Night of the Vampires by Heather Graham Page A

that surely he’d go to his room, clean up the best he could for the night and fall sound asleep.
    But, of course, he knew that Megan was sleeping down the hall.
    He was highly irritated with her—good God, shecouldn’t seem to think rationally. What kind of information had she thought she’d get from the man?
    He lay down to sleep with that thought in his mind.
    And with a vision that crept in, as well.
    Megan, alabaster pure and perfectly sculpted from head to toe. Naked head to naked toe.
    He was, after all, human.
    And the day hadn’t been half-bad. She could be charming. She could be sweet. And no matter what she was beneath, when he touched her, she was warm and vital.
    She was dangerous. She was eager to insist that someone else was out there, and ridiculously certain that a dead man turned vampire could tell them where this disease of the East had originated.
    He punched his pillow, adapted his position and fell asleep at last.
    That night, he dreamed.
    He and Megan were in a misty place, and he could hear water running, dancing as it rode over boulders and pebbles in a clear, clean brook. There was a hazy moon somewhere above the mist, casting an opaque light upon the world.
    She came forth from the light: ever beautiful, sleek, porcelain. She walked through the mist, and he waited, thinking that he had lived his entire life just to reach out to her and hold her. Her smile held the charm she so easily offered. Her hair seemed spun gold in the moonlight. Her eyes were light, gold and red and green, a promise of fire.
    She came to him. And he reached out.
    And she turned, her smile broadening….
    Fangs longer than those of a cobra or an Arctic wolf.
    The dream ended in a burst of red—bloodred.
    He sat up with a jerk. He was alone in his room at Martha Graybow’s boardinghouse.
    And he had dreamed, nothing more.
    And yet…
    He wondered.
    Â 
    M EGAN WOKE SLOWLY in the morning. She did so with a bizarre sense of serenity. The sun had risen, birds were chirping, and the air in her bedroom seemed light and beautiful, with dust motes dancing within it.
    Then, memory of the day and night gone by returned to her, and she jumped up with a jolt. She dressed quickly and hurried downstairs, making it in time to hear the wheels of a carriage clip-clop down the street. She walked to the front door and opened it. The carriage was gone.
    Frowning, she went into the kitchen. There were still biscuits and bacon on the table, but the kitchen was empty.
    Had they all gone and left her?
    Cole was completely mistrustful of her.
    But did Cody doubt her, as well?
    The sound of hammering attracted her attention and she hurried out to the backyard. Cole was near the doorway to the outer kitchen, attaching new hinges to the wood that used to be a door.
    He looked at her without warmth, and with a fair amount of suspicion in his eyes.
    â€œGood morning,” she said carefully.
    â€œGrab me a handful of those nails over there. Please,” he added at the last.
    She did so.
    â€œWhere is everyone?” she asked.
    â€œOut,” he said simply.
    â€œOut where?”
    â€œThey’ve gone off on business.”
    She sighed with exasperation. “What kind of business?”
    He didn’t answer. His attention was reserved for the door he was repairing.
    â€œWhat kind of business?” she repeated.
    He looked up and stared at her, arching a brow.
    â€œOh, all right,” she told him. “Fine. I’ve got it. It has something to do with the Union government. And I’m not trusted. But I guess you’re not trusted, either. Well, you are from Texas.”
    He leaned back, staring at her. “Brendan Vincent came from Texas. He was with the U.S. military most of his adult life. He chose to stay with the Union. Every man has to make a decision, and every decision hasn’t been dictated solely by where a man was born.”
    â€œSo, you’re a Unionist?”
    He set