Dead Perfect

“I know a place where we can be alone.”

She looked up at him, her heart thundering in her chest. “Do you?” She wanted to sound playful, teasing. Instead, she sounded breathless.

“Indeed.” Taking her by the hand, he led her back to his house.

Shannah shivered as they walked up the pathway to the door. The house looked spooky at night, the dark windows like blank eyes. Leaves rustled against the sides of the house, whispering secrets that she would never know. She let out a startled cry as a cat burst out of the shadows and disappeared around the corner of the house.

Ronan put his arm around her shoulders. He could feel her shivering. At first he thought it was from excitement, but then he realized her skin was cool, damp with sweat. Her heart was beating much too rapidly.

Swinging her into his arms, he carried her quickly into the house and placed her on the sofa.

“Shannah?”

“I’m sorry, I…I felt so good this morning.” She tried to smile. “The doctor said my vital signs were normal. I guess he was wrong.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“No.” Sadness welled in her eyes. “I’ll never be well. These last few weeks were probably just a…I don’t know. A reprieve.” Her eyelids fluttered down, her body went limp.

Gathering her into his arms, Ronan sat down on the sofa, her body cradled against his chest.

Biting his wrist, he held it to her lips.

“Drink, Shannah,” he commanded. “Drink, and you’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”

He stroked her throat to make her swallow, closed his eyes as she surrendered her will to his. It pleased him greatly to nourish her, to know that his blood would drive away her pain and extend her life a while longer.

He watched the color return to her cheeks, heard her heartbeat and breathing gradually return to normal. And then he lowered his head to her neck and drank.

Chapter Eight

In the morning, Shannah was surprised at how strong she felt, and how long she had slept. A glance at the clock showed it was almost two. She shrugged it off. Considering how she had felt last night, sleeping late didn’t seem so strange. She blew out a sigh. Last night, she had been certain she was again at death’s door. This morning, she felt like she could run the Boston Marathon and win. It was most confusing.

But it was too beautiful a day to fret about a future she couldn’t change. She felt too wonderful to lay about any longer.

Bounding out of bed, she took a shower and brushed her teeth. Famished, she ate a big breakfast, then went out the front door to fetch the morning paper. After refilling her coffee cup, she headed out the back door, intending to sit outside, enjoy a second cup of coffee and get caught up on the latest news.

She frowned when she stepped into the sunlight. Squinting against the brightness, she went back into the house for her sunglasses. Funny, the sun had never bothered her before.

Sitting in the chaise lounge, she scanned the front page of the paper. In all her life, she had never taken the time to read a newspaper from beginning to end.

“I could get used to this,” she murmured as she turned the page.

The sun felt good against her skin. Laying the paper aside, she leaned back in the chaise lounge and closed her eyes.

Deep in the bowels of the house, Ronan stirred.

“Shannah.” He murmured her name, heard it echo within the confines of his resting place.

She was sitting outside, dozing in the sun.

Lying there, drifting on the edge of oblivion, he felt what she felt, smelled what she smelled. He felt the touch of the sun caress his skin for the first time in over five hundred years. Here, safe in the darkness of his lair, it had no power to harm him. He was free to bask in its warmth vicariously, without pain or fear. An in-drawn breath brought him the scent of trees and grass and sun-warmed earth. Birdsong filled his ears, something he had not heard in centuries. He licked his lips and tasted the coffee she had been drinking, the bacon and eggs she had eaten for breakfast, tastes that he had forgotten long ago.

With a sigh and a faint smile, he surrendered to the darkness that dragged him down into oblivion.

It was late afternoon when Shannah woke. Returning to the house, she tossed her sunglasses on the table, then sat down and tried to study the list of possible questions Ronan thought she would be asked. It hit her all of a sudden that in just a few weeks, she would be in New York City or Los Angeles pretending to be a successful romance author. People would interview her.

She would meet Ronan’s readers. What if she said or did something to embarrass him or his agent or his publisher?

Why had she ever thought she could pull off such a charade? He needed someone with acting experience, someone outgoing and self-confident. She was shy around strangers, quiet even with her family. She would tell him that she’d changed her mind when she saw him tonight. A glance at the window showed that it was almost dark now. He would be there soon.

The thought of telling him “no” filled her with apprehension and she decided to put it off as long as possible. Hurrying up to her bedroom, she changed clothes and left the house, determined to eat dinner at a nice restaurant for a change.

She had just ordered and was sipping a glass of raspberry lemonade when Ronan slid into the chair across the table from her.

Shannah almost choked on her drink. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you might like some company with your dinner.”

“How did you know where I was?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, I think it does.” She frowned at him. “And that reminds me, how did you find my apartment the other night?”

“I followed you home.”

She shook her head. “No one followed me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. No…” She frowned. She had been certain that no one had followed her that night, but she could have been mistaken. But he hadn’t followed her tonight. She was sure of that. He hadn’t even been home when she left. “How did you…?”

“Did you forget you have an appointment tonight?”

“What? Oh! I did!” she exclaimed. “Are we late?”

“You have time to have dinner.”

“Are you sure? I need to change. What should I wear?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you think best.”

The waitress brought her dinner a few moments later.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Shannah asked.

“No.”

She ate quickly, aware of his presence across the table, of the way his dark eyes watched her, like a cat at a mouse hole. She should have told him she had changed her mind when he sat down, she thought, told him she couldn’t pretend to be Eva Black, that there was no way she could remember everything, no way she would ever be able to convince his editor or his readers that she had written all those wonderful books.