Megan surrendered with a nod. “I’ll pour the wine.”
They had just finished dinner when the doorbell rang.
Megan didn’t miss the panicked look that flashed in Shirl’s eyes before she blinked it away. Hope flared in Megan’s heart. Maybe Shirl wasn’t as sure about her decision as she thought.
Megan took a deep breath before she went to answer the door.
Rhys was dressed all in black. Fitting, Megan thought, since he was bringing death into the house.
She stared at him, struck again by the sheer beauty of the man. Unable to think of anything to say, she didn’t say anything at all, just turned on her heel and walked back into the living room. When he didn’t follow, she remembered she had rescinded her invitation.
She was about to invite him in when Shirl called, “Mr. Costain, please come in.”
Megan felt an odd vibration in the air as he crossed the threshold. Why hadn’t she felt it before?
He moved into the living room on silent feet. Watching him, Megan wondered what was different about him. And then she knew. He was no longer hiding the truth of what he was. The supernatural power that was a part of him was a palpable presence in the air. Stunned by the irrefutable truth, she sank down on the chair beside the sofa.
“Please, sit down, Mr. Costain,” Shirl invited with a weak smile.
“No need to be so formal,” he replied, taking a place on the sofa beside her.
She nodded. “Rhys.”
“That’s better. Are you sure you want this?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know how it’s done?”
Shirl clasped her hands in her lap. “I think so.”
“Do you have any questions?”
“Have you done this before?”
Megan leaned forward, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist, as she waited for his answer. Funny, she had never wondered about that.
“Once or twice,” he said.
“And were they…” Shirl hesitated a moment, as if searching for the right word. “Successful?”
He nodded. “Anything else?”
“Will it hurt?”
“No. It’s quite pleasant, actually. I’ll drink from you. You’ll drink from me. When you wake tomorrow night, you’ll be as I am.”
“I have a question,” Megan said, and felt her breath catch in her throat when Rhys turned to look at her.
“What do you want to know?”
“Is it going to be safe for me to live with a vampire, or do I need to find a new roommate?”
“Meggie!”
“I’m sorry, Shirl, but I have to know what to expect.”
Rhys nodded. “It might be wise for Shirl to move in with me for a few days, until she becomes accustomed to her new lifestyle.”
“I’d never hurt Megan!” Shirl exclaimed. “She’s my best friend!”
“Perhaps not intentionally,” Rhys said. “But it’s sometimes difficult for new vampires to control their thirst.” He’d had to destroy the first vampire he’d made for that very reason. She had run amok, killing everything in sight, putting his existence and the lives of everyone she knew in danger. “So, are you ready?”
When Shirl didn’t answer right away, Megan felt a rush of hope. Had Shirl finally come to her senses and changed her mind? Hardly daring to breathe, Megan waited for Shirl’s answer.
Rhys sat beside Shirl, unmoving, patient as only a man who isn’t ruled by time can be.
“Shirl,” Megan whispered. “Please don’t do this.”
A single tear glistened in Shirl’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Meggie,” she said quietly.
Megan nodded. She had done all she could. The rest was up to Shirl, but she didn’t have to watch. Rising, she said, “I’ll wait upstairs.”
“No!” Shirl exclaimed. “I want you to be here.”
Megan stared at her best friend, horrified by the mere idea. “Why?”
When Shirl seemed reluctant to answer, Rhys answered for her. “I think she wants you here in case something goes wrong.”
“Wrong?” Megan echoed. “What could go wrong?”
“If her will to live isn’t strong enough, she won’t survive the exchange.”
“Shirl, is that true? Are you telling me you’re willing to do this when you might die anyway?”
“It’s the best chance I have,” Shirl replied, her voice barely audible. “Please stay with me.”
“If you’re not sure, we can do this another time,” Rhys said.
“No!” Shirl said, her voice tinged with desperation. “It’s got to be now!” She pressed her hands to the sides of her head. “I can’t stand the pain any longer.” She looked at Rhys, her eyes wild. “Do it! Do it now!”
With a nod, Rhys drew her into his embrace, then gently brushed the hair away from her neck. “Relax, child,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He caught her gaze with his as he slid his knuckles down the length of her neck. “That’s right, just relax.”
Unable to look away, Megan stared at the two of them. It was almost as if they were making love. As Rhys continued to speak quietly to Shirl, her eyes took on a glazed, faraway look. Her body sagged against his, her head fell back over his arm, her eyelids fluttered down.
Megan’s heart slammed against her rib cage when Rhys lifted his gaze to hers. Preternatural power crawled over her skin. For a moment, she was tempted to go to him, to throw her arms around him and surrender to the longing she read in his eyes.
It took all the willpower she had to look away.
Only to feel her gaze drawn back to the scene before her.
Rhys’s attention was wholly focused on Shirl now. He stroked his fingers along the length of her neck again; then, bending over her, he sank his fangs into the soft skin of her throat.
The faint, coppery scent of blood rose in the air.
Megan’s hands clenched in her lap. She should stop him now, before it was too late. Could she revoke Shirl’s invitation?
Shirl moaned softly, then went completely limp in Rhys’s embrace.
“What’s wrong?” Megan asked anxiously. “Is she…?” The words stilled in her throat when he lifted his head to look at her. His eyes glowed red. She saw blood on his fangs before he licked it away.
Feeling light-headed, Megan watched as he bit into his own wrist, then held the bleeding wound to Shirl’s lips.
“Drink, Shirl.” His voice was low yet edged with steel.
With a soft cry, Shirl grabbed hold of his arm and pressed her mouth to the wound.
Fighting nausea, Megan lurched to her feet. She could feel Rhys’s gaze on her back as she fled the room and staggered up the stairs.
Safe in her bedroom, with the door locked, she fell across the bed and cried bitter tears for the death of her best friend.
Tomás Villagrande lifted his head, the lovely dusky-skinned woman in his arms forgotten as, somewhere in the heart of the city, Rhys Costain brought a new vampire into the fold.
Chapter 25
When she had no tears left, Megan dried her eyes. Admonishing herself to stop being a coward, she went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, then went back downstairs. She had to make sure Shirl was still alive. No, not alive. Undead.
Rhys looked up when she entered the room. He hadn’t moved. As far as Megan could tell, neither had Shirl. She looked even paler than before. And she didn’t seem to be breathing.
Megan met Rhys’s gaze. “Is she all right?” she asked anxiously. “Is she…?”
“She’ll be fine,” Rhys replied. “She’ll sleep tonight and all day tomorrow.” He brushed a lock of hair from Shirl’s cheek. It was an achingly tender touch. And then he looked at Megan. “When the sun goes down, she’ll rise as a new vampire.”
Megan swallowed hard against the bile that burned the back of her throat. A new vampire. Shirl had always been fascinated with the Undead. Maybe this was what she had been searching for her whole life.
Rhys studied her, one brow raised. “You don’t approve.” It wasn’t a question.
“Of course not! You’ve turned my best friend into a…”
“Go on, say it,” he challenged. “I’ve turned her into a monster, like me.”
Megan took a step back, as if to distance herself from the truth. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
“But you were thinking it.”
“Stay out of my head!”
“I wish I could.” He eased Shirl down onto the sofa, then rose, his eyes sparking with anger.
Power rolled off him in waves. That, combined with the barely suppressed fury in his eyes, frightened Megan to the depths of her being, but she refused to let him intimidate her. Clenching her hands at her sides, she glared up at him, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. What had happened to the man who had once made love to her so tenderly, she wondered, even as an annoying voice in the back of her mind whispered that Rhys Costain wasn’t a man at all.
“Monster.” He spat the word at her. “It’s what you see when you look at me now, isn’t it?”
She wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t force the words past her lips.
“Damn you!” Hissing the words, he closed the distance between them quicker than her eyes could follow and pulled her body up against his. “Damn you,” he repeated, but this time, it sounded like a caress.
He kissed her then, a low growl rising in his throat as his tongue plundered her mouth. There was no gentleness in him, no tenderness.
She reeled under the assault on her senses—the hard length of his body pressed intimately against hers, the heat of his tongue dueling with her own. His arm was like a band of solid steel holding her prisoner. She whimpered softly, barely able to breathe as his arm tightened around her, pulling her closer still.
She knew he wanted to hurt her, to prove, in some perverse way, that he was the monster his actions showed him to be. But, monster or not, she clung to him, her body quickly responding to the strength of his arms, the force of his kisses, the way his hand caressed her hair.
