Desire After Dark. Amanda Ashley

for a woman who had not been a woman at all. Mara. Mara, with hair like thick black silk and mesmerizing blue eyes. Mara, whose lips had promised an eternity of sensual pleasure but whose bite had damned him to an eternity of darkness. He had not seen her since the night she brought him across.

      He had not realized how final the changes were that she bestowed upon him, or what the cost would be. In spite of his mother’s pleas, his father had cast him out, calling him a soulless monster, the spawn of the devil. His sisters had looked on him in horror, his brothers had tried to kill him. Angry and confused, he had left home and never returned.

      Since then, he had wandered the earth, selfishly taking what he required without regard for anyone’s needs but his own. He had made love to countless women throughout the centuries but he had loved none of them. They had satisfied his hunger but found no place in his heart.

      He turned his thoughts from his past to the present and the vampire who was preying on the people of Pear Blossom Creek. No real vampire had ever been as cruel and vicious as Count Vlad Dracula Tepes. Known as the Impaler, he’d had a fondness for having people skewered on long stakes, an excruciating death that often took days.

      It was said that he once invited all the poor, sick, and aged to a banquet where he provided them with a lavish feast. When it was over, he asked if there was anything else they desired. Sated for the moment, they said no, at which point Count Dracula left the banquet hall, locked the doors, and set the hall on fire, killing all who were within. It was this infamous count on whom Bram Stoker had based his fictional Dracula.

      But it wasn’t a fictional vampire terrorizing Pear Blossom Creek. The community of vampires was small, the number who still killed their prey smaller still now that both Alexi and Khira had been destroyed. He could count them on one hand—Andrew Bullivant, who liked to prowl Dracula’s castle and never left Romania; Eric Franciscus, who was among the youngest of their kind; Carl Matheson, who killed any and all who crossed his path; and Dimitri Falco, whose victims were always young red-haired women.

      Like Victoria. A sound from within the house had Battista on his feet in an instant, ready to defend her to the death if necessary, but she was only sighing in her sleep. He watched her through the window for a moment, wondering what it was she dreamed of. Judging from the smile on her face, it was pleasant indeed.

      Dissolving into a fine silver mist, he slipped through the narrow crack under the window, then materialized at her side. He looked down at her, the urge to walk in her dreams almost overpowering. To do so would be an invasion of her mind, a betrayal of what little trust she had in him.

      His gaze moved over her. How beautiful she was! Her hair was the red of autumn leaves, tempting his touch though he dared not succumb. Her skin was smooth and clear, her lashes thick where they rested on her cheeks. He watched the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the thin blanket and again felt the urge to reach out and touch her. Again, he restrained himself. He would not violate her while she slept.

      He felt his heart, that cold dead organ in his chest, beat for the first time in centuries when, with a sigh, she smiled and murmured his name.

      Vicki woke feeling embarrassed without quite knowing why, and then she remembered her dream. The one she’d had Wednesday night had been awful, the worst sort of nightmare, but this one had been wonderful. She had been walking on the beach at night. Moonlight had glistened like streaks of liquid silver on the water. The sand had been warm and soft beneath her bare feet. The song of the ocean had been like a lullaby. She had walked for what seemed like miles with only the moon and the sea for company when suddenly he had been there. He had been dressed in black, as always, his hair gilded by the moonlight, his eyes as blue and deep as the depths of the ocean. He had waited for her to draw near. As she approached, he had removed his cloak and spread it on the shore, then offered her his hand. She had taken it without fear, offered no resistance as he drew her down on his cloak. She had welcomed his kiss, her eyes closing in surrender, her body pliable in his knowing hands. He had made love to her all through the night, his hands caressing her, his voice joining with the lyrical ebb and flow of the waves, blending into a symphony that seduced her in both mind and body. She had given herself to him without restraint, became a part of him, wedded to him as the sea was bound to the sand and the moon to the tide, forever joined together, never to be parted…

      Smiling, Vicki sat up and took a deep breath and in so doing, she breathed in his scent. But it was no dream. Antonio had been here, in her bedroom, while she slept.

      The thought sent a jolt of fear through her, chasing away the pleasant afterglow of her dream. How had he gotten into her room? All the doors and windows had been locked when she went to bed. She knew, because she had checked them all twice.

      Rising, she checked them all again, starting with the window in her room. All were locked. None had been tampered with as far as she could see.

      Maybe she was imagining things. But no, she could still smell his scent in her room. She was fully awake now. She wasn’t imagining anything. It gave her a decidedly uneasy feeling to know that someone had been in her house, in her bedroom, while she slept.

      She was going to have a serious talk with Mr. Antonio Battista when she saw him again!

      The opportunity came sooner than she expected. She was about to leave for work when he appeared on her doorstep. Dressed in black, as always. She wondered what kind of statement he was trying to make under all that black leather and cloth.

      “Good evening, Victoria.”

      Such a formal greeting, she thought. Sometimes he sounded like some old-world count. “What brings you here?”

      He lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “I came to accompany you to work.”

      “Oh. Well, I’m glad you’re here. We need to talk.” She took a step backward and opened the screen door. “Come in.”

      He paused a moment, then stepped across the threshold and into the living room.

      “What do you wish to talk about?” he asked.

      “Last night.” She dropped her handbag and coat on a chair, then turned to face him, her arms crossed over her breasts.

      “What about last night?”

      “You were in my room while I was sleeping.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.

      “Yes.”

      “Oh, you admit it! What were you doing there? How did you get in? All the doors and windows were locked.”

      “I meant you no harm, my sweet one, I only wanted to make sure you were all right.”

      “Why wouldn’t I be all right?” she asked, then realized how stupid that sounded. There was a murderer running loose, a murderer who preyed on redheads. Maybe it wasn’t such a stupid question, she thought. After all, none of the women had been killed in their homes.

      “Do you wish me to apologize for worrying about you?” he asked with a wry smile.

      “Yes. No. I don’t know, but I want your promise that you won’t come into my house again unless I invite you.”

      He bowed his head in acquiescence. “As you wish.”

      “You never told me how you got in.”

      “A trick of the trade, you might say.”

      She raised one brow. “What trade is that? Don’t tell me you’re a cat burglar.”

      He laughed softly. “No.”

      “What do you do?”

      “Perhaps I shall tell you sometime.”

      “There’s something else I’d like to know.”

      “You are full of questions this evening.”

      “Yeah, well…” She hesitated. Maybe asking wasn’t such a good idea, but she had to know.

      He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

      “I