Twilight Hunger Part 33

When he was bound up tight, Sarafina said, "Now step away."

Max eased Dante's head to the ground, and Sarafina knelt beside him. "You have made your choice, Dante. Between me and this mortal woman you crave. You've chosen her."

"Why must I choose at all?"

"Will you come with me now? Leave her behind?"

He grimaced in pain. "I can't do that."

"Then you've chosen her." She brought her arm to her lips, bit a gash in her wrist, and pressed it to his mouth. Dante clutched her hand and drank as Sarafina went on. "This is the last time I will ever help you, Dante. You'll never have the chance to betray me again."

She jerked her wrist away, grabbed a strip of cloth Max had left on the ground and twisted it around the wound, using her teeth and one hand to knot it tight.

"I haven't betrayed you. Sarafina, wait... "

Without another word or a backward glance, she walked away, into the night, skirts dancing in the wind, bracelets and bangles jingling like bells. Dante closed his eyes. Aching, Max thought.

"Come on, Lou. Let's get him into the car. We have to get him back to Morgan."

Lou glanced at the sky as they hoisted Dante between them. "It'll be dawn soon."

"She won't last another day. It has to be now. If we're not already too late." She searched Dante's face. "Was she telling the truth about that? That it might not even work."

"If she's too near death, if I'm too weak... " Dante sighed and shook off their supporting arms, walking the rest of the way to the car unsteadily, but under his own power. He got into the back seat. Lou and Max got in the front. "It'll work," Dante said as Lou started the car, backed out the driveway. "It has to." Lou put the car in drive, and stomped the accelerator to the floor.

Chapter 26.

*Dante got out of the car, faced the house. The deepest sense of dread he had ever known swelled in his chest, overwhelming even the pain of the bullet hole. He could feel her inside. Her essence was weak, tenuous, and fading more with every breath.

His own body swayed with weakness, reminding him yet again just how closely they were linked to one another. Max grabbed his upper arm, steadied him. "Are you all right?"

"It's her. G.o.d, she's so weak."

"I know. Come on."

He let her lead him, and he noticed that Lou stayed below as they started up the stairs. He couldn't stop thinking that if Morgan died, it would be his fault. He should have listened to her from the start. He should have changed her right away, when she was strong. Now, even if he managed to save her, she would never know the preternatural strength she would have had if he had acted sooner.

He hated his selfishness. His fear. Yes, he'd been afraid of her. Afraid of the power she had over him. She could hurt him, destroy him. She would-if she died.

They reached the upper floor, and Max walked him along the hallway to the bedroom door. She tapped once, then opened it.

Lydia and David were beside the bed, but Dante's gaze barely swept over them on the way to Morgan. Oh, G.o.d, Morgan. He closed his eyes, lowering his head. She looked like a ghost already.

Max went to Lydia, to David. Spoke to them softly. Dante watched them as they each bent to kiss Morgan's forehead, then walked past him on their way out of the room.

Then Max leaned over her. "I've brought him, just as I promised I would."

Dante steeled himself, schooled his face into an expression of calm, and finally moved into Morgan's range of vision. When she saw him, her weak smile of welcome tore at his heart.

Then she shifted her gaze to her sister again. "Thank you."

Max nodded. "I won't see you again, will I?"

Morgan didn't answer, and Max leaned down to hug her gently. Then she straightened and backed away. "Be happy."

Dante glanced at the window. It was nearly dawn. He knew they would both be weak after the transformation, if it even worked. They would be vulnerable. He couldn't do it here. He needed her in a haven, safe from the sun. Gently, he bent over her, sliding his arms beneath her and lifting her from the bed. She was light as a dried stalk as she gazed up into his eyes. G.o.d, how he loved her.

He looked once more at Max. "Thank you for helping us."

"I only wish it hadn't taken me so long to figure out who the real monsters were."

Turning, Dante carried Morgan to the balcony, her white nightgown trailing down his side. He braced himself and leapt over the rail. The landing was jarring. It rattled his teeth, but he managed to remain upright. Then he carried her away from the house, toward the cliffs. He could feel Max's eyes on them as he walked into the night. He could feel her tears, as well.

He took Morgan into the hidden place beneath the house. As far as he was aware, she had never told anyone, not even her sister, about this place. It should be safe. He wouldn't put her in the coffin, not now. Not considering how near death she was, how frightened she must be. Instead, he tore the lining, and satin pad from it, and made them a cozy nest on the floor. Then he reclined there, his back against the wall, with her resting across his body. He bent to press his lips to hers.

She kissed him back. He felt it, sensed her responses, even though, physically, she could barely move. He touched her chin. "You'll be with me now. Always with me, Morgan. I'll never doubt you again."

"Yes," she whispered.

Lifting her chin, he pressed his face to her throat, bit down and pierced her jugular. Inside him, fires licked to life. Her pulse, fluttering against his tongue, the warm flow of her blood, the arousal he felt waking in her body, even in its weakened state, combined to create an answering need in him. And the hunger raged, as the hunger always raged in his kind.

He mustn't take too much, he reminded himself. Only a little. He felt her slipping away and drank deeply, until he pushed her into the shadowy realm between life and death. Her heart stuttered, skipped. He lifted his head away and stared down at her half-lidded eyes. A breath escaped her. A rattling, broken breath.

Quickly he tore the flesh of his wrist, and when the deep red blood welled, he pressed it to her lips. The touch of that fluid sparked her. She swallowed, and as her mouth filled, swallowed again. And then she began to suck, to draw the liquid from him. She needed a lot, and he knew what she felt. Not only because he had felt it himself, but because he felt every sensation that went through her. They were one while she fed at his wrist. Everything she experienced registered in his brain. Everything from how deeply she loved him to how badly she wanted him.

He weakened, and she sucked harder. Dizziness came, and still she drank. His head fell sideways, and his vision grew dark around the edges. He tugged his wrist slightly, but she held on and kept drinking.

Finally he gave a firm yank. He bound the wrist in a strip of fabric.

She fell backward, her back arching over his arm, her eyes falling closed.

Dante gathered her upper body, cradled her in his arms. "Please, don't die. Not now. G.o.d, let this work. Let it be enough. Let it work!"

Her lips moved, just slightly, right against his ear. Her breath, a whisper, weak but insistent. "Make love... to me... one... last... time."

He closed his eyes in misery. "It can't be the last time, my love. It can't." Pulling her over him, he dragged the white gown up her body, bunching the fabric around her waist. She was naked underneath. Her body lay against his chest now, her legs parted around his hips, linked behind him. He reached down to free himself from his jeans and immediately pressed himself into her. She was wet and yearning, ready for him. The blood l.u.s.t did that. Even in this state, her hunger was for his body as much as for his blood, and it always would be. He clasped her hips, pushed himself deep inside her. She would have moved if she could have. He knew she couldn't, so he did it for her. Gently, slowly, as tenderly as he knew how. He kissed her and held her and moved very gently inside her. He had never made love this way-not in either of his lifetimes.

They were still locked together when the sun rose. And as she sank into slumber, he couldn't tell if she were dead... or undead.

And then he slept.

Epilogue.

A month later Dressed to the nines, Maxine sat and admired the way Lou looked in a tux. She was clutching his hand in one of hers and Lydia's in the other. Lydia, too, was glamorous tonight. Sequins, daring neckline, gorgeous cascading blond ringlets. She'd been drawing hungry looks all evening, from both men and women. Everything was beautiful, and yet bittersweet.

"This is incredible," Stormy said, leaning over Lou to grin at Max. "I can't believe you managed to get an extra ticket for me."

"For Best Original Screenplay, the nominees are... " the stunning female presenter on the stage said.

Stormy sat back in her seat as all of them focused on the stage. Max was practically holding her breath. David sat on the other side of Lydia, and from the look on his face, he was as nervous as she was when the starlet on the stage said, "And the award goes to... " and tore open the envelope.

Looking up, blinking back emotion, the actress said, "Morgan De Silva for Twilight Hunger."

The audience roared with applause. The emotional favorite had won. People rose to their feet, the five of them included. They hugged. Max and Lydia both cried liberally, and David made his way into the aisle and onto the stage as a voice announced, "Accepting the award on behalf of the late Morgan De Silva, David Sumner, her producer, director and dear friend."

He took the podium, nodding sadly as he shook the pretty presenter's hand, accepted her kiss on the cheek. He took the golden statue in his hands, fighting tears and waiting for the applause to die down. The big screen behind him was suddenly filled with a larger than life photo of Morgan, before the illness had ravaged her.

"G.o.d, she was so beautiful," Max heard someone say. "So young."

Slowly the crowd retook their seats and the applause died down.

David spoke. "Thank you. Morgan would have been so thrilled and so honored by this. I only wish she could be up on this stage tonight, accepting it herself. This firm-not just this one, but all three of her films-meant the world to her. And through them, I like to think her spirit lives on. Thank you. Thank you so much."

Applause thundered again as a pair of models led him off the stage.

Lou walked Max to the cemetery in the wee hours of the morning. Once there, though, he stood back. Gave her some s.p.a.ce.

Standing alone, holding the golden statuette in both hands, Max stared at the beautiful rose granite headstone that had Morgan's name engraved on its face, along with her date of birth and date of death.

Sniffling, Max held the trophy out toward the headstone.

"You did it, my beautiful sister. You won."

Morgan stepped out from behind the headstone. She couldn't wipe the smile from her face as she took the statue and hugged it to her chest. "I did, didn't I? Oh, G.o.d, this is incredible! I won! I won!" She spun in a circle, tipped her head back and laughed, loving the rich, clear, powerful tones of her own voice, ringing in the night.

Dante came out of the shadows, as well, and stopped her spinning by catching her in his arms. Strong arms that she relished feeling around her. "Let's not forget whose story it actually was."

"Oh, please," she said, smiling up at him. "It was lifeless until I turned it into a script."

"Your script was lifeless until you fed it my story," he teased.

"Fine. We'll share the trophy, then."

Dante kissed her, and her laughter died away. "As we share everything," he whispered, and his deep voice so close to her ear sent delicious shivers up her spine.

Max cleared her throat exaggeratedly, and Dante finally released her. "You get to see her a lot more often than I do," Max said, opening her arms. "Do you mind?"

Dante waved his arm in surrender. Grinning, Morgan hugged Max hard. Her sister. Her very own sister. Morgan could barely believe how much she had come to love Max in two months' time. But it seemed, once survival had stopped being foremost in her mind, she had time to think about what it really meant to have Maxine in her life.

"You look wonderful," Max told her, holding her at arm's length as her green eyes danced over Morgan's face. "Healthy. Vibrant. Okay, a little pale, but I guess that goes with the territory."

"I am wonderful, you know," Morgan told her. "Better than I ever was, Max. Stronger. More powerful. I feel more alive than-than when I actually was. All thanks to you."

Max lowered her head. "I nearly got you killed," she whispered.

"No, love. You saved me. You showed up when I needed you most. You stayed, even though I tried to chase you away. You kept me alive, and you rescued my love and brought him to me." Still, Max's eyes were downcast. Morgan caught her chin, lifting it, holding her gaze. "Darling, if you hadn't come, Stiles would have done us both in. Even though it took you a bit to see the truth, it was your presence that made the difference. I'm convinced of that."

Max sniffed and hugged her again. "I'm just sorry it was so close. I should have listened to you from the beginning."

"That was a mistake I made as well, Maxine," Dante said, speaking softly. "In fact, I think Malone was the only one who was clear on things from the start."

"Clear my a.s.s," Lou said, finally coming to join them. "I thought I'd lost it."

"Thank goodness you hadn't." Reaching out, Dante shook his hand.

Morgan took Max by the hand and led her away, leaving the two men at the graveside to chat. "We need to talk," she said.

"All right."

The two sisters walked together amid the stones of the rural cemetery, along its winding paths, among headstones that cast eerie shadows on the lush gra.s.s, fresh flowers and dead ones. Leafless trees swayed in the brisk night wind. The scent of flowers on a fresh grave, and the approach of winter, flavored the air.

"I wanted to talk to you about the house," Morgan said. "You've barely used it at all since I... well, since my funeral." A little chill of cool air whispered over her nape, and she shivered. "G.o.d, it feels funny saying that."

"It's your house, Morgan. You still need a place to live. I don't want to take it from you. I mean, the will was just a formality. It's only mine on paper."

"No, I meant it. I want it to be yours," Morgan said. "Besides, I can't occupy it openly and not risk discovery. I want you to have the place. Use it. Run your business out of it, if you want. It would be best for both of us."

"For both of us, huh?" Max asked. She paused near a bench that had been placed alongside the path for visitors and, turning, sat down. Morgan sat beside her. "Just how does it benefit you and Dante? Having relatives around all the time can't be a pa.s.sionate young couple's dream come true. You guys are as giddy as newly weds."

"You don't know the half of it," Morgan said, averting her face. "He's incredible," she whispered. "I never thought I could be this... complete. For so long I had no one. Other than David. Now, suddenly, I have you, and I have this man who... he would die for me. He loves me that much. I still can't quite get over it."

"All the more reason to let you have your privacy," Max said. "My moving in wouldn't have one positive benefit for you two."

Morgan blinked against the moisture that came to her eyes and the catch that entered her breathing whenever she pondered Dante's love. "Yes, it would," she told her sister. "If you were there, I would have cover."

"Cover?"

Nodding, Morgan paced in front of the bench where Max sat. "As it is, I have to be so incredibly careful not to be seen. If you were here and someone saw me, they would just a.s.sume it was you. I could go out in public again, once in a while. Go to a movie, or go shopping." She stopped pacing, crouched down in front of Max and clasped her hands. "On top of that, if the place is occupied by my surviving family, strangers won't come snooping around."

"People have been snooping?" Max asked, looking concerned.

Morgan nodded. "Yes, every now and then. Curious fans, local kids. Hey, I'm famous. I won an award, you know."