Forever and the Night (The Black Rose Chronicles) by Linda Lael Miller Page A
Authors: Linda Lael Miller
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Ben good-bye, grab her suitcase, and hit the road. She wished she could see Aidan once more as well, but time was short. Besides, she hardly knew the man.
Five hours later Neely was headed north in the car she’d bought from Doris Craig. Saying good-bye to Ben hadn’t been easy, but he’d urged her to disappear as quickly as possible, pressing all the money from the restaurant till into the pocket of her peacoat.
She’d turned her trailer and her job over to Doris and set out in Doris’s old clunker of a car, making only one brief stop before leaving Bright River to ring Aidan Tremayne’s doorbell. She’d hoped to bid him farewell, but he evidently wasn’t at home.
Neely scribbled a note on the back of an expired registration found in the glove box of Doris’s car, stuck the paper in the frame of Aidan’s front door, and fled.
Twilight was gathering by the time the town of Bright River fell away behind her.
Maeve was visiting the Havermails at their estate in the English countryside, circa 1895. She was embroiled in a game of croquet, played by the light of thousands of colorful paper lanterns, when Aidan materialized at her elbow.
With a little cry Maeve started and accidentally tapped the croquet ball wide of the wire hoop she’d been aiming for. “Great Scot, Aidan,” she hissed, “I hate it when you do that!”
He clasped her arm, heedless of the staring guests, and yanked her toward the shrubbery. “It’s Valerian—he’s found some way to change a vampire into a man,” he told her.
Maeve stared at him, letting her wooden mallet topple forgotten onto the grass. “What?”
Aidan began to pace, unable to stand still because of the torturous agitation the knowledge had roused in him. “He’s ill—I gave him blood—he sent me away without telling me—”
“Aidan, stop,” Maeve pleaded, reaching out and clasping his shoulders in her extraordinarily white and graceful hands. “What in the world are you talking about? There is no way to change a vampire into a man—is there?”
“Yes,” Aidan said. Now he couldn’t contain his joy. Dear God, the very thought of it—breathing, having a heartbeat, living by daylight, loving Neely freely and fathering her children, and, when the time came, dying. In peace. “Yes! He says it’s dangerous, but—”
“Would you truly become a mortal again, even if such a thing were possible?” Maeve whispered, plainly stricken.
He paused before answering, looking deep into his sister’s eyes. He loved her with the whole of his being, and it was torment to think of such a chasm opening between them, but the bright, shining prospect of redemption blinded him to everything but itself.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Oh, God in heaven, yes.”
Maeve lifted her chin, but her lower lip was trembling. “You would leave me, Aidan? You want so much to be a mortal that you would turn your back on your own sister, for all eternity? Such a thing would make enemies of us.” She stopped and with visible effort took control of her emotions. She even managed to smile. “I don’t know why I’m worrying,” she said, her voice brittle and bright. “Vampires are vampires, darling. They cannot be men just for wishing, any more than they can be angels. Come—I want you to meet the Havermails.”
Aidan allowed Maeve to loop her arm through his and escort him across the lawn and into one of the estate’s many fragrant gardens, where the mistress of the great house held court. Mrs. Havermail, like her husband and her two children, who gave new weight and substance to the term brat, was a creature of the night, and she showed her fangs and made a soft hissing sound as the newest guest approached.
Chapter 6
D oris’s rattletrap of a car seemed to stagger along the interstate, coughing, flinging itself forward in a wild, smoky burst of fumes and fervor, nearly stalling, then shuddering with the effort to begin the whole process all over again. A little after midnight
Five hours later Neely was headed north in the car she’d bought from Doris Craig. Saying good-bye to Ben hadn’t been easy, but he’d urged her to disappear as quickly as possible, pressing all the money from the restaurant till into the pocket of her peacoat.
She’d turned her trailer and her job over to Doris and set out in Doris’s old clunker of a car, making only one brief stop before leaving Bright River to ring Aidan Tremayne’s doorbell. She’d hoped to bid him farewell, but he evidently wasn’t at home.
Neely scribbled a note on the back of an expired registration found in the glove box of Doris’s car, stuck the paper in the frame of Aidan’s front door, and fled.
Twilight was gathering by the time the town of Bright River fell away behind her.
Maeve was visiting the Havermails at their estate in the English countryside, circa 1895. She was embroiled in a game of croquet, played by the light of thousands of colorful paper lanterns, when Aidan materialized at her elbow.
With a little cry Maeve started and accidentally tapped the croquet ball wide of the wire hoop she’d been aiming for. “Great Scot, Aidan,” she hissed, “I hate it when you do that!”
He clasped her arm, heedless of the staring guests, and yanked her toward the shrubbery. “It’s Valerian—he’s found some way to change a vampire into a man,” he told her.
Maeve stared at him, letting her wooden mallet topple forgotten onto the grass. “What?”
Aidan began to pace, unable to stand still because of the torturous agitation the knowledge had roused in him. “He’s ill—I gave him blood—he sent me away without telling me—”
“Aidan, stop,” Maeve pleaded, reaching out and clasping his shoulders in her extraordinarily white and graceful hands. “What in the world are you talking about? There is no way to change a vampire into a man—is there?”
“Yes,” Aidan said. Now he couldn’t contain his joy. Dear God, the very thought of it—breathing, having a heartbeat, living by daylight, loving Neely freely and fathering her children, and, when the time came, dying. In peace. “Yes! He says it’s dangerous, but—”
“Would you truly become a mortal again, even if such a thing were possible?” Maeve whispered, plainly stricken.
He paused before answering, looking deep into his sister’s eyes. He loved her with the whole of his being, and it was torment to think of such a chasm opening between them, but the bright, shining prospect of redemption blinded him to everything but itself.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Oh, God in heaven, yes.”
Maeve lifted her chin, but her lower lip was trembling. “You would leave me, Aidan? You want so much to be a mortal that you would turn your back on your own sister, for all eternity? Such a thing would make enemies of us.” She stopped and with visible effort took control of her emotions. She even managed to smile. “I don’t know why I’m worrying,” she said, her voice brittle and bright. “Vampires are vampires, darling. They cannot be men just for wishing, any more than they can be angels. Come—I want you to meet the Havermails.”
Aidan allowed Maeve to loop her arm through his and escort him across the lawn and into one of the estate’s many fragrant gardens, where the mistress of the great house held court. Mrs. Havermail, like her husband and her two children, who gave new weight and substance to the term brat, was a creature of the night, and she showed her fangs and made a soft hissing sound as the newest guest approached.
Chapter 6
D oris’s rattletrap of a car seemed to stagger along the interstate, coughing, flinging itself forward in a wild, smoky burst of fumes and fervor, nearly stalling, then shuddering with the effort to begin the whole process all over again. A little after midnight
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