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"You saved my life," he said in that same whiskey smooth voice.
His words startled her so that, for a moment, she forgot to be afraid. "How did I do that?"
"I was on the verge of ending my existence," he said. "I felt I had nothing to live for, no reason to go on. And then I saw your picture… "
"In that book you told me about?"
He nodded, thinking he would have to find that book and see what it said about Brenna now. "I saw your picture and I wanted to know more about you. Learning about you gave me something to look forward to when I rose. And then I began to wonder if there wasn't a way for me to find you. I read dozens of books about traveling through time. I wondered if it was possible and then I decided to try it." He shook his head. "I wasn't really sure it would work, but I pictured you in my mind and"—he shrugged— "suddenly I was in that field watching you dance."
She felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks. He had seen her dancing under the full moon, naked.
"Oh!" She blushed hotter as she remembered the words she had been chanting at the time. Light of night, hear my song, bring to me my love, ere long.
She had dreamed of this man, had been thinking of him that night as she cast her spell. Bring to me my love, ere long. Oh, my. Was it possible that her spell had conjured him, that he was, indeed, her true love?
She shook her head. It couldn't be, yet how else to explain it? Somehow, across time and space, her magick had connected with his to bring the two of them together.
CHAPTER 5
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.
Roshan leaned toward Brenna, his gaze holding hers. It was a question she had asked several times before, one he had refused to answer. "Do you really want to know?"
She nodded, her hands clutching the covers so tightly her knuckles were white. He could hear the rapid beat of her heart, smell her fear.
He took a deep breath. No mortal who had learned his secret had ever lived long enough to tell the tale to another. Dare he trust her? He considered it a moment longer and then said, matter-of-factly, "I'm a vampire."
She stared at him, all the color draining from her face. "Granny O'Connell was right," she murmured.
"Right about what'"
"Everything. She was a witch. It was she who taught me my craft. When I was very little, she told me fairy tales. And when I said there were no such things as werewolves or trolls, she told me that if there could be witches, there could be elves and fairies and all manner of fey folk, as well. I guess she was right."
He nodded.
"Are you going to…?" She lifted a trembling hand to her neck.
He followed the movement of her hand, felt his hunger quicken at the sight of the pulse throbbing in the hollow of her throat. "I don't know." He lifted one brow. "Would you mind?"
It was a foolish question. Her eyes widened, and although he would have said it was impossible, she recoiled from him still farther, her back pressed tight against the headboard.
"Brenna, listen to me. I won't hurt you. I won't do anything you don't want me to do."
"You promise?"
"Yes." He grinned. "And now you're wondering if you can trust the word of a vampire."
She nodded, her deep green eyes filled with doubt and suspicion.
He shook his head. "If I wanted to kill you, why would I have bothered to save you from the flames? Or brought you here?"
"A midnight meal?"
He stared at her a moment, and then he laughed, genuinely amused.
"A fine idea," he agreed, "but as I said, I won't do anything you don't want me to do."
She considered that for several moments. Some of the fear faded from her eyes.
"Are you really a vampire?"
"Shall I prove it to you?"
Brenna shook her head vigorously. "I will take your word for it. How long have you been a vampire?"
"Two hundred and eighty-six years." It was not a vast age, for a vampire. He knew of others who were far older. Still, compared to the few years of a mortal life span, it was a great age indeed.
"How did it happen?"
He grinned faintly at the memory. "A woman, of course. She was beautiful and beguiling, and I was ripe for the taking." He had still been mourning the death of his wife and child at the time. Even though three years had passed since Atiyana had died delivering their son, he had mourned her as if she had been dead for three days instead of three years. But he was still a man, with a man's needs and a man's desires. "She seduced me late one night and then, before I knew what was happening, she worked the Dark Trick and when I woke the next night, I was a newly made vampire."
"Did it not frighten you, being a vampire?"
"At first. She didn't bother to tell me what to expect, she just brought me across and then left me. I didn't realize anything had happened until I woke that night and saw the world as I had never seen it before."
"What do you mean? How was it different?"
"Everything looked… " He paused, wondering how to explain it. "Colors were brighter, more vivid. I saw everything in great detail, each thread in my coat, each blade of grass, each leaf on a tree, each drop of water that flowed through the river. But it wasn't only my sight that was changed. I could hear people's thoughts and sounds that I'd never heard before." He licked his lips. "The beating of a thousand hearts calling to me."
He remembered that it had taken him months to learn how to shut out the unwanted noises, the cacophony of voices he did not want to hear.
"Daylight was forever lost to me," he went on, "and I became a creature of darkness, prowling the night." Endlessly searching for prey, the sound of beating hearts a siren call he could neither resist nor ignore. In those early days, he had hunted relentlessly, certain he would never be able to drink enough to quench his awful thirst.
"And you drank… blood to survive?"
He nodded.
A look of revulsion flitted across her face. "How could you? Did it not make you sick?"
He blew out a heavy sigh. "I thought it would. But it didn't." To the contrary, the elixir of life was warm and sweet and rich. In the beginning, every time he drank, he craved it more. Even after he had just drunk his fill, he was already looking forward to the next hunt, the next victim, always afraid that the last taste was truly the last.
"Do you sleep here, in this bed?"
"No."
