Twilight Phantasies

CHAPTER SEVEN

Deny it, Eric thought desperately. Deny it, Tamara, and I'll believe you. If it costs my existence, I'll believe you. He watched her chalky face go even paler. He honed his senses to hers and felt a shock of paralyzing fear. Fear. . .of him. It hit him painfully.
"Tamara, you needn't be afraid. I'd sooner harm myself than you." He glanced toward Roland. "Leave us for a time." He spoke aloud to be certain Tamara understood.
He had no doubt Roland did so for the same reason. Slanting a derogatory gaze in her direction, he said, "And if she would lead a regiment of DPI forces to the back door?" He stepped out from behind the bar and came nearer. "Well, girl? Speak up. Have you come alone? How; did you get in?"
Eric shot to his feet, his anger flaring hot. "I am warning you, Roland, let me take care of this matter. You are only frightening her."
"I? Frightening her? You think I felt secure when I woke and sensed a human presence in this house? For God's sake, Eric, for all I knew I was about to be skewered on a stake!"
"Th-then it's true." Tamara's voice, shaking and sounding as if every word were forced, brought Eric's gaze back to her. "You're-you both are, are-"
"Vampires," Roland spat. "It isn't a dirty word, at least, not among us."
She groaned and put her head in her hands. Roland shook his head in exasperation and turned away. Eric took his seat beside her once more. He wanted to comfort her, but wasn't certain he knew how. He pulled one of her hands into his own, and stroked her palm with his thumb. "Tamara, look at me, please." She lifted her head, but couldn't seem to meet his gaze. "Try to see beyond your fear, and the shock of this revelation. Just see me. I am the same man I was last night, and the night before. I am the same man who held you in my arms... who kissed you. Did I frighten you then? Did I give you any reason to fear me?"
Her eyes focused on his, and he thought they cleared a bit. She shook her head. More confident, he pressed on. "I am not a monster, Tamara. I'd never harm you. I'd kill anyone who tried. Listen with your heart and you'll know it to be true." He reached one hand tentatively, and when she didn't flinch or draw away he flattened one palm to her silken cheek. "Believe that."
Her brows drew together slightly, and he thought she might be thinking it over. Roland cleared his throat, her head snapped around and the fear returned to her eyes. "If it is me you fear, you need not. I do not choose to trust you as my dear friend does, but neither would I lift a finger to harm you. My anger at finding you here is directly related to my wish to continue existing." The last was said with a meaningful glance at Eric.
"Tamara." When he had her attention again, he continued. "There are those who would like nothing better than to murder us in our sleep. We both thought my security system infallible. Please, tell me how you breached it."
She swallowed. Her throat convulsed. "Where the fence ends," she said hoarsely. "At the cliff." Her gaze flew to Roland. "I didn't bring anyone here. I didn't even tell them where I-" She bit her lips before she could finish the sentence, but Eric had barely heard her words.
"At the cliff?" he repeated. For the first time he looked at her closely. Her denims were damp and caked with dirt. A streak of mud marred her high cheekbone, and her hair was wild. The scent of blood reached him from the hand he held, and he spread her fingers wider with his own. Drying blood coated her palm. Fresh trickles of it came from narrow slices at the creases of three fingers. It pulsed a bit harder from the fourth. "How did this happen?"
"I-I fell. I had to cling to the fence, and the vine patterns are sharp. They cut-"
Roland swore softly and whirled to leave the room. Eric could clearly see what she described. He sensed what had happened, her fear, her panic and her pain. The memory embedded itself in his mind as firmly as it had in hers, and it shook him to think of her coming so close to death while he slept, helpless to save her. Roland returned, dropped to his knees beside the settee and deposited a basin of warm water on the table beside it. He squeezed a clean white cloth and handed it to Eric. As Eric gently cleaned her hand, Roland looked on, his face drawn as if he, too, could envision what had happened. The wounds cleansed, Roland produced a tiny bottle of iodine. He took Tamara's hand from Eric's, and dabbed each cut liberally with the brownish liquid. He recapped the bottle, and took another strip of white cloth from some hidden pocket beneath his cloak. Carefully he began to wrap her four fingers at the knuckle.
"It-it's only a couple of scratches," Tamara croaked, watching his movements in something like astonishment.
Roland stopped, seeming to consider for a moment. He grinned then, a bit sheepishly. "I sometimes forget what century this is. You've likely been vaccinated against tetanus. There was a time when even minor scratches like these could have cost the entire hand, if not treated." He shrugged and finished the wrapping with a neat little knot. He glanced up at Tamara, caught her amazement and frowned. "You assumed we would go into a frenzy at the scent of your blood, like a pack of hungry wolves, did you not?"
"Enough, Roland," Eric cut in. "You cannot blame her for misconceptions about us. She's been reared by a man who loathes our kind. She only needs to see for herself we are not the monsters he would have her believe." He studied Tamara, but found she wasn't looking at either of them. She was staring at the white bandage on her hand, turning it this way and that, frowning as if she didn't quite know what it was, or how it had got there.
His stomach clenched. She'd had a scare out there at the cliff, and now another shock, in learning the truth about him. She was shaken. He'd have to go gently. "Tamara," he said softly. When she looked up, he went on. "Will you tell me why you came here?"
"I... had to know. I had to know."
He closed his eyes and made himself continue. "Then St. Claire doesn't know you've come to me?"
Some of the fear returned to her wide, dark eyes, but to her credit she answered honestly. "No one knows I'm here."
He swallowed, and squared his shoulders. He had to ask the next question, no matter how distasteful. "Did you come to discover my secrets, and take them back to your guardian, Tamara?"
She shook her head emphatically, straightening up in her corner of the settee. "I wouldn't do that!" When she met his gaze again, her eyes narrowed. The fear seemed to be shoved aside to make room for another emotion. "I was honest with you, Eric. I found myself telling you things I had never told anyone, and every one of them was the truth. I trusted you." Her voice broke, and she had to draw a shaky breath before she could continue. In that instant Roland nodded toward Eric, indicating he was satisfied that she posed no threat, and would leave them alone now. Roland vanished through a darkened doorway. Tamara found her voice and rushed on.
"I told you about the nightmares, about how I thought I might be going insane. I bared my soul to you, and the whole time you were deceiving me. Daniel was right. You were only using me to get closer to him!"
Eric felt a shaft of white-hot iron pierce his heart. All she wanted at this moment was to get away from him. He swallowed his pain. "I never deceived you, Tamara."
"You deceived me by omission," she countered.
"And I would have told you the rest of it, in time. I didn't think you were ready to hear the truth."
"The truth? You mean that you've been plotting to rid yourself of an old man's harassment, and you were using me to do it?"
"That I am not like other men. I had no idea you were under St. Claire's hand until you told me yourself, and after that my only goal was to protect you from the bastard!"
"Protect me? From Daniel?"
Eric let his chin drop to his chest. "If I was lying to you, you would know it," he told her slowly, carefully, enunciating each word and giving each time to penetrate her mind. She was angry now. He didn't suppose that should surprise him. He met her probing, questing eyes. "We have a psychic link, Tamara. You cannot deny that. You've felt its power. When you called to me in your dreams, when I summoned you out onto the balcony. Have you realized yet that you can cry out to me, across the miles, using nothing but your mind, and that I will hear you?"
She shook her head fast. "The dream was a fluke, and beyond my control. I couldn't do it at will."
"You could. Put it to the test, if you doubt me."
"No, thank you. I just want to go home. . . and-"
"Do not say it, Tamara. You know it is untrue," Eric cut in, sensing her declaration before she uttered it.
She met his gaze, her own unwavering. "I don't want to see you again. I want you to leave me alone. I can't let myself be used to betray Daniel, or DPI."
"I would never ask you to do either one. I haven't yet, have I?" He grabbed her shoulders when she would have stood, and held her where she was. "As for the rest, now you are the one lying, Tamara to yourself and to me. You do not wish for me to leave you alone. Quite the opposite, in fact."
She shook her head.
"Shall I prove it to you, yet again? You want me, Tamara. With the same mindless passion I feel for you. It goes far beyond the past we share. It exceeds this mental link. I would feel it even if you were a stranger. Our bond only strengthens it, and vice versa."
She stared into his eyes, and her own dampened. "I can't feel this way for you. I can't, dammit."
"Because I'm a vampire?"
She closed her eyes against the glycerin like tears that pooled there. "I don't even know what that means. I only know you despise the man I hold more dear to me than anything in the world."
"I despise no one. It is true that I distrust the man. But I wish him no harm, I swear to you." Her eyes opened slowly, and she studied his face. "I could not long for something that would cause you pain, Tamara. To harm St. Claire would also harm you. I can see that clearly. I'm not capable of causing you pain."
She shook her head. "I don't know what to believe. I-I just want to leave. I can't think clearly here."
"I can't let you go in this frame of mind," he said softly. "Stop trying to rationalize, Tamara. Let yourself feel what is between us. You cannot make it disappear." His gaze touched her lips, and before he could stop himself he fastened his hungry mouth over them, enfolding her in his arms and drawing her to his chest.
She remained stiff, but he felt her lips tremble against his. Barely lifting his mouth away, he whispered, "Close your mind and open your heart. Do not think. Feel." His lips closed the hairbreadth of space again, nudging hers apart, feeding on the sweetness behind them. With a shudder that shook her entire body Tamara surrendered. He felt her go soft and pliable, and then her arms twined around his neck and her soft mouth opened farther. When his tongue plunged deeply into the velvet moistness, her fingers, clenched in his hair. One hand fumbled with the ribbon that held his customary queue. A moment later the ribbon fell away, and she swept her fingers again and again through his hair, driving him to greater passion.
He pressed her backward until she lay against the settee's wooden arm and still farther, so her back arched over it. His own arm clutching her to him rested at the small of her back, protecting her from the hard wood. His other arm stretched lengthwise, up her spine so his hand could entangle itself in her hair. His fingers spread open to cradle her head. He moved it this way and that beneath his plundering lips to fit her to him. His chest pressed hard on hers. He drank in the honeyed elixir of her; he tasted every wet recess his tongue could reach. He caressed the roof of her mouth, the backs of her teeth and the sweet well of her throat.
She groaned, a deep, guttural sound that set an inferno blazing through him. She shifted beneath him so that one leg, bent at the knee, pressed into the back of the settee, while the other still hung off the side, onto the floor. He responded instantly and without thought, turning into her, pressing one knee to the cushion and lowering his hips to hers. He brought one hand down, sliding it beneath her firm backside and holding her to him while he ground against her. He throbbed with need, and he knew she could feel his hardness pushing insistently against her most sensitive spot, as his hand kneaded her derriere. He felt her desire racing through her, and the knowledge that she wanted just what he did added fuel to the fire incinerating his mind.
He trailed a burning path over her face with his lips, moving steadily lower, over her denned jawbone, to the soft hollow of her throat. Her jugular swelled its welcome, and her pulse thundered in anticipation. He tasted the salt of her skin on his stroking tongue, and the stream of her blood rushing beneath its surface tingled on his lips. His breathing became rapid and gruff. His own heart hammered and the blood lust twined with the sexual arousal, enhancing it until both roared in his ears as one entity.
Another moment-another of her heated, whimpering breaths bathing his skin, or one more shift of her luscious body against his straining groin-and it would take over completely. He'd lose control. He'd tear her clothing off and he'd take her. He'd take her completely. He'd bury himself inside her so deeply she'd cry out, and. he'd drink the nectar from her veins until he was sated.
She arched against him then, pressing her throat hard against his mouth, and her hips tighter to his manhood. She shivered from her toes to her lips. Even her hands on his back and in his hair trembled, and she moaned softly-a plea for something she wasn't even fully aware of craving.
He gathered every ounce of strength in him and tore himself from her so roughly he almost stumbled to the floor. He whirled away from her, bent nearly double, holding the edge of the table for support.
He heard her gasp in surprise, then he heard the strangled sob that broke from her lips, and when he dared look at her, her knees were drawn to her chest, her face pressed to them. "Why-" she began.
"I'm sorry. Tamara, you make me forget common sense. You make me forget everything except how badly I want you."
"Then. . ." She paused for a long moment and drew a shuddery breath. "Then why did you stop?"
He had to close his eyes. She'd lifted her tearstained face to search his for an answer. When he opened them again, she was dashing her tears away with the backs of her hands. "I came to you to help you, to protect you. You called to me for help. You thought yourself slipping away from sanity. I had to come to you. But not for this-not to satisfy my own unquenchable lust."
She shook her head in obvious confusion. He stepped forward, extended his hands, and she slipped her feet to the floor, took them in her own and rose.
"There are still many things you do not fully understand. No matter how badly I want you-and I do, never doubt that-I cannot let my desire cloud my good judgment. You are not ready."
She glanced up at him, and very slightly her lips turned up. "I don't know anything about you, and yet I feel I know you better than anyone. One thing I do know is that you were right when you said you were different from other men. Any other man wouldn't have stopped himself just now. The hell with what was best for me." She sighed and shook her head. "When I'm with you, even I say the hell with what is best for me. Sensation takes over. It's as if I lose my will. It frightens me."
His lips thinned and he nodded. He well understood what she was feeling. The powerful feelings seemed beyond her; control. Well, they seemed beyond his, as well. But he'd keep himself in check if it killed him.
"Will you tell me yet, how I know you? When did we get so close? Why can't I remember?"
He reached out, unable to resist touching her again. His body screamed for contact with hers. He lifted her hair away from her head, and let it fall through his fingers. "You have had enough to deal with tonight, Tamara. Your mind will give you the memory when it can accept and understand. It grieves me to refuse anything you ask of me, but, believe me, I feel it is better for you to remember on your own. Ask me anything else, anything at all."
She tilted her head to one side, seeming to accept what he said. Then, "You told me your father was murdered in Paris. Was it during the revolution?"
He sighed his relief. He'd thought she would run from him. Even the strength of their passion hadn't frightened her away. . . yet. He slipped an arm around her shoulders, and she walked beside him easily. He drew her into the corridor, and through it to the library, where he flicked the switch, flooding the room with harsh electric light. Normally he wouldn't have bothered. He'd simply have lit a lamp or two. He waved a hand to the huge portrait of his parents on the wall. It had been commissioned shortly after their marriage, and so had captured them in the bloom of youth and the height of beauty.
"Your parents?" She caught her breath when he nodded. "She's so beautiful, such delicate features and skin like porcelain. Her hair is like yours."
At her words Eric felt a rush of memory. He saw again his petite mother, remembered the softness of her hair and the sweet sound of her voice. She'd spurned the trend of leaving the child rearing to the nurse. She'd tucked him into bed each night, and sung to him in that lilting, lulling voice.
He hadn't realized Tamara stared at him, until she suddenly clutched his hand and blinked moisture from her eyes. "You must miss her terribly."
"At least she escaped the bloody terror. Both she and my sister, Jaqueline, lived out their lives to the natural end, in England. My father wasn't so fortunate. He was beheaded in Paris. I would have been, too, if not for Roland."
"That's when you were. . . changed?" Eric nodded. "And afterward, when you were free, why didn't you join your mother and sister in England?"
"I couldn't go to them then, Tamara. I was no longer the son or the brother they remembered-the awkward, withdrawn outsider who never fit in and lacked confidence enough to try. I was changed, strong, sure of myself, powerful. How could I have explained all of the differences in me, or the fact that I could only see them by night?"
"It might not have mattered to them," she said, placing a hand gently on his arm. "Or it might have made them despise and fear me. I couldn't have borne that... to see revulsion in the eyes of my own mother. No. It was easier to let them believe me dead and go on with their lives."
* * * * *
The night was a revelation. What at first had frightened and shocked her she soon found only one more unique thing about Eric Marquand. He was a vampire. What did that mean? she wondered. That the sun would kill him, the way inhaling water would kill a human? It meant he needed human blood in order to exist. She'd seen for herself how he acquired it. Not by killing or maiming innocent people, but by stealing it from blood banks.
As the hours of the night raced past he told her of the night he'd helped his mother and sister escape France, and been arrested himself. At her gentle coaxing he'd shared more of his past. He'd related tales of his boyhood that made her laugh, and revealed a love for his long-lost mother that made her cry. He might not be human, but he had human emotions. She sensed a pain within him that would have crippled her had it been her own. How many centuries of a nearly solitary existence could one man bear?
She found herself likening her solitude to his, and feeling another level of kinship with him. By the time he walked her to her car the feeling that she'd known him forever had overwhelmed her confusion over his true nature.
Until she arrived home, after midnight, to find Daniel and Curtis waiting like guard dogs. "Where have you been?" They snapped the question almost in unison.
"Here we go again," she muttered, keeping her bandaged hand thrust into her pocket. "I was out. I had some thinking to do, and you both know how much I enjoy crisp wintry nights. I just lost track of time."
She was shocked speechless when Curtis gripped her upper arm hard and drew her close. His gaze burned over her throat, and she knew what he sought.
"You saw Marquand tonight, didn't you, Tammy?"
"You think I'd tell you if I did? You are not my keeper, Curt."
He released her, turned away and pushed a hand through his hair. Daniel took his place. "He's only worried, just as I am, honey. I told you before we suspected he'd try to see you again. Please, you have to tell me if he did. It's for your own good."
If she told Daniel the truth he'd probably have a coronary, she thought. She swallowed against the bile that rose at the thought of telling him the truth. But lying was equally distasteful. "I didn't see anyone tonight, Daniel. I'm confused and frustrated. I needed to be alone, without you two hovering." She'd done it. She'd told an out-and-out lie to the man she loved most in the world. She felt like a Judas.
Curtis faced her again. He took her arm, gently this time, and led her to the sofa, pushing her down. "It's time you heard a few harsh truths, kid. The first one is this. I do have the right to ask. I love you, you little idiot. I always assumed you'd realize that sooner or later, and marry me. Lately, though, you've been acting like I'm a stranger. I'm tired of it. I've had enough. It ends, here and now. I won't let Marquand come between us."
"Come between-Curtis, how can he? There is no us."
He sighed in frustration, looking at her as if she were dense. "You see what I mean?" He made his voice gentler, and he sat down beside her. "Tamara, no matter what he's told you, you have to remember what he is. He'll lie so smoothly you'll hang on every word. He'll convince you he cares about you, when the truth is, he only cares about eliminating any threat to his existence. And at the moment the threat in question is Daniel. Don't let his words confuse you, Tammy. We are the ones who love you. We are the ones who've been here for you, who know you inside and out."
She wanted to answer him, but found herself tongue-tied.
"I know what's happening," Curt went on. "They have an incredible psychic ability. He's pulling one of the oldest tricks in the book on you, Tammy. I'd bet money on it. He's planting feelings in your mind, making you think you know him. You feel like you are intimate friends, but you can't remember when you met or where. You trust him instinctively-only it isn't instinctive. It's his damn mind commanding yours to trust him. He can do it, you know. He can fill your head with all these vague feelings for him, and make you ignore the ones that are real."
My God, could he be right?
"You're confused, Tam," Daniel added slowly, carefully. "He's keeping you awake nights by exerting his power over you. That's why you feel as if you can sleep during the day. He rests then. He can't influence your mind. By using the added susceptibility caused by the lack of sleep, his power over your mind can get stronger and stronger. Believe me, sweetheart, I've seen it happen before."
She stared from one of them to the other, as a sickening feeling grew within her. What they'd said made perfect sense. Yet she felt a certainty in her heart that they were wrong. Or was that in her mind-put there by Eric? How could she tell what she felt from what he was making her feel?
"What reason would I have to lie to you, Tam?" Daniel asked.
She shook her head. She couldn't bring herself to tell the truth. She'd feel as if she were betraying Eric if she did. But she felt she was betraying them by keeping it from them. She had a real sensation of being torn in half. "It doesn't matter, because you're wrong. I haven't seen him since the night at the rink. He hasn't been on my mind at all, except when you two hound me about him. And my insomnia was just from stress. It's gone now. I'm sleeping just fine. In fact, I'd like to be sleeping right now."
She rose and made her way past them, and up the stairs to her room. She collapsed on the bed and pushed her face into the pillows. She wouldn't close her eyes until dawn. Was it because of Eric? Was he trying to take over her mind? Oh, God, how could she ever know for sure? She herself had said that she couldn't think clearly when she was with him. And hadn't he demonstrated how he could take control of her that night on the balcony?
She sat up in bed, eyes flying wide. How could she stop it?
"I can't see him anymore," she whispered. "I have to stay away from him and give myself a chance to see this without his influence. I need to be objective." The decision made, her heart proceeded to crumble as if it were made of crystal and had just been pummeled with a sledgehammer. "I can't see him again," she repeated, and the bits were ground to dust.