CHAPTER SIXTEEN

May 1, 1998—Beltane

Meghann watched the sun set over the ocean—it was beautiful; the dying light on the water, and the sky turning dark rose and then purple.

"I'm sorry I'm late." Meghann turned around and thought she was staring at her mirror image—until she saw the violet eyes.

"Isabelle?" she whispered. It had to be Isabelle, and she looked absolutely radiant. The sadness was gone from her eyes—in its place was a shining peace and happiness. Her beautiful hair had gold ribbons and pearls braided through it, and she was wearing a stunning gold lace gown. Without being told, Meghann knew it was the dress she wore when she married Roger.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Meghann. I've wanted to help you for so long. You call me if you ever need me." Isabelle faded away as Meghann shouted, "No, wait! Please don't leave. I have so much to ask—"

"Another time, banrion." Meghann saw a man wearing the black robes of a priest at her side now. He was very plain, with thinning brown hair, but his eyes…

"Alcuin!" She smiled. "You look wonderful!" Then she sobered. "I'm sorry Simon killed you."

"That does not matter. Meghann, there's very little time, so listen carefully and don't interrupt. Don't fight Simon with his own weapons—use the only thing you have on your side."

"What's that?" she asked.

"Love. But promise me you'll be careful."

"Be careful?"

Alcuin looked up sharply—the beach was becoming obscured by a gray mist. "Fly, Meghann!" he ordered, fear in his voice. "Your soul is free right now… Go to Charles."

Meghann concentrated, then found herself in the peaceful world of the Higher Astral She could see the pinkish silver cord that bound her soul to her body. Now all she had to do was visualize her home and her dear friend… call him to her.

With sickening abruptness, she felt herself plummeting. "No!" she screamed into the terrifying mist. Desperately she fought to get herself away from this evil place where she had no power…

The thing was in the mist, closing in on her. She sensed the icy hands reaching out for her, wanting to possess her. I can't let it touch me. If it touches me, it will take over. The malevolent presence was all around her, honing in on its prey. Meghann kept still, scared to even move her hands enough to cast a circle for a protection. She found herself holding her breath but maybe it would hear the violent chattering of her teeth…

"Aufuge a ea," a voice ordered curtly, and she felt the daemon reluctantly back away.

"Let me help you," the same voice told her, and pulled her close.

"Don't let it get me," she cried, her eyes still closed.

"Shhh—I'll never let anything hurt you."

Meghann's eyes flew open. It was Simon Baldevar holding her, comforting her the way he had after a thousand bad dreams.

"Don't you touch me!" she yelled. "I hate you!" She tried to push him away, but he held her tighter and she felt his lips on her hair.

Meghann was too tired and heartsore to struggle much. She was still shaking from the nightmare, plus she had plenty to fear in this world. What was this monster going to do to her now that she was alone with him, with no chance to summon help or escape? Certainly, she couldn't fight him—look what he'd done to Alcuin, the one vampire who should have been able to hurt him. She had a better chance of surviving sunlight than hurting her former master.

"Present master, child." His voice had no hint of reprimand in it. What was he up to now? Why was he comforting her? "Stop that fretting and accept what I give you."

Why was he able to do this to her? Why did the trembling cease and then get replaced by a feeling of well-being simply because he stroked her hair and held her close? Alcuin had warned her not to be alone with him, but she would never have believed he had this much power over her. To think that she could witness all his atrocities, be the recipient of more than a few of them, and then feel so secure when he wanted her to. Well, why not let him hold her? Simon would cuddle or torture her as he damn well pleased—she could gain nothing by pulling away and demanding agony.

"Don't tell me you are finally learning common sense." The words were teasing, but his voice was still pleasant.

"Tell me something." She put her hand against his chest and pressed herself closer to him—remembering her plan from last night.

"What do you wish to know?"

"Are you going to kill me?"

Simon laughed softly. "Are my actions those of someone bent on slaughter, Meghann? While you do tempt me—particularly when you promise devotion to a mortal weakling or weep for that sanctimonious cleric at the same moment you pray for my death—I think you would do well to remember what I told you last night. All I'm going to do is humble you, little one. With vanity such as yours, I consider that adequate repayment for all the unpleasantness between us."

"If that's all you want to do, then why did you nearly behead me last night?"

"As I said, the prospect of killing you is tempting from time to time." Simon tilted her chin up, giving her a sinister grin. "But not nearly as tempting as seeing you accept me as your master once more."

Meghann paled and he laughed again. "No, little one—no pain this time. I've learned physical agony only makes you more stubborn. I can think of better ways to make you mine once more."

Simon dug his hands into her scalp and massaged her hair. If she had been a cat, she would have purred—it felt so relaxing. "You have a strange way of playing the pining suitor, Lord Baldevar. Most men don't attempt to woo women by nearly decapitating them and causing hemorrhaging."

"The injuries you sustained last night were necessary."

She glanced up at him. "Necessary?"

He smiled wickedly. "One, you need to understand who your master is—a lesson you've always had difficulty absorbing. And then there was the matter of your smarmy cleric. It never pays to underestimate one's opponent. He was a worthy foe, but I knew his goodness would be his undoing. He could not concentrate his complete energy on defeating me when he was worried about your fate. He might even have severed my head if he had not been distracted when you started to bleed."

"So you would have let me die to save your own precious skin."

"Of course not—you were in no danger of dying. I knew he'd come to your aid, and then I had my opportunity to strike."

Meghann knew Alcuin did not blame her in any way for his death—otherwise, he would not have come to her, offered a final bit of advice. But what had he meant when he said love was her weapon against Simon? Did he mean what she had thought last night on the beach? She had seen Simon lose control for the only time in their relationship—obviously, she meant something to him. Should she press her advantage and try to regain his trust?

"To regain my trust, you would have to accept me completely." Simon gave her a wry grin—letting her know her thoughts were as clear to him as ever. "And if you did that, you would have no desire to help my enemies or leave me, would you?" He gave her hair a playful tug.

She would have been happier if he raged at her for her thoughts. That soft amusement meant he considered her no threat. Well, if he could read her anyway…

She glared up into his amber eyes—so damn beautiful in spite of the evil soul behind them. "Lord Baldevar, I'll never accept you or your continued cursed existence. I mean to see you dead—as you should have been forty years ago."

He kissed her lips very softly, then placed her head back near his heart. "I wish every menace I ever dealt with were so pretty and spoke in such a honeyed tone."

Damn him! Simon was right about her voice—what was wrong with her? She was practically flirting with him. We'll see if love for me doesn't destroy you, she thought to herself. I'll put a stake in your heart the second you lie vulnerable to me. But she was beginning to wonder whether love (or lust, maybe) would be her ruination.

She was disgusted with herself. She'd like to believe what she was up to was merely clever playacting, but she liked his hands on her. How could she want him to caress her… when those same hands murdered a saint?

"One action has nothing to do with the other. And you may thank your exalted mentor for your fright this evening."

Meghann turned around and glared at him. "My nightmares are not Alcuin's fault."

"That was no nightmare, and you know it. Tell me how often that presence has tried to invade you since my foolish uncle allowed you to peer into my future."

She shivered, remembering the nameless, awful monster that always seemed to plague her dreams now, that made her frightened to travel the astral plane. Even last night, when she went to Jimmy, she felt those icy, grasping hands reach out for her.

Simon pulled her close again. "Don't be afraid, little one. It will obey me; it won't try to hurt you again. You accuse me of all manner of treachery, but it was not I who risked your life and sanity by having you come in contact with beings you have no way of controlling."

"Stop twisting the truth!" she cried. "Alcuin didn't risk anything… He was always there if anything went wrong. Maybe he simply had faith in my abilities, my ability to take care of myself."

Simon gave her a mocking glance. "So you can take care of yourself, pretty little consort? Tell me who just rescued you from the clutches of something you should never have been near."

Unwilling to concede he was right, she exploded. "I wouldn't need protection if you had ever taught me anything. At least Alcuin taught me to develop my gifts, something you couldn't be bothered to do. I don't want to be rescued like some helpless maiden in a romance novel. You tell me Renee meant nothing to you, but you gave her more than you gave me. You taught her; why not me? Why didn't you ever teach me, give me power like her?"

"Precious child, Renee had no real power—although she certainly thought she did. She was very fortunate you killed her—for I would have destroyed her for daring to invoke what she could not control. Anything I ever taught her carried an inherent risk of being torn apart." Simon stroked her cheek. "Do you think I would be able to gamble with your safety that way? I love you too much to expose you to the beings I have dominion over. Yes, sweet, you do have gifts—and I will help you develop them. But stay away from the Lemegeton—it is not for you."

"I have no desire to go near it," she told him. "We were just trying to find you."

Simon lifted her chin. Then he whispered, "And why did you wish to find me?"

"To destroy you," she told him bluntly.

Simon laughed, twirling her long red hair around his wrist. Then he used her hair to yank her close to him with a vicious turn of his wrist. Meghann refused to cry out.

"You cannot destroy me, Meghann. The pontiff should have known better than to think he had any prayer against me. And he certainly should not have exposed you, novice vampire and novice sorceress, to that world in a pathetic attempt to slay me."

Meghann hated having to ask this fiend anything, but he was the only one with the answer to her question. "Tell me about that… that daemon. Is it part of my future?"

"Our future, pet." Simon gave her an amused glance, then saw the fear in her eyes. "I won't tease you, sweet. Come along—I shall prove to you my little imps cannot bother you anymore." He got off the bed and wrapped himself in the black silk robe she remembered so well. Then he handed her the exquisite ivory gown she'd worn the night he transformed her.

She ran her hand over the satin and lace, remembering that night. Alcuin says it wouldn't matter if I told Simon I wanted to die that night—that he would have transformed me anyway. But I think he was wrong about that. Simon made me a vampire because…

Because we were in love. She looked up when Simon finished that thought.

"No," she told him out loud, her voice thin and weak. "You never loved me, never loved anyone…"

"Meghann." He spoke her name very softly, and knelt in front of her. She was entranced by the way his golden eyes had softened.

Do you believe my eyes ever soften for anyone but you, sweetheart?

Phase don't be nice to me, Meghann thought to herself. Don't look at me like that; don't remind me that there were good times between us, times when I truly thought I was in love with you. . . .

Simon put his hands on her face, drawing her close to him.

Completely ignoring the voice that screamed at her to pull away, Meghann closed her eyes and allowed him to kiss her.

It was sweet, she thought, when he kissed her very gently but very thoroughly. She had forgotten how he could kiss her so lightly she almost didn't feel his touch while still making her feel completely possessed by him…

For one moment, she nearly forgot her bitter feelings toward this creature and entwined her hands in his hair, pulling him closer.

Simon broke off their kiss and told her softly, "Not yet, sweet." He slid the gown over her head and pulled her off the bed. "Come along."

He escorted her out of the room. Eager to forget what she had just done with this devil, Meghann glanced around the dark house. It was elegantly furnished, as Simon's homes always were, but there was a strong feeling of desolation to the place. "Who else is here?"

"No one, pet. No servants, no one but you and me. I did not want anyone to interrupt my time with you."

He escorted her through a large, airy living room and opened a set of French doors that led to a brick veranda. She examined the densely wooded area. "Where are we? Where are we going?"

Simon put a finger to her lips, and gave her his arm. They walked through the woods, the full moon lighting the path. Meghann wrapped the gown around her arm to keep it from getting soiled.

She found her thoughts drifting, fantasizing about what it would be like for him to kiss her again, in this beautiful lonely spot. Jesus Christ! She shook her head to clear away the unwanted daydream. Why did she want the archfiend to embrace her? Why did she have to force herself to remember Jimmy? Why were the past forty years starting to feel like some distant, barely remembered dream? Just how strong was this thing's hold over her? Why, after all this time and all she'd seen, was Simon Baldevar the most alluring man she'd ever known? If Simon caught the drift of her thoughts, then he was behaving with restraint for he said nothing but merely continued walking.

They came upon a small clearing with a stone kiosk. Inside, Meghann saw that the dome roof was glass, allowing the moonlight to illuminate the small pavilion.

But this was no ordinary pavilion—she could feel great power in this place. "This is your temple," she whispered, taking in the grimoires that lined one wall of the circular room, the sigils depicting various Seals of Solomon plastered all about, and the cedarwood table in the center of the room that had a red cloth draped over it.

She touched one of the sigils, or seals. It was circular, carved in wood. Meghann remembered reading somewhere that John Dee advocated the use of "sweet wood" in Enochian magic. This seal had the Star of David on top, with a cloaked hand carved in the center. The hand pointed to a phrase in Hebrew. She was able to decipher enough to understand that it promised protection from all evil. The sigil was marvelously drawn—with great care and diligence.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

She put her hand on the one that attracted her, and felt her fingertip tingle. She licked the finger cautiously. Of course—Simon had glazed it in human blood. She recognized many of the Seals—Alcuin had used them, and shown her their benefit. But some of the sigils—they made her shiver when she looked upon them.

Simon noticed her apprehension and told her, "Some of those sigils do conjure beings you should avoid." Simon picked her up and placed her on the altar. "You were instinctively drawn to the sign I wished to show you. Now focus upon that sigil and listen to my voice."

She concentrated on the outstretched hand, and found her soul drifting from her body. She wasn't worried—she could still feel Simon grounding her, keeping her from wandering away.

Now she was on the Lower Astral. When she tensed up, she heard Simon tell her, "Easy, little one. They won't touch you—just tell me what you see."

Meghann saw a very dark room, and—Jimmy! He needed her help; she ran to embrace him…

She found herself right back in Simon's temple. He glared down at her. "You have nothing to worry about, sweet. My minions shall attack your lover… not you."

"Leave him alone!" she cried.

"Leave untouched a man you promised love and transformation to?"

"It's none of your business what I promised Jimmy… I love him."

She expected him to hit her, to rage at her for saying that, but instead he gave her a sour grin. "You pity him, child, and you enjoy being with a man you can dominate. Did he not accuse you of that same tendency?"

Meghann went white at the insult. "He was upset because he couldn't understand why I wouldn't transform him. But you ought to know that later he said he loved me, and I told him I loved him! I love him… not you!" Simon's lips twisted, but before he could reply, she attacked. "And why the hell do you care if I love you? You never loved me!"

"What nonsense are you talking now? I loved you enough to transform you."

"Only because I reminded you of Isabelle!"

For a second, she saw complete surprise on his face. Then he gave her a clipped smile. "Perhaps you are growing up, little one. I cannot read your thoughts as well as I used to. All this time I thought it was Renee… I had no idea it was my deceased wife you envied."

Rage choked her so hard she could only splutter for a few seconds, then she collected her thoughts. "I am not jealous of her… I'm sad for her, all the vile things you did to that poor woman. And I'm angry because you put me through the hell of becoming a vampire just because I resemble someone who died four hundred years ago! You loved Isabelle and despised her for spurning you—so you thought you could re-create that twisted relationship with me!"

"How on earth have you convinced yourself that you're not in love with me? Meghann, if you don't love me, then why does it hurt you so to think that I don't love you… that I merely see my dead wife in you?"

That threw her. This vile monster can't be right, she thought. I'm upset because of what happened to Isabelle, not because it turned out I never really mattered to him. But damn him! It has hurt ever since Alcuin first told me. It hurt to think I wasn't so special after all. Do I want him to love me, to see me? She couldn't believe it when she felt tears running down her face.

Simon sat down on the altar and took her into his lap. She fought harder than she ever had, screaming and biting. All he did was hold her tighter.

"It's not true, no, no, no…" She sobbed brokenly.

"Yes, Meghann… my sweet child. Go ahead, scream and cry. Why do you think I couldn't kill you? We love each other."

She shook her head furiously. "No, I don't love you," she contradicted, all thoughts of deluding him forgotten. "I won't love such an evil man… I won't. And you don't love me; I'm nothing to you, nothing but a mirror image of a long-dead woman who hated you…" She couldn't continue; she hadn't been this hysterical since she found out her father had died. This is why he won't kill me… No physical pain could strike such a blow as realizing I'm still in love with him. What is wrong with me? Please, she prayed to anyone who might be listening, don't let it be true… Don't let me love this loathsome monster. Physical attraction—that's understandable. But love? It can't be so.

Simon kissed her hard, cutting off her sobs. No, she thought, desperately fighting what she knew was true. They were in love… They were both clinging to each other and trembling. Why am I so cursed? she thought wretchedly. How can I love a creature that is pure evil?

Simon pulled away from her. "Damn you, Meghann O'Neill. Do you think I ever wanted this?" He laughed, a shaky, desperate sound. "An evil, depraved fiend has no heart. That first night—when I drank your blood, I meant to kill you. I thought you would be one of my many conquests. You screamed when I bit you. Certainly, you were not the first to cry out and beg me not to hurt you. But when I looked up at your sweet, innocent face, it touched my heart in a way no woman ever has. I was in love with you… and I transformed you because I wanted you with me forever."

"No!" Meghann vehemently denied what she heard. "That's not true. You never loved me! How could you when there was a chance I'd die through transformation—"

Simon grabbed her close. "You were in no danger that night, sweet. Did the sham priest forget to tell you I am the expert on transformation? In that moment, when you gave yourself to me… I have never loved you more. And I used that love to hold you close all through that terrible night. There was never any chance that I would lose you. I know it hurt; I know it frightened you. But the pain could have been far more than it was, Meghann. I shared it with you; I made it my own so you wouldn't suffer. I've never done that for anyone else… only you."

"Only because I look like Isabelle, not because you loved me—"

"Stop!" he screamed, and kissed her again, nearly suffocating her. "I never knew my self-righteous, holier-than-thou uncle to be a gossip. What did he tell you? That I only transformed you because you were a doppelgänger for my dead wife?" Simon laughed bitterly. "Use some common sense, girl. Do you think in four hundred years I never met another redhead who reminded me of Isabelle? I met hundreds of them, sweetheart… and I murdered every last one of them." Simon stopped, and held her so hard she thought he'd break her bones, but she didn't object. To her eternal shame, she clung to him just as tightly. "Tell me what that wretch told you of my second marriage."

That helped Meghann remember all the reasons she had to loathe him. In a calm voice, she recited the litany of his atrocities that she knew by heart. "You ruined her life, Simon. You murdered Roger because you were jealous. And he died when he tried to stop you from raping her. She only married you to save the life of her child, which you later ended anyway. And when you were married, you beat her and tortured her. You broke her soul when she miscarried and made her life a living hell after she was crippled. You rotten, vicious, unpardonable bastard! How could you do that to someone? I don't love you, and if you think I'll stand by and let you treat me that way, well, think again! I'll find a way to kill you, Simon Baldevar! You vile beast… How could you? What did she ever do to you? And the little boy… and every other thing I heard or saw you do! You sicken me and I won't live that way! I won't!" She was panting with rage, wild-eyed and gasping for breath.

Simon didn't appear at all angry—instead, he looked at her with something akin to admiration. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are right now… with your hair flying and your eyes blazing? Believe me, child, you do not remind me of Isabelle at all. All that makes me love you was missing in that cold, overly pious, stupid girl." He smiled. "If only Isabelle had your fire, my marriage might have been tolerable."

"Why should Isabelle have had any fire? You did your best to destroy it, to crush any spirit she might have had. And I might add, you've done the same to me."

Simon pulled her into his lap again. "Sweet, you accuse me of all manner of evil, but you and your sanctimonious friends have managed to miss the entire point of my marriage."

Meghann glared. "You married her because you were infatuated with what you couldn't have… and you had that pathological jealousy of your brother Roger."

Simon rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, I had lived in Turkey all that time and never found any better woman than my brother's cold, foolish bride? Yes, Isabelle was pretty. And I did make overtures toward her. Certainly, it would have been far easier to dispose of my idiot brother if I could have enlisted her aid. But no, Isabelle wouldn't listen to reason."

Meghann stared down her nose at him. "Pardon me, Lord Baldevar, but rape is not reason."

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Rape? Oh, you're talking of Roger finding us that night… No, precious, I was referring to when I first came home. I did my best to seduce that cold piece, and informed her that any wealth in the family—her new jewels, her pretty gowns—was the result of my labors. But Isabelle… She quivered, and quoted the Bible at me, that foolishness about Cain. So I knew she was a lost cause, but still, I had no choice but to marry her. I wasn't about to have her take my wealth and lands to some new husband."

Meghann continued to glare suspiciously. "Even assuming I believe your tale of the marriage merely being one of convenience, which I don't, why did you try to rape her?"

"First, if I wanted to have her, there would have been no 'try' about it." Simon laughed mirthlessly. "Dear girl, you are still so naive. The rape was planned… as was Roger coming home earlier than expected." Meghann's eyes widened, and Simon grinned. "Oh, yes, one of his guards was in my employ. I had the man arrange for him to come home that night. Think, Meghann. Would my brother be able to fight me with his senses reeling in shock from seeing me on top of Isabelle? Roger was rash with his sword… and I was calm, eagerly awaiting my opportunity. The bumbling dolt gave it to me, and I severed his head from his shoulders." Simon got up and paced his lair while he continued to tell Meghann his twisted story. "So I married Isabelle, and, yes, I beat her. My God, I had to have some diversion. Do you know the silly wench actually prayed while I attempted to make love to her? And what a chore that was… done only in the hopes of an heir, which she managed to bleed away."

"So you made her life hell."

"Of course… She had displeased me and I was stuck with the damn albatross and no chance for legitimate issue." Simon shrugged. "She ruined my chances of children… so I saw no reason why she should be allowed to keep her son. Do you think I spent my entire life earning money, dealing with the danger of travel, and then wooing an elderly, vain, difficult queen so I could see it all go to Roger's son? Perhaps if I were already a vampire, I might have allowed the child to live."

Listen, Meghann O'Neill. That is what you are in love with… this abomination, this evil man who feels no shame for what he has done. "And Nicholas? He gave you your greatest gift… immortality… and you murdered him."

"Meghann, how can you say I don't love you? Do you think I've ever allowed anyone else to sit in judgment of me? Yes, my dear, I am an evil man. My love for you does not change that."

"I can't love an evil man."

Simon's lips compressed into a grim line. "But you do love me, sweetheart. Look at how you cling to me and weep when you think another woman might have meant more to me than you do. What you mean to say is you cannot admit to loving me."

"That's semantics. I'll never admit it and I'll never accept it, either. Do you think I could ever find solace in the arms of a man who tortured me?"

"You found quite a bit of solace tonight, I would say. Or will you deny feeling safe and sheltered when I held you? Precious child, if I ever wanted to torture you, you would know it. I chastised you when you misbehaved. But you see, I couldn't bring myself to damage you permanently."

For a minute, she simply gaped at him. "Never damaged me… you lying fiend! You would have let the sun destroy me if I didn't beg you—"

"After all this time, has it ever struck you as odd that Trevor appeared at the same moment you cried out? Sweetheart, I sent him up there for you before you reached out to me. I couldn't let you die… not then and not now."

Simon left the table and filled a silver chalice with blood, pressing it to Meghann's lips. She tried to twist away, but he forced her to drink it, and she nearly choked. "That tastes terrible. What the hell is in it?"

"Belladonna… among other things," he told her.

"Are you trying to poison me?"

Simon took her face in his hands. "Merely strip away your ability to lie about your feelings. Tell me you don't love me, and I'll let you walk away forever, Meghann."

She tried to avoid his searching gaze, but she couldn't. "I don't," she tried to say, "I don't… Damn it!" she cried in confusion. "All right… I love you, Simon! God help me. I love you so much! Damn you." She cried against his chest. "I don't want to love you… I don't."

She wanted to beat her fists on the stone walls. Why did she love Simon Baldevar? What twisted, venal part of her soul responded to him? Was the link between them so strong it could make her ignore good and evil? She wished again that she had died rather than allow this monster to transform her. God forgive me, she thought bitterly, because I'll never forgive myself for this.

Meghann started giggling and crying at the same time. "You know what happened last night?" she asked the fiend rhetorically. "I had this patient whose husband beats her. Nothing like you, of course—no boiling water, crucifixions, or dead partners. And I had the nerve to advise her!" Meghann screamed shrilly at the top of her lungs, tears still pouring down her face. "The unmitigated gall to tell her that if it were me, I would certainly never love anybody who hurt me or snatched my dignity." She cackled, completely hysterical. "I said it's not love if it makes you miserable… and that's all you do, Simon Baldevar! My life has been nothing but one miserable episode after another since I met you. That is not love!" Now she was crying again. "But if it's not, why do I want you so much? Why can't I say I don't love you and mean it? What the hell is wrong with me? How can I love some sociopath with no conscience? What does that say about me?"

Simon laughed, swinging her around in a circle. "I knew you were my fit consort! It's not your scruples or your conscience that is bothering you—it's your pride, that same delicious pride I always loved in you." He kissed the tip of her nose, her lips, and her forehead. "What an adorable creature you are. If you were Isabelle, what I do to others would disturb you. But that is not what bothers my precious girl—you are bothered by your vanity, the blow to your ego in realizing you can't resist me."

"Stop that! Put me down! And I am bothered by what you do to people—I want no part of it!"

Simon did put her back on the table, but he was still grinning that annoying, self-satisfied smirk that made her want to claw him. "Perhaps it does upset you, but you cried for yourself first, not my victims. I've told you before what you've always resisted—you are no saint, sweetheart. Stop trying to live up to sanctimonious ideals and become what you were meant to be—my consort."

Simon saw the uncertainty in her eyes, and pounced. "Let me feed that vanity, little one. Let me tell you why you love me in spite of that conscience you should learn to ignore. You're a very privileged girl, Meghann. No other vampire spends the day in my arms. I do not hold other women close, soothing their fears away, or take them for moonlit walks. You love a side of me no one else is allowed to see. Do you think I care if any other woman's eyes light up when I touch her? I want to see you happy, Meghann. Let me take all that misery from you and give you joy in its place." He was mesmerizing her—it seemed like those golden eyes and the soft voice filled the entire world.

Suddenly her body felt heavy, languid. Meghann wasn't as upset… Instead, she felt dreamy, soft, and feminine. Very feminine, she thought hazily… and never had such lust consumed her. It was like she was on fire… like there was something inside her. But it didn't scare her; it felt so good. Fight it, she thought dizzily. Can't give in… no. But she felt so peaceful and languid. What was in her?

"You feel the presence of the goddess entering your body. I knew the belladonna would bring her to you—that and your gift for summoning." Simon helped her lie down on the table. "It's Beltane tonight. Will you be my priestess?"

The potion was making her mind swirl. She tried to fight down the passion she felt, but she found herself holding her arms out to Simon. She knew what he wanted—even though she'd never attempted this before. He gave her that potion to invoke—but that wasn't his only reason. Without it, she could have refused to acknowledge those repressed feelings she had for him.

Vaguely she felt Simon peel the gown off her; she yelped when she felt a sting. "I need your blood for this rite, Meghann… and mine." She opened her eyes and saw him slash the vein in his left wrist… the same spot where he cut her. Then he mixed their blood together along with some oil and started drawing some seals on her body with a silver dagger. The cold touch of steel made her moan with desire. Everything—her knowledge of Simon, heartbreak, anxiety, hurt—was leaving her. Even her own ego, her awareness of herself, was fading. She was merely a vessel for the goddess now.

She had read about this ritual—wondered what it would be like to have a deity use her body. She felt very removed from what was happening. She also felt a wonderful warm presence inside… and it seemed she could almost hear it thank her.

And she felt something else in Simon, some other presence touching her. When she looked into his eyes, she saw a force even more powerful than he was.

Abruptly awareness came flooding back. It was just the two of them once more. Why lie? If she missed anything about Simon, it was his slow, careful attention, the way he seemed to worship her flesh. No one else made her feel so adored—he did know how to use pride and lust to bind her to him. Alcuin had been wrong. Even love was Simon's weapon—he had smashed every defense she had and made her accept him again. Why couldn't she die rather than cry out for him?

"Your pride again, my love. Is death truly preferable to the pleasure you feel now?"

She moved beneath him, finding the same wonderful rhythm they always shared together. One thing was different—he had never been this tender before.

"I told you I want you to be happy. Meghann, forget everything else for one moment. Hate me tomorrow if you must—but let me give you pleasure for one sweet moment."

She heard herself whisper, "You are giving me pleasure." She ran her hand over his chest, stopping short at the small, star-shaped scar a few inches over his heart.

He took her hand and whispered, "That's right, Meghann—the mark of the stake is one scar a vampire bears for eternity."

"I did that," she said, entranced by the mark she put on him.

His hand tightened over hers. "Don't give yourself too much credit, child. I still cannot believe I was so clumsy that night. It won't happen again."

No, she thought, such luck would not strike twice. She could not take her eyes or hand away from the scar—it mesmerized her. Without thinking about it, she put her lips to the mark and kissed it.

Shivering, Simon grabbed her close. "I forgive you, sweetheart."

A small part of her longed to spit on the mark and tell him she didn't want his damn forgiveness. But she was also overwhelmed by the need to give herself to him, to call him her master once more. What a fool she was to think she could play mind games with him and win.

Give yourself to him, some cursed treacherous voice told her. Let him possess you. Meghann arched her neck and heard herself cry out, "Bite me!"

Ecstasy and triumph lit his amber eyes at her words. He kissed her neck, then plunged his blood teeth into her. She screamed with the pain and pleasure no mortal man had ever been able to give her.

She heard Simon cry, "Now, Meghann! Tell me you're mine… Be mine!"

In that moment, she would have cut out her tongue if she could. But she could not stop herself from screaming, "I love you… I belong to you, Master!" She felt her soul reach out to touch his and forge an indestructible link between them.

Charles paced the living room of Meghann's home restlessly. His nerves were stretched to the breaking point with grief and fear. He had discovered Alcuin's charred body a few hours ago. Where was Meghann? God, he prayed, please don't make me lose my best friend as well as my mentor. But why hadn't Simon killed her? Was it to torture her at his leisure? Be all right, Meghann, please be all right.

Jimmy Delacroix staggered into the room. He had the classic look of a human transforming—the pasty, colorless skin and hideous purple circles. What am I supposed to do? Charles wondered. Last night, when Jimmy came staggering back to warn them of Simon's arrival, he hadn't looked this awful. Charles had put him to bed, and that's where he had remained until now. But it was plain to see the infection was advancing steadily. The man had at most three more days before it killed him. Should I transform him? But how can I watch over the transformation when Meghann may need my help any minute? On the other hand, what will she think if she discovers that I let him die?

Jimmy went to the bar. He didn't bother pouring a drink—he started swigging from a gin bottle. "That will weaken you," Charles warned.

Jimmy glared, then flung the bottle at him. It missed, shattering against the wall.

"You should know all about weak, you sonofabitch," Jimmy snarled at him. "Sitting here last night like the chickenshit faggot you are—while Maggie was stuck with that bastard. Why weren't you there? Why didn't you help her?"

With difficulty, Charles restrained himself from slapping Jimmy and telling him everything was his fault. They'd all warned Jimmy: don't leave the house at night. And what did he do? Stormed out of the house in a childish rage. He played right into Simon Baldevar's hands. Alcuin would still be alive and Meghann would be safe if it hadn't been for Jimmy Delacroix.

But Jimmy wasn't the only one at fault—I never should have listened to Alcuin last night, he thought for the thousandth time. This man is right; I should have been there. But he had felt Simon's power just as his master had. Would his presence have mattered, or would his own headless corpse be on the beach right now?

Jimmy had collapsed by the bar. Charles picked him up, and took him to the couch. "Save your strength. You'll need it to help Meghann."

"How do you know if she's even alive?" Jimmy asked bitterly before lapsing into semiconsciousness.

Charles thought transfusions might help Jimmy—at least keep him alive until they found out what had happened to Meghann. He went to the refrigerator, to get some pints for the mortal, and then cursed his own stupidity. He was so used to simply drinking any blood that he almost killed his patient with carelessness.

Charles shook Jimmy awake. "Jimmy, what is your blood type?"

The man squinted at him. "Huh?"

"Your blood type… A transfusion will make you feel better."

"O negative."

"You're sure?"

"Uh-huh." Jimmy rolled over and drifted back to his half dream, half memory. Fortunately. Maggie and Charles were too scrupulous to read minds. Charles had no idea what had happened that afternoon…

Jimmy had pulled a pillow over his head in a vain effort to shut out the noise, but the pounding on the front door just wouldn't stop. So finally he staggered out of bed, down the stairs, and over to the door.

"Who is it?" Jimmy asked while Max barked and snarled behind him.

"Jones." Andrew Jones was a private investigator Meghann had hired to try and find any information on Simon's whereabouts.

Jimmy opened the door and stepped out on the porch. The sun was irritating the hell out of him… He covered his eyes with one hand. "You got anything?"

The ferret-faced man tried to peer around the open door. "Where's Dr. Cameron?"

"She's not around. What news have you got? You know she said you could leave any information with me."

"I didn't want to see her…  This information is for you." The ugly little man smirked. "For a price."

Just the thought of smashing this asshole was making Jimmy feel better. He grabbed the sleazy dick by the collar. "Tell me whatever the fuck you know and I won't kick your ass. … There's your price."

Jones squawked, but reconsidered fighting when Jimmy raised his fist and Max growled. "OK, already. I just thought you'd like to know your girlfriend hasn't been completely honest with you."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, she sends my agency on this wild-goose chase for property. And she never bothers to mention that she owns her own multimillion-dollar estate."

"What the fuck are you babbling about? The only house Maggie owns is this one."

"Not according to this." Jones reached into his briefcase and handed Jimmy a deed of property.

While Jimmy skimmed it, the annoying PI kept talking. "I got curious, so I put her name through the computer. And sure enough, Meghann Cameron inherited that mansion ten years ago from her father, Jack O'Neill. He paid the gift tax, and all the property taxes since. Is your girlfriend married? I thought Cameron was her maiden name."

Jimmy put a hand on the porch railing to steady himself. Of all the… When he'd been looking for any alias Simon Baldevar might have been using, it never occurred to him that the bastard might be using Maggie's name. Jimmy studied the deed. This was for some house in Manhasset. This had to be Simon's resting place!

Jimmy felt a hand shaking him. "What is it?" he mumbled.

"It's time for your transfusion. Come on, I've set up a small surgery upstairs." Charles prayed the transfusion would work—Meghann would never forgive him if he did nothing and allowed her lover to die.

Jimmy leaned on Charles, and mulled over his plan. He knew Charles wouldn't approve of what he had in mind. But his head spun with the possibility that he'd finally have a chance to help Maggie.

Tomorrow, while Charles slept, Jimmy would investigate the place. It was worth a shot. Finding Simon there, Jimmy would stick a stake in his heart and end the whole thing. Now he was relieved that Maggie hadn't transformed him. It wouldn't be a vampire helping her with Simon—it would be a mortal, during the day.