Vampire - Dead By Dusk Part 19

Chapter 8.

"So... everyone is tucked in?" Liz asked, closing the drapes as she turned and saw that Clay had come into the room.

"All tucked in."

"And Lena? Did you see to her?"

"Oh, yes."

Smiling, Liz strolled over to where he stood. She touched his face, and then reached for the top b.u.t.ton of his shirt, and methodically, to undo it, and then the others. She slid her hands against his bare chest, then stood on her toes, whispering against his ear.

"Stephanie is very... I do mean very beautiful. Those blue eyes, and that dark, dark, nearly ebony hair. And the way she's built... I don't need to be jealous, do I?"

"You?" He smiled, struggling out of the shirt, letting it fall to the floor. "Never!" He slid his hands beneath the silky shoulders of her see-through nightgown, causing it to fall to the floor. He crushed her against him, feeling the pressure of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his flesh.

She reached for his belt buckle, undid it. Slowly, listening to the rasping sound of it, pulled down the zipper. Palms against his hips and lowering, she pressed down the jeans.

"Never!" he repeated, pressing his lips against her throat.

The thrill of desire swept through her. She cradled his b.u.t.tocks, and felt the pressure of his s.e.x hard against her.

She hesitated, just briefly. "The cross?" she whispered.

"Taken care of," he murmured against her flesh.

"You're sure?"

"It will all break soon enough."

"But tonight... ?" she asked.

"Tonight... tonight, now, we... rest."

"Rest wasn't what I had in mind."

"Let me rephrase... tonight, there's just you. And I. It's been too long," he told her.

They parted, just briefly. Long enough for him to shed shoes, socks, and the jeans.

"My love!" she whispered, flying against him.

His touch was as desperate, as savage as her own. And in the darkness of the night, they fell upon one another.

"Grant!"

Previous Top NextStephanie was stunned. He stood outside her window-no, he was almost attached to it, like a silly little stuffed creature, suction-cupped to a car window.

Except that he wasn't little. He was towering. And his eyes were a blue that blazed with a terrible intensity.

"Let me in!" he demanded.

She wasn't sure why, but she obeyed, snapping the lock, sliding the windows open. He entered, fingers tearing through his hair as he brushed past her, looked wildly through the room, entered the bath, and ran down the stairs.

"Grant, what the h.e.l.l is the matter with you?" she cried after him.

"Lock those windows again!" he called back up.

A few minutes later, he returned. He looked baffled, but not at all apologetic.

"Grant, what are you doing?" Stephanie demanded.

"I saw it come here."

"You saw what come here?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

"A... shadow."

He was still frowning and looking around the room. Despite herself, his words created a chill in her.

A shadow. She could only dimly remember now, but there had been a shadow...

In the room. There, at the foot of the bed. Where he had been. Except that he hadn't really been there.

"Let me get this straight. You saw a shadow. At night, in the moonlight. Imagine. And so you raced up my back steps, pounded on the gla.s.s as if you needed to wake the dead, and burst in here-to catch the shadow?" she said.

"There was... someone," he said.

"Grant, what are you doing?" she whispered, a little desperately. "There's no one in here-as you've seen."

"No," he agreed, looking at her. He still seemed so troubled that she couldn't just scream and order him out "There's no one in here."

"Okay... is the shadow in here?"

"Stephanie, I haven't lost my mind."

"Right. But the next thing I know, you'll be telling me to wear a cross and buy a gun and fill it with silver bullets, or the like," she said dryly.

He didn't laugh, or crack so much as a rueful grin.

"Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea," he told her.

"Oh, Grant, please. I'd be understanding if it were just-finding that girl must have been horrible for you. But you started this very strange behavior in Chicago. That's why we split up, remember?""Stephanie, please. I keep telling you that there is something very wrong here."

She walked across the room, coming to him. "You saw a shadow. Maybe someone was walking to get to their own place, and walked by mine to get to it. Grant, I'm alone here, and there's nothing wrong."

She set a hand on his chest, looking up into his eyes, trying to get him to pay deep and serious attention to her.

He met her gaze, then shook his head, distracted. He seemed to be listening to something in the night. There was nothing to hear.

He looked back at her again. She saw the vein thundering at his throat. He was as electric and keyed as he had been in her dream. Vital. Heat seemed to emanate from him. She stepped back slightly.

"Grant, you've got to go."

He shook his head.

"Stephanie, I have to stay."

"Grant! We split up because we really needed to. It's not because I hate you-you know I don't. It's not that we weren't good together-we were. But we're what's wrong. Please, Grant, you don't know how hard it was for me... I came here to make it on my own, to get myself together. Then you were here! You can't stay."

He shook his head impatiently. "Stephanie." He gripped both her hands, holding them between his. "I don't mean here, right here. I don't mean to crawl in with you to sleep. I don't mean to coerce or trick you back into bed. I just need to stay here. At your doorway. Make sure all the doors are locked, and then just throw me a pillow."

She backed away from him.

"You're crazy."

"But I'm not leaving. Scream or call the cops if you feel you really have to. I am not leaving." He released her, walked by her, and grabbed a pillow off the bed. She watched as he a.s.sured himself that the sliding doors had been relocked.

"This is getting ridiculous. Beyond what I owe you in respect to the past, or out of friendship," she said, walking to her bedside phone. "I am calling the cops," she told him.

She d.a.m.ned the fact that he knew she wouldn't. With the pillow he had taken from the bed, he walked to the doorway, and just outside. Plumping the pillow behind him, he leaned against the wall.

She set the phone down and walked to where he stood. "Grant, I am really, really worried about you."

"Go to sleep, Steph," he said wearily. He sounded drained. There was no emotion in his voice.

"Grant! You're going to stay all night, leaned against a wall?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you supposed to be at the dig tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"And then there's the last rehearsal, and a show tomorrow night.""Yes."

"But you're going to stay up against a wall all night?"

"I'll doze off, I'm certain. But at least, I'll be here."

She threw up her hands, exasperated. "Fine. Stay there, then. I'm going back to bed." So, determined, she walked back to the bed, and crawled into it, drawing the covers to her chin. She listened, and waited.

Grant didn't move.

And she realized that he really intended to spend the night sitting up against the wall.

She lay in bed, listening again. The voice of the BBC journalists went on and on.

Shadows...

Dreams that were so vivid they seemed real.

Yes, maybe she should buy a cross.

Time pa.s.sed. Grant didn't come near her, but neither did she rest. How could she? He was with her. It wasn't a dream, a s.e.xual fantasy caused by their sudden parting, and her self-enforced deprivation.

She was certain that he was worried. But... he was crazy worried. In Chicago, he had been distracted.

He had called out another woman's name.

That still hurt. Maybe it was the real crux of the matter. Then, tonight, he had said that Lena had come on to him. Lena said she hadn't even seen him.

She'd be an idiot to get up and go to him. He was with her, he was quiet, he was on guard against whatever danger threatened in his own mind. Leave it lie, leave it lie...

But thirty minutes later, she was still wide awake.

She rose, and walked to the hall.

His eyes were closed, his head against the pillow pressed to the wall. His handsome features were so stressed and riddled with tension that she felt her heart flip.

"Grant." She whispered his name.

His eyes flew open and he jerked bolt upright.

"I'm sorry!" she murmured, coming down to sit cross-legged before him.

He exhaled with relief.

"Do you want some tea... a drink, or something?" she asked softly.

"Just go to sleep, Stephanie," he said.

She rose. "I think I'll have a Tia Maria with milk. That could help."He groaned. "All right. I'll have a Tia Maria with you."

She went on down the steps. He followed. In the kitchen, she found gla.s.ses, milk, and the Tia Maria stuffed into one of the cabinets.

"I'll take it neat," he told her.

She nodded, and added milk only to her gla.s.s of liqueur.

She handed him his gla.s.s.