As Twilight Falls

Gaining her feet, she undressed down to her underwear. Crawling under the covers, she pulled the blankets over her head, curled into a ball, and burst into tears.

Chapter 8

Darrick Vaughan stared at the dark crimson liquid in his glass. Bottled blood. It was enough to make a vampire gag, yet all the females were off-limits for the next few days. It didn’t happen often, but it was hell when it did.

As always, his thoughts turned to the new woman. The one who should have been his. Would have been his if Saintcrow hadn’t asserted his right to have any woman he wanted at any time. One of the perks of being a master vampire, Vaughan thought glumly, and felt his jealousy and his frustration grow in equal measure.

Of course, he could have challenged Saintcrow, but he wasn’t insane. There was no way he could hope to beat the older vampire, one-on-one.

He grimaced as he sipped his drink. If he could sway the other vampires to his way of thinking, they might be able to destroy Saintcrow and take over Morgan Creek, run it the way they saw fit. Instead of waiting for unwary mortals to stumble into town, they could go out and round up a dozen, a hundred, and gorge themselves to their hearts’ content. But that would never happen as long as Saintcrow existed.

He drained his glass and set it aside. Right now, only Lilith agreed with him.

With enough persuasion and a little luck, he might be able to change that.

He thought again of asking Saintcrow for permission to leave Morgan Creek, but he was reluctant to do so. This place was a haven, a refuge from the hunters and slayers who were determined to wipe their kind from the face of the earth. Leaving Saintcrow’s protection could be dangerous.

After signaling for a refill, Vaughan drummed his fingers on the bar top. Slow and steady wins the race, his father had always said. The best thing to do was try to sway the others to his way of thinking. It might take a year. It might take ten. But what the hell. If there was one thing he had, it was time.

Chapter 9

Kadie woke late after a surprisingly restful sleep. She had slept like the proverbial log, with no dreams that she could recall.

She stared up at the high ceiling. It was Sunday. Had she been at home, she would have eaten a late breakfast, read the paper, taken her little sister, Kathy, to church, if Kathy was feeling up to it. After lunch, she would have gone through her latest batch of photos, deciding which to keep, sorting them into groups, deciding if the pictures deserved a story and where she would send them. In the evening, after dinner, she would have read her e-mail, updated her Web site, maybe played cards with her mom and dad after Kathy went to bed. Her parents must be worried sick. She had promised to call as soon as she reached Wyoming.

Sitting up, she glanced around the room. She hadn’t paid much attention to it before. It was a nice-enough room, large, with bare, off-white walls. The rug was deep green; matching drapes hung at the single window. The four-poster bed looked like an antique, as did the rocking chair in the corner. But maybe that was to be expected, since the owner of the house was somewhat of an antique himself! An old-fashioned mirror stood in one corner. What was that doing here, she wondered, since it was commonly believed that vampires had no reflection.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She had a horrible taste in her mouth. After her grand exit from the kitchen last night, she had been too upset to wash up properly. Now, she was eager to shower and brush her teeth.

She did so quickly, thinking how much she hated Rylan Saintcrow for keeping her here.

Exiting the shower, she slipped into her bathrobe, then stepped into the hallway.

Were there bedrooms behind the other five doors? Did Saintcrow sleep in one of them?

Curious, she padded down the carpeted corridor, peering into each room. They were all furnished much the same as hers, and appeared to be unoccupied. Why did he need so many bedrooms when he lived alone? Had he once kept a harem?

In the kitchen, Kadie put on a pot of coffee. She scrambled a couple of eggs, made some toast, poured a glass of orange juice. While looking for the silverware the day before, she found the catalogs Saintcrow had mentioned. He had brochures and catalogs from dozens of stores and manufacturers from coast to coast. She couldn’t help thinking that shopping online would have been a whole lot easier.

She browsed through several while she ate. He had told her she could have anything she wanted. She quickly made a list—a sofa from Jonathan Adler that cost a mere $3900.00, along with an equally expensive love seat and armchair, a pair of end tables, new lamps, a kitchen table and one chair (Mr. Saintcrow could stand, thank you very much—he didn’t eat, anyway). She added a portable DVD player and fifty DVDs, a blender, a microwave, a new set of silverware, a set of Spode Blue Italian china, Egyptian cotton sheets for the bed, sage green towels for the bathroom, ten bars of imported soap, a bottle of Clive Christian No. 1 perfume (the world’s most expensive fragrance—a steal at only $2150.00 a bottle), the same scent worn by actress Katie Holmes on her wedding day. Lastly, she added a diamond tennis bracelet, something she had always wanted but could never afford.

Kadie sat back, smiling. She couldn’t wait to see Saintcrow’s face when he read her list.

“Is this all?” Saintcrow asked as he perused the items she had selected.

Kadie stared at him. If she had hoped to anger him or get a rise out of him, she had failed miserably.

He folded her list and stuffed it into his pants pocket. “What would you like to do this evening?”

“Do?”

“I thought you might like to get out of the house. Have you eaten dinner?”

“ No.”

“There’s a nice little Italian restaurant not far from here. Would you like to go?”

“You mean, leave Morgan Creek?” she asked, her mind racing.

“If you’d like.”

“I would! Just let me change clothes.” Not that she had anything really nice to wear. When she’d left home, she hadn’t planned on eating out in nice restaurants, or being gone long enough to need anything other than jeans, T-shirts, and boots.

But she had packed one nice pair of black slacks and a blue silk shirt, just in case, and she donned them now, along with a pair of black sandals. She brushed her hair and her teeth, applied fresh makeup, then scowled at herself in the mirror. What was she doing? Was she actually dressing up for him?

“Of course not,” she told her reflection. “I’m doing it for me.” She grabbed her handbag. If things went as planned, she wouldn’t be coming back here tonight. She hated to leave her cameras behind, but it was a small price to pay for her freedom.