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Desmond strolled into the office. Hooking a chair with one foot, he dragged it over to Philippe's desk and sat down. He wanted to blurt out his good news right away. But first, he had to make things right between them. Not quite sure how to start, he glanced around the office for inspiration. "How long have we been friends?"
"Since 1873, when I showed up at your plantation to kill our father." Philippe straightened the pile of papers before him.
Desmond remembered the moment well. "You were too late. He was dead. They were all dead. All except me. And you."
"The curse."
"You know more about voodoo than I do."
Philippe shrugged. "I was my grandmother's errand boy. It was her curse. She mentioned it from time to time."
"Her curse made us what we are. But does it keep us that way?"
"It would if she still lived. With her death..."
The triumphant smile that flitted across Philippe's face sent chills down Desmond's spine. He hurriedly changed the subject.
"Rebecca's been confirmed as a donor for Gillian."
Philippe blinked. "That's a surprise. I'm happy for you, Des. And for Gillian. I hope the transplant operation goes well."
From his tone of voice, Desmond knew Philippe didn't expect it to be a success.
"Dr. Chen said it won't cure her, but it might give Gillian a few more years."
"You think the curse can be delayed?"
"I think we can fight it with modern science."
"Of course we can fight." Philippe shrugged. "But we will lose in the end."
"Not this time." Desmond would do anything to keep the curse from claiming another victim. Then he remembered Dr. Chen's suggestion. Almost anything.
Philippe chuckled. "You look quite fierce."
"Dr. Chen had a crazy idea, straight out of Frankenstein, about creating life in the lab."
"From what?"
"Donor cells from me and Rebecca. I told him to go to hell."
"Good for you." Philippe flashed a devilish grin. "With a woman as good looking as her, I'd prefer the old fashioned method of creating life, too."
"Philippe!" Desmond didn't know whether to be outraged or amused. Philippe's humor usually had that affect on him. But at least they were friends again.
REBECCA WOKE up with a splitting headache. Strange dreams had tormented her all night. In some, an evil presence pursued her, drinking in her fear. And in others, she chased down innocent victims herself, delighting in their terror. She wasn't sure which dreams frightened her more.
The smell of toast drifted past her, making her stomach rumble. She was starving. What time was it? These blacked-out windows made it impossible to gauge time.
She found her watch on the nightstand. Eleven-thirty. She must smell lunch, then, not breakfast.
Taking a few minutes to wash and get dressed, she made sure she was presentable. She didn't want Desmond to see her all disheveled from sleep. Desmond. She smiled, remembering last night.
He'd aroused her in a way no other man had ever done, touched some level of her heart that had never been touched before. She wasn't sure what he'd done when he caressed her, but it had unleashed feelings unlike any she'd ever known.
Her cheeks heated as she recalled her reaction to his kiss. She'd stayed dazed, her nerves humming with energy, until he'd suggested they retire to their separate rooms. Listening to him get ready for bed had nearly driven her mad. She'd imagined him undressing, his clothes sliding off his smooth, muscled body.
She splashed cold water on her face. That had been quite the kiss if the memory still affected her this morning.
