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He paused at the forecourt of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, where famous celebrity handprints were preserved in cement. He wondered idly what it would be like, to be famous, to know that people would come to this place long after you were gone and stare at your handprints. He had outlived most of these famous folks, yet only a few people knew his name. Ah, well, fame, like life, was fleeting. The stars on Hollywood Boulevard, the handprints at Grauman’s, served to remind those in the present of those who had gone before. So many famous people, now mostly gone, and yet he remained, unchanged for centuries.
Moving on, his thoughts returned to Mara. He pictured her, resting back at his house. She had certainly changed. How was it possible that the world’s oldest vampire had metamorphosed back into a human? In time, would it happen to him, as well?
The thought was not a pleasant one. He enjoyed being a vampire, enjoyed the strength and power that came with being Nosferatu. He loved the night, the taste of warm, living blood on his tongue, the enhanced senses that made the world around him more vibrant and alive.
His thoughts returned to Mara. She had apologized for not being able to hunt with him. She was finding it harder to stay awake after midnight, she who had once prowled the shadows long after most mortals had gone to bed.
She was vulnerable now, needy. He had never known her to be anything but invincible. She had always been the bold one, the strong one. But no more. For the first time in their relationship, she needed him. But she didn’t want him. The thought burned like sunlight on preternatural flesh. She wanted the man who had used her. From thoughts he’d read in her mind, it was apparent that the man, Kyle, had turned away in revulsion when he discovered her true nature.
Anger erupted through Logan. With a savage cry, he slammed his hand against a brick wall. It crumbled beneath his fist.
Muttering an oath, he found himself thinking of the baby she carried. Would it be human, or vampire, or some bizarre combination of the two? He couldn’t imagine Mara with a child. Couldn’t imagine having a baby in his house.
A baby. Young. Innocent. With blood that was pure as only the blood of the very young could be. His tongue brushed his fangs at the thought. He had never killed a child though he had, on one occasion, dined on one. It had happened shortly after Mara left him. Angry and confused, wanting to hurt her, he had decided to end his existence. If she didn’t want him, then he had no reason to endure. And so, on a night in early spring, he had gone outside to wait for the rising of the sun. That sunrise was forever imprinted in his mind—the beauty of the sky as it lightened from indigo to gray to blue, the brilliant slashes of crimson and ocher that had streaked the heavens. The pain—he would never forget the pain as the sun’s bright golden light scorched his preternatural flesh. With an anguished cry, he had burrowed into the blessedly cool arms of the earth, deep into the welcome darkness, where he had slept the healing sleep of the Undead. When he rose the following night, he had found a young family on their way to the city. The man and the woman had been his dinner, the infant his dessert. It was his first taste of innocent blood; it was a taste he had coveted ever since. Ah, the warm, sweet nectar, now but a distant memory. He had avoided infants ever since, afraid he might succumb to the temptation, afraid that the next time, he wouldn’t be able to stop at a taste.
How could he have a child constantly underfoot, constantly tempting him? Once again his thoughts turned to Mara. She needed him now, but for how long? Would she stay here, with him, once the child was born? Or would she leave him again? Could he bear to let her go?
He had known many women in the course of his existence, more than he could count, more than he could recall. But Mara . . . He had never forgotten her. He remembered every moment they had spent together, every word she had spoken, every look, every gesture, every touch. Dammit, he couldn’t lose her again, he thought bleakly.
And then he smiled. He didn’t have to. If she wouldn’t stay with him of her own free will, well, there were ways to make her stay, ways to make her believe staying was her own idea.
Whistling softly, he headed for home and the woman he loved.
Mara sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace, a book of baby names open in her lap. Of course, before she made a decision, she would need to know if her baby was a boy or a girl. And then she wondered why she was even worrying about it. There was no room for a baby in her life. She knew nothing of being a mother. A baby, she thought. A boy, with Kyle’s eyes . . .
She glanced at the book again. So many names to choose from—common names, like John and Mary, exotic names like Kamenwati and Cleopatra. She sighed as she thought of Egypt’s ancient queen. She had been with Cleopatra in the throne room when Octavian came to tell the queen what her fate would be. Later, Cleopatra’s ladies-in-waiting had hovered around their queen, their expressions anxious. That had been the night Mara had offered to work the Dark Trick on the queen of Egypt, but Cleopatra had refused.
“Antony is dead,” the queen had murmured. “My son is dead. Why would I want to live forever?”
Mara hadn’t pressed the issue. Cleopatra had set her face toward death and she had accomplished it with the same flair she had exhibited in life. In dying, she had robbed Octavian of his prize. It was her last victory over a hated enemy.
Ah, Cleopatra, one of the few women Mara had considered her equal. If her child was a girl, she would name her after the Queen of the Nile. And if it was a boy . . . ? She turned to the section listing boys’ names again and thumbed through the pages. Aaron, Benjamin, Clyde, Daniel, Ezekiel. She shook her head. Nicholas, Obadiah, Parker, Quennel.
“Quennel?” she muttered. No way. If it was a boy, she should probably just name him after his father.
Blowing out a sigh, she rested her head on the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. She wasn’t fit to be a mother. She had never been around children, or wanted any. She supposed she took after her own mother, who had given birth to Mara and abandoned her five years later. If one of Pharaoh’s servants hadn’t found Mara scavenging in the marketplace, she probably wouldn’t have survived. She had been strong once, indomitable, always in control. Now she felt helpless, awash with doubts. Not for the first time, she asked herself how she could take care of a child when she couldn’t take care of herself. She was just now learning to cook, and not doing a very good job of it.
She couldn’t even drive a car, but then, she had never felt the need to learn. As a vampire, she had been able to move faster than any motorized vehicle. But those days were gone. Perhaps, when she felt better, she would ask Logan to teach her. How hard could it be, anyway? After all, she couldn’t expect him to drive her everywhere, nor did she like being dependent on him, or anyone else. As a vampire, she had done as she pleased, when she pleased. She had been self-sufficient then; it was time she regained her independence. Being able to drive would be a step in the right direction. Everyone did it, from pimply-faced teenagers to white-haired octogenarians. And she was going to be a mother now. Mothers drove their kids to the doctor, to school, to soccer games. She shied away from those images. She wasn’t planning on keeping the baby, but she definitely needed to learn to drive. But not today.
