lucky she was. She had everything she had ever wanted. Her apartment was large and airy. The parlor was painted white; the furniture was dark mahogany, the sofa and chairs covered in varying shades of blue. Her bedroom was spacious and airy even though it had only one window. The walls were pale blue; the quilt on her bed was in shades of blue and rose, as was the carpet on the floor.
She had enough clothes to outfit three women, money to spend as she wished. For the first time in her life, she had friends her own age, friends who shared her passion for the ballet. Despite the fame and popularity that set her apart from the other dancers, she was well liked by those she worked with.
She had danced in London, in Rome and Venice, in Madrid. She had performed for kings and queens, for orphans and others who could not afford the price of a ticket to the ballet.
She should have been happy. She was happy, most of the time. But tonight… for some reason she couldn't stop thinking of Gabriel, wondering where he was, if he was well, if he ever thought of her at all.
With a sigh, she extinguished the light and slid under the covers, and after saying her nightly prayers, she bid a silent good night to Gabriel, hoping that somehow he would know she hadn't forgotten him.
He stood at her window as he had so often stood on the veranda at the orphanage, watching her sleep. She had been beautiful as a young girl, but now, in the bloom of womanhood, she was exquisite. Her skin was translucent ivory, her hair spread across the pillow like a golden flame. Her lashes made dark crescents on her smooth cheeks. Her lips were ripe and pink, like the petals of a wild rose. Beneath the covers, he could see the outline of her body, young and supple and amply endowed. Her legs were long and straight; strong from years of dancing on point.
He looked at her, and he ached deep inside, ached with the loneliness of 350 years, with the memory of her laughter, her smile, the chaste kisses they had shared.
A low groan rose in his throat. Three hundred and fifty years of solitude, of existing on the fringe of life, sustaining himself with the blood of others. He had studied with the most brilliant minds of the ages, traveled the world over, seen the rise and fall of countless civilizations, and yet he hadn't been a part of the world of men for over three centuries. Times had changed. Places had changed, yet he remained the same. Always the same. Always alone. Afraid to trust. Afraid to love…
Unable to help himself, he melded his mind with hers, and there, in the safe netherworld of sleep, he made love to her, seducing her with his thoughts, molding her body to his with the magic of his revenant power…
She woke with his name on her lips, her skin damp, her breathing labored, her whole being filled with a languorous sense of warmth and fulfillment.
A blush burned her cheeks as the memory of her dream surfaced in her mind. She had been dreaming of Gabriel, dreaming that he was making love to her. His hands had been hot and impatient as they caressed her, his voice raw with desire. His lips had scorched her breasts, her throat. She remembered the feel of his teeth at her neck, the heat of his tongue as he laved the pulse at her throat. And his eyes… they had burned with an all-consuming fire, searing away every thought but the desire to please him.
It had been the most real, most provocative dream she had ever had.
She took a deep, steadying breath, and her nostrils filled with his scent.
Startled, she sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts.
"A dream," she murmured, her gaze peering into the dark corners of her room. "That's all it was. A dream."
Yet she could not shake the feeling that he had been there.
He went to the theater every night for the next ten days, seeing the joy on her face as she danced. He followed her when she left the opera house, despising himself for spying on her, unable to stay away.
She seemed to be ever
She had enough clothes to outfit three women, money to spend as she wished. For the first time in her life, she had friends her own age, friends who shared her passion for the ballet. Despite the fame and popularity that set her apart from the other dancers, she was well liked by those she worked with.
She had danced in London, in Rome and Venice, in Madrid. She had performed for kings and queens, for orphans and others who could not afford the price of a ticket to the ballet.
She should have been happy. She was happy, most of the time. But tonight… for some reason she couldn't stop thinking of Gabriel, wondering where he was, if he was well, if he ever thought of her at all.
With a sigh, she extinguished the light and slid under the covers, and after saying her nightly prayers, she bid a silent good night to Gabriel, hoping that somehow he would know she hadn't forgotten him.
He stood at her window as he had so often stood on the veranda at the orphanage, watching her sleep. She had been beautiful as a young girl, but now, in the bloom of womanhood, she was exquisite. Her skin was translucent ivory, her hair spread across the pillow like a golden flame. Her lashes made dark crescents on her smooth cheeks. Her lips were ripe and pink, like the petals of a wild rose. Beneath the covers, he could see the outline of her body, young and supple and amply endowed. Her legs were long and straight; strong from years of dancing on point.
He looked at her, and he ached deep inside, ached with the loneliness of 350 years, with the memory of her laughter, her smile, the chaste kisses they had shared.
A low groan rose in his throat. Three hundred and fifty years of solitude, of existing on the fringe of life, sustaining himself with the blood of others. He had studied with the most brilliant minds of the ages, traveled the world over, seen the rise and fall of countless civilizations, and yet he hadn't been a part of the world of men for over three centuries. Times had changed. Places had changed, yet he remained the same. Always the same. Always alone. Afraid to trust. Afraid to love…
Unable to help himself, he melded his mind with hers, and there, in the safe netherworld of sleep, he made love to her, seducing her with his thoughts, molding her body to his with the magic of his revenant power…
She woke with his name on her lips, her skin damp, her breathing labored, her whole being filled with a languorous sense of warmth and fulfillment.
A blush burned her cheeks as the memory of her dream surfaced in her mind. She had been dreaming of Gabriel, dreaming that he was making love to her. His hands had been hot and impatient as they caressed her, his voice raw with desire. His lips had scorched her breasts, her throat. She remembered the feel of his teeth at her neck, the heat of his tongue as he laved the pulse at her throat. And his eyes… they had burned with an all-consuming fire, searing away every thought but the desire to please him.
It had been the most real, most provocative dream she had ever had.
She took a deep, steadying breath, and her nostrils filled with his scent.
Startled, she sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts.
"A dream," she murmured, her gaze peering into the dark corners of her room. "That's all it was. A dream."
Yet she could not shake the feeling that he had been there.
He went to the theater every night for the next ten days, seeing the joy on her face as she danced. He followed her when she left the opera house, despising himself for spying on her, unable to stay away.
She seemed to be ever
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