She didn't go to work that day. She didn't really do anything except sit and stare into the distance. It was as if her whole life had been put on hold.

Vampire.

It was impossible.

Still, her grandmother had claimed to see an angel before she died. And there was a lady in town who claimed to be a witch. Maybe there really were stranger things in heaven and earth than she had dreamed of.

But vampires?

She thought of all the grade-B horror movies she'd seen growing up. The monsters had always been pictured as horrible ghouls clad in flowing black capes, preying on the blood of innocent young women, turning helpless mortals into mindless zombies. In the movies, vampires were evil incarnate, the very essence of darkness and depravity, a sin against nature. They were cruel, heartless, unfeeling, incapable of tender emotions.

But Navarre was nothing like that. Was he? Would she think differently if he looked more like Lon Chaney and less like Daniel Day-Lewis?

If he was a vampire, how could he endure the sunlight? They had spent a morning walking on the beach. She had seen him eat sausage pizza and drink a glass of wine.

But he cast no reflection in a mirror. And she had seen his fangs, and the hideous glow in his eyes. She remembered inviting him into her house, remembered reading somewhere that a vampire could not enter a house unless he had been invited. And she had invited Navarre. There would be no keeping him out now, she thought, even if she wanted to.

She stared outside, willing the sun to set, and then she laughed, a nervous, shaky laugh. Maybe she was insane, she thought. Who else but a lunatic would be sitting on the floor, wishing the sun would go down because she was eagerly awaiting the appearance of a vampire?

He came with the setting sun, his expression wary. He avoided meeting her eyes, almost as if he was afraid of her. Or ashamed.

Adrianna closed the door behind him, then stood there, uncertain what to do next. "Vampire."

He stiffened at her use of the word, all his senses suddenly alert. "What?"

"The V. In your name. It stands for vampire, doesn't it?"

He nodded, a wry smile curving his lips.

"So," she said, nervously toying with the folds of her skirt, "what do we do now?"

"I don't know." He paced the floor in front of the fireplace, back and forth, back and forth, like a caged tiger. "I've only loved one other mortal," he remarked quietly, "and it was a long, long time ago."

Adrianna stared at him. "You love me?''

He frowned at her as if she weren't very bright. "Of course."

"You never said so before."

"I know." He crossed the room and took her into his arms, holding her carefully, as though he was afraid of hurting her. Very gently, he kissed the top of her head. "I do love you, Annie," he murmured.

"And I love you!"

"I only hope you don't regret it."

"I won't," she whispered, lifting her face to his. "I won't..."

He would have let her go then, but she clung to him, molding her body to his in silent invitation.

"Annie..." He shook his head. "This isn't a good idea."

"Why not?"

How could he explain it to her? How could he tell her that it wasn't only passion she aroused in him, but a terrible hunger?

"I think I'll die if you don't kiss me," she said petulantly.

"You might die if I do."

She thought he was kidding her, but when she looked into his eyes, she saw that he was serious. Dead serious. A fit of hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her. Dead serious, she mused. No pun intended!

"I think I'd better go," Navarre said, easing out of her arms.

"Go where?"

He didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"It's true, then? You... you drink blood?"

He nodded curtly, his expression grim.

"Did you... ?"

"Did I what?"

"That woman in the alley... did you do that?"

"No." He ran a hand through his hair, his dark eyes pleading with her. "You've got to believe me, Annie."

"Have you ever done anything like that?"

He turned away, wondering how he could explain, how he could make her understand.

"Have you?"

"Yes." He whirled around to face her. "Yes! I've told you what I am." The condemnation in her eyes was like acid eating at his soul. "Annie, let me explain."

"Can you?" She loved him, but she couldn't condone murder.

"When first I was made, I couldn't control the hunger within me. You can't understand the pain, the need. It's worse than any drug addiction, any craving. In the beginning, drunk with power and driven by a force that was stronger than I was, I took what I needed without regard for what I was doing, for the lives I was taking. It was only later that I learned that I didn't have to kill to survive, that I could take what I needed without doing any harm. Still later, I learned I could drink from animals, that their blood would sustain me for long periods of time..."

His voice trailed off as he saw the look of horror and revulsion in her eyes. It cut deep, yet a part of him welcomed it. Perhaps now she would realize what sort of monster he was. Perhaps she would send him away. He wouldn't blame her if she did. In the long run, she would be better off without him.

"And now?"

He sighed, as if shrugging off a heavy burden. "There are plenty of sheep and cattle in the area."

She looked so relieved, he almost didn't tell her the rest. But she deserved to know it all.

"I can't survive off the blood of animals indefinitely," he said flatly. "From time to time I have to have human blood."

"Like the lady in the alley."

"Dammit, Adrianna, I never touched that woman!"

"Then who did?"

"I don't know. Another vampire, I suspect."

"Another one?" She shuddered, and then she laughed ruefully. "Welcome to Moreno Bay, village of the damned."

"It's not funny."

"I know." Images ofThe Lost Boys rose in her mind and she imagined herself running through the house, filling the tub with holy water, sharpening stakes, hanging strings of garlic around the windows and doors.

His gaze met hers. "This isn't going to work, Annie - you know that, don't you?"

"I don't know what I know any more. Except that I love you."

Like two frightened children, they sought comfort in each other's arms. He never meant to kiss her, only to hold her, to find solace in her nearness even as he sought to soothe her fears.

But his lips whispered over hers, and then it was too late to turn back, too late to think, too late to do anything but feel.

The skin beneath his fingertips was as smooth and soft as he had imagined. Her hair was like silk in his hands, her breasts were warm and full, lush with promise.

Effortlessly, he swung her up in his arms and carried her down the hallway toward her bedroom, toward the bed that had once been his, the bed he had so often imagined sharing with her.

And now she was there, and he was beside her. Fear rose within him as their bodies came together. He tried one last time to pull away before it was too late, but she refused to let him go, and then he was rising over her, his body meshing with hers.

He felt the hunger rise within him, urging him to take her blood, and he fought it back, refusing to let it destroy the woman he loved. He heard Adrianna's voice, whispering that she loved him, and the blood lust shriveled and died. And for that moment, he was free of the Dark Gift, free to love her without fear. He had never known such ecstacy. Not with Katlaina. Not with Shaylyn.

With a sigh, he buried his face in the lush valley between her breasts and lost himself in the warmth and the wonder that was Annie.

"How did you become a vampire?" she asked later. She was lying in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. "Is it done like they say in the books? Did she drain you of blood, and then give it back to you?"

"Yes."

"Did you want to be a vampire?"

"No." He wound a lock of her hair around his hand, delighting in its softness. He could single out the scent of her hair from the other scents that clung to her - the flowery fragrance of shampoo, the clean, fresh smell of the sun, the faint odor of the hairspray she had used earlier in the day. He released his hold on her hair, felt the thickness of each individual strand as it slid past his fingers. He hadn't wanted to be a vampire, he thought, but he liked the supernatural powers that came with the Dark Gift.

He took a deep breath, and then he told her of his childhood, of how he'd spent his whole life locked up in a room. He told her of Katlaina, and felt the pain of her loss burn through him again. He told her of Shaylyn, of how he had hated her, of how he'd spent time with her long ago. He told her about traveling over the world, of the changes he had seen, of the times when the burden of existence had been overwhelming, and he'd gone to ground, sometimes for a few years, sometimes for a century or more. How, sometimes, it was the only way he could hang on to his sanity.

She listened quietly, occasionally interrupting him to ask a question.

It was near dawn when he finished his tale. Coming back to himself, he gazed at Adrianna, surprised to see tears in her eyes.

"You're crying," he exclaimed softly. "Why?"

"Because you've been so alone. But you're not alone now," she whispered, stroking the curve of his jaw. "I'll never let you be alone again."

Her words cheered him even as he realized that, sooner or later, he would lose her as he had lost Katlaina. But he would not dwell on that now. Later, there would be time to lament her mortality, to wonder how he would face an endless future without her. But for now, for this moment, he would take the love she was offering without question, without hesitation. Take it as a gift, freely given, and hope she would never regret the giving.

"I wish you didn't have to go."

In lieu of words, he kissed her. They had spent the entire night in each other's arms, making love, dozing, making love again.

At dawn, they had showered together, taking turns washing each other, making love again, with the water sluicing over them.

Later, wrapped in a towel and a smile, Adrianna had fixed herself a pot of coffee while Navarre sipped a glass of warm red wine.

And now they were in bed again. Navarre stroked her hair, remembering how, only a short time ago, he had wished he could fall asleep in the arms of a woman. He'd done that last night. Fallen asleep in Adrianna's arms, then come awake with the first whisper of dawn to feel her lips brushing his cheek.

But now the sun was climbing in the sky. Even though the curtains were drawn, he could feel the subtle change in the air as night turned to day, smell the sun-warmed earth and grass.

With a sigh, he cupped Adrianna's face in his hands and kissed her and then, ignoring his body's immediate response to even that slight bit of loving, he slid out of bed and began to dress.

Adrianna sat with her back against the headboard, the sheet tucked under her arms. Never, in all her life, had she expected to find the ecstacy, the peace of mind and spirit, that she had found in Navarre's arms.

Her gaze caressed him as he dressed, admiring the width of his shoulders, the long line of his back, the sinuous way he moved. Already, she was counting the hours and minutes until she could see him again. Be with him again.

When he was ready to go, Navarre knelt beside the bed, needing to hold her, to touch her, one more time.

"Tonight?" he asked, and it was both question and promise.

"Tonight."

He ran his knuckles over her cheek in a last, quick caress, and then he was gone.

Navarre swore softly as he left Adrianna's house. The storm had passed, the sun was warm, and he had lingered too long. With one arm flung over his face, he willed himself toward home, his speed increasing until he was virtually invisible to the human eye.

He vaulted up the stairs to the porch, opened the door with a wave of his hand, and raced up the stairs to the attic.

Inside, he slammed the door, then stood with his back braced against the wood, his breath coming in hard, short gasps.

"I thought you were never coming."

He whirled around at the sound of her voice, familiar even after the passage of so many years.

"Shaylyn!"

She was reclining on his bed, her black hair falling over her shoulders like a dark cloud, her black eyes glittering.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Waiting for you, of course."

She was still beautiful. Still deadly. He knew then who had attacked the woman in the alley.

"Why are you here, Shaylyn?"

Shaylyn shrugged. "Do I need a reason?"

She uncurled from the bed in a smooth, graceful movement, reminding Navarre of a sleek black panther.

"I've missed you, my Navarre." She ran her hands over his shoulders as she swayed seductively against him. "Tell me you've missed me, too."

"What do you want, Shaylyn?"

"I should think that would be obvious."

He caught her hands in his as his body grew heavy. "I can't talk to you now." It was an effort to speak, to think. He glanced at the bed, then at Shaylyn.

She nodded her understanding. "Until later, my sweet," she purred, and, with a wave of her hand, she transformed into an iridescent black mist and disappeared from his sight.

Navarre fought the darkness sweeping over him. His feet felt like lead as he made his way toward the bed. His last thought, as the blackness dragged him down into oblivion, was that he'd have to find another place to pass the hours of daylight.

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