in the world, was he also a Master Vampire? Did that automatically come with age? Would Rhys have to leave LA if Tomás decided to stay? Did vampires fight over territory? The article she’d read hadn’t mentioned that.

Shirl closed both suitcases with a flourish, then glanced around the room. “I guess that’s everything but my cosmetics.” She picked up a small bag and went into the bathroom.

Megan followed her, then stood in the doorway, watching as Shirl filled the bag with enough lipstick, rouge, powder, and eyeliner to last an ordinary woman a lifetime. “How do you put your makeup on when you can’t see yourself in a mirror?”

Shirl shrugged. “That’s what makeup artists are for. My agent wasn’t very happy when I told him I could only work nights, but, oh, well—” She laughed softly. “I used to worry about what I’d do when I started to look older, but since I can’t see my reflection anymore, that’s not going to be a problem.”

“They have mirrors in dressing rooms,” Megan said. “What are you going to do about that?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet. But I will.”

Megan grunted softly. Shirl was tall and willowy, her skin smooth and clear, her hair thick and lustrous. She would look exactly the same next year, and every year for the rest of her life. “What are you going to do when people start to notice that your appearance never changes?”

“I can always attribute my youthful appearance to good genes and Botox. Look at Dick Clark. He looked the same for years. Anyway, Tomás said I don’t have to work unless I want to. He’s going to show me the world.”

“Well, that’s wonderful, I guess, but isn’t all this kind of sudden?”

“I guess so,” Shirl replied with an airy wave of her hand, “but things are different now. He said he’s going to make me his queen!”

“Really?” Megan tapped her fingernails on the edge of the door. If Shirl was going to be a queen, then Tomás must plan to be the king, but king of what?