Christine Feehan

He lay quietly and slowed his heart until it barely beat, only enough to allow him to think, to gather himself for one last try. If she survived, he was going to bring her to him. He would not allow any more attempts on her life. If she lived or died it was his decision alone. 'Come to me, come here to me. The Carpathian Mountains. The remote, wild regions where you should be, where your home is, your people are. Come to me.' He sent the call, filled her mind with the compulsion. It was strong. The strongest he had been able to accomplish. It was done. It was all he could do without furthering endangering his own life. So close to his goal, he would not take any foolish risks.

They had found her again. Shea O'Halloran ran for her life. She had been more careful this time, now that she was aware she was being hunted. She had plenty of cash hidden in various locations, her truck was a four wheel drive, had a camper shell so she could live in it if necessary. She kept essentials packed so all she had to do was grab a bag and run. Where, this time? Where could she go that she could loose them for a time? She was driving fast, skillfully, racing away from those who would dissect her like an insect, those who looked upon her as something less than human.

She had so little time to live. Her strength was already wearing down. The terrible disease was taking its toll and she was no closer to finding a cure than when she started. She had most likely inherited it from her father. The father she had never met, never knew, the father who had abandoned her mother before she was even born. She had read her mother's diary so many times. The father who had stolen her mother's love, her very life so that she was a mere shadow, not a real person anymore. The father who didn't care in the least for her mother or herself.

She was already driving in the general direction of the Carpathian Mountains, her father's birthplace. The land of superstition and myth. The rare blood disorder she suffered from could very well have originated there. Suddenly she was excited, focusing her mind completely on the data so that she pushed aside fear. This had to be the origin. So many vampire myths began there. She easily recalled every detail of every story she had ever read or heard. She could be on the right trail at last. The evidence had been in her mother's diary all along. Shea was disgusted with herself. She had developed such an aversion to the idea of her father or any of his family, she hadn't stopped to consider she should track her own roots to find the answers she was seeking. Her mother's diary. She knew every tragic word by heart.

I met him tonight. The moment I saw him I knew he was the one. Tall, handsome, mesmerizing eyes. His voice is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. He feels the same way about me. I know he does. It is wrong, of course, he is a married man, but there is no way out for us. We cannot be apart. Rand. That is his name, foreign, like him, like his accent. The Carpathian Mountains are his home. How could I have ever existed without him?

His wife, Noelle, gave birth two months ago to a boy. I know he was bitterly disappointed at having a son. For some reason, it is important he have a female child. He is with me all the time, even though I am often alone. He is in my mind talking to me, whispering how much he loves me. He has a strange blood disorder and cannot go out into the sun.

He has such strange habits. When we make love, and you can't imagine how glorious it is, he is in my mind as well as my heart and body. He says it is because I am psychic and so is he, but I know it is more. It has something to do with his need to drink my blood. There I wrote it where I could not say it aloud. It sounds awful, terrible, but it is so erotic, the feel of his mouth on me, my blood in his body. How I love him. There is rarely a mark unless he wishes to brand me as his. His tongue heals wounds quickly. I have seen it, like a miracle. He is a miracle.

His wife, Noelle, knows of me, he has told me she will not allow him to leave her, that she is dangerous. I know this is true because she threatened me, threatened to kill me. I was so afraid. Her eyes glowed red and her teeth gleamed at me like an animal's, but Rand arrived before she could hurt me. He was furious, so protective of me. I know that he tells the truth when he says he loves me, I could tell by the way he spoke to her, commanding her to leave. How she hates me!

I am so happy! I am pregnant. He doesn't know yet. I haven't seen him in two nights, but I'm certain he would never leave me. His wife must be protesting his leaving her. I hope the child is female. I know he wants a daughter desperately. I will give him the one thing he has always wished for and Noelle will be in his past. I know I should feel guilt, but I cannot when it is obvious to both of us that he belongs with me. Where is he? Why doesn't he come to me when I need him so desperately? Why has he gone from my mind?

She cries constantly. The doctors are excited over her strange blood results. She needs transfusions daily. God, I hate her, she keeps me tied to this empty world. I know he is dead. The day Noelle came to see me, he returned alone for a few wonderful hours. He told me he was going to leave her. I believe he tried. He simply vanished, out of my mind, out of my life. My parents thought he left me because I was pregnant, that he used me, but I know he is dead. I felt his terrible agony, his grief. He would come to me if he could. And he never knew of the child. I would have joined him, but I had to give his daughter life. If his wife murdered him, and I am certain she is capable, he will live on through me, through our child.

I have taken her to Ireland. My parents are dead and I have inherited their properties. I would have given her to them, but it's too late now. I cannot join him. I can't possibly leave her when so many ask questions about her. I'm afraid they will try to kill her. She is like him. The sun burns her easily. She needs blood as he did. The doctors whispered so much about her and stared at me in such a way I was afraid. I knew I had to disappear with her. I won't allow anyone to harm your daughter, Rand. God help me, I cannot feel anything. I am dead inside without you. Where are you? Did Nicole murder you as she swore she would? How can I live without you? Only your daughter keeps me from joining you. Soon my darling, very soon I will be with you.

Shea let her breath out slowly. Of course. It was there in front of her. She needs blood as he did. She had inherited the blood disorder from her father. Her mother had written that Rand actually took her blood when they were making love. How many people had been persecuted and had a stake driven through their heart just because no one had found the cure for their terrible disease? She knew what it was like to suffer such a thing, to loathe oneself and fear discovery. She had to find the cure, even if it was too late for her, she had to find the cure.

Jacques slept for a long time, determined to renew his strength. He woke only to feed briefly, to insure she was alive and nearby. He contained his elation so that he had no chance to loose more blood. He needed his strength now. She was so close he could feel her. She was within a few miles of him. Twice he 'saw' her cabin through her eyes. She was fixing it up, doing the things women did to make a run down shelter a home. Later, Jacques began to awaken at regular intervals, testing his strength, drawing animals to him to give him much needed blood. He haunted her dreams, called her continually, kept her awake when her body desperately needed sleep. She was already fragile, half-starved, weak from lack of feeding. She worked day and night, her mind filled with problems and solutions. He ignored all that to keep at her so that she would be so tired he could easily hold her under compulsion to do his bidding.

He was patient. He had learned patience. He knew he was closing in on her. He had time now. There was no need to hurry this. He could afford to grow in strength. From his dark grave he stalked her, every touch of his mind to hers making the connection between them that much stronger. He had no real idea of what he was going to do to her once she was in his hands. He wouldn't kill her right away, he had spent so long in her mind, it seemed as if they were one sometimes. But she would surely suffer. Once again he sent himself to sleep to conserve the remaining blood in his veins.

She was asleep at her computer, her head resting on a stack of papers. Even in her sleep her mind was active. Jacques had learned many things about her. She had a photographic memory. He learned many things from her mind he had either forgotten, or perhaps he had never known. He often spent time studying before he subjected her to his harassment. It was a source of knowledge for him, knowledge of the outside world. She was always alone. Even the flashes of childhood memories he caught were of a small child isolated from others. He felt as if he knew her intimately, yet he really knew nothing about her. Her mind was filled with formulas and data, with instruments and chemistry. She never thought about her appearance or anything he would expect a woman to think about. Only her work. Anything else was quickly banished.

Jacques focused and aimed. 'You will come to me now. You will not allow anything to stop you. Awaken, and come to me while I am resting and waiting.' He used every ounce of strength he possessed to embed the compulsion deep within her. He had forced her several times over the last two months or so to walk towards him, to be drawn through the darkened forest in the vicinity of his prison. Each time she had come his way as he had bid her, but her need to complete her work had been so strong in her, she had eventually turned back. This time he was certain he had enough strength to force her compliance. She felt his presence within her, recognized his touch, but she had no real idea that they were linked. She thought of him as a dream, or rather a nightmare.

Jacques smiled at that. There was no amusement in the strong white flash of his teeth, only the promises of savagery, the promise of a predator stalking it prey.

Shea O'Halloran jerked awake, blinked to bring the room in focus. Her work was scattered everywhere, the computer on, the documents she had been studying a bit crumpled where her head had rested on them. The dream again. Would it never stop, leave her in peace? She was familiar with the man in the dream now, the thick mane of jet-black hair, and the touch of cruelty around his sensuous mouth. In the first three years, she had been unable to see his eyes in that nightmare dream, as if perhaps they were covered, but the last couple of years, he had stared at her with black menace.

Shea shoved at her hair, felt the little beads of perspiration gathered on her forehead. For a moment she experienced the strange disorientation she always did after the dream, as if something held her mind for just a heartbeat of time, then slowly, with great reluctance, released her.

Shea knew she was being hunted. Where the dream was not reality, the fact that someone was stalking her was true. She could never lose sight of that, never forget. She would never be safe again, not unless she found a cure for herself and the handful of others that shared the same rare disease. She was being hunted as if she was an animal with no emotions or intelligence. It didn't matter to the hunters that she spoke six languages fluently, that she was a skilled surgeon, that she had saved countless lives.

The words on the paper in front of her blurred, ran together. How long had it been since she had really slept? She sighed, swept a hand through her thick, silky hair, shoved it away from her face. Dark, wine red hair, thick and luxurious it fell to her slender waist. As always, Shea pulled it back rather haphazardly and secured it with whatever happened to be handy.

She was small and very delicate, frail almost. She looked young, like a teenager, a symptom of her strange blood disease. Shea aged at a much slower rate than a normal human. Her eyes were enormous, vividly green, mesmerizing. Her voice was soft velvet, beautiful. When she lectured, most of the students were so enthralled by her voice, they remembered every word she spoke. Shea's senses were far superior to others of the human race. Her hearing and sense of smell were extremely acute. She saw colors more vividly, details most humans missed. She could communicate with animals, jump higher, and run faster than the trained athletes. She learned at an early age to hide her talents.

She stood up, stretched. She was dying slowly. Every minute that ticked by was a heartbeat less in time she had to find the cure. Somewhere in all these boxes and reams of paper, there had to be a solution. Even if she found the answer too late for herself, she could prevent those like her from the terrible isolation she had felt all of her life.

She might age slowly and have exceptional abilities, but she paid a high price for them. The sun burned her skin. Although she could see clearly on the darkest night, her eyes couldn't stand the light of day. Her body rejected most foods, and worst of all, she had to have blood every day. Any blood. There was no blood incompatible with hers. Animal blood kept her alive--just barely. She desperately needed human blood and only when she was close to collapse did she allow herself to use it, and then only by transfusion. Unfortunately, her particular disease required an oral transfusion.

    Shea flung open the door, inhaled the night, listened to the breeze whispering of fox and marmots, of rabbits and deer. The cry of an owl missing its prey and the squeak of a bat sent blood rushing through her veins. She belonged here. For the first time in her lonely existence she felt a semblance of peace.

Shea wandered outside to her porch. Snug-fitting blue jeans and hiking boots were fine, but her thin T-shirt could not stave off the cold of the mountains. Snagging her sweatshirt and hiking bag, Shea hurried out to the beckoning land. If only she had known of this place. She had wasted so much time. A month earlier she had discovered the healing properties in the soil. She had known, of the healing agent in her saliva. Shea had planted a garden, vegetable and herb. She loved working in the soil. Quite by accident she had cut herself, a rather deep and nasty gash. The earth seemed to soothe, ease the pain. The cut was nearly closed by the time she finished working.

She began to wander aimlessly along the trail wishing her mother could have seen this place of peace. Poor Maggie. Young. Irish. On vacation for the first time in her life. She had met a dark, brooding stranger, one who had used her and discarded her. Shea shook her head, tears welling up, she refused to shed them. Her mother had made her choice. One man. He had become her life to the exclusion of everything else. To the exclusion of her own flesh and blood, her daughter. Shea had not been worth the effort of trying, of living. Only Rand. A man who had deserted her without thought, without warning. A man who passed on a disease so vile his daughter had to hide it from the rest of the world. And Maggie had known. Maggie hadn't bother to research or even ask questions of Rand to find out just what her daughter would be facing.

Shea let the soil trail through her fingers. Had Noelle, the woman her mother had named as his wife been as obsessed with Rand as Maggie had been? It sounded very much as if she had. Shea had no intentions of ever taking a chance that she shared her mother's failings. She would never need a man so much that she would neglect a child and eventually kill herself. Her mother's life had been a senseless tragedy and she had abandoned Shea to a cold, cruel life without guidance. Maggie had known she needed blood, it was all there in the diary, every damning word. Shea's fist clenched until her knuckles turned white. Maggie knew Rand's saliva carried a healing agent. She had known that, yet she had left it to her child to find out on her own.

Shea had healed herself countless times as a child while her mother stared dully out of a window, half-alive, never once hearing a toddler's cries of pain when she fell learning to walk and run, learning everything alone. She had discovered the ability to heal small cuts and bruises with her tongue. It had taken awhile before she realized she was unique in such a thing. Maggie had been an emotionless robot, caring for the barest minimum of Shea's physical needs, and none of her emotional ones. Maggie had killed herself the day Shea had turned eighteen. A low sound of sorrow escaped Shea's throat. It had been terrible enough to know she had to have blood to exist, but to grow up knowing her mother couldn't love her had been devastating.

Seven years ago a kind of madness had swept Europe. It had seemed so laughable at first. Fanatics, a faction of uneducated people, superstitious people for years had whispered of the existence of vampires. Shea, like everyone else, had thought it due to the popularity of vampire novels and movies. She had been clinically curious, of course, her mind worked that way. The legends always included the Carpathian Mountains and, of course, her father had come from that region.

It was probable the blood disorder had been the basis of the vampire legends. If the disease was indigenous only in the region of the mountains, wasn't it possible, those persecuted down through time suffered from this disease? Excitement had set in. If it was genetic, and it must be, and the origin was the Carpathian Mountains then there was a good chance she could study others like her.

The killings had swept through Europe like a plague. Men mostly, murdered in the ritual vampire style, stakes through the heart, garlic, and beheadings. It was sickening, repugnant, frightening. Shea had been terrified, certain those murdering in Europe might really try to find her. A group of respected scientists had begun to discuss the possibility of such a thing as vampires as being real. Evidence from some earlier source combined with samples of a female child's blood, hers, she was certain, had raised questions of possibility.

How could anyone in these educated times believe such nonsense? She identified with those murdered people, certain she shared the same blood disorder. She was a doctor, a researcher, yet she had failed all of them, fearful of the discovery of what she thought of as her loathsome little secret. It angered her. She was gifted, brilliant even, she should have unlocked the secrets of this thing long ago. How many others had died because she hadn't been aggressive enough in her search for data?

Her guilt and fear fed her wild, exhaustive sessions of study. She accumulated everything she could find on the area, the people, and the legends. Rumors, supposed evidence, old translations and the latest newspaper articles. She rarely ate, rarely remembered to give herself transfusions, rarely slept, always searching for that one piece of the puzzle that would give her a trail to follow. She studied her blood endlessly, her saliva, her blood after animal intake, after human transfusions.

Shea reluctantly had burned her mother's diary, she would never forget a single word, but she still felt the loss of it deeply. Her bank account was substantial. She inherited from her mother and she made good money in her profession. She still owned property in Ireland that rented out for a good amount. She lived frugally and invested wisely. It was easy enough to move her money to Switzerland and lay a few false trails throughout the Continent.

From the moment she had entered the range of Carpathian Mountains, Shea felt different. More alive. More at peace. The unrest, the sense of urgency in her grew, but she felt as if she had a home for the first time in her life. All of it. Everything. The plants, the trees, the wildlife, the very earth itself felt a part of her. Like somehow she was related. She loved breathing the air, wading in the water, touching the soil.

Shea caught the scent of a rabbit and her body stilled. She could hear its heartbeat, feel its fear. The animal sensed danger, a predator stalking it. A fox, she caught the whisper of fur sliding through the underbrush. It was wonderful to hear, to feel things, to not be afraid of hearing things others couldn't. Bats wheeled and dipped, diving at insects and Shea raised her face to the heavens, watching their antics, taking pleasure in the simple show. Climbing to her feet she began to walk aimlessly, needing the exercise, needing to put the weight of responsibility from her shoulders for a time.

She had found her cottage, the barest bones of a home, and over the last few months had turned it into a sanctuary. Shutters blocked out the sunlight during the day. A generator provided the lights and necessary power for her computer. A modern bathroom and kitchen had been the next priority. Slowly Shea had acquired books, supplies and everything needed for the emergency care of patients. First and always she was a doctor. As isolated as she was, Shea hoped never to have to use her skills. The fewer people who knew of her existence, the better off she was, and more time she could devote to her valuable research.

Shea entered the thick forest of trees, touched their trunks reverently. She always kept a supply of blood hand, easy enough tapping into the blood banks with her hacker skills, but that required monthly trips. There were three villages within a night's travel and she could scatter her trips between them. Lately she had grown so much weaker, fatigue was a major problem and bruises were refusing to heal. A craving in her was growing, an emptiness, begging to be filled. Her life was drawing to a close.

Shea yawned. She needed to go back and sleep. Normally she never slept at night, but saved those dead hours for afternoon when the sun took the heaviest toll on her body. She was miles from her house, in deep forest, high in the remotest part of the mountains. She came this way often, drawn inexplicably to the area. She felt restless, an overwhelming sense of urgency. She needed to be somewhere, but she had no idea where. When she analyzed how she felt, she realized the force urging her onward was almost a compulsion.

She had every intention of turning around and going home, but her feet continued along the uphill path. There were wolves in these mountains, she often heard them singing at night. There was such joy in their voices, beauty in their song. She could touch the mind of animals when she chose. She had never attempted such a thing with a creature as wild and unpredictable as a wolf. Their nightly songs almost made her wish she might encounter one.

She continued to move forward, pulled toward an unknown destination. Nothing seemed to matter but that she continue moving upward, always higher into the wildest, most isolated area she had ever been in. She should have been afraid, but the further she got from her cabin, the more important it seemed for her to go on.

Her hand went up absently, rubbed at her temples, her forehead. There was a curious buzzing in her head. Strange how hunger gnawed at her insides. It wasn't normal hunger, it was different. Again she had the strange feeling she was sharing her mind with another being and the hunger was not really hers. Part of the time it seemed as though she was walking in a dream world. Tails of fog wound around the trees, hovered above the ground. The fog was beginning to thicken a bit, the air temperature dropping several degrees.

Shea shivered, ran her hands up and down her arms. Her feet picked a path, missing rotting logs. She was always astonished how silently she could move through the forest, instinctively avoiding fresh twigs and loose rocks. Something rippled in her mind. Where are you? Why do you refuse to come to me? That voice was a venomous hiss of fury. She stopped, horrified, and pressed both hands to her head. It was her nightmare, the same voice calling to her, echoing in her head. The nightmares were coming more often, haunting her sleep, disturbing her waking hours, creeping into her mind at all hours. Sometimes she thought she might go mad.

Shea picked her way over a rippling stream. The rocks, vibrant splashes of color, were flat and welcoming. She used them to cross the crystal clear water. It was icy cold when she bent to idly trail her fingers in it. The feel of the stream was soothing to her.

Something compelled her forward. First one foot, than the other. It was madness to go so far from her cabin. She was too many hours without sleep. She even considered she was sleepwalking she felt so strange. Shea paused near a small clearing and stared up at the star lit sky. She didn't even realize she was moving until she had crossed the clearing and was in a thick grove of trees. A branch snagged in her hair forcing her to stop again. Her head felt heavy, her mind clouded. She needed to be somewhere desperately, but she didn't know where. Listening didn't help. With her acute hearing, she would have heard if any person or any creature was hurt or in trouble. Shea sniffed the night air. She would probably get lost and get caught out in the open and the sun would fry her. She would deserve it for this stupidity.

Although she laughed at herself, the feeling was so powerful that Shea walked on, allowing her body to ramble where it wanted to go. An almost non-existent path, heavily grown over, wove in and out of brambles and trees. She followed it faithfully, intrigued now, wondering what could draw her away from her research. Woods gave way to a higher meadow. She crossed the open field, her pace began to pick up as if she had a purpose. At the far end of the meadow, a few scattered trees looked down on the remains of an old building. It had been no small cabin, but a good-sized home, blackened and crumbling, the forest creeping back to take what had once belonged to it.

She walked along the perimeters, certain something had brought her to this place, but unable to identify what or the reason. It was a place of power, she could feel that, but for what or how to use it, she had no idea. She paced, her body restless, a relentless pressure in her mind, like she was on the verge of a great discovery. Squatting low, her hands let the soil run idly through her fingers. Once. Twice. Her hand found timber beneath the dirt. Shea's breath caught in her throat and her pulse jumped with excitement. Something. She was certain of it. Carefully brushing away the topsoil, she found a large single door, six feet by four with a solid metal pull. It took all of her strength to lift it and she had to sit for a few minutes to catch her breath and get the nerve to look into the hole. Rickety steps, rotted and cracking with age, led downward into the large room. A moment of hesitation and Shea went, her body and mind pulling her when her brain wanted to be more cautious.

The walls of the cellar were constructed out of dirt and crumbling stone. No one, nothing had disturbed the place in years. Shea's head went up alertly, eyes scanning the area quickly, senses flaring out looking for danger. There was nothing. That was the trouble. It was totally silent. Eerily so. No night creatures, no insects. She could not detect so much as a rat scurrying or the shine of a spider's web.

Her hand of its own accord began to skim along the wall. There were no animal tracks in the dirt. Nothing. Shea wanted out of there. Some sense of self-preservation urged her to get out. She shook her head, unable to leave even though the place distressed her. For one horrible moment her imagination caught up with her and she felt something watching her, lying in wait, dark and deadly. It was so real she nearly ran, but just as she turned, determined to go while she had the chance, her fingers found more wood beneath the dirt of the wall.

Curious, Shea examined the surface. Whatever lay on the other side had been deliberately covered. Age had not done it. Unable to stop herself, she dug away handfuls of soil and loose rock until she uncovered a strip of rotting wood. Another door? It was at least six feet high, maybe more. She dug in earnest now, carelessly throwing handfuls of dirt behind her. Her hand brushed something ghastly.

She recoiled, leaping back as dried little carcasses fell to the ground. Dead rats. Hundreds of withered bodies. Horrified she stared at the rotting box she had uncovered. The dirt holding it in place shifted and the box fell forward, part of the lid on one side giving way. Shea backed all the way to the stairs, alarmed at her find. The pressure in her head increased until she cried out with the pain, falling to one knee before she could climb the steep rickety stairs leading out into the fog-filled night.

Surely it wasn't a coffin. Who would bury a body upright in the wall that way? Something, morbid curiosity, some compulsion she couldn't overcome, forced her feet back to it. She actually tried to stop herself from moving forward, but she couldn't stop. Her hand trembled as she reached out gingerly to shove off the rotting lid.