Love Tattoo

Evernight Publishing www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2011 Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

ISBN: 978-1-926950-34-1

Cover Artist: LF Designs Editor: Caitlin Ray

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATIO' To my mother, Carol Neely Sontheimer, who taught me to love reading and encouraged me to try my hand at writing.

LOVE TATTOO Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy Copyright © 2011

Chapter One

First time I saw him, it was about four on a sultry summer morning. A rest area on the interstate is the worst place to be at that hour, but I was on my way back to Nashville and I had to do what a girl must so often do— the result of too many soft drinks on the long drive. Against my better judgment, I wheeled into the next rest area, one of the funkiest one I have ever seen in my travels because just off the ramp the entrance road splits. One fork takes big trucks to a parking area from which they walk down to the rest center and the other routes us four wheelers behind the facility so that we have to climb a flight of steps to get there. At that predawn hour, needing to use the bathroom yesterday, I sang all the way up those steps. It was partly to keep my mind off the urgency and to keep from being afraid, like whistling in the dark. I continued the last song I heard on the radio, acapella, and belted out my rendition of Simon and Garfunkel’s Hello Darkness. It felt appropriate, considering the late hour. The very last thing I thought about on the way up was men. All I did think about was getting into that restroom for some relief. As I found the women’s room, I hurried on in, more than a little wary because you just never know about places like that. After I took care of business– what my daddy always called seeing a man about a dog – I came out in that steamy early morning darkness ready to roll onto into Music City USA by breakfast time. Now that I didn’t have to think about needing a restroom, my tummy reminded me that it might not want to wait until breakfast so I paused at the bank of vending machines and bought a package of peanuts. Before I could turn around, I saw his reflection in the wavering vending machine glass and I could smell his rich tobacco.

Because I grew up sitting on my Pop’s lap every morning while he smoked his Lucky Strikes and read the newspaper, I love that aroma. For me, no matter how well I know that tobacco has major health risks, that powerful, near narcotic scent meant security and safety to me. When I turned around and saw him, leaning up against the concrete wall, one boot propped against the building, he looked dangerous. His black denim jeans fit his muscular, long legs as if they were poured over them and left to harden. His boots were black too, and studded with little silver spikes that caught the artificial lights of the rest stop to reflect back at me like twinkling stars. As I gaped at him, mouth open like a fish taking the bait, he smiled at me, a slow wicked smile that made my skin grow sensitive as if I had a high fever. That smile made little ripples run along my nerve endings and down my spine. “Hello, there, darlin’.” His voice came out as dark and sweet as molasses. I gave him a closer look because my Mama taught me never to talk to strangers. His black hair curled tight against his head, not cropped short but not quite long either and there was a lot of it. Above those tight jeans, he wore a black Western shirt with white pearl snap buttons and over it all, a black leather jacket. Between his hair and clothes, he looked all black and white – his face and hands glowed pale, almost translucent – except for his eyes. Those eyes shimmered blue, not just a light blue like most people have but a rich, dark shade like sapphires or the clearest, azure autumn sky. He looked at me as if he knew me, as if he could read me like a favorite paperback book, and what he saw, he seemed to like. I found my voice, or really it found its way up out of my throat and into my mouth before I could think about what to say. “Good morning to you.” He flicked ash from the cigarillo that he held in his right hand and raised it to his lips. The end of it glowed red like dawn, bright as fire and he exhaled smoke, his eyes never leaving my face. I didn’t even know his name and yet he attracted me, pulled me toward him as the moon draws the tides to shore. Until he spoke, his appeal was physical but his next words captured my heart without a single shot

and conquered it. After that, he could own me if he wanted. He knew it, too. “Speak again, bright angel, for thou art as glorious to this night as is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white, upturned wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he sits bestride the lazy-pacing clouds and sails upon the bosom of the air.” Shakespeare, quoted at a God-forsaken rest area along Interstate 40 somewhere in Arkansas before daybreak, had an immediate effect on my heart. Any man that could quote the Bard without cheating or peeking at a book impressed me and in this unexpected setting, he had me. Romeo’s words, his aside as he watched Juliet dither around up on her balcony, had a heady and intoxicating quality. But I was no Juliet, no thirteen year old virgin pining for love. I had my big girl pants on so that I could get to Nashville and sing for my supper. I had been before and did nothing but turn around for home, beaten and defeated. This time should be different. I planned it, I saved up money from my nothing job, and I had studio demos. I had contacts in the business and even a room to rent in my best friend Sheena’s grandmother’s duplex. Everything was set for me to make one more run at stardom before I gave up, got married and fat, had three or four kids, and sang karaoke on my nights out on the town. All my ambitions shifted in that moment and dissolved like a pair of discount store shoes in a flash flood. I tried to think of something to say, some quote of Juliet’s that might fit, or just something, that would sound sophisticated or at least cool. What came out of my mouth was, “Who are you?” He pulled hard at the cigarillo one more time and tossed it. His laughter sounded like church bells ringing or a steel guitar played by someone who knew how to make the thing sing. “I am either your worst nightmare or your salvation.” That voice purred like a happy cat on a comfortable lap. “My name is Will Brennan and it is a pleasure to meet you.” He told his name so it seemed like I had to give him mine. “I’m Cara Riley.” I stuck my hand out to him to shake but instead he took it in his then bent down over it to kiss it. Both his fingers and his lips felt cold to me but I figured it was just that hot

summer morning. No one ever kissed my hand before, ever, and I liked it. Will did it with graceful, suave moves more suitable to a nobleman at a royal court and not the truck driver I guessed he must be. “So, Cara Riley, we have met,” Will said, “That’s the first step in getting acquainted. We should move onward to the second.” “Which is?” That question sounded dumb coming out of my mouth and I knew it when I said it. “This.” Will Brennan told me in that lush voice that made me feel the same way that the best hot chocolate laden with real cream did down deep inside just before he kissed me. I’ve been kissed many times since I was six and my playground boyfriend smacked his little lips against mine so hard my teeth rattled, but none of the previous kisses compared to that single smooch. The very best of any kiss I ever experienced slid down the scale to rock bottom as Will’s mouth touched mine. Although his hands felt cool against my skin, almost cold, his lips burned on mine, hotter than a rising fever and sweet as coffee cake fresh from the oven, tasty even while it scorches your lips. Heat rippled from his lips to mine in the way that summer-heated asphalt wavers in the late afternoon summer heat when record temperatures hit. It felt like putting my sensitive lips against a hot coffee mug on a January morning but different, better because Will’s lips were alive, moving against mine with such skill, such searching passion and need that it all consumed me. I could not stop and I didn’t want that kiss to end, ever. I could have stood there for the rest of my life, our mouths fused together with that sweet fire and never complained. The flames that he ignited in me spread as fire, searing its way from my mouth down my throat and into the center of my body. From there, the inferno expanded out into every cell, each atom of my body. Somewhere in the dizzy whirl, the strange intoxication that claimed me and changed me forever, I thought about Peggy Lee’s classic song, Fever. In my efforts as a singer, it was one of my favorites, one I attempted to cover many times but I knew my limitations. Sometime back, I quit singing that song because I lacked the power she exuded in her magnificent voice – until that kiss. Now I knew what was

missing; it had been this knowledge, this experience of such a wild, blistering heat that changed everything I knew about men and women. That kiss charred all of my ignorance into ash and left me to emerge new, like that phoenix from the famous ashes. Now I understood what Peggy sang about, realized that sometime she must have felt such power that scorched down to the soul. This then was how Romeo loved Juliet, the way Captain Smith coveted Pocahontas, and all the great couples down through history. This was fever and I had it. I just hoped that it wasn’t terminal. While we kissed, I forgot that I was at a plain, no frills, rest area out in the wilds of Arkansas where people came and went. Some of them were doing all manner of less than savory acts, everything from doing the nasty somewhere on the premises to shooting up drugs, using meth, or just pissing on the parking markers. During that heated suspended time, I swear I thought we must be in some beautiful place, a private garden, or a walled courtyard where roses bloomed. Somewhere out in the brambles and tangled below the rest area, there must have been honeysuckle blooming because I could smell it and somewhere else, maybe in a farmyard nearby, roses because I thought I could smell them too. What I could and did smell, without any doubt at all, was that masculine musk, heady and strong. Whatever I felt, Will felt too and it was good, way beyond good. This felt sweet, it was seductive, and it was exhilarating. No kiss can last forever and when it ended, I came back to myself with slow steps, hearing the whine of steel-belted tires on the highway, smelling the stale bathroom air when someone fanned the door, and staring into those amazing blue eyes. Will’s eyes on that first night, reminded me of standing on shore and staring out across a placid lake, the waters clear and calm. Even though my body still burned, his eyes offered me solace and serenity. I thought, fire and ice, like a poem I had half forgotten. He still held me in his arms, our eyes gazing at each other. “So are we acquainted now?” I asked, cheeky as always, when I thought I had enough breath to speak. Will’s eyes shimmered with a glow from within, his eyes so blue that they almost looked like Christmas lights strung on a holiday tree.

“We are, my lady— or should I say my dear Cara—we are indeed.” “What do we do now?” My questions seemed short, almost rude compared to his almost poetic speech, but I am what I am, Texas born and bred. I look the part and sound it, too. “It’s almost dawn,” Will said, his voice almost floating away from me sounding distant. “Tonight, Cara, we shall move from being acquaintances to something more if you like.” “I would like that very much.” Now I sounded like I at least had a few manners and social graces. My Mama would be proud. “But I don’t know when or where.” Nashville and my career could wait, I thought. I might not even have a big break waiting for me but Will’s kiss changed my perspective. To see where that sweet fire might lead me, I would put Music City on hold for as long as it took. “You tell me and I will come to you.” I stood mute, my mind spinning in twelve different directions, wondering what to say. Part of me knew that Will didn’t mean to meet back here but I wasn’t sure what to say. Should I tell him just come on over to Nashville, miles out of his way and hours distant? Do I tell him I would book a room at the very first motel along the Interstate or should I offer him my cell phone number, and then tell him to call? I had no idea why but I felt like there was a pressing need that I had to speak up and say or he would leave. Of course there was a deadline, but I didn’t know it then. “Memphis,” I blurted out after what seemed like an hour of thought but could have been no more than two minutes. “I will be in Memphis.” Will grinned, his lips stretching wide in an expression that looked both wicked as sin and sexy as hell. “I live in Memphis when I am at home.” he told me. “Memphis will do. I must go now, but I shall see you tonight, sometime after dark.” His arms loosened and he released me. For a few seconds I felt as if I could not stand on my own. My legs wobbled and I tottered as if I might fall, face into the pavement without his steady grasp. Then I righted myself and reached out, needing to touch him before he went away. “How will you know where to find me?”

“You tell me.” Memphis was a town I liked but I didn’t know much beyond the main areas that anyone would know, Beale Street, Graceland, and the casinos south of town but I spent a little time there and passed through often. “There is a motel, just a basic one, nothing fancy, across from Graceland.” I babbled. “I think it’s a Days Inn. They have a guitar shaped swimming pool and Elvis movies twenty-four, seven. I’ll be there but I can’t tell you a room number because I don’t know it yet.’ Will nodded, distracted as he turned his head toward the east where the first light of dawn flickered through the clouds, orange and red. He plucked my hand from his arm, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. “Never mind the number. I will find you. I must go now, sweet Cara. Parting is such sorrow that I shall say good night till it be morrow.” With those sweet words from Shakespeare’s pen, borrowed from Juliet’s mouth once more, Will left me standing there, staring after him. I watched as he hurried toward an eighteen-wheeler, one of the big rigs that lined the parking area. His rig, tractor, and trailer, shimmered jet-black, a black so shiny that it reflected like a mirror. I saw him climb up into the cab and then I could not see him, not through the dark tinted windows. I knew his occupation now; he was a truck driver but he was not like any driver I ever met. In fact, Will Brennan was like no one else I had ever met and I responded to him in ways that I had never even imagined. With a wild exhilaration despite my fatigue, I hurried back to my car to drive on to Memphis to book a room at that hotel. For the first time in a long time, I looked forward to a date. **** After so many years, Will Brennan dared not hope for anything more. Each year strung behind him like pearls, radiant and bright when his mood was good. However, when his personal darkness haunted him, the years weighed heavy like the links of a great chain. Through it all, he sought to fill his needs. Will had to feed his cravings but he looked for little beyond that. Until that first moment when he heard her voice lifted in song, before he even saw

her, he knew that she would mean something to him, more than any other. That woman drew him toward her like a pigeon to its homing. Something about her appealed and made him yearn in a way that he thought dead forever. He knew lust, often a driving force in his night prowling; his searching, but he had almost forgotten love. Cara reawakened his heart in mere moments, stirred it, and brought back the capacity to love. With it came the potential for pain, for memory, and for longing. She restored poetry to him just by existing. Although he loved the immortal words written by another Will – Shakespeare – he seldom shared that with anyone but this woman evoked the Bard. She breathed life into the words written centuries ago and he quoted them to her, something he had never done, ever. He loved music, the one uplifting fine thing he kept from his old life and she had it. His life, long a lonely and empty road that he traveled alone, lacked something and he knew now what it was – Cara. Right or wrong, foolish or stupid, selfish or not, he set out to have her for his own.

Chapter Two Memphis, tucked behind the wide waters of the mighty Mississippi River, waited for me with promise. Driving into the rising morning sun, I could barely see as I steered across the bridges and took an exit ramp down into real Memphis, into the old district beside the river. The old warehouse district looked as if it had taken another step downward since my last visit through but I really wasn’t much into scenery. Will Brennan filled my mind, larger than reality, in scenes so strange that I would have thought I must have dreamed them all. My lips felt bruised and tender to the touch. All I had to do was remember that kiss, the power and hunger and fire, and my skin tingled. Heat crept across my face when I thought about it until I felt like I must be sunburned. If I looked into the visor mirror, I wouldn’t be surprised if my skin looked pink. When I had to decide if I wanted to turn north toward Beale Street or south toward Graceland, I headed south because after driving all night, I felt exhausted. Thinking about Beale Street, though, put a thought in my head that I could not quite believe that I didn’t have before – that I could pursue my singing career here instead of Nashville. My singing style wasn’t really old school blues, but it wasn’t traditional country either and if I wanted to stand behind a microphone in a club, I could do that here, too. The idea had possibilities, major ones because I liked Memphis better than Nashville anyway and always had. Cities have their own flavor and style, every one of them. Nashville is more shit-kicking boots, ten-gallon hats, and nervous music producers, with a dash of faux antebellum South thrown in for good measure. Nashville offers the flavor of cheap beer, fried chicken, and apple fritters, all Paula Deen style heavy food loaded down with butter, grease, and salt, enough to give anybody a longlasting bellyache any day of the week. Nashville style eats make you fat, too, in a hurry if you don’t watch what goes down your throat. Even the music scene there in Music City USA is tense, a real dog eat dog and spit out the tail atmosphere. No one really likes anyone else but the insiders, the old school folks and their handpicked heirs, look down on the rest of the singers, no matter how talented. Even that leaves a bitter taste, enough to give this girl indigestion.

Memphis, however, is the succulent taste of tender barbecue, lean meats smoked to damn near perfect and served with cool slaw to take some of the heat out of the spicy sauces. Sip a Walk Me Down cocktail on the side and it is heaven on the tongue, no trouble for the tummy. If Memphis shows personality, it’s zany and a little crazy but solid underneath like a good friend, someone who can party with you but is there when you need support or a good word. Memphis is more like that eccentric aunt that you love to see at Christmas, the one who slipped some vodka into your Coca-Cola when you were too young to drink and gave you Shalimar perfume instead of Avon’s Sweet Honesty. All of that ran through my mind as I navigated Highway 51 through town. So many people have told me that they can’t find their way in Memphis but I never had any trouble at all, not even that morning when I couldn’t stop thinking about Will Brennan. All my preference for Memphis over Nashville was real enough but I had to admit, if just to myself, that part of it sprang from the notion that Will fit Memphis like tailor-made trousers and that in Nashville, he would stand out from the crowds in their Western wear. Thinking about him stirred the ashes of the heat he kindled in that kiss, more than a little dangerous while navigating the streets of Memphis. After I almost clipped a bus and a motorcycle came near putting a dent in my back fender, I tried to put Will out of my head until I got settled.At the motel – hotel would be too fancy to describe the place, although not a dump, also not upscale despite the Elvis theme – I checked into a room on the second floor, carried my bags up, and sprawled on the king sized bed staring at the Elvis decorations. Breakfast continued just off the lobby but even though I was more than a little bit hungry, I didn’t want do-it-yourself waffles, cold cereal, or a stale donut. I wanted a burger and back home in Texas, thanks to What A Burger, I could have had one but not in Tennessee. In Memphis, I would have to wait so I decided to take a long nap, wake up, run out for a double burger, then come back to shower and dress for my date. God, I hoped Will showed up. The entire idea of a date seemed almost new. During my last year or so in Texas, stuck in a small town in the piney woods, not the open plains of West Texas, I went out twice, both times with guys I already knew. One of the dates happened when my former high school boyfriend asked if I would like to drive up to Jacksonville to

see a movie and we did. The popcorn ended up as the best thing about the evening. The next time, a guy I grew up with, older than me, came home from the Army on leave and took me over to Shreveport to play in the casinos there. That date ended up being almost fun. Ol’ Travis was too serious for my taste and far too much of a gentleman for anything else to develop, though. Before that, back in my Nashville days, I dated almost every night but out of all of that, there wasn’t a single guy I would date twice or even look at twice again. I wanted to look at Will for a long, long time and even more than that, I wanted him looking back at me. I ached for him to see me, to want to get to know me, and to take me. If that one kiss blazed like a falling star through my sky, I craved more and I planned to get it, no matter what. The ‘what’ turned out to be more complicated than I could have ever imagined. **** Dark falls late in summertime Memphis so I wasn’t worried when dusk came without Will. I waited through twilight, dressed in the fanciest kick-ass outfit I had with me, the one I planned to wear for auditions only, with calm. I didn’t become nervous until nine o’clock came and he had not arrived. I sat in the darkness of the room, no lights on, but a dim light in the bathroom, and watched out the window. From there, I could see happy people splashing in the pool. Earlier, families frolicked in the water but now, past the kiddies’ bedtime, couples swam and played. My palms sweated, my stomach, still empty because I decided to wait on eating in case we went to dinner, did a few flips, and I had to pee every two minutes or so. My nerves felt tighter than the strings on my Gibson guitar, my pride and joy that stood in the room closet, too valuable to leave in the car. He wasn’t coming, I decided, and I thought how foolish I had been to think that he would. All I knew was his name; all we shared was one kiss at a rest area on the interstate. He could be anyone and for all I knew, he might be halfway to New Orleans or Jackson, Mississippi by now. If he really meant to come, he would have given me a cell phone number or at least a CB handle. With a sigh, I kicked off my highheeled shoes and rubbed my feet. Just to torture myself, not hoping at all, I sat down at the window one more time and watched for that all

black rig to pull into the lot. I stared so hard at the parking lot and pool and when someone rapped on the door, I jumped straight up so fast that my head whirled. I knew it couldn’t be Will but just in case, I smoothed back my hair and took a deep breath. I opened the door expecting some tourist at the wrong door or a room attendant bringing fresh towels but it was not. He stood tall, his head even with the top of the doorway, and exuded that same mesmerizing sensual appeal he had at the rest stop. Those rich blue eyes met mine and he grinned, a slow lazy smile that melted me like chocolate. Before he said a word, without greeting him at all, my hands reached out toward him like a little child’s seeking a hug and he stepped into my embrace. Will surrounded me with his arms, wrapped me in them like a cloak, and held me snug against him. His body against mine felt cool, rather refreshing in the summer night, but that proximity made me burn. Without speaking, he kissed me and that kiss ignited every sense. It erased all the waiting, made me forget about the people outside having fun in the guitar shaped pool, and wiped away years of moral restraint. I wasn’t a virgin, but I never had been promiscuous by modern standards. This would be the first time I had unbridled sex with a man I met less than twenty-four hours earlier. There was no doubt that sex was imminent, not when I feel his male hardness flush against me, marking his desire. Will swept me from my feet, robbing me of breath, and carried me to the bed. Somehow, he also kicked shut the door with one heavy boot and laid me there across the comforter. I could feel that polyester cotton blend scrunching up beneath me but I was way past caring. He shucked me right out of the dress I put on so we could go out somewhere and if finding me bare as I was born under it was a surprise, his face failed to show it. His hands, though, and his body liked it. So did I. He ravished me. There just is not another word to describe it and I lay there, spread eagled for surrender. I didn’t try to stop him – Lord, I didn’t even want to try. I was ready and so was he. Will shed those pants and boots, throwing them into two opposite corners and then he took me, stabbed into me with his manhood, pierced my body and deep into my soul. With each thrust, he sent new spirals of

pleasure through my body, each one greater than the last until I literally thought he might fuck me to death but I didn’t care. If I went out on such a tide of carnal joy, of physical delight, then so be it. Will caressed me, his cool hands moving over my body like a master craftsman, gentle and yet strong. He treated my body like an instrument and he played it well. I quivered, I trembled, and when my release came, bright and beautiful, full and dense like fog, I screamed aloud, so full of passion and joy that I needed that outlet. He stopped my cry with his mouth and then his lips moved from my lips to the left side of my throat. He kissed me there, his lips much warmer than his hands, nibbling and suckling. I felt the bite of his teeth, sharp as tiny knives but it felt good to me, tantalizing and sweet. He broke the skin because I felt the warm trickle of blood and then he stopped but he was far from finished. That was the calm before the storm. As intense as our lovemaking felt to that point, after it became a wild rush of body to body in combinations that wiped my mind of anything else but this man and this moment. Like a raging brush fire, Will destroyed me, demolished every resistance, and then he restored me. For every thing he took, he gave back double. His hands, his mouth, his cock all radiated passion, a strong desire that swept me into its maelstrom with no regrets. I don’t think there was anything that we did not do – we licked, we scratched, we bit, we tasted, and we merged, two bodies into one with such an arc of physical joy that I thought, for real, that I might die of it. Will explored every crevice I had and I ventured everywhere, hands and mouth busy. I yielded to him and yet I conquered him, too. He gave and I took, and then gave it back again. I gloried in the feel of his skin against mine, so cool and dry in contrast with my heat. Every stroke brought new ripples of pleasure to me and spiraled me higher. I lost all track of time and I couldn’t have told you where I was but I always knew it was Will, his body and his hands that touched me everywhere. That time, when we came, it rocked us with the force of an earthquake. I shuddered and shivered, shouting out my ecstasy without words. Will quivered and trembled as much as I did, then he poured into me with the mighty force that I thought the Mississippi River could be no stronger than this. I met his power, channeled it,

let it explode and then lay, sated and satisfied. With a long sigh like the breath of the wind through the trees, the gust of a storm passing, he flopped down beside me on his stomach with a grin. “That counts as one,” he murmured as he snuggled against me, his black Western shirt scratching against my bare skin. One what, I wondered as I put my fingers to the side of my throat and felt the tiny drops of blood. I raised my hand so I could see the crimson on my fingertips. “You broke the skin,” I said, pretending to be angry, “What are you, a vampire?” Will lifted his head and cocked one eyebrow. “I wouldn’t ask too many questions, Cara, unless you are ready for answers.” His blue eyes glowed like turquoise night-lights above his grin but his words worried me more than I wanted to show. Not that I thought he was a vampire, not then, but his response rang a little strange, too much like a warning. I ignored it, though. I stretched like a cat on a sunlit windowsill and put it out of my mind. After that rousing, satisfying experience, I had no desire to think about anything that might block my happiness. “There is one question I do want answered,” I said, feeling bold as a street hoochie. “And that’s what?” Will didn’t seem bothered in the least that I might ask something difficult or prying. “When do we eat? I’m hungry.” It was his turn to stretch and he did, shifting off the bed to dress with swift motions. Before I could roll over or look for my dress, Will stood fully clothed, looking no different from when I let him enter the room. “I’m fed now,” he said, referring to our shared sex. I thought it was cute then, and an analogy, not reality. “But I could eat. What do you want? Tell me anything but some fancy gourmet slop.” To be ornery, I thought about suggesting Chez Philippe at the Peabody, about the swankiest, upscale restaurant I knew but I really didn’t want haute cuisine any more than Will seemed to. I knew what I wanted and it was basic – a hamburger. Not just any burger. The Golden Arches would not do nor would Wendy’s or any of the other chains with their cardboard containers and paper wrappers. I want a real Memphis hamburger so that meant one place and one place only

– Dyer’s Hamburgers. If Will was really a truck driver, then he would know his burgers coast to coast and he would know Dyer’s. “I want a burger from Dyer’s.” His face lit up like the night sky on the Fourth of July. “Good. You can have all you want, even a Triple Triple. Let’s go.” He headed for the door while I grabbed for my clothes. “Wait! I have to get dressed.” Five minutes later, we headed toward the parking lot at the motel, past the guitar shaped pool. I looked around for his truck and trailer but didn’t see it anywhere. “Do you want to take my car?” I asked. His amusement was real. “Why would I want to do that?” “I don’t see your truck.” Will laughed. “That’s because I came in my car.” “Oh.” He laughed some more until we reached his car. I had no idea what to expect but he surprised me when he unlocked the door of a mint, 1959 black Cadillac Sedan De Ville, the model with the big fins and the long, sleek body. It looked like someone’s dream come true and it must have been Will’s because he beamed as I slid across the seat to the passenger side. “Nice ride,” I said and meant it. “Thanks, I like it. It rides like a dream, runs like a buffalo, and is big enough to be comfortable. Are you ready to hit Beale Street?” The very name of the district filled me with a wild anticipation, like a kid on Christmas Eve and I grinned as I said, “Hit the road, Will.” He pulled out onto Elvis Presley Boulevard heedless to the traffic then made the old car rock and roll.

Chapter Three Beale Street beckoned. From several blocks away, I spotted the bright neon lights and by the time we parked in one of the many parking garages near the famous blues district, I could hear the music. As we walked, hand in hand, onto Beale Street itself, the delicious food smells hit and my hunger roared. Hamburgers, barbecue done Memphis style, fried chicken, and more sent their aromas wafting into the street. “How hungry are you?” Will asked, after my stomach growled so loud that he must have heard it over the music. “I’m starving. The last time I ate real food was in Oklahoma.” That seemed like a long time ago, days, and not just ballpark twenty-four hours or less. “Then let’s eat.” As we picked their way through the various street vendors, wandered past hanging guitars and peered at some of the eccentric merchandise displayed in shop windows, we didn’t talk much. Crowds thronged the late night scene but once they reached Dyer’s, across from the WC Handy Park, we got a table. Although the restaurant had plenty of business, we could finally talk. Ordering didn’t take long; we both ordered triple meat burgers and hand cut fries. As I inhaled the inviting smells that filled the room, I realized I felt as eager now for food as I had been for sex earlier. “You’ve been here before,” I said as Will responded with a nod. “Yes, many times. I like the place. On weekends, I know I can get a decent meal here until about 5 o’clock in the morning. I never sleep at night so I remember places like this, all over the country.” “I don’t sleep much either.” I felt fascinated to find another bond. Although I never have quite figured out if I suffer from insomnia or if I’m just a night owl, I always spend much of the night wide-awake, catching a little sleep during the day. When doing a gig, it worked but the rest of the time, it is damned inconvenient. When I was home in Texas Mom, God bless her, had a thousand ways to keep me awake. I felt like a zombie most of the time.

“Then you won’t get tired and want to go home. That’s good. Most gals do,” Will said. Even though the light was dim in their back booth, I could see how pale he was and wondered why. In every other way, he exuded virility but his pallor made me wonder if he had been sick or recovering from an accident or something. “I won’t. We can dance all night long if you want.” His lips looked dark as burgundy wine inside Dyer’s as they curved into a smile. “I do want.” So, we did. We be-bopped along Beale Street from one club to another until almost dawn and we did dance. Sometimes we just listened to the sweet sound of blues played in some smoke-filled club and in a few places; we gazed at each other, shutting out the world. We talked, too, to each other about many things and we touched. Every time that our fingers met, our hands collided, or my leg intersected his beneath the table, I sizzled. My skin felt as fragile, as easy to damage as a butterfly wing, thin and sheer. Each brush of his flesh against mine made me shiver, quiver with an incandescent ecstasy beyond anything I knew before. Will made me sensual in a new way and I felt almost reborn, sexy this time. I am not an ugly woman but I’m not vain either. Most of the time I think I am reasonably attractive, enough that no one wants to put a brown paper sack over my head but I’ve had my relationship issues. The boys – which can include any male from fifteen up to about ninety five – back home in Texas all want a pretty little cowgirl or a sweet senorita that they can own, one they can drive like they do their pickup trucks. They want gals who will make sweet love to them one minute, then get up to make biscuits and gravy for breakfast and do the dishes while they head off hunting or fishing. Texas boys want the kind of woman who will stay home with the kids, serene and placid as a farm pond, while they raise a little hell, play cards, go drinking, or taste some forbidden fruit. They want you in church at their side on Sunday morning but they don’t want to rub elbows with you at the honky-tonk, not once you become a respectable wife and mamma. That double standard put my teeth on edge by the time I gave up Barbie dolls. Just because I liked playing with them never meant I wanted to be one. My high school boyfriends didn’t last long when

they realized I wasn’t a cheerleader by choice. The only one that lasted awhile back then was my darlin’ Robert Shelby. Unlike the other boys, he didn’t play football but he drank good whiskey and we spent too much time helling around the back roads, driving ninety miles an hour. We did a few other things under that Texas sky too, in those piney woods of my East Texas but his touch never came close to evoking the feelings Will did with one fingertip. In college, I liked my professors and they liked me but nothing real came out of it, just a bitter aftertaste from more forbidden fruit. As a singer, I had my share of one-night romances. When I left the Lone Star State to head back to Nashville, I promised myself I would be good and focus on my music. But, there I was, down on Beale Street, hanging out with a dark, mysterious dude who titillated me and fulfilled me physically more than anyone else had. Because of him, I had already revamped my plans to forget Music City USA and try out Memphis. I was not really a blues singer but there were plenty of clubs and venues all over town, way beyond the borders of Beale Street. After all, the whole Memphis thing worked for Elvis and look where it took him. That first night with Will seemed to last forever, the hours blending one into another with such smoothness that when the first fingers of daybreak streaked the eastern sky, I had trouble believing we had been out all night long. We came out onto Beale Street, laughing, but when Will spotted the first light of dawn, he changed. “We need to get goin’, darlin’,” he told me, picking up his pace in those boots so that I had to scoot to keep up with him. “I don’t have much time to get you back to your motel and head back to my truck before the sun comes up.” “Listen, Cinderella, it isn’t midnight, and you’re not going to turn into a pumpkin.” I said, my voice a little slurred from multiple Walk Me Downs. I thought it made sense at the time but later I realized it didn’t, not much. Will laughed but there wasn’t much mirth in the sound. “Midnight would not be a problem but I don’t do daytime.” Even though there were many days that I didn’t either, that seemed a bit odd to me. I could stay up all night with the best of them but I wasn’t against having a bite of breakfast before I lay down to sleep. I felt more than a little bit disappointed because I thought that maybe he would stay over me with in that king-sized bed.

“We don’t have to stay up till noon.” I said, realizing that I was wearing my heart tattooed to my sleeve like some lovesick teenager with a brush. “I could do with some breakfast though. Can’t we stop long enough to eat?” He stopped so fast that I ran into him and then he caught me, both my arms held in one of his hands. “Cara, no, I can’t. It is much too late for that. I don’t even know if I can make it back home in time now.” Until that moment, scared was not a word that I thought I would ever use to describe Will Brennan. I might have said he was scary but I did not expect to see him acting like a nervous little girl who might be late to elementary school. He acted as if he would be in trouble if he didn’t get back to his big rig by dawn, totally out of character for him. I would almost have suspected that he had a wife tucked away in some nice Memphis tract house but that seemed impossible. On impulse I said, “Then stay with me at the motel. I’ll sleep all day myself and unless you have a load to deliver or a schedule to keep, we can play again tonight.” Will hesitated, cut his eyes toward the east where I could see the rose hued light of morning touching the clouds and brushing them with gold. “I would like that very much,” he said. “But if I stay, you have to promise that you won’t open the doors or the curtains at all until its full dark. Will you do that and not ask me why?” Quirky, I thought, but no more than most of us. We all have our little oddities, our hang-ups so I smiled. “I can do that, Will.” At the motel, he whipped that old Caddy into a spot near the swimming pool and hustled me upstairs to my room before I had time to admire the sunrise. More color streaked the sky by the moment and I would have liked to admire the beauty for a minute or two but he hurried and so did I. I thought that maybe he would want to snuggle up and get intimate before we crashed. I hoped that he would but when I slipped into the bathroom to get out of my clothes and take a shower, he went to sleep. When I emerged, smelling fresh and clean, with a little old flame of desire just waiting to be fanned into flame, Will looked dead to the world. He slept so sound, on his back with his arms crossed that I thought for a moment that he wasn’t even breathing. Common

sense took over and I realized that he would have to breathe unless he was dead. With my dreams of some morning pleasure denied, I yawned and slipped beneath the sheets. Outside, a sticky, humid Delta day stirred and it was going to be hot but next to Will, I felt cool and comfortable. Most guys sleeping throw off heat but he didn’t. He felt cool to my touch and radiated a chill like an ice cube. For the first time all summer, I wanted more than just a sheet and ended up with the comforter wound around me like a tortilla on a burrito. I slept past noon, got up because nature called and then slept on and off until early evening. I woke hungry, empty bellied and ready to eat but Will had not stirred. He had not even moved. If I lay in the same position for a good twelve hours or more, I would be so stiff and sore when I woke that I would barely be able to move. Before I could lay my head, though, I realized check out time ended an hour earlier so I had some business to handle. I needed to pay for tonight, I decided, and maybe several more. I wasn’t leaving Memphis as long as this thing with Will kept exploding so I told the clerk to rack up three more nights on my credit card. If that didn’t max it, I would be lucky but I decided I would take the chance – being with Will mattered enough to do it. After that, I had nothing much to do but wait. Bored as well as hungry, I scooted over and tried to wake Will with a few little kisses but he did not respond. That wounded my ego so I increased my efforts but no matter where I touched, he lay like stone so I gave up, frustrated, took another shower – great way to kill some time – and got dressed in the best outfit I could put together. I did my make-up in the bathroom because the main part of the room was too dim to see my hand in front of my face, let alone make sure I didn’t smear eye shadow on my cheeks and blush on my eyelids. I finally took up my old familiar seat at the window and through the tiniest gap between the curtain and wall, I watched happy people at play again. I didn’t want to be one of them and yet I envied them, a little. Two guys showed up, both muscle bound hunks, so I pulled the curtain aside to get a better view. A stray ray of sunshine trickled through and since I forgot all about what Will said, when he yelped, I jumped back from the window wondering just what the hell was wrong.

“Close that curtain!” He growled in a weird tone that fell somewhere between a hiss and a shriek, just deeper and more guttural. I let the drape fall back in place and turned around to stare. My sexy he-man wore a pout on his face that looked like a little boy who got his finger pinched in the door. I gawked at him but he recovered quick, schooling his face back to his normal tough appearance but he rubbed his left arm where the sunshine fell like it hurt. He had a mark there, a red strip, the kind you get from bumping up against something hot. I burned my arm like that one when I touched it to an electric stove burner. Since sunlight doesn’t burn – not in the normal sense anyway – I dismissed it. Will must have had that mark before, I thought, and I just didn’t notice in all the heated excitement. “Cara.” He said my name like a command, as if I should just hop to and do whatever he said. I would resent that but since I obeyed by coming to the bed, I couldn’t gripe about it much. I squelched a really stupid urge to reply, without sarcasm, with something like, “Yes, Master?” and that chapped me so much all I said was his name back at him. “Will.” I thought he might just pull me down into those jumbled covers and do whatever he pleased. Part of me wanted him to do just that. I could feel my skin tingle as I drew near to him, those blue eyes mesmerizing me. I drowned in their depths, floated on their placid surface, and skated across their ice. At the bed, I would have sat down, but he roused up to a sitting position and reached out his hand to me. I took it, his rough, calloused flesh cool and dry against my sweating palms. “You look beautiful, mo anam cara.” His voice swept over my senses like wind before a thunderstorm, electric and full of possibilities. Whatever he said in that foreign language didn’t translate into my head but the way he said, car-a, not care-a, I knew it wasn’t my name. From his tone, I guessed it must be some kind of endearment. “Thank you.” I had nothing else to say in return. “What language is that?” Will smiled, a slow, grin that spread across his face like syrup over a platter of pancakes, both rich and sweet. “It’s Irish, Cara Riley. I guess that means you haven’t the Gaelic.”

Wondering why –despite my Irish sounding name – he would even think that a Texas girl would speak Irish, I shook my head. “No, I don’t. All I can speak is English and a smattering of Spanish. You can’t grow up in Texas without picking up a little along the way.” “That’s a pity,” Will said as he released my hand so that he could roll out of bed, naked and so beautiful that I thought I might just faint with desire. His flesh almost glowed, ivory from toe to head except for that red mark that remained on his left arm. Every inch of his body radiated strength and he looked so trim that his muscles must be hard as stone. He lacked the muscles of a body builder, which was good – I’m not one who finds the exaggerated big muscles attractive but he looked both strong and sexy. “I may have to teach you.” “Sure.” If he wanted to teach me, that meant he might want to keep me hanging around. I liked that. I ached to be around Will Brennan for a very long time as whatever he wanted me to be. I decided a long time ago that maybe marriage wasn’t the right option for me, especially not East Texas style, but if he asked, I would agree to be his wife within seconds. If he asked me to be his concubine, his mistress, his main squeeze, his girlfriend, his best friend, or his significant other, I was there. “I’m a fast learner.” His eyes flicked me from head to toe. “I get that. I also see that you are dressed for another evening out.” “I am.” Now that he awakened, I wondered if I made a blunder. I assumed that we would be going out on the town again but maybe not. I remembered now, a little too late, that assume made an ass out of both you and me. “Are we going back to Beale Street?” “No.” His single word answer sent a chill through me. Okay, so he might just dress and head home to wherever in hell he lived. He said he lived in Memphis so he probably had an apartment, a town house, or a ranch style suburban home. I readjusted my thinking, feeling sad. After I waited all day for him to wake up, it looked like he was out of here as fast as he could pull on his black jeans and go. Either my disappointment marked my face or he read my mind because as he bent down to pick up his pants, he smiled at me.

“I have no plans to leave without you at my side, Cara, so don’t wear that sad face. Beale Street, however, is not tonight’s destination – we are going down to Tunica. I shall be ready to go in less than five minutes.” With that, he left me standing there, mouth open and staring after him. No one ever knew what I thought before, but he did. That impressed me, but the idea of heading down to Tunica filled me with sweet excitement. Tunica used to be nothing more than a wide spot in the highway in the real Delta, the flatlands of Mississippi where farming reigned until the blues were born out of those hot, dusty fields until the casinos came. I had not been down to Tunica more than twice but I remembered well the many casinos – big, Vegas style operations – that stretched out with their bright lights and huge buildings. If you’re looking for nightlife and you’ve done Beale Street, then Tunica would be the best place to go. Less than five minutes later, Will emerged fully dressed and smelling fresh. I would have sworn he had on the same clothes because he brought no bags but they looked immaculate. Not a wrinkle marred any of it and if I didn’t know better, I could swear than an iron kissed those clothing moments earlier. He extended his hand to me and I took it, marveling again, at just how cool it felt against my skin. Will exuded a scent that made my senses go wild. At first I thought it must be some kind of high priced aftershave or men’s cologne, something like Aramis or Armani but after sniffing the air, I decided what I inhaled was his own male musk, his own aroma. That richness wafted over me with equal parts of Will, a hint of the fragrant cigarillos he smoked, and just powerful lingering traces of desire. I wanted him just from that sensual smell but when he moved, with such animal power that it reminded me of a leopard’s prowl, I needed him. Apparently, however, that need would have to wait because we went out to his vintage Caddy, climbed in, and set out south for Tunica. **** Will slept alone in his own space, a personal rule he never broke. On the road, he bunked in the sleeper cab of his rig. At home, he shared his bedroom with no one and few ever even entered his house, tucked away on the edge of Memphis, so remote that most people did not even realize it was there.

He could not recall the last time that he shared a bed with anyone or anything but Cara caused him to do the things he vowed never to do again. He could have made it home if he rushed but he accepted her invitation to stay. He hoped he would not regret staying, but he did not think that he would. Cara flooded his senses and he wanted her. More than desire consumed him and although he would rather not admit it, even to himself, he needed her. Even that first night, in a hurry for something quick, something temporary, she drew him as if he was a moth and she the flame. Even her name, so close to the Irish endearment that he used, pleased him. It evoked a softness in him that opened the locked rooms of his heart but to her alone. And her voice, her songs uplifted him to heights he thought he might never reach again. A true Irishman, he loved music but hers reigned above any other to him now. She caused him to take risks. That incident with the curtain should not have happened and the damage could have been much greater. When he thought of that moment of searing pain, he rubbed his arm where the red mark had long since vanished, healed but he thought he could feel the spot. Tonight marked the third night spent in her company if he included that first encounter. Last night marked the first time he ever walked Beale Street with anyone. He normally went solo to the casinos too but he could not bear to leave her. Because he stood out in a crowd, people noticed him, and they would note his companion, too. He didn’t mind that but he wanted to keep her all for himself. Forever.

Chapter Four We wheeled out of that motel like a rocket sled on rails – old line from a CW McCall song that stuck in this Texas gal’s head growing up – and tore through town with speed. As we motored past them, I felt sorry for all those ordinary people turning into the supermarket parking lots or driving through McDonald’s for a meal that would taste like cardboard. I wanted them all to look at me, especially the women, and envy me because I was with Will Brennan. As we pulled up to a stop light, though, I wondered if I knew what I was doing. Here I was, pressed up against the body of a man I knew for less than forty-eight hours, that I knew in that old wicked Biblical sense, and that I would follow to the ends of the earth, doing just about anything Will asked me to do. He just exuded something that made me his and I could not say quite what. Whatever it was, he shared it because he seemed to be just as taken with me, as I was with him so mutual attraction existed. For a moment, staring out the Caddy passenger window at an old woman in a little old beat up Buick – because she reminded me of my own grandma back home in Texas – I considered whether or not I lost my mind back at the rest stop. I’ve never been much of one to jump someone’s bones within hours of meeting them for the first time and I always vowed that one-night stands were not my style. I have had a few but until now, they usually turned out to be a disaster on a Titanic scale. Whether or not this thing, whatever it was, with Will might become remained unknown. We roared on past a string of convenience stores, gas stations, discount marts, fast food joints, car lots, and restaurants in the night. I wanted Will Brennan in every way possible, physically, mentally, emotionally, and yet I wondered – did I love him? Was this thing of the heart or just the body? I didn’t know, not quite yet, but I leaned toward both. He fired a cigarillo and as the smoke drifted over me, I felt contentment stealing over me like a warm blanket on a cold night. Studying his face in the faint glow reflecting from the dashboard, I noticed how handsome he looked. His rugged features exuded manliness with a Roman sort of nose that commanded his heartshaped face. Those blue eyes sparkled in the faint light and his lips

curved with a rich fullness that I liked very much. He caught my glance and grinned, wicked in a sweet-hot way. “Would you like to listen to music?” he questioned. “Pick any CD that you like.” I saw the CD case lying on the floorboard and picked it up. I don’t know what I expected, classic country and truck driving songs but his collection boasted far more than that. Sure, there were a few Red Sovine discs, some Hank Williams and some Johnny Horton, even a CW McCall album but Will had stuff I would never expected to find. Tucked into that case were CD’s of Irish singers like Tommy Makem and Mary O’Hara, folk singers like Peter, Paul, and Mary, two Peggy Lee, some Elvis, the Eagles, KISS, Ozzy Osborne, Iron Maiden, Glenn Miller, and more. I don’t think I ever looked over a music collection so eclectic and that ranged from old-fashioned folk music to heavy metal. So many choices made it hard for me to pick. My own music preferences covered a wide range too. As a singer that just came with the territory, liking music of all kinds. My parents raised me on good old country pickers too and my grandmother introduced me to Peggy Lee at an early age. I liked good, harsh rock and roll when I was in that kind of mood and I could stand a little folk music once in a while. Blues, too. His Irish music surprised me but maybe it shouldn’t have. He already said some sweet thing to me in Gaelic, which I could not understand, and his name, Will Brennan, carried an Irish lilt just like mine. Despite my name, I’m an All-American, redblooded Texas girl. Sure, I wore green on St. Patrick’s Day and went to Mass on Sundays (well, once in awhile and always when growing up), and there was a time when I dreamed about making a trip to Ireland. I wanted to see some of those picturesque cottages and maybe enjoy a drink in one of those cozy pubs. One of my roomies back in college listened to Irish music so at least the names were familiar. Curious and thinking maybe Will would appreciate my choice I put the Mary O’Hara disc into the player. Since some of her songs included Gaelic lyrics, I thought it might give me a crash course in learning a few words in the language. Tunica is just about twenty miles or so south of Memphis so it didn’t take long to get there. Will moved that car down the highway at top speed as we listened to the high soprano voice of Mary O’Hara

backed with her harp. I admired her style and her voice, pure and near perfect. When Mary sang something about a frog that lived in a well, he sang along which surprised me. He just didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would sing, especially with some ancient tune but turns out, his voice sounded fine, a rich tenor one that had all that sweet sound associated with the best of the Irish singers. After that song, he turned down the volume for a moment without his eyes ever straying from the highway. “That was fine,” he said and for the first time, I caught the faintest touch of a brogue in his voice like a hint of flavor on his tongue. Maybe it came from the song, I thought, but he must have an Irish background somewhere, a parent, grandparent, or something. “I learned that one as a wee lad.” “Did you?” That fascinated me. I learned songs like “KawLiga” and “The Yellow Rose of Texas” as a small child. “Aye,” he sighed. His fingers moved to advance the song until he located the one he wanted. Then the bittersweet “Gartan Mothers Lullaby” began playing. I could recall that one from my roommate’s music but when tears glistened in the corners of Wills’ eyes, it stunned me. He must be Irish, I thought, because he showed that maudlin sentimental knee jerk reaction that no one but an Irishman would display. “It’s a beautiful song,” I ventured as he took one hand from the wheel just long enough to wipe away the moisture. “My mother used to sing that to me.” After that, he said nothing more until we hit casino land. At Tunica, ten or twelve casinos scatter out between Highway 61 and old man river, the mighty Mississippi. When we got near enough to see the lights, I started feeling that old tingle of anticipation from the back of my neck right down my spine. It is the way that a kid feels on Christmas morning before they go downstairs to see what Santa left them or how a girl feels on senior prom night when her date pins the corsage in place. Will zoomed past several casinos including Bally’s, the one that amuses me because it was built in the style of some little old farmhouse, complete with a silo. Of course, it just looks all wrong in the Delta and it’s gigantic, way too big for some humble farm home out on the prairie somewhere. I could tell he knew his destination

because he wound his way through all the different entrances to Lucky Lane and one of the biggest casinos of all – Fitzgerald’s. Most people just call it Fitz’s for short but after his Irish endearment and reaction to Mary O’Hara, I wasn’t surprised that was where he wanted to go. Fitzgerald’s looks like a castle, a fake one, but still a castle. That night, the towers and turrets sparkled in the many lights. At the entrance, between two towers, I caught gambling fever and so when we headed inside, arm in arm, I wanted to put my money down. I wanted to play the slots and I ached to throw some cold hard cash – preferably Will’s – down on a green felt table. My ears longed to hear the click of the roulette wheel in action and once inside, it looked like half of northern Mississippi had the same idea. People filled up the gaming rooms, almost elbow to elbow. Some of them, like me, dressed up and others, like Will, wore whatever. Farmers in heavy blue overalls stood beside women in sequined formal wear. I’ve been to a few casinos but I don’t think I ever saw one so crowded as Fitz’s that night. I reminded myself that they bring tourists to Tunica by the busload and that people from half the United States run toward the area like a Mecca just for gamblers. On the edge of plunging into the mass of people I paused, but Will did not. He plunged right into the thick of it, dragging me by the hand like a bad little girl returned home by daddy. Funny thing, I figured that no one would yield, but without a single word, they parted for Will and we moved through like fish swimming in a clear river. I felt like royalty or at least a movie star making my way into the Academy Awards but as we whisked through, I noticed something curious, which made me more than a little jealous. Feeling as green-eyed as a cat, I watched every woman in the place turn toward Will as he passed. Every single female from old ladies with the cute blue hair look, even ones with a walker propped against their slot machine, to the youngest girls with long hair streaming over their halter tops stared at him, lips parted, eyes wide with interest. They looked at him like hungry people ogle a buffet or the way an addict gazes at their particular poison. What bothered me is that their eyes followed him the same way that mine did. Some did more than just look. I watched two different women who threw back their head so that their hair would ripple out in front of Will. A few managed to brush his arm with their hand as

he passed. I watched the smiles break out and shine his way but he paid no mind to any of them. Still, they flounced and posed, waves of their different perfumes wafting in the air behind us like a miasma. I think a few even went so far as to yell at him, things like ‘baby’, ‘hey you’, but Will Brennan moved ahead, oblivious. It struck me, then, that whatever than sensual, gut level basic appeal I felt for him must be universal. His effect on people of the opposite gender created adoration, admiration, and even worship. It wasn’t limited to women, either, as I noticed a few guys who turned after him with that same look of longing on their faces. Whatever he had, he attracted them the same way that the aroma of baking cookies brings kids of all ages on the run. His appeal got them hitting like carp on my dad’s special bait he mixed up in the kitchen or the way bass will go for that right spinner lure. Will infused them with something that intoxicated their senses like champagne. His magnetism drew people like the needle on a compass toward true north. After my first burst of jealousy, I changed my mind. Since it was my hand he was hanging onto, me whose bed he slept in last night, my lips that knew the taste of his kiss, I had no reason to worry. About that time, his new admirers realized that and so, in the wake of his passing, I heard a few low-pitched insults hurled my direction. More than one elbow happened to lean outward in hopes of poking me but I dodged. One enterprising young lady stuck out her foot to trip me and I stumbled, almost falling. My near fall jerked Will back and when he realized what happened, he turned to face her. He said nothing, not a single word but his eyes bored into hers with enmity that must have hurt. Until then, I always thought about anger being hot and if mad had a color, it would be red. But watching his stare, I changed my mind. His anger felt as cold as an Arctic wind and the color would be stark black, the darkness of night. Under his gaze, the girl’s face wilted like a three-day old picked flower and she turned away, mumbling some lame words of apology. “Thank you, Will,” I said, linking my arm through his. I wasn’t going to trail behind any more, not if his admirers wanted to trip me up or abuse me. He cocked his head to look down at me. “It was my pleasure, mo anam cara.”

There it was; that phrase again. It sounded like he called me something sweet but I wanted to know what. “What does that mean?” I asked. Will considered answering but he just smiled and gave me nothing. “When you need to know, I will tell you,” he said. “I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.” Fitz offers more than one dining option but he made tracks straight for Don B’s Steakhouse. I could see why since he seemed into the Irish thing right now – it had the dark wood look of a traditional pub, not that I had ever seen one. I had been to more than one faux Irish pub and this offered all the amenities. We settled into a table in a dark corner and I ordered ice tea, not booze. The enticing aromas coming from the kitchen smelled too good to miss and Will ordered coffee, black. We shared an appetizer, a meat, and cheese plate, before we ordered our main dinner. “Have anything you like.” Will told me, as he polished off the bulk of the meats and cheese arranged on the platter. I nibbled at a little cheese, a bit of meat but he devoured the rest. Since the prices looked steep on my unemployed singer’s budget, that came as welcome news. I studied the options but a Texas girl will always go for beef so I ordered a rib eye steak, medium, with sautéed mushrooms on the side. Will nodded but he chose the cowboy cut rib eye, a full eight ounces larger than mine and he asked the server if he might have oysters on the half shell instead of one of the side dishes. I thought she would refuse but he looked at her with that piercing, persuasive gaze and she agreed. Now that we could settle down, I wanted to talk. I yearned to get to know this man who came across as so much larger than life, somehow more real than any reality I had ever known. I knew his body so now, of course, I wanted a taste of his mind, a piece of his heart, and if it was not too much to ask, a touch of his soul. By then, peering at across the cozy table, I admitted to myself that I was more than halfway down the road to loving him but I couldn’t quite make the jump unless I knew him more. What I saw, I liked, but at that point sexy as hell Will Brennan remained more of a stranger than not. He offered me the last bite of cheese and chewed the one remaining piece of meat.

“That tasted good,” he said, leaning back, comfortable and at ease as if he sat in his own living room. “Now I’m ready for my steak and oysters.” “Is the food here as good as it smells?” I asked, trying to jump start the idle chitchat into something more. “Oh, yeah, it is.” Will said without hesitation. Beneath the table, his knee touched mine and that simple accidental bump sent ripples through the rest of my body. “I like the place, though, as well as the food. It’s far from authentic – at least in my day – but it does remind me of home.” “So you’re Irish, then?” He leaned forward across the table, winked, and said in a voice not much above a whisper, “I am, for my sins.” That intrigued me and I dug deeper for more information. Will came across as a man of few words but he had a story and I wanted it. “I thought you must be, with the music and all.” I told him. “So, were you born in Ireland or what?” Earlier, he sidestepped some of my prying questions but he answered that one. “Aye, I was, in Toome.” My ears couldn’t have caught that right so I questioned, “Did you say ‘Tomb,’ where they bury the dead?” My mind went in about twenty different directions with that, wondering about tombs and dead people. It sounded so morbid but Will laughed, the first real mirth he shared with me. Until now, he smiled— he might have chuckled— but now he laughed aloud. He didn’t just chortle, he bellowed with laughter, shaking like an unsteady wind chime in a hard breeze. “No, I did not. I said Toome. It is a little place on the banks of Lough Neath in County Antrim. Haven’t you ever heard the song about Roddy McCorley?” That name dredged up some faint recognition. I thought I could match it up with a ballad that the Clancy Brothers belted out in their youthful glory days and if I stretched my mind to the limits, I thought maybe my Grandpa Riley sang it too. Since he died when I was just six, those memories have a haze around them, like the fog that rises up on the highway late at night.

“O see the fleet foot hosts of men who speed with faces wan, from farmstead, and from fishers’ cot along the banks of Bann.” I sang, dredging up the words from a deep well of memory. “They come with vengeance in their eyes, too late, too late are they, for young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.” His blue eyes glowed, dark as sapphires, brighter than flame. “You do know it, then.” “I guess that I do.” I was a singer, after all. “So you’re from Toome?” Will met my gaze and held it. “I was, a very long time ago.” I wondered what his idea of long ago might be because I would swear on that stack of Bibles my mamma always talked about that he couldn’t be thirty, if that or much past. “Is that why you don’t have much of a brogue?” I asked. He did, sometimes, but it came and went. “Aye, it is.” Now he sounded Irish born and bred. “And you’re from Texas?” “I am.” I said with that damn pride that we are born having. “I come from a little town called Rusk that no one much ever has heard about, down deep in the piney woods country.” “It’s between Dallas and Shreveport.” Will said and surprised me. “That’s right.” Then I remembered he drove a truck for a living and so he would know every highway in North America without a road map. If he came from County Antrim, he grew up in the thick of the troubles in Northern Ireland and I would have asked more but the steaks came, sizzling hot and smelling more delicious than Thanksgiving dinner in a homeless shelter. “Oh, forget it.” I said. “Let’s eat.” And we did.

Chapter Five That steak had to be one of the finest I ever put into my mouth and I know good steak. Cooked just the way I ordered it, that meat lingered on my tongue, tender and near perfect. The sautéed mushrooms complimented it and by the way that Will motored into his steak, he liked his dinner too. With our drinks refilled, we said little for the first few moments, just savoring the good food. Even eating, though, every inch of my body smoldered with awareness of Will. Just as that food filled a need, hunger, I had another need that grew. We finished and as I sipped my third glass of ice tea, I felt Will’s hand slide up my leg, sensitive in nylon hose to the slightest touch, evoking reaction wherever he touched. His cool touch crackled with electric energy so that his touch felt like a live current moving upward. I shivered, not from cold, but from the wild wave of desire that poured over me. When his hand reached my private, personal zone and those fingers did some walking, I thought I just might scream with frustrated pleasure. He caressed me so that I wanted more and it felt good but I was far from satisfied. He probed deeper and I writhed in my seat the same way that an earthworm skewered onto a hook for fishing would. “Quit,” I hissed at him across the table over the empty plates. “Will, don’t do that here.” “Oh, so you don’t mind that I’m doing it,” he replied in a voice as rich and succulent as warm butter. “It’s just the location that you don’t like.” Even through my sheer hose, I felt his fingers fondle and I made one small moan because it felt so exquisite. “That’s right.” If he did not stop before long I might just yield to him right here, I thought, in front of all the other diners because my barriers surrendered to his attack. “Then we shall get a room.” Will told me, removing his straying hand and reaching for the check in one graceful motion. “Come, mo anam cara.” I rose and followed him, walking on legs that felt unsteady and weak. As he strode out of Don B’s, heads whirled to follow his wake. People paused, fork in hand, to stare after Will. Women

sighed as they watched him pass and I trailed behind as attached to him as a chain bound us together. By the time, he hit the lobby; I caught up to him and walked by his side. He noticed and grinned at me such a devilish expression that I burned. “Will they have a room?” I asked. If not, I figured that his car offered plenty of room. Those vintage Cadillacs are big if nothing else. “Of course they will.” Will told me, pausing long enough to turn those smoldering blue eyes toward me. “They have over five hundred, I’m told.” Ten minutes later, without any luggage at all, we walked into a room together. My first impression noted the earth tone color scheme, all light brown, and beige with a hint of pale yellow. I noticed how neat, how clean everything looked. As Will stopped, he turned around so that he faced me and we stood there for a few seconds, staring at each other, drinking in the potent desire that surrounded us with such power that I almost could touch it. Then he bent his mouth to mine, fierce and possessive, and kissed me with such fervor that I could not breathe but I did not care. His lips iced my feverish mouth but instead of cooling me, his winter chill fired me all the more. As we kissed, he managed to strip his clothing away with such speed that I didn’t notice until he stood there, all proud flesh, nothing but skin, eyes, and hair. His fingers failed to fumble as he unzipped my dress and slid it down to the floor. I stepped out of it and as I did, I pulled both panties and hose away. Will undid the bra and discarded it so that we could touch, naked as Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. What he did next felt too sinful for any version of paradise but far too pleasant to stop. His hands touched me everywhere, followed by his mouth. He explored me with greed and I did the same. As I fingered his flesh, I noticed how very beautiful he seemed. Even the hairs covering his arms were so fragile and fine that I marveled at such exquisite detail. His skin radiated with a translucence that reminded me of fine pearls, alabaster pale. That red mark I noticed on his left arm earlier no longer remained and I wondered if I had imagined it. He nuzzled my throat, put his head with those black curls flying everywhere on my breasts. He kissed them, each one in turn

and then suckled at my nipples. They hardened with his touch and ached, begging for more. He used his teeth on my bare shoulders to evoke such sensual delight that I thought I could stand it but I did not want him to stop. Will kissed my throat, from the hollow at the base of it to each side. I could feel him making love tattoos there. His mouth suckled against that tender skin and then, as before, I could feel the sharp prick of his teeth as he used them to break the skin, to bruise me and leave his mark. Until now, I didn’t much like hickeys. But, when Will delivered them, his subtle, delicate bites sent delicious chills through my entire body. After he marked me, he kissed me with such total passion that I could not see for a few moments. “That makes twice,” he whispered in my ear but I didn’t understand and I didn’t even try as he kissed me again. I could not think about that or anything else but sweet seduction. As the kiss turned potent, he pulled me to the bed and without bothering to remove the comforter, he took me there. He entered my willing flesh with power and might that poured into me with such strength that I thought for a moment that he just might fuck me to death, the same thing I thought before. When a warm front slams into a cold front, violent, severe thunderstorms erupt and so we came together like a storm. My heat prickled every nerve ending in my body like lighting, we came together with the rumble and roar of thunder, and although his skin remained dry against mine, I expelled enough moisture to fill a rain gauge. His cock fit into me like a sword to a sheath, like fist to a glove, like Cinderella’s foot to the glass slipper. Our connection raised the physical tension to an almost unbearable level as we strained for that moment of completion. He weaved in and out of me like a needle sewing cloth, each stroke of his powerful manhood sending shudders through me that rippled with pleasure that edged pain. I needed release and I struggled for it, pushing back against his thrusts with all my might. As he whispered what must be love words in Irish, I clawed him with my fingernails, fighting for a hold and forcing him to that glorious moment of complete debauchery. If sex could have been food, we would have overeaten. If it had been wine, we would have been reeling drunk. Some of the most powerful storms anywhere in North America hit Texas and so I couldn’t help but compare the all encompassing force of his

lovemaking to a tornado. He tore me apart, scattered me to the winds, and then brought me home, safe after all. In those moments of completion, of the ultimate delight, we soared into the heavens, we crashed among the rocks of the earth, and we died so that we could be reborn as one. I knew then that beyond any doubt I loved Will Brennan with everything that made me Cara. My body belonged to him to do what he would with it. He could have my heart, he could take my soul, and he could own me, all of me. I am his, I thought, with such jubilant joy and bubbling contentment. I knew that I loved him and would for all eternity. No other man ever had made me feel this way and I did not believe anyone else could. The question that I did not ask, not then, was whether or not he belonged to me in the same way. We lay there, in that hotel bed, and cuddled. After the tornado passes, you have to take time to let the debris settle and so we did, resting and lying together in one accord. After what might have been a very long time or just minutes, Will lit one of his fragrant cigarillos and exhaled smoke. “Would you want to go gaming, then, mo anam cara? The last thing I wanted at that moment involved rising and dressing but I nodded, my head tucked against his chest. Within minutes, our cocoon evaporated as we dressed then walked out the door. In the hallway, the plain normalcy of it seemed surreal and strange. This time, I did not trail behind Will. We walked together, side by side, touching. I could not yet bear to break that physical connection from our loving. I needed it and I needed him. Truth was, I loved him. I loved Will in every way possible. I would have told him and I almost did, the words bubbling up in my mouth but then I got scared. I thought if he rejected me, I might die. My heart would shrivel and my spirit would go as flat as a popped balloon. If this amazing, dynamic thing between us meant no more to him than sexual gratification then everything I believed and held to be true would be wrong. I chickened out and said nothing about love. Neither did Will but I could swear that the light I saw in his eyes burned with his love for me.

Downstairs, certain that I must reek of our musk, knowing that the scent of our wild lovemaking must cling to us like a cloak, we gambled. He put a hundred dollar bill into my hand so I could play and he hit the slots. I’m not much of a gambler, mostly because I could never afford the money but I have been at a few casinos watching men play. Some men play hard, out of desperation and a need to win but he didn’t game that way. Others go for a cool look, nonchalant and easy as they drop big bucks but that wasn’t Will’s style either. He strolled along the rows of slots and then, seemingly for no reason at all, would stop at one. He played that machine a few spins, hit a win, cashed out the ticket, and moved on. Some of his wins were small – fifty bucks or less but others hit jackpots. He accepted his wins with the same casual detachment and moved through the crowded gaming rooms with his wicked animal-like grace. Me, I won a little but nothing worth bragging. After I spent his money, I quit playing and watching him work his magic. It almost seemed, crazy as it sounds, as if the slot machines reacted to his charisma too. That charm still drew stares and responses but they rolled off Will like water off a good wax job. He paid no attention now, intent on playing and me. I liked that just fine. Being with him, no matter what he did gave me a wild rush, almost like a high. He made me feel good and like another Texas girl, Janis Joplin, once sang feeling good was good enough for me. Crowds thronged the casino but every time he picked a machine to play, people gathered behind him to watch. He played for some time and then stopped. He rubbed his stomach, once, and then turned to me. “Let’s go.” Will cashed in his tickets and pocketed the cash. He handed me a fistful, too, and without even stopping to count it, I shoved it all into my purse. Before I met him, I would have been dancing with the financial score and rat holing the money for my Nashville effort. At the moment, however, singing seemed the farthest thing from my mind. Nashville felt as far away as the dark side of the moon and I had no plans to go anywhere Will wasn’t. “What now?” I asked my lover. Although I ached in a few places and other spots felt tender, I was up for more sex if he was. If

not that, then I would go along with anything he suggested or so I thought until he shocked me. “I need about thirty minutes on my own.” That shattered my personal peace and I stared at him, feelings hurt and the first red tide of a mad rising in me. I had one question, “Why?” He pulled me to him, wrapped his arms around me, and looked down in my face. His eyes resonated sincerity, burned with intensity, and sparkled with what I hoped could be love. “I will explain it to you very soon.” Will said to me. His husky whisper made me want to eat him with a spoon. “For now, just trust me.” How could I trust him, I wondered, when every woman and some of the men yearned for him with some potent combination of pure lust and yearning? I knew how fast we connected and I didn’t think my concern lacked substance. Some of the women looked prettier than I was and they came in all flavors. I feared he might want to indulge in something different and that made me burn with rage, not passion. My skepticism must have been plain on my face or he read my mind because as I stared at him, searching for the words to express how I felt, he spoke. “You can, you know. I don’t want any of them. I want you. I just need to do something and I will meet you back here in half an hour.” Those blue eyes radiated powerful emotion and I looked deep into them. I felt mesmerized and yet it was my own choice to step off into that bottomless well. If I should drown, so be it. As we locked stares, I realized that the trust existed between us and so I nodded. “All right but don’t be late.” He laughed and kissed me, one brief but compelling kiss so that when he walked away, I remained his. I watched him go, his long strides devouring the carpet as he passed, so dark and wild that he looked out of place like an exotic animal running through a tame patch of woods. He moved with the easy yet dangerous tread of a leopard sauntering through a cow pasture. As he rambled past them, I watched again as the crowds parted for him and how their gazes trailed after him like smoke followed beauty. I wanted to call him handsome, to say he was good-looking but those labels did not quite fit this unique, amazing man. I had to call him beautiful; there just

wasn’t another word that worked. Will Brennan defined manhood and yet he exuded beauty on a level that went beyond anything Hollywood could produce or that cosmetics could enhance. Whatever his errand, it took him outside and when I saw him pass through the doors, I turned away. With him away, I might as well use the time to visit the ladies room, to take care of a little personal business, and to freshen up my appearance. It took me a few minutes to locate the nearest restroom and when I did, I found it to be both huge and opulent. It was also crowded and I had to wait for a stall. In that private small space, I did what I came to do and lingered for a few moments. Since Will arrived at my hotel room, I had not been alone and now it felt strange. I pondered what I was doing with this man and realized that even if it made no sense, I wanted this and I would have it, no matter what. After that revelation, I exited the stall to join the women who flocked around the sinks and gathered at the mirrors to primp. I washed my hands and combed through my hair. My skin felt so hot that I longed to toss cold water over my face but I didn’t. That would destroy my make-up so I settled for retouching it. I studied my reflection in the mirror, looking for flaws and noticed the love bite, what my best friend Susie would call a love tattoo on the left side of my neck. I touched the bruised, puffy skin with my fingers and noticed the twin teeth marks in the center. I shivered with memory of Will’s mouth on my flesh, shuddered with delicious pleasure to think he nibbled me. As my mind flashed back to our earlier lovemaking, I shut out everything around me, which is why I did not hear her at first, the woman next to me who spoke. “Hey!” Her tone sharpened when I failed to respond so I turned to her. “Yes?” “You’re with him, aren’t you?” she asked. “I saw you with him.” She emphasized the pronoun, making it significant, as he might be a celebrity or a deity so pride tempered my answer, “Yes, I am.” I recognized her as one of the women who followed him with her eyes, even reached out to brush his arm as he passed her slot machine earlier. “I thought so.” Her tone rang both wistful and combative.

“Why?” She leaned forward, a Clairol blonde with dark roots and a green satin cocktail dress with a big bow in back that failed to flatter, and said, “I wondered if you know what he is.” Her tone sounded conspiratorial, the way that dorm mates whisper in the dark of night to share secrets but I didn’t buy it. I figured she must be jealous and trying to screw me up with my man. “He’s the sexiest truck driver I ever had pleasure to meet.” I responded; mean enough to emphasize the word pleasure. She shook her head. “I didn’t know he drove a big rig but that’s not what I’m talking about. Don’t you know what they say about him here?” I have always hated that term “they say.” It is so anonymous, the undefined “they” and when presented as some kind of authority, I always question it. She put my nerves on jangle. “I don’t know and I don’t care.” I tossed off as I washed my hands one last time and reached for a paper towel. I didn’t need some crazy lady telling tales on my Will and I refused to waste another second listening to her ramble. Envy tempered her words and I could smell a hatchet job from where I stood. She refused to surrender. “He comes here often enough that people remember,” she mouthed in a stage whisper so loud that every other woman in the room could hear without straining. “Who could miss him in that all black get-up and the way he moves?” I knew that his moves all too well and just the mention of it caused me to soften with desire. It ignited anger as well and so, in the meanest voice I could muster, I said, “I’m familiar with all the ways he moves. If you have a point, get to it.” “They say he might be a vampire,” she told me, again in that loud fake whisper. “They say he drinks blood and that’s why no one ever sees him by daylight.” I decided right then she must be either drunk or just plain crazy. I knew that vampires didn’t exist, not outside books and movies. Her suggestion that my Will could be some kind of night creature really pissed me off.

“That is nonsense!” I barked at her, staring at her so hard that she flinched. “That’s utter bullshit and you know it.” I scared her, I could see it in her face, but she said one more thing, a parting shot that hit me like a shotgun blast, “It’s true. Just look at your neck where he’s bitten you.” She turned away, flouncing enough that that satin bow bounced with the weight of her walk and exited the restroom. For a second or two, silence reigned. No one flushed a toilet, coughed, sighed, ran water, took a step, or even sighed. All those present stared at me with big eyes and wide open mouths. I felt like that love tattoo must be growing, that it glowed with radioactive power because their eyes trained on that spot and held. I could not think of anything to say that would not sound stupid or like I floundered deep in denial. I met their stares and then, with all the pride I could muster, I walked out, head up high, back straight, with a heart of pain. I hated that woman, loathed her, and wished that she had never spoken to me. Bitch. However, inside, some little part of me twisted with pain because I thought she just might be right. She planted an ugly seed and if I didn’t rip it up, it might grow. **** If he had not needed to feed, he would never have left either Cara or the casino. Will, surprised that he held out this long, could not fight the urge. His steak at Don B’s helped stay it for a while and so did making love with his woman. That nibble though, that sweet moment when he sank his fangs into her tender flesh, made his blood hunger awaken. He would not and could not drain her. It would have left her weak, even sick and he loved her far too much for that. He required more than a taste, however, and for that, he had to locate a donor, someone he could drink from without harm. Most of them would not remember the encounter and unlike the way he marked Cara, he chose a discreet spot out of view. Soon he would tell her the truth, his Cara. He wanted to share his secret now and almost blurted it out to her in the dim casino but it would have been wrong in both place and time. Beneath the mercury vapor lights, in their odd colored glow, he saw a stumbling man searching for his vehicle. Too much drink

made the man’s gait unsteady and he wavered. He would not remember, his mind already besotted with liquor and so he moved toward him. He would help his blood donor find his vehicle. First, however, there must be blood.

Chapter Six Although I walked out of the restroom like a homecoming queen on her way to crowning by the captain of the football team, I lost the proud stepping, slumping as soon as I found a quiet spot away from the crowds. In some corridor that led only to service areas, I rattled doorknobs until I found an open room and entered a small office. Furnished with just a desk, chair, and a single battered filing cabinet, the room had no windows and nothing but a computer perched on top of the desk. I shut the door before I turned on the light and settled into the rump sprung chair. I needed time to think, to process, and to sort out my feelings. I didn’t have very long either to think, either, because no more than ten minutes remained of Will’s thirty minutes and he would start looking for me soon. I had no doubt, none, that he could find me. He seemed to come equipped with some kind of homing device and he read me most people did their Kindle. Before I looked into his blue eyes, before I touched him, I had to consider all the facts. I needed to debunk them. I said the word aloud, vampire, rolled it around in my mouth and tasted it on my tongue. Most of the images it evoked were not pleasant. Drinking blood grossed me out big time and the other names for vampire, bloodsuckers, the undead, creatures of the night, Dracula, sounded ugly. Even the thought of the new generation of fictional vampires that sparkle in sunlight didn’t ease my distress. I thought of all the horror flicks I watched over the years and the books I once read. I tried to think up all the vampire lore I heard from anywhere and I began to feel as cold as Will’s skin. I added up the things I knew, one at a time. He looked dark, dangerous, and deadly but he remained beautiful too. By his own admission, he did not sleep at night and when the first light of morning streaked the Memphis sky, he became edgy. While in my bed, he lay still as the dead, unmoving, and not even appearing to breathe. His flesh emitted an icy chill and his eyes, cold and haunting, could all but hypnotize me in mere seconds. Add to that the fact that he bit me, twice. I remembered with mingled embarrassment and fear how I asked, when he drew that small trickle of blood, if he was a vampire and his answer, “I wouldn’t ask too

many questions, Cara, unless you are ready for answers.” echoed in my mind. How dense could I be? He all but told me with that statement but I ignored it. I beat myself up, mentally, because I am usually smart. I should have known. All the signs were there, small clues. Will had not tried very hard to conceal what he was, I thought, but I missed it because I did not want to see. One of my favorite hymns from back home has a line in it, something like I once was blind but now I see, and now I did see— or thought I did. His enticing charm, his broad appeal, and the way he affected me like a street drug all made sense now. If I asked, he would tell me. After that, though, what would happen? Would he bite me again and if so, what did that mean? Some silly little piece of trivia floated into my brain and I recalled that one belief said three bites would make the victim into a vampire. I wondered if that was Will’s intention and then I wondered how I might feel about that. I searched my brain and hunted through my soul as if I looked through a walk-in closet but I didn’t know. I still had to wrap my brain around the idea that this man I loved, that I slept with, that I wanted for my own, was a vampire. Or, he might not be. I really did not know for sure. My suspicions came from what a stranger said. As I thought about these things, I leaned back in that worn out office chair and considered all the pieces of the puzzle. Some fit but others did not. My first reaction had been to confront him but now I wondered if maybe I should just watch him. I could look for signs of vampirism, I decided. That way I did not risk losing him. More than ten minutes after I entered that office, I left. I thought about running but then I did not want to reach him out of breath and panting. I strolled back into the casino area and looked for Will. I found him – I just followed the turning heads, the sighs, and such – waiting for me near the Stage Bar. He noticed me long before I reached him. Then he pulled me into his arms with such rough abandon and eagerness that it almost hurt.

“I missed you, mo anam cara,“ he whispered into my hair. For once, his breath wafted warm air and his face relaxed, softening some of the lines. “Did you?” I felt more than a little on edge. “I did.” Now he frowned. “What’s wrong?” I faked a laugh. “Why would anything be wrong?” “Someone put an idea in your mind,” he said with no more emotion than if he talked about the weather. “Would you like to talk about it?” He knew, damn him, but I wasn’t prepared to confront him now. I thought I knew but now, I waffled. Maybe I would rather not have confirmation. Ignorance could remain my bliss if I kept quiet so I decided I would, for now. Better to watch and wait than trash this relationship. “I do, but not now.” I told him, open and honest as I could be. “I do want to talk but at a different time and in another place.” His face saddened, eyes dulled, mouth drooping, pallor even paler than his normal ghost white shade. “I understand.” God help me, he did seem to and that made me feel all the worse for wondering if he might be a vampire. “I’m glad that you do.” Will sighed. “Let’s go play for what’s left of the night.” By then, it was after four and although it remained dark outside, dawn would be here soon. He dropped some money at a few table games, losing a little, and then returned to the slots for a short time. I tagged along, quieter than usual, scrutinizing every movement he made. Casinos lack windows but I slipped out toward the lobby long enough to notice the first faint morning sunrays creeping into the eastern horizon and then I waited. Within minutes, Will cashed in the last of his winning tickets and said, “I believe bedtime is here.” “So we’re staying a few more hours?” I asked. I expected that we would but I had to hear it for myself. “We’ll stay another day and gamble again tonight.” Will said, stretching like a lithe cat, panther not the household variety, and taking my hand. “Or we will, if you want to stay.” He did not ask it but it came across as question just the same and I did.

“I’d like that, Will.” I had a problem, though – I had no other clothing with me, but I would deal with that later. “Good.” He released my hand to put his arm around me and that’s how we walked to the elevators, cozy and as a couple. Once we reached the room, I expected him to sprawl out on the bed and go into hibernation, a good a name as any for his dead-tothe-world sleeping style but he surprised me. He took me in his arms and this time, without the rush and power of our previous encounters, Will made love to me with a slow hand. If before he ravished me, this time he cherished me and he took his own time about it. Until he began kissing me, lips warmer than ever before, I thought we would just go to bed but his gentle kiss persuaded me that I would rather do something else. His mouth caressed me with such tenderness that I thought I might cry from love, the emotion that consumed my senses. My desire awakened to his kiss and as he undressed me, his fingers moving without haste to undo my garments, I relished each second. Before, he seared me with passion but now, our lovemaking became like all night barbecue roasted in a pit. There was smoke, we had fire, and the constant heat basked us in its warmth. Where in our previous encounters, we sizzled, this time we simmered, and every touch slowed until each became sweet, slow torture. He traced the lines of my body with a single finger that electrified where it touched and my response sent honey through my veins. Passion dawdled and delighted. Will used his tongue to pleasure me from the tight rosebuds of my nipples to that tender bud within me. If I died, it would be a slow death, but one so pleasant that I would never complain. As he consumed me with smoldering fire, Will whispered love words to me and as he did on the night that we met, he quoted Shakespeare. As he laid siege to my body, he quoted from Hamlet, Act II, Scene 1, “This is the very ecstasy of love.” He mouthed endearments at me, sweeter than pecan pralines, some in Irish, and others in English. Although I listened and liked, I let them ripple over me like a spring rain shower. When he reached his climax, as that time of soul shattering, earth rumbling joy

approached, he quoted from Romeo and Juliet, some of the most romantic lines from the famous play, “My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have for both are infinite.” Will Brennan spoke those words to me with the cadence of a thespian on stage. His rich dark velvet voice resonated with the lilt of Ireland but I didn’t think he put it on. I thought – and still do – that when most moved, he reverted to his natural speech. It would not have mattered had he said the words in a Tennessee twang, delivered them in a Texas drawl, or spit them out with a Down East sound. Those immortal words caught me, robbed my breath, and surged such a love through my body that I thought it might submerge me forever. It was not just the poetry of the words that affected me but the meaning behind them. Unless I could be that wrong, he just told me he loved me, the very words that I longed to hear. It mattered not that he quoted Juliet, not Romeo, for the declaration of his heart equaled everything important. So I gave it back by quoting lines from Juliet’s same lines, “And yet I wish but for the thing I have.” He got it; I saw the wonder and joy of it reflected in his eyes and then we came, rode that rising tide into supreme oblivion, wiping everything away in that moment. Afterward, curled against him, I whispered the real words to him, “I love you, Will.” He did not hesitate to respond. “And I love you, mo anam cara.” We drifted to sleep together but when I woke, sometime later, we were separate. As before he lay on his back, arms folded and so still, that had I not known better, I might have thought him dead. I could feel the cold that seeped from his body and I wrapped up in the comforter to stay warm. Outside, I knew that the sun shone and baked the Delta with heat but in this hotel room, we didn’t need any air conditioning to stay cool. Before I slept again, I lay awake thinking about everything. His declaration of love trumped any possibility that he could be a vampire. Maybe he was, I thought. Did it matter, though? That question would not stop haunting me. I felt torn – on one side, I

didn’t care what he might be because I loved Will but on the other, I felt uneasy. If he happened to be a vampire, what would it mean? I didn’t know and so I had a hard time going back to sleep. In time, though, I did.

Chapter Seven Dark comes late on summer evenings down in northern Mississippi. That sun hangs on the edge of the horizon filling the western sky with those final rays of the day and full dark may not come until nine o’clock at night. That may not be a problem if you’re waiting for the darkness so you can go sit on the porch or go to bed but if you’re waiting for the man you love to wake up, nine o’clock takes a long time to show up. I woke hungry, my stomach growling with a need for food but I didn’t dare leave the room until Will roused. I picked up my discarded dress after sleeping in my skin and sniffed. It didn’t reek but neither did it smell fresh. If he wanted to stay much longer, I would need to make a shopping trip. Since retail outlet stores sprang up around the casinos in Tunica that should not be a problem. I felt just curious enough to check his clothing but despite the fact, he had worn them, to my knowledge, for several days, his smelled as if they just tumbled out of the dryer. With nothing else to wear, though, I climbed back into my dirty dress and waited. This time, I made no effort to peek out of the window or pull the curtain aside. Now that I entertained a notion that Will might be a vampire, that red mark on his arm didn’t seem as farfetched. If I remembered some of the tales, I have heard about vampires, it seems like sunlight could turn a vampire into dust. That would be the last thing that I would want to have happen to Will so I kept away from the windows. He woke up quick. One moment he laid sound asleep and the next he sat up, alert and aware. He stretched that agile, well-muscled body as I sighed with appreciation. “Hello.” I said, at a loss of anything to say. There were so many things I wanted to voice but I didn’t. “Evening, mo anam cara.” Will grinned as he spoke. “Would you like to eat? I’m starving.” So was I; our slow loving burned away any calories we consumed and it would soon be twenty-four hours since we ate our steaks. “I would love to eat.”

“Good.” He dressed with speed. One moment he stood naked, the next he wore his jeans, shirts, boots, and all. “Let’s go.” He wasn’t a man to waste time and before I could collect my thoughts, we entered the Riverview Buffet with its multiple stations offering various kinds of food. Like any huge casino buffet, this one served up a little bit of almost everything you could want. We ranged around the Texas Grill, picked up a few bites at the Country Skillet, and added something from Chopstix. I eyed the Sweets station with longing but Will ignored it. Whether or not he could be a vampire remained unknown but I noticed he liked meat, not sweets. “Unless you just want to stay, we’ll head back after we eat.” Will said. He munched on a piece of fried chicken larger than my hand. “That’s fine.” I would be glad to change clothing and get my gear. I hoped that my car remained at the motel and that the management had not tossed my stuff out in the street. First order of business would be to take care of the bill. “When is your next truck run?” Will polished off the last bit of meat from the chicken bones and picked up a catfish strip. “It’ll be whenever I want.” Say what?, I thought. Every trucker I ever knew – and since some people swear Texas puts the “T” in trucker, I have known plenty – had regular runs. They might have a break between trips but they knew when the next one came up. I had heard about independent truck drivers but this took a blue ribbon prize. “Whoever you drive for must be flexible.” I said, buttering a hot roll. “Every truck driver I know has to follow what the company tells them.” He cracked a smile. “I don’t drive for any one company. When I want to go out, I look up online and find out who needs someone to haul. I prefer to be master of my own destiny.” Nice if you could swing it that way, I thought with admiration. “So you can do what you want?” “Aye, that’s the idea.” Interesting, indeed and since curiosity killed that cat, I didn’t want to die but I asked anyway, “So I guess you have enough financial security to do it your way.”

He belted out a laugh and almost choked on his catfish. “You can’t ever be too rich, Cara Riley, but my pockets run deep.” He lost me but I thought he meant he had enough money to do as he pleased. His riddles teased me but offered little information. With my temper sizzling, I forked food into my mouth to keep quiet. Besides, it tasted better than biting my tongue. Soon, I promised myself, we would do the hard questions and I would insist on answers. Until then, I would ride this thing all the way out and hang on tight. Just about the time I would decide that he must be a vampire, I would think of a reason why that could not be possible. Talking about trucking caused me to stop and consider why a vampire would want or need to be an over the road trucker. I couldn’t find any reason why a vampire would and that made me wonder, again, if my speculations were too wild. I had my list of things he did that pointed toward a Dracula lifestyle but being a truck driver failed to fit the profile. I remembered, too, that he slept in a bed and if the stories told the truth, vampires bunked down in their own cozy coffin. That left me reeling and uncertain. I still did not know if he was a vampire or not. Sometime real soon I needed to know but for now, I could keep quiet and enjoy this ride. I didn’t plan to go anywhere but where he went. That turned out to be back toward Memphis within the hour. As he skimmed over that old road in his Cadillac, I could see the bright lights of Memphis appear on the horizon like the city of Oz or a castle to a poor approaching serf. First stop would have to be the cheap motel to pick up my suitcases and other stuff because I had no plans to stay there another night unless Will did. On the way, he chose the music so that the full-bodied voice of Peggy Lee flooded my senses with her smoky, potent voice and we rolled into the Bluff City as she sang about that fever that was hard to bear. I sang along, confident now that I knew that same fever. That music felt appropriate because I still burned with fever for Will Brennan, a chronic case that I hoped would not prove to be terminal. I guess he read my mind because he drove straight to my motel, the one across from Graceland and waited while I hurried to

pack my things. I got my Gibson out of the closet, handling it with care. When I got back, Will opened the trunk, stowed my stuff, then took off. I climbed back into the front seat and slid across that supple leather beside him. Then I caught sight of my car, still parked beneath the vapor lights. “What about my car?” I asked. Maybe I would have to follow him wherever we went from here but I wouldn’t like it. I couldn’t leave the car at the motel forever, though. “I’ll send someone for it tomorrow,” Will said. He spoke with such authority he made me think he had a team of servants or employees at his command although I didn’t think he did. “Don’t worry about it.” Just like that, I didn’t. Whatever he planned, it would happen. I had complete confidence in that so on to the next event. “Now what?” I asked. Although I felt game for anything, another Beale Street crawl lacked much appeal. Noise and glitter at any of the city’s famous clubs weren’t what I wanted either – I wanted to spend more time with Will, up close and personal, without vying to hear him over a band or watch everyone in the place lust after him as he passed. “It’s Friday night, right?” I stopped to count back before I nodded. “Yeah, it is. Why?” Will grinned at me and cocked one eyebrow. “If you want we can go ride the trolley. They run it on the Main Street Line, downtown, until 12:45. The trolleys are one way to see Memphis and the route offers up some fine views of the river too.” “I’m up for that.” It sounded fun. Although I passed through often in my Nashville period, I had missed most of the Memphis landmarks. I rode the trolleys just once before and got a kick out of the nostalgic old cars saved from ending up in some scrap yard somewhere but until now, I had no clue they even ran at night. “What else?” He removed one hand from the wheel and rested it on my thigh. I savored the comforting weight of it against my flesh. “Unless you want to go back to Graceland to see their Elvis After Dark displays, there’s not much. We can drive around to other

parts of town later and we can grab another burger at Dyer’s Hamburgers. Afterward, we can either treat ourselves to a room at the Peabody or else I can take you home with me.” If he found it funny to offer up a night at The Peabody, I didn’t. It left me speechless, which doesn’t happen often. I have never been a fancy girl requiring upscale locations and rich folks pampering so the possibility of staying at the Peabody, the grand old hotel that reigned over downtown Memphis like a queen, intrigued me but it scared me half to death at the same time. That level of elegance made me nervous as a kid on the first day of school in a different district. I tended to get clumsy, falling over my own feet when facing opulence and forget fine dining. I could never remember which damn fork to use or to use my best table manners, which were pure Texas working class, not Southern gentility. I hated to admit that I had never stayed at any hotel with the level of luxurious accommodations found at The Peabody but because I loved this man, I did. “I’ve never stayed anywhere that elite.” I told Will. “If you want to stay there, I’ll stay but I’m going to be so uptight I probably won’t enjoy it. That’s not my style.” As he fired up another of his cigarillos, I caught sight of his face in the reflected glow of his lighter. Will’s expression softened as he listened to my rant and his hand lifted from my leg to wrap around my hand. “It’s not mine, either.” His voice trickled through the smoke with tenderness. “The Peabody is too rich for my blood. Let’s go ride the trolley.” Memphis in the daylight offers a blended mixture of history and beauty with a little touch of modern urban ugliness to keep civic pride from vaulting over the top. Old Memphis – and I mean downtown, Beale Street, and all that area – marches with a unique style and I like it just fine. Memphis by night, however, rocks. Darkness softens all the rough edges, erases any ugliness, and creates a mood that evokes imagination. Nighttime Memphis delivers magic and so when we boarded that vintage trolley car, I didn’t mind so much that we were elbow to elbow with John Q. Public and his brood because I sensed that our ride would be spectacular. With the moon swollen to almost full, silver light bathed the city with an enchanted charm. I loved it all but most of all, I adored the views of Old Man

River. The Mississippi impresses at any time with such wide water and so much power. That river pulses with energy but except for a few stray glances from one of the bridges in passing, I never saw it under moonlight until that night. With the Memphis Bridge lit up like Christmas time, that lunar light cloaked the water with luminous radiance. A few clouds scudded across the face of the moon and the stars sparkled looking like gemstones flung out by a careless child, spilled like toys. The bright lights of the city detracted a little from the overall effect but it remained magnificent. I peered out from the trolley window, my fingers laced through Will’s, with wonder and awe. He caught my admiration and it pleased him. “You find it beautiful, don’t you, Cara?” he asked in a voice as silken and soft as the night that surrounded us beyond the windows of the trolley car. “I do.” Then he quoted Byron, moving me to the very bottom layer of my soul. Although I chose song over literature, once the classic poets rivaled pop stars for my attention. As a teenager, I mooned over Shakespeare, Byron, Marlowe, Milton, Tennyson, and John Donne so his quotation impressed me even as it pleased me. “Most glorious night!” Will intoned. “Thou wert not sent for slumber.” “Lord Byron.” I returned and he nodded, his lips curling upward in approval. “Aren’t the stars lovely?” “Shakespeare called them “blessed candles of the night” in The Merchant of Venice.” His eyes met mine, so earnest and filled with emotion that I almost cried but instead I started singing that old Cole Porter song, In The Still of The Night. I sang it classic old school fashion like the White Satins, forgetting in those moments that we were not alone on the trolley. I sang it for Will and for the wondrous night that enveloped us. We gazed at one another as I sang and he looked rapt, my best audience ever. After that last line, he kissed me, his lips searching and seeking until my answer yielded what he sought. Southern summer nights tend to be humid, so warm and thick that you feel like a wool blanket is smothering you but I felt a rush of coolness, sweet and refreshing as we kissed. God knows what we might have done if the other riders on that trolley did not applaud,

putting their hands together in praise for my song. I think some clapped because we kissed but that would be embarrassing so I chalked it up to the song. We got off at the next stop, blocks from where Will parked his car, and walked back to it. He kept one arm wrapped about my shoulders, protective and possessive, and I took pleasure in that. Our stroll through the night took on a charm that felt like enchantment. Every shadow shifted as we passed almost as if they danced to our heart’s music. Our footsteps rang with almost musical resonance and we moved in tandem. For the first time in my life with a man, I felt like our thoughts, our hearts, and our bodies moved in accord and that felt heady. At his car, that sleek long boat-like beauty, he turned to me. “Would you like to go eat something, somewhere?” I did not. Food lacked appeal – my hunger stretched out for something else I wanted far more. To show him that I could quote romantic lines too, I reached deep into my memory and plucked words from the Songs of Solomon, King James Version. “My beloved spake and said unto me, rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.” Will Brennan stilled and stared at me, those blue eyes burning like sapphires in the night. He kept silent just long enough that I thought maybe he did not understand what I meant with my quote but when I opened my mouth to speak, he lifted a finger and put it against my lips. “Do you mean what I think, mo anam cara?” he asked and I nodded. “If you want, I will bring you home with me but it must be what you really want.” It was. I might hold a few questions about what he might be – if he could be a vampire after all – but I had no doubt that I wanted to go home with him. I wanted it for more than a few hours, longer than a night, but he knew that or he would have asked. “It is what I want, Will Brennan.” With the same finger he used to shut my lips, he traced the curve of my face, his touch so light and gentle that it tickled like a fluttering moth against my skin. “All right, then, a ghra, mo chroi. We’ll go home.” We climbed into the car and we went, driving through the late night streets of Memphis, my heart beating the way that a bird

trapped in a vacant house flailing against the window, hard and fast, would. **** Will thought she might know about him. He could read the idea that hung in her brain like smoke rising from a slow fire, hard to dissipate and heavy in the air. If she did, if she even suspected, she did not voice it and so he thought, with the first flicker of hope in more decades than he cared to count than she might be able to accept his reality. Cara did not run from it and he liked that. My woman must be brave, he thought, another admirable quality. Her song on the trolley touched him, penetrated deeper into his heart than anything else could have done. Her soul rang with music and he loved that, almost as much as he loved her. Soon he would tell her everything, how, why, when, and where. He would leave out no details, hold back nothing, and be honest. To her, his soul mate, the love of his heart, he would slice open his soul and expose it. If after that, she remained that he would have no doubt that she loved him. Beyond that, if she would be his true mate, he could rest comfortable in the depth of that love. Forever could be theirs to have and to hold. He hoped that they would.

Chapter Eight Until we headed toward his home, I never wondered much about where he lived. Now that his vintage Cadillac skimmed over the smooth pavements with speed, I did. The possibilities stretched out into near infinity. He might call an apartment home or he might bunk down in rooms over someone’s garage. He could live in a mobile home tucked beside dozens of others in neat rows in a trailer park. Will might own a house, a small but cozy suburban ranch style house or he might live in a town house in a ritzy corner of Memphis. He could call a room in an older motel home, sweet home. So many different scenarios existed that I could not begin to guess. As eclectic as Will seemed, he could call almost anywhere home so I waited, eager to see just where he lived. I inhaled his masculine scent as we wheeled up Union Avenue and turned right onto Second Street headed north. As we left the downtown area behind, we skirted around a lot of new city sprawl, houses, apartment complexes, and more. To our left, the mighty river flowed along its course and after a rapid journey hanging on North Second Street until we moved far out of any area familiar to me. We didn’t talk much, just listened to the music and tuned into each other. As Second Street petered out at an intersection where Mud Island Road headed west toward the river and we jogged onto Reynall Cove Road, I realized the lights of the city faded away behind us. On both sides of the narrowed thoroughfare – now more road than street – woods crept up to the edge of the pavement. In some spots, the trees thinned out to make vacant spaces but most of the way, the undergrowth thickened into trees and brambles. At that late hour, little traffic shared the road and as I peered into the dark forest outside the window, Will braked and hung a hard right into a drive so tucked back into the trees that I had not seen it until he turned. “Is this where you live?” I asked. Surprise did not begin to define my feelings. Every different kind of home I imagined had been in the city itself, not in this wild area on the outskirts of town. Although I squinted through the black darkness, I did not see any lights or even the outlines of any kind of dwelling. “This is my driveway.” Will said.

“It’s private.” I said back at him. He grinned, wide enough that I could see the white gleam of his teeth, and said, “I like it that way.” Although I felt nosier than a Baptist woman at the Methodist bake sale, I stared into his mouth and tried to see if he had long fangs among his white, even teeth but his grin didn’t last long enough for me to tell. Then I felt like the worst kind of ass because I checked. Over the last few hours, especially since our little romantic sojourn beneath the Memphis moon, I came close to deciding I could call myself a fool for buying into some unknown woman’s random statement about vampires. My mind trailed back to that moment and as I tried to debunk the notion for about the five hundredth time, I failed to pay attention and so we fetched up in the front yard before I got a good look at his home. I stared and then I rubbed my face because what I saw seemed impossible. I shook my head to clear it and looked again but it remained in view, sturdy and solid. It could not be a figment of my imagination after all and since I had not had anything alcoholic to drink, it must be real. Beside me, Will laughed, a very soft, pleasant sound and said, “Haven’t you ever heard that a man’s home is his castle?” Of course, I had but I didn’t expect to see it as a reality. “Yes.” “Then behold, mo anam cara, my castle.” I turned back to stare with my full attention because this was no house, no simple home but a castle. Although it appeared to be smaller than a European version, it still loomed three stories high. Even so, many of trees surrounding it grew taller still so that the gray stone castle nestled in a beautiful clearing that would be deep in shade most of the day, sheltered by the leaves. Scattered among the hardwoods, I saw pines as well, trees that would remain the same no matter what the season. Although a green lawn stretched out to where the car now sat, I could tell that the forest came almost up to the windows on each side and that behind the castle, that the woods circled it like a lover’s embrace. Just a few steps from the back door would put you into the wild timber, as lost as poor Hansel and Gretel and without a breadcrumb.

I studied Will’s home. An ornate and square portico – which looked like something a carriage could drive up to discharge passengers – connected to a broad veranda that covered all sides of the front. The main section of the house rose into a tall battlement with broad casement windows that looked out over the front like giant eyes. Two other sections connected to that, both with square towers that boasted battlements on the top. I counted at least three tall chimneys that climbed toward the sky, fashioned from the same gray stone. Darker gray slate tiles covered the roof. At Fitz’s, everything smacked of fakery, a wannabe castle, but this place offered up the appearance of the real deal. Darkness reigned in the edges, in the gaps between the tree line and the castle. Behind us, back toward where the road must lie, I saw the outline of Will’s eighteen-wheeler, parked by a stand of trees. I wondered, then, how I could see it or the structure so well and realized, slow on the uptake in my stunned surprise, that discreet floodlights illuminated the place. In the center downstairs window that featured multi-paned glass, a small light burned. “Will, it’s lovely.” I told him as I moved out of the car and toward the house, my steps slow like a sleepwalker or someone caught in a dream. “It looks like it sprung into life from some fairy tale.” He made some sound but I couldn’t tell if it was laughter or just a snort. The castle before me consumed my interest for a long moment. At night, buried in forest, it could have seemed spooky or downright terrifying but somehow it was not. I stood with my feet against the thick grass of the lawn and studied it. What some might call creepy, I saw as charm. The castle with its picturesque old world beauty and other worldly air captivated me and I felt, in a very odd way, that I was coming home after a long journey. It suited Will, I realized, as I felt the soft night breezes whisper through the trees like children telling secrets in the night. This castle reflected his dark mystery and somehow exuded something of the same fey thrall he did. Although we could not be that far from the main road and despite the late hour, I heard nothing. I heard no traffic noise, no jets flying overhead, no distant wail of a lonesome train. In that space, silence echoed as deep as the darkness and I understood that this place provided sanctuary and refuge for Will Brennan.

Until I inhaled the heady scent of his cigarillo, I didn’t know he stood at my side, waiting. He stood still as a stone, quiet as a monk until I turned to him. I touched him, my hand straying over his rock hard arm like a roaming butterfly seeking a spot to land. When he turned his face toward me, it looked as vulnerable as I had seen it, open, and marked with poignant yearning. I could see that my opinion mattered to him and that moved me. “Do you like it?” he asked. “I do, Will. I don’t know why but it feels like home.” Swift as a striking snake, he tossed the small cigar and lifted me into his arms. He held me there like a child or a wounded woman without effort and I put my arms around his neck to steady myself. His rapid move spun my head like the slot machines at Fitz’s and before I could catch my breath, he kissed me with such power that I felt myself drown in the kiss. All my sense of self submerged in him as I awakened to his passion. His kiss blasted my mouth like a winter blizzard, his tongue pushed through my lips almost violent with his desire. Beyond the physical, however, I felt his love pouring into me, like sweet spring water into the mouth of a heat stroke victim. That emotion succored me and grounded me so that I knew that like mine, his feelings grew from deep roots. He carried me, still kissing me, through the portico and onto the porch. I thought he would fumble for a key in his pocket but Will kicked at the door, which opened, swift and smooth. Inside, I saw nothing in the dimness until he flipped a switch. Light flooded the entry hall and illuminated the open wood staircase that climbed upward then curved, graceful as a ballet dancer. Inside, the illusion of a castle faded, leaving instead the impression of a grand house from an earlier age. A chandelier created from dozens of glass prisms dangled from the high ceiling and as I glanced upward, the rush from our entrance made several of the prisms dance. Whatever I expected judging from the exterior, it wasn’t this. No open beams, stone floors, or faux suit of armor carried out the castle motif. Instead, what I saw so far exuded an aura of simple yet gracious living. I liked the open appeal of the entry hall very much. The fact that little furniture – just the table with lamp before the window, a single brocade chair, a grandfather clock, and an upright coat rack – was visible expanded upon the idea of space. “Do you like it?” Will asked cautiously.

“I like it very much.” I strolled deeper into the area, admiring the simple grace. “Now I want to see the rest. How many rooms are there?” “Fourteen.” He delivered the number as if it were small. “Do you really want to see them all tonight?” Although his voice sounded mild, his eyes scorched me with blue fire. I wanted to see every room but I checked the clock. Time somehow stretched out and then sped up in his presence and I had no idea how late it might be. Just as I looked at the old clock, it bonged the hour with deep notes that vibrated through my shoes. Three o’clock in the morning. Dawn would not arrive for almost three more hours. “I want the quick tour.” I said, sending him a gaze back that I hoped sizzled with heat. “There’s time.” “Aye.” Will said. “We have time. Follow me.” A door that opened to the right of the entry hall led into a long, spacious room that I would have to call a parlor or sitting room. At the far end, a huge stone fireplace commanded most of that wall. One wall faced out toward the wild tangle of forest and the others featured tapestries that looked very old. A desk sat beneath the windows, complete with an up to date computer, monitor, and printer. A long vintage— but far from antique— crushed gold velvet couch sat before the hearth and two chairs of the same material flanked it. Bookcases filled some of the wall space, filled with many volumes. It felt cozier than I expected but it looked somehow like the shabby receiving room of an English manor somewhere. I nodded my approval and said, “Lead on, MacDuff.” With a low chuckle, Will returned to the entry hall and led me through a door almost hidden beneath the stairs. It opened into a hallway that ran the remainder of the length of the house. Rooms opened from it and I peeked into each one with Will at my side. In the formal dining room, a heavy table and matching chairs dominated the center of the room. On one side, a matching sideboard stood, regal as a butler displayed some crystal that even I could identify as Wexford. Heavy golden damask drapes covered the window and coordinated with the soft carpet that covered the floor. A china cabinet held what looked to my untrained eyes like fine Wexford dishes. Dust piled deep though on everything. I ran my

finger over the top of the sideboard, leaving a line scratched in the dust. “Don’t you ever use this room?” “I have not,” Will said, sliding one arm around my shoulders. “I’ve never had any reason to use it. I don’t entertain.” “Then why have a dining room?” I asked, curious. “Most of the furniture came with the house.” Will said. ‘That added to the charm of it all.” Now that made sense, I thought. All the furnishings seem to fit this amazing home. Downstairs, I toured the rest of the rooms, a surprisingly modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances, a half-bath in what must have once been a closet, and another sitting room, this less formal or large as the first. We did not enter a small room near the kitchen, either, and I wondered why. A big back porch extended from the kitchen into the small back yard area but like the dining room, dust piled high on every surface even the white wicker furniture, dark with age and dirt. A plain, steep back staircase climbed upward from an alcove just outside the kitchen but Will led me back into the entry hall to ascend the main stair. The carved banisters were dust free and on the wide landing half way up, a large stained glass window caught my eye. We moved up the rest of the flight and stepped into a hallway To my right, a short hall led to other rooms. I could not tell what they might hold because every door remained shut. Will turned left, however, and led me through another door into a huge room. It spanned the entire front of the house, broad and long. Against the entire wall right of the entrance, an enormous four-poster bed filled the space. Each ornate post raised up to a wooden canopy connected to a beautiful headboard and footboard. Every inch of the wood featured intricate carvings and as I drew close enough to scrutinize it, I realized that lions reigned everywhere. Each post descended to a perfect replica of a lion’s head then tapered down to end with detailed paws that rested on the polished hardwood floor. In the center of the wooden canopy, another lion’s head dominated and matching lion heads decorated the headboard as well. I estimated that the bed must be at least five feet wide and

seven feet or more in length. Scrollwork added additional detail to the canopy and I regarded the entire bed with wonder. Outside of a movie or the window of an antique store, I never before saw a piece of furniture so ornate, this large, or that beautiful. Across the room, a matching armoire I guessed to be at least ten feet long radiated the same historic grace and a matching low chest with multiple drawers had a spot against another wall. The antique bedroom outfit contrasted with a very modern loveseat, upholstered in a rich purple hue and a recliner covered with the same fabric near the front windows. The bank of windows hid behind heavy draperies that looked like velvet to me. “This is my bedroom.” “I can see that. That bed is amazing.” I gushed and then felt silly. I had no reason to sound like a page out of some home décor magazine but I felt more than a little unsettled. I realized, gazing around the room, that there was no coffin for the vampire and a touch of guilt for thinking that of this sweet man bothered me, deep within. More than once, Will seemed to read my mind and he did now. What he said disturbed me even more and I stared, speechless, and then sank down onto the loveseat to digest his words. “As you can see, mo anam cara, there is not a single casket to be found.” There was not, of course, but I wasn’t sure what upset me the most – that he read my thoughts or that he addressed them with such aplomb, without anger. If someone wondered if I was a creature of the night, I think I would have been at least offended and he wasn’t. I had to wonder what that could mean as I stared at him, without a word, for a very long minute. His word, casket, evoked every Halloween spook house I ever visited back home in Texas and brought to life each pseudo vampire that sat up, fake blood dripping from those plastic fangs. It also brought to mind another word, coffin, and that evoked memories of funeral home visitations and services. Casket and coffin summoned images of death and on the heels of that, the notion of the undead returned, ugly and unpleasant to consider. My hands trembled as I looked up him. Will stood in the center of the room, arms clasped behind his back. He wore a smile but around his eyes, I saw fine lines of tension. He wasn’t afraid but

he seemed nervous as if he didn’t know how I might take whatever he attempted to tell me. I decided to play it dumb, at least for a moment. “Did you say ‘casket’?” I asked in my best silly, airheaded woman tone. “Why would there be one in your bedroom?” He cocked his head and shot me an aggravated look. “You know why as well as I do, what the old legends and stories say. Don’t tell me you didn’t wonder, Cara, but it isn’t true.” I had no idea what he meant, what wasn’t true. Did he mean that vampires don’t sleep in caskets, I wondered, or was he debunking the idea that he was one? Either way, my mind whirled and struggled to decide what to say. Although I knew that eventually this conversation would come, I wasn’t prepared to have it now. “What isn’t true?” I croaked out, my voice sounded hoarse. Will’s smile traveled over the space between us to touch me. “It’s a myth that vampires sleep in coffins.” His voice sounded as conversational as if we talked about the weather. “They don’t.” “And you know this because?” I ventured. Will did not smile as he said, “I am one.”

Chapter 'ine Back home in Texas, I used to watch hawks gliding over the countryside riding the air currents. Sometimes it seemed that they just hung there, motionless and still. Then, when you least expected anything to happen, they hurtled toward the earth to attack their prey, an innocent little mouse or baby rabbit. Will’s statement hung between us like one of those hawks and then plummeted down to hit me hard. I flinched as if he had slapped me across the face and my chest tightened until I thought I could not breathe. My mind stopped working and I sat, like a statue, in stunned silence for what seemed like a very long time. Even though I suspected it, had considered this possibility, I realized I was not prepared to receive it as truth. I felt like a machine that broke down, unable to process or work. Within me, I did not think anything functioned. My lungs did not suck in air or exhale any. Blood failed to flow through my arteries and veins. My stomach paused in process and for a few moments, I could not hear or see. My heart did not beat or pump. I sat, unresponsive and incommunicado until Will stepped across the floor to stand before me. He touched me, his hand caressed the curve of my cheek, and I lifted my head to look up at him. “Cara?” That voice I loved so much vibrated with concern. “Cara, say something. Say anything.” I could not. My vocal chords joined the rest of my body on strike and refused to make any sound at all. I heard him but his voice sounded distant as if it traveled from far away through a tunnel. My lips refused to open and although I could feel my stomach fill with stone that crept up into my throat like concrete, I could not cry either. My eyes did not even water but as I stared back at him, that weight in my stomach expanded to fill all of my body. My head felt strange, full, and odd. Everything, including Will’s face, began to spin in circles and the edges of my vision went dark. He said something more but I could not make sense of the words but I felt his arms encircle me just as the darkness spread over my eyes and took me down into its depths. I knew nothing, then, but when I roused, thickheaded and groggy as if I had been very sick or under anesthesia, details returned

in small doses. I became aware of something soft beneath me, so comfortable that my body melted into with no desire to ever part from it. Then I realized that my head lay upon several feather pillows and that a comforter covered me with warmth. I decided to open my eyes and with effort, I could. I blinked and looked into Will’s eyes, so blue and so sad. His icy hand clasped mine in his and I watched as tears trickled down his pale face like raindrops on a windshield. He wiped them away with his free hand. If my eyes worked, maybe my mouth would too, so I gathered energy to speak his name. “Will.” “I’m here, mo anam cara.” His voice echoed in my ears like soft music. He looked at me with the kind of tenderness usually reserved for mothers with newborn babies. “How do you feel?” “I’m tired. What happened?” Will put the back of his hand across my forehead the same way my mother did if she checked to see if I had a temperature. His cold hand felt good against my skin but I didn’t think I had a fever or that I was sick. “You fainted.” His voice came out rough, scratchy like sun-dried towels from a clothesline. “You were out for a long time and I’ve been worried.” Sadness put dark shadows beneath his eyes and gave his face a pinched look. “I think I’m okay.” I scooted around, tossed off the heavy cover, and sat up against the pillows, realizing that he must have tucked me into the massive bed. As Will tried to pull the cover back over me, I tried to remember what happened just before I passed out. When I did, I thought for a few seconds that I might faint again but I controlled it, this time. He saw the change in my face and I recalled that he read minds. “You remember now.” It was not a question. “Yes, Will.” “I thought that you knew or at least suspected.” I had to be honest. “I did but I had about decided it wasn’t possible.” He smiled but it did not touch the sadness in his eyes. For the first time, I glimpsed his fangs, slender eyeteeth that appeared almost

canine and although I tried not to react, he saw my face before he spoke, voice quiet. “I’m proof that it is.” I shivered although I wasn’t cold and his smile wilted away. Before I could say something that might comfort him, someone knocked at the bedroom door and I jumped. Fright made my heart pound like hell’s hammers and I swung my feet to get out of bed. Will stopped me with his hand. “You don’t have to get up. It’s only Malachi.” “Mal-a-kee?” I repeated like a parrot in a pet shop. “Who’s that?” “He’s my manservant.” Will said in a low voice. “I’ll explain it all later, I promise.” He rose to admit his manservant into the room and a small, older man, hunched over, entered carrying a tray. He placed it on the flat top of the low chest and – I swear to God – bowed. “Will there be anything else, sir?” He wheezed in his worn out voice. “Thank you, Malachi, but that’s all for now.” Malachi headed for the door, favoring his left leg and paused, managing to avert his eyes from the bed. “Sir?” “Yes?” “It’s well past dawn and I thought you might wish to know.” “Is it really?” Will’s surprise looked genuine. “Thank you, Malachi.” “You’re most welcome, sir.” I waited until the bedroom door shut with a soft click and turned to Will. Whether I had yet accepted the reality of his condition or not, I still loved him. “What happens if you don’t go to bed at dawn?” “That doesn’t matter. Would you like some tea?” “I would love a cup of tea.” I said, “But, Will, it does matter. Does being awake in the daytime hurt you?” He said nothing as he poured a cup, spooned an unhealthy amount of sugar into it, and brought me the cup. I wrapped my hands around it, grateful for the warmth and sipped. It tasted very good and I could almost feel the strength gathering in my body from the tea. All that sugar sent a rush through my tired veins. He settled onto the bed, sitting on the edge, and asked,

“Does it really matter?” “Of course it does! It matters to me.” His eyes searched my face and he reached out to stroke my hair. “Even now that you know what I am?” I told the truth. “Yes.” “It can make me ill and weak,” he told me after he considered it. I got the impression he really didn’t want to tell me but he did, out of his regard for me. “If I stay up too long, I might run a fever. That is if I stay inside. If I go outside, my condition would quickly deteriorate I could be in critical shape within moments. “ Now I cupped his cheek in my hand. “You need to come to bed, Will. I’m fine, really, but you won’t be.” He shook his head. “We need to talk first.” I had questions, lots of them, and he had the answers. As much as I needed to hear them, though, I wanted him well and whole. “We can talk later. Please come to bed, Will.” He frowned and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. I had never seen him demonstrate any mark of physical discomfort before and that caused me anxiety. “I’m getting a headache,” he admitted. “That’s the first one in more than a century, so all right, I’ll come to bed.” He shucked out of his clothing and crawled between the sheets. Until then, I didn’t notice I wore nothing but I didn’t care. I snuggled up to Will and relaxed a little when he felt cool against my skin. His body radiated tension, muscles hard to the touch and everything too tight. Neither one of us quite felt like making love but I rubbed his back, my fingers moving with soft gentle motions over his skin until I felt him begin to relax. “Go to sleep, Will,” I whispered. “I love you.” His eyes were just half-open and although he muttered in Irish, I could understand the meaning if not the words, “Ta ghra agam do, mo anam cara.” Then he slept, slipping into that deep and almost coma state, and I lay beside him, releasing the tears that I could not shed before until I cried myself to sleep. I woke before he did, uncertain of the time but very aware of the place. With my mind too full to sleep any longer, I unwound myself from Will and slid out of bed. By then, the tea that Malachi

brought sat cold in the pot or I would have had a cup. I wanted to know the time but there didn’t seem to be a single clock in the bedroom. I remembered seeing a grandfather clock in the entry hall so I slipped into Will’s discarded shirt and crept out into the hallway on quiet feet. Just as I reached the top of the stairs, I heard the clock chime the hour so I counted the bongs. Six o’clock then with three more hours give or take, until full dark. I felt too wide-awake to sleep but I didn’t want to venture into the rest of the house, not when I might run into Malachi. I had nothing against the old man – Will’s so-called manservant – but I needed to talk with Will Brennan, in depth and up close, before I chatted it up with whatever Malachi might be. Since I saw him after dawn, I thought I could safely guess that he wasn’t a vampire but after the shock of discovering that Will really was one, I wanted to play it safe. What I needed was solo time to think, to process but before I could do that, I wanted to check on Will. He scared me with his talk of fevers and critical conditions so I tiptoed back into the bedroom and put my hand across his forehead, just like as he did to me earlier. I held my breath, praying that his skin would not burn with fever heat and I exhaled with relief – it felt cold as ever beneath my touch. He did not move when I touched him and as before, he lay like a corpse, still and silent. I guess that was the moment when I realized he was dead, in a way, undead and that was enough to make me shudder. Funny thing, though, as I watched him sleep, I felt such a powerful surge of love for him. His fine features remained handsome and his black curls enticed me to want to run my fingers through them. Even at rest, despite what I knew now for certain, he invoked such desire in me that I thought I could not contain it, that it would build until I exploded into a thousand bits. I wanted him and more than that, I had to admit I needed him. I closed my eyes to remember that sweet, potent spell that carried me away when he touched me. I remembered our lovemaking, the fast and wild as well as the slow and tender. The memory of his hands moving over my body, the way that he fit into me like a foot into a custom made shoe, and his kisses kindled my inner fire made me yearn. As I played back memory movies, seeing and feeling what we did before, I remembered those love bites, his tender love tattoos on my neck and my hand strayed to touch that

spot. I found it without any trouble, the skin still sensitive to my fingers and wondered if the skin looked bruised. It struck me then, that he bit me there. That first time, I remembered the blood that trickled with slow measure over my skin. I had asked him if he were a vampire, teasing, and long before I had any suspicion. His answer – that I should not ask questions unless I wanted answers – reared up now like an untamed pony, wild and dangerous. If I weren’t so befuddled with love and lust, I would have known then. Will, for his sins, had never tried very hard to conceal what he was from me. I fingered the spot of that love tattoo remembering that he kissed me there again and muttered something about that made twice. If the old tales proved true, if he bit me again then I would be a vampire too. That might not be right, I thought, after all, the coffin thing just got debunked, but I wondered. More than that, curiosity grew in just how I might feel if he asked me to join him. What began between us as physical attraction, a lightning bolt of desire that smote me without warning on an early summer’s morning morphed into much more than simple sexual gratification somewhere along the way. Even at that beginning, I felt a merging of things physical with emotional, body with heart but now that fusion existed as the sole reality. I loved Will Brennan with every sense, in all ways and I could no more deny that than my Texas heritage. That he happened to be a vampire complicated things but I didn’t want to leave him. I just had no clue how we could stay together. Still clad in his shirt, I climbed back into bed beside him because there wasn’t much else I could do. I didn’t remember bringing in my luggage so I couldn’t get dressed until I put on the same old dirty clothes so I lay down beside him to wait. I slept a bit I think, and when I roused, Will stood by the bed, dressed and watching me. I still wore his discarded shirt and from the smile that teased the corners of his mouth, I got the idea he liked that. “Will.” I spoke his name, allowing my tongue to fondle and caress it. “Will.” He gazed at me and I rose as bread dough inspired by yeast rises to stand before him, toe to toe, our eyes locked into one gaze. “It is my soul that calls upon my name; how silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, like softest music to attending ears.”

He used Romeo’s words once more to say how he felt, the archaic language easy on his lips and I knew, that whatever else happened, that he loved me just as much as I loved him. I reached up with my right hand and let it comb through his curls, fingers trailing to linger against his cheek. In answer, his finger traced the outline of my lips, leaving an invisible track that left vibrations against my skin where he touched. That gentle buzz caught fire as his finger followed down the curve of my throat then descended to the valley between my breasts. One at a time, he caressed my nipples and they responded, slaves to their master. Each hardened and blossomed into rose buds, sensitive as sunburned skin and I ached with want. His fingers stroked the softer skin of my bare belly, tickling and teasing, as he found his way down to the very pulsing center of my body. His fingers rubbed, parting those delicate folds to fondle me into a fury of sensual pleasure. He stopped just short of bringing me to completion and with every sense heightened, with me burning like a tapered candle, Will kissed me and I yielded with total surrender. My mouth became a conduit through which he poured his emotions, turbulent as floodwaters, heated as summer lightning, sweeter than fine wine, and wilder than a tiger prowling the Siberian wilderness. Everything he felt packed that kiss with such power that I thought I might break, that the weight and wonder of it all might take me back down into darkness but as I floundered, I found that I could take it all, hold it, and give back from my own depths all I felt for him. Our exchange became a silent vow and we locked together into one, together in a world of swirling confusion, a citadel where we could be safe while the very force that assailed us beat against our gates. One kiss could not hold it all and he took me, still standing, with all his might and strength. As we joined, I cried out at that moment of impact. As he entered me, we fused and bonded into one creature with two minds, two hearts, and two souls. He invaded me, advanced all my senses and I surrendered without battle, succumbing to the overwhelming onslaught with joy. My body sang, matching his note to note as we came with a slick, shuddering climax that rocked my world. Still connected, I slumped against him, my legs too weak to carry my weight and he lifted me into his arms. We

collapsed onto the bed together; our harmonies restored, and love intact. We lay there, tangled into one. He whispered that endearment so familiar now, “Mo anam cara.” “Tell me what that means.” I breathed into his ear. Will did not hesitate. “It means “soul mate.” You are mine, darling Cara.” I could not dispute that and having been a Baptist girl with years of Sunday school on my resume, I answered him not with Irish, which I did not know, but with Scripture that I did, from the second Song of Solomon, “My beloved is mine and I am his.” “Yes.” I felt his whisper against my skin, softer than the petals of a blooming rose. “May it be so, world without end, amen.” And, just like that, I wanted it to be so, no matter what the cost or how high the price but before we reached that, we had a lot of talking to do. **** Will never intended to hurt her. He failed to realize that sharing the truth would affect her so much that she fainted. As he waited for her to awaken, Will knew that Cara meant more to him than any woman, as man or vampire. His love transcended everything else and mattered most. What surprised him more than anything was that the purity of what he felt within, an intense and amazing love that went beyond how much he desired her body, existed on a level he never expected. Before, as a boy in Ireland, he loved his family, perhaps his mother most of all. Before that fatal encounter with that English woman, the one that transformed him into a vampire, he loved, or thought he did, a woman or two along the way. None of them affected him like this one, like his Cara. Although he wanted her more than he ever desired anything, despite his aching need for her, if she rejected him or if she wanted to remain human, he would respect that and out of love, he would give her back her life. After that, he might just die because there would be nothing more worth living to enjoy. Nothing.

Chapter Ten As a little girl, one of the things I hated most was to wake up and not recognizing my surroundings. Since I sometimes spent the night at one or other grandparents’ homes or with one of a dozen aunts, uncles, or cousins, it happened more than I liked. Those moments of waking, opening my eyes and then struggling to sort out the location disturbed me although I could never explain why. I realized, finally, it happened because I had no idea where I was. All I did know was that I was not at home. When I woke up, alone in Will’s bed, that morning, I knew exactly where I was – home – and in whose bed. I lay, content, thinking about all that happened and then I wanted him. I missed him so I rose, found my suitcases where Malachi must have put them, and dressed. Somehow I didn’t think we would go be-bopping on this night so I put on casual clothes. In my favorite well-worn blue jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt, the one with collar and sleeves trimmed in black lace, I felt like myself. If this love thing would work, Will had to take me just the way I normally am. When I descended the front staircase, feeling like Belle venturing out into the Beast’s castle for the first time, Will waited for me. “Would you like to be outside on the porch or inside?” he asked, always courteous. “I want to experience the night wind in my face.” I made my choice and he nodded, his smile indicating it was the one he hoped I would make. On the wide porch – more of a veranda – we settled into comfortable chairs and he poured me a glass of a rich, red Moscato wine. In the faint moonlight filtering beneath the porch roof, it looked as red as blood. That image should have seemed gross but somehow it just didn’t. The wine tasted sweet and full in my mouth as I wondered just what question to ask first. Will did not wait for me to ask. “You must wonder how I became what I am. I happened a long time ago and it’s a long story. Do you want to hear it?” “Yes, I do, very much.” “Then I will tell you. If you have questions, ask them.”

I promised that I would and he began, looking not at me but staring off into the distant past. “I told you that I’m Irish and I am, born there in Toome, in County Antrim. I was born in 1751.” 1751? That sent shock waves through me as I counted up more than two hundred fifty years since Will’s birth. My short twenty-seven years on earth were nothing; no more than dust in the wind compared to that, but I said nothing. He noticed my reaction, paused, then continued, “We lived poor but that was the lot of most Irish Catholics at the time, in that place. It wasn’t such a bad life, most of the time but I always wanted something more. My mother called me ornery and I can’t say that I was not.” Will said, his voice taking on an echo of his natural voice. “We spoke Irish, then, of course but I learned English as well. When I was fifteen or so, I left home to find my fortune. I fell in with other young men who hated the English as much as I did and so we became highwaymen. We robbed the English – our own people had nothing to steal – and we lived a high life, better than I had ever known.” I thought of that famous poem, The Highwayman, written by Alfred Noyes. As a romantic teenager, head in the stars, nose stuck in books, and ears tuned to music, I loved it. The imagery appealed to my imagination and the cadence resonated. I thought although it ended with tragedy, it evoked such love and romance that I envied both Bess and her highwayman. Now that I had one of my own to love, I hated the tragic elements. “You’re thinking of that damn poem.” Will said. He grinned and refilled our wine glasses. “It wasn’t like that, all glorious and romantic. Most of the time, life could be dangerous and dirty. That poet wasn’t even alive when real highwaymen roamed the roads.” “You were a highwayman.” The romance of it still swept me into a fantasy of my own imagination. Somehow, I wasn’t that surprised. The occupation fit him, with his aura of wicked menace. “Aye, I was and it proved to be my downfall.” He sipped wine and continued. “I got ambitious and thought if I did that well in Ireland; I could do better over in England. So, I crossed over and worked alone. It went well enough for some time. I worked Shooter’s Hill on the Dover road from London. Do you know of it?”

I shook my head. “No, Will, I’m sorry but I never heard of the place.” “Aye, well, I harried many a traveler there. It’s a pretty spot, too. From the top of the hill, I could look north and see the River Thames or look westward to see most of London town. Times change, though, and it grew harder to escape from the long arm of the law.” “But you did.” I remember enough vague history to know that many highwaymen ended up on the gallows and some transported to either the Americas or Australia. “I did, but I probably would have hung for my sins if it wasn’t for Sallie.” I arched an eyebrow upward at that. “Who was Sallie?” Will rose from his seat, stalked with restless energy to stand against one of the porch posts, his back to me. “She owned an inn on the Dover Road,” he said after a long pause. “Although I worked alone, I often went there. She kept a room for me and for some of the other robbers. Since I worked by night, I never noticed she slept by day but she took me into her bed. I didn’t know that she drank blood or was a vampire or that she made me one until ‘twas done.” His voice filled with remembered anguish and I understood now that being a creature of the night had not been his choice. Had he not been a vampire, however, I would never have known him and so, in a perverse way I felt glad. “I didn’t love her.” Will turned about to face me now. “Nor did she love me. I think she did it more for the sport of the thing, because she found it fun. At first, things changed little but within the year, I left England. I couldn’t go back to Ireland – if she ever knew I became a vampire, it would have killed my ma so I took ship for America.” Tears for his loss of a normal existence brimmed in my eyes and spilled over onto my cheeks. “How old were you, Will?” “Thirty.” He spit out the single word with force and this time, drank straight from the bottle. “I was thirty then and for all eternity. How old are you, mo anam cara?” “I turned twenty-seven on my last birthday.”

He cupped my face between his hands and with a single finger, he flicked away the tears but his eyes darkened with grief, with loss. “You’re young then, darling.” His voice crackled like footsteps on icy leaves. “In time, you’ll be able to forget.” His frigid hands felt chill against my face but within, at his words, my heart became ice and cold radiated through my being. If he meant what I thought he did, it wasn’t happening. I had no clue what might happen between us but if I stayed with him until I became a blue-haired old lady tottering along with walker, if I joined him in the ranks of the undead, or we walked out into the sunlight to die together ala Romeo and Juliet, leaving was not an option. I lifted my hands to wrap around his. “I am not going anywhere, Will Brennan.” His eyes became pools of sadness, misery tempered with longing. He wanted me but he offered me an exit that I would never take. “You don’t know what that would mean, Cara.” “I don’t care. None of it matters except being with you.” I opened my mind to him; nothing held back and let him read everything within me. His eyes never left mine as I emptied myself to him. I felt an eerie sense of his presence there and I could feel it, a little intrusive but not unpleasant. When he withdrew, he nodded. “I never doubted that you love me.” Will told me but I thought that he lied, a little. He might not have doubted, but he feared it once. “I just don’t want to force this awful existence on you. We must ...” Whatever he meant to say, I refused to hear so I put my hand over his mouth. Whether he knew it yet or not, I can be one stubborn woman, hardheaded and unbreakable. Once I made up my mind, there would be no changing it. “We can talk about forever later.” I said, being practical. “Sit down, pour me more wine, and answer some of my questions.” Shadows cast by moonlight turned him into a dark statue, a beautiful Greek god, or a terrible deity. Will stood as if turned to stone for a very long time, hands still on my head, my hands still on his. I could not guess his thoughts. He nodded, then, and removed his hands so that we could sit down. Without a word, he poured more wine from a new bottle and raised his glass high to touch mine.

“Slainte,” I matched his Irish toast with my own single word, “Forever.” We drank the sweet wine, letting it spread across our tongues and into our bodies. Then I began seeking the answers that I needed, moving from the smallest questions to the most important one of all. “Why did you become a truck driver?” For the first time since we started our serious conversation, he grinned and that lifted my spirits like helium. “It reminded me of the old days as a highwayman.” Will said. “I could travel and see many places. It also gives me a good reason to be awake at night and sleep during the days. I meet many people and when I need sustenance, it is easy to find a donor.” His reasons made sense but the last, the mention of sustenance and donors, reminded me with a harsh jolt of reality that we were not talking fairy tales here but reality. “Okay. What about Malachi?” “What about him?” “Who is he?” Will still wore a grin. “He is my manservant but he’s also my friend, I suppose. Most vampires need someone to watch their back and Malachi does that well. He stays here at my house when I am out on the road and when I’m here; he makes sure that no one disturbs my daytime rest. He does a few little things around the house, like making tea.” “Is he a vampire too?” He laughed at that. “No, he isn’t. He is an old man that I found a few years ago, homeless with no place to go. He saw me feed and discovered what I was. He asked if he could become my servant and since I had none, I agreed.” “Oh.” I felt like a quiz show host or a lawyer questioning someone on trial but I had more to ask. “How long have you lived here, in Memphis and in this house?” “Ten years.” Wow. He lived here, tucked away in this pretty little forest and I traveled through Memphis without ever knowing. That seemed impossible.With our immediate attraction and immediate connection, you’d think that somehow I would have sensed his presence.

I fired off a few more questions, none all that important, but then I reached the big one, the major question that mattered most of all. “In some of the vampire tales,” I began, “it takes three bites for the vampire to turn someone into one. Now the coffin thing wasn’t true, so what about that one?” I kept my voice as nonchalant as possible, as if my wellbeing and my emotional health did not hinge on this one fact. His grin vanished and he shut his eyes for a long moment. “That one is true.” Will Brennan said, after he opened his tortured, beautiful blue eyes and looked at me. “And you’ve bitten me twice?” I have seen statues with more expression than his face after I asked that question. His voice softened with the hush of an empty church. “I have but I didn’t know if you would remember or not.” “I do. So all it takes is one more.” “Aye, that’s right,” Will said. I noticed he slipped into his Irish when his emotions increased. “But I won’t do that to you.” I thought he had finished but after a pause, he went on, his voice lower than before, so quiet I strained to hear what he said, “I won’t unless it is what you truly want.” Every fiber of being, every bit that made me Cara screamed out that I did want this; it was all that I wanted but I remained silent, unable to speak. So much love poured into my heart that it overflowed, paralyzing me with pure emotion that spread from my heart outward until my body threatened to explode with feeling. His care for me, his willingness to drown his own desire to give me free choice and freedom if I wanted it dwarfed any romantic act I ever knew. It made every boyfriend who made a sweet gesture – roses on Valentine’s Day or a pearl necklace when I got my first recording gig (which flopped anyway) fade into obscurity. This selfless giving, this I understood was love. “Will, honey, sweetheart, darling,” I said. “It is what I want. I love you and I need you and I want to spend forever with you.” I watched, in wonder, as the sorrow that deepened his eyes to almost navy blue, evaporated and joy, a precious measure of happiness, arrived. He pulled me into his arms, onto his lap in the porch chair and kissed me until everything else vanished. I thought

we would make love, there in the moon-kissed shadows darting around us but after that kiss, he released me. “Are you hungry, my love?” “I’m starving.” “Then let’s go eat.” In the very modern kitchen, Will grilled steaks and I nuked potatoes in the microwave. We ate our meal with a Greek style salad, laden with feta cheese, tomatoes, black olives, and more. Sated with food, all I wanted was more Will. Instead, he put on his black leather jacket and picked up his keys. “What are you doing?” I asked. “We need to go to Memphis.” I wanted to stay in this refuge and think; I didn’t want the bright lights of the big city distracting me, but we were two now, not one. “Why?” He frowned. “I need a donor.” “Oh.” My voice fell flat. “How often do you need blood, anyway?” If I were about to become a vampire, by choice, there were still things I had to know, details I had not even thought about. “It depends. For me, it’s every two or three days. Food, especially red meats, help but there comes a time when you just know it’s time for a transfusion.” “What happens?” I needed to know the signs since soon this would be me. Will grimaced and put one hand over his mid-abdomen. “I get a bellyache, here.” He pushed on the spot where his hand lay. “It starts as hunger pains, nothing much but if I eat food and that doesn’t help, then I need blood. “Then let’s go to Memphis.” I said, sliding back into my shoes. We hit the road in his sleek, black Cadillac, that big 1959 boat taking to the road like a jet off a runway. I saw my car framed by the headlights as he swung around to follow the drive out and wondered how it got there until I remember Malachi. He must have arranged it, I thought with a smile, glad to see my own car there like

an old friend. Neither of us said much as we streaked back toward Memphis, toward civilization. I am really just a small town girl – Rusk is not what anyone could call big – but I thought I had a taste for city life. Spending less than twenty-four hours at Will’s secluded castle, however, made me long for the forest, not the freeway. More than that, I just wanted to hang out with him. On the way, I slipped an AC/DC disc into the car stereo and we rocked onto into town. Will headed for the blocks near Beale Street, the best place to find some solitary person he could use as a donor. “I’ll be back before you miss me.” He stepped out of the car parked at a curb and vanished into the darkness. He moved with such swift stealth that I could not follow him. I listened to Highway To Hell while I waited, singing along to pass the time. He came back in less than five minutes, smiling so I knew he found success. “That was quick.” “Aye, it was.” Will slid in beside me. “Who was it?” “Does that matter?” It didn’t but then it did. “Maybe.” “I found a man trying to open his car after he locked the keys inside.” Will Brennan told me. “I helped him and then I drank. He won’t remember.” “So you’re fine now?” “I’m grand.” Will grinned. “Do you want to play here or go home, Cara?” I looked up at the bright lights, the neon of Beale Street, caught the whiff of smoky sweet barbecue on the wind, heard echoes of the music and for a moment, I wanted all that but then he looked at me and my desire shifted. His eyes smote me and I sizzled like hamburgers on a hot grill. He put a hand on my thigh, not stroking or caressing, just there and something within me melted like cheese on that imaginary burger. “I’d like to go home, sir.” I quipped. If I had ruby slippers, I would have tapped the heels together. “There’s no place like home.” Will laughed but his eyes glittered with the same fire that kindled inside me. “Your wish, mo anam cara, is my command.”

If we reached Memphis with speed, we got home even faster. Light may be faster than sound but his old Cadillac could beat them both and that night, it did.

Chapter Eleven Last time I attempted to do a horizontal bop in the back seat of a car, my boyfriend took me parking in what was supposed to be a secluded spot. About the time we steamed up the windows on that cold December night, a light blinded me. Moments later a local cop opened the car door. Since I lived in a small town, we all knew one another from somewhere and I don’t know to this day who the incident embarrassed most – Joe, the officer or me. As for my boyfriend, I don’t think it embarrassed him at all but it took a long to live that one down. Hell, they might still talk about it back in Rusk for all I know. That finished any desire I had to go parking or necking or whatever anyone wants to call it….until Will parked that Caddy. He reached for me and despite the fact that we could do it in any one of fourteen rooms in a castle; I wanted it right that moment. So did my Will. With one deft motion, he moved the front seat back to give us more room and then he took me, first my mouth and then my body. I knew his strength but this time, I could feel his impressive physical power as he touched me, hasty and harsh. Although his fingers, his hands lacked gentleness, I gloried in the rough caresses and my desire spiraled higher, fueled by his greedy need. His hands massaged my breasts like bread dough and it felt marvelous. Will raked me with his touch and I responded, clawing at him like a fierce cat in heat. I probably yowled like one, too. His mouth on mine possessed rather than caressed. He kissed with such force that my lips felt bruised but I gave back the same. His lips moved down my body, from mouth to the base of my throat, to the valley between my breasts, down to my tummy, and then to the cleft between my legs. When Will inserted his tongue into me, I screamed with pleasure, a raucous sound inspired by such intense pleasure that I thought I might pass out with the rush. He did not stop but pushed me down on the seat, legs wrapped around his neck and thrust into me, spearing me, piercing both body and soul. I resonated with his passion. His wildness, his lack of restraint, his brutal lovemaking fanned the glowing embers of passion into raging flames that burned us both. As that sweet fire carried us into that blast of passion, we drowned in a tidal wave of

sexual completion, a rush so strong that it threatened to take us under so deep we would never surface. We went up and then down, ending up sprawling together on the front seat of the Cadillac, something that never could have happened in my smaller car. We lay tangled together like grapevines, intertwined, and until I felt the warm smoke he exhaled from a fresh cigarillo waft across my bare skin, I never realized that sometime in our wild joining I shed my clothing. I lay on his chest, my head against his shoulder, somnolent and comfortable. As I reposed there, I realized that he kissed, he touched, he clawed, and he took, but he did not bite me. “Will?” “Aye?” He sounded as content as I felt. “You didn’t bite me.” “I did not.” “Why not?” He stretched to put his smoke in the ashtray. “When I do – if I do, if it is what you truly want, Cara, then it must be done with care. It won’t be like the first two love bites.” “Love tattoos.” I said. “That’s another name for them.” He chuckled. “It’s a fine one. The third bite will feel different. I can’t explain it but you’ll see if it happens.” “It will.” “It shall if you really want it, but you must think about it before it happens.” A wistful note sneaked into his voice. “Do you want it?” His arms snaked around me, squeezing me to him tighter than a python would. “I want it, mo anam cara, more than I’ve wanted anything, living or undead. I love you, in every way, but if you decide you don’t want this existence, then I love you enough to let you go.” He meant it, every word and he would release me, no matter how much it might hurt him. “I love you, too, Will. I want you and to be with you.” I felt him shift beneath me before he spoke. “You must never forget what I am. I am a vampire. I drink blood and I am caught in some kind of hell between life and death.”

I knew that, now, and it didn’t matter at all to me. Since that moment when he told me, I tried to recall a few lines from one of Shakespeare’s sonnets and now I quoted them back to him, “Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds or bends with the remover to remove. O, not! It is an ever fixed mark.” He stilled beneath me and said nothing for such a long space that I thought he must have fallen asleep until his voice filled the silence, gruff with feeling, “If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ nor no man ever loved.” Will intoned, giving me the last lines of the same poem. “I’ve a fondness for Sonnet 116 now. Are you sure?” I had never felt as certain about anything. “I am.” “Then I’ll give your third love tattoo.” Eagerness swept over me like a strong wind rippling through a wheat field. “Do it now!” I felt him shake his head before he said, “No. It must be right. It will be the last thing of your human life to remember and I want it proper.” “Then when?” I asked, impatient. “Soon, I promise. Dawn is coming. We need to go inside.” I squinted through the thick trees and realized the first light of morning streaked the clouds to the east. I groped for my clothing but then I thought it didn’t matter. No one would see me so I bundled them and walked with Will into the house, naked. By the time we reached his bedroom, dawn broke and he prepared to lie down. Before he retired, though, he took my hand and faced me. “I want you to do something for me.” “Anything.” Will grinned at me, a brief and fleeting expression that faded to match the seriousness of his eyes. “Don’t sleep yet. I want you to go outside, feel the sunlight on your skin, see the beautiful sunshine, and think that you will never see it again once I bite you. Think about whatever family you have and if you should call them. Remember we can visit them whenever you want but it will be at night, always. They will age, too, while you will not and in time, after a few years, they will notice. After all that, if

you still want to join me for eternity, with no regrets, I’ll give you that third bite.” He moved me, melted my heart like chocolate fondue, and brought tears to my eyes. My throat choked with unshed sobs. He might be a vampire, a creature of darkness, a bloodsucker, but he demonstrated more loving care, greater tender concern than anyone I had ever known. He put me first and that reverberated through my soul. “I promise I will do all that.” I told him, blinking away a few stray tears. “Then I will join you in this wonderful, decadent bed and I’ll be here when you wake.” After he stretched out and shifted into his resting mode, I stood over him. I admired his beauty and I bent to kiss first his forehead, then his mouth. I pulled the covers up over his cool body and then I took a long, leisurely shower. I put on fresh clothes and wandered downstairs in search of coffee, which Malachi, bustling about with quiet purpose, provided. Although I felt tired, my years as a night owl made staying up easier and the caffeine flowing into my veins infused me with energy. After that, I did as Will asked. I wandered outside. Much of the lawn that swept toward the road sat huddled beside the forest and even the clearings included some trees so the sunshine that filtered down muted into golden light. For the first time, I saw Will’s castle in daylight and I found it no less impressive. I now could see that the lawn looked shaggy, more than a little overgrown, but somehow it just enhanced the overall mystique of the place. I wandered around in back and explored the smaller space there. At the very rear, just in front of a long line of tall poplar trees, I spotted a single bench so I headed for it. It looked well used and obviously dated from long before Will took up residence here. He might prowl by night but I somehow doubted that he spent much time parked on a bench stargazing. He might with me but alone, I didn’t think so. I settled down it and soaked up some rays. I stilled to let the sights and sounds surround me. As I relaxed, I heard the trilling of birds high in the trees mixed with the chatter of busy squirrels. I listened as the wind swept through the branches, rustling the leaves like old-fashioned taffeta. As the fresh air washed over my face, I inhaled.

Sunlight fell onto the bench and the warmth felt good on my arms, my hair, and my face when I lifted it upward. I remembered how I used to put on my swimsuit to lay out in the backyard back home in Texas to sunbathe, trying to get a good tan. I thought about all the stunning sunrises I watched and the gorgeous sunsets, all red and gold, that I had seen. I remembered the shining glory of sunshine streaming through a cloud on a dreary day. As a little girl, I believed those were windows into heaven. As more than an hour passed, the air grew more humid and I, singer that I am or was, began to hear music in my mind. Songs about the sun haunted me. One of my earliest memories was my grandmother singing to me in her old rocking chair, the rhythm of the chair fitting the cadence of the song. One of her favorites to sing was You Are My Sunshine. She always said I made her happy even on cloudy days, just like the song. I recalled the golden voice of the late John Denver singing about sunshine on his shoulders and the upbeat Beatles tune, Here Comes The Sun or their other sun-related song, Good Day Sunshine. In memory, I heard Stevie Wonder sing about the sunshine of his life, Sheryl Crow soaking up the sun, and even that familiar sound from my earliest years, the intro to Sesame Street that went, “Sunny day, keeping the clouds away…” The songs I could keep forever, but not the sunshine. Such a grief washed over me that I cried, just a bit, something I never expected to happen. How wise Will was, I mused, that he wanted me to experience this now. Because of this moment, I could mourn what I would lose and then move forward but if I hadn’t done this, there might have come a time when I resented my loss. As I wept, I understood that there would be no more driving with the sun baking my arm on the edge of the window edge, no more days spent playing on the sands of some beach, no swimming and getting sunburned. I would have no rainbows lighting the sky after a storm, and no more fishing while the sunlight dappled the river with brilliance. I would lose all that and probably more, but I would gain Will. When I thought of him, my spirits soared. My heart swelled with such love, all the stronger now that I saw his vulnerable side and my body yearned for his, lusted after him with powerful desire. If I closed my eyes, I saw him. If I listened to my heart, I would hear his

voice and I knew that as much as I adored sunshine, I loved Will far more. That I would let me give me that third bite, that third love tattoo was not a question because I would. I knew that before I ever set foot into the daylight for the last time. My reflections, however, and thoughts gave me the chance to let go. I sat, soaking up the sun, and realized that since I met Will, I had called no one. My friend’s grandmother probably wondered why I never showed up to rent her duplex. I imagine that my mom, who I promised I would call when I hit Music City, must be worried or angry by now, probably both. I wandered back inside, smiled at Malachi, and hurried upstairs to find my cell phone. I hoped it had enough charge left to make a call or two and after I tracked it down to my purse, I carried it back outside. I sneaked a glance at Will and blew him a single kiss. Outside, I thought up excuses for another hour before I sucked it up and dialed my home number. After the second ring, my mama picked up the phone, her East Texas drawl stretching out over the miles between us. “Hello.” “Hey, Mama, it’s Cara.” “Hey,” she said back at me, sweet as molasses and then her tone shifted into bitter persimmon flavor. “It’s about time you called. Do you know how many days ago you left here? Did you ever get to Nashville? Sheena called over here and said her grandma hadn’t seen hide nor hair of you so what nonsense have you been into?” Her questions flew at me like wind driven rain. I had no idea how many days passed since I left and I didn’t bother to count them. Listening to her familiar voice, I realized that I would not ever sit and drink my morning coffee with her again or watch her afternoon soaps with her. I would see her, of course, but it would be in the evening and at night. How I would explain that was something I would figure out in time but for now, I had no clue. Instead, I focused on her last question, “I met someone.” I said, dropping that sentence like a stone into a still farm pond and waited for the ripples. “I hope it’s not someone in the music business.” My mother said, with some starch. “You know how unreliable those people can be and so into drugs, all that mess. Is this someone in Nashville?”

“No, I’m in Memphis and I plan to stay here, Mama.” “Did you get a gig there?” “No, I didn’t.” “That’s right – you met someone. Who is he?” “His name is Will Brennan and he’s a truck driver.” That much I could tell her and stick to the truth. “I love him and we’re going to stay together.” I heard her gasp of surprise followed by a cheery little giggle. “That’s happy news. I didn’t think my wild girl would ever settle down. Are you getting married?” Another question I could not answer. I didn’t know and really did not care. Marriage with a piece of paper meant little when I would give up my mortal soul to become a vampire and since I would spend eternity with Will, I didn’t figure I needed it. If he wanted to, however, I would be game. “I don’t know, Mama, but trust me. This is forever and it’s the real deal.” I could almost hear the wheels of her brain turn as she waffled between her strict church upbringing and her reality as a woman. “I’m happy for you, honey. You’ll have to bring Bill or Will, down to meet us sometime.” “I will.” I couldn’t help but grin. I just got that maternal blessing every girl wants. If she knew what he was, she might not be as thrilled but I wasn’t saying. “So you’re doing all right?” she asked, just being a mom. “I’m fine and very happy.” We talked for a few more minutes, saying nothing of any importance. After that I made a few more phone calls and then I let Malachi fix me lunch. He wanted, bless his old heart, to serve me in the dining room but I nixed it and ate with him at the kitchen table. We talked, a little, and I could see how very loyal he was to Will. Then, I did one more thing, just for myself while I still could. I got in my own car and motored into Memphis. I drove around past Graceland, through downtown, out by the Pink Palace, and stopped at Neely’s for some barbecue. I passed all the local landmarks that I could remember and then, I went shopping. I drove all the way out to the Wolfchase Galleria, just because I knew how to get there and because they have a Dillard’s store. Although I could shop any time – well, after dark, anyway – I wanted to have one more last fling. I

rationalized that I needed clothing and about 4pm, I headed home, with my purchases. I wanted to be there before Will woke up because I wouldn’t want him to think, not for a minute, that I changed my mind and left. With several daylight hours left, I curled up next to him in that huge antique bed to sleep sound and deep. Until then I never saw him stir during the day, not move a single muscle or shift position but he turned toward me and his hand reached out to touch me. I clasped my fingers around it and so, connected, we slept till dark. **** She wanted darkness; he offered her sunshine. He ached to keep her for all time, his mate and his love and his best friend but he would release her if she asked. That he felt such a depth of love for any woman amazed him but he savored it, like a fine wine or a good smoke. Will felt less wicked because he could love and did. Since the night he became a bloodsucker, he felt inferior and unclean. Raised to respect the holy tenets of the Roman Catholic faith, he had known he must be damned from that first realization of what he now was. As vampire, he could live forever but if he should die, fall into the hands of a vampire hunter or meet with mishap, he knew that he would roast in that lake of fire. Even Purgatory would shut the door to such as his kind. In sorrow, with some anger, and in disappointment, he turned away from God and all his Light because he dwelled in darkness. Cara revived his beliefs; she gave him light that overpowered the long decades of night. His love for her resonated with such power, rang true with goodness, Will thought he might not go straight to hell after all. In what he felt for her and in what she gave back, he understood now the power of the Lord God and the value of what Christ gave. He grasped the power of love. He would never enter heaven but he would have his own reward, his own sweet paradise on earth with Cara. That God’s heart could show such mercy on him, bestow this kindness, made him glad. He would not ask for anything more.

Chapter Twelve Night came like quiet fog, creeping into the edges of my consciousness. I could tell when I awakened that the shadows in the room fell long, different than they did by day. When I reached for Will, my searching hand found nothing but the cool spot where he had lain. I sat up, shook both hair and sleep from my eyes, and called his name, “Will?” He responded, his voice rich and as thick as pecan pie. “I’m here.” I could hear him but not see him. As my eyes searched the darkness, I inhaled the fragrance of flowers, many flowers. Although I’m no floral expert, I smelled roses and the sweet intoxication of lilacs. Just then, I heard the scratch of a match and a single candle flared into flame, followed by others. I stared, surprised and delighted, at the flowers that filled the room, bathed in the light of a dozen or more candles. The tallest shadow shifted and Will stepped forward, hand extended. I thought I must have been seeing things because he wore a tuxedo with satin lapels. His dress shirt beneath the jacket looked black as the suit but both cummerbund and tie were sapphire blue. Before, in his truck driving garments, I thought he was stunning but now, dressed like this, he exuded glamour, sophistication, and physical beauty beyond all reckoning. Dressed like this he seemed a dark Prince Charming, an Adonis, and a heartthrob with amazing allure. Sensual fever set me alight and I burned looking at him. I had no need to ask why – the occasion of that third bite must be special and I smiled, glad that I bought a new dress for the same reason. I ached to touch him but I did not dare. If I did, everything would happen now and I wanted to get ready so that I could play Cinderella to his prince. I took his hand, though, and let him pull me from the jumbled bed covers to stand, star struck to see him this way. “You look amazing.” I breathed. He grinned and the Will that I knew emerged from the fancy dress. “Thank you. I will let you dress, if you like. Come downstairs to me when you’re ready, mo anam cara.”

He vanished, departed like smoke wafting away on the breeze and so I dressed. I took my time, bathing first, and then brushing out my hair until it shimmered like fine silk. I left it loose and free. Then I put on the dress that I bought. The silk taffeta – the most pure silk available buffed to a glossy shine – gown featured a low-cut neckline that left my vulnerable throat bare. The sweetheart sleeves and the bodice were tiered ruffles but from the waist down, it rippled smooth as placid lake waters. Although the tapered waist fit snug and close, the skirt flared just enough to bell outward when I moved in the dress. On the rack at Dillard’s, this gown came in two colors, ivory and midnight. I chose the latter, black as Will’s curls, and when I put it on, I thought that I must look like a true creature of the night. I wished I could see my reflection one more time, wearing this, but there were no mirrors in his castle and no reason for any. After applying just the right amount of perfume, I slipped into the satin shoes I bought to match and at the last moment, I plucked a blood red rose from the flowers to tuck behind my left ear. I went down to Will. I found him in the parlor. In the great hearth, a fire burned and crackled despite the heat outside. Music played, soft and pleasant, and I recognized the haunting, lovely strains of Beethoven’s Fur Elise. Candles flickered here too, some on the mantle and others on the furniture beside masses of flowers that sent their perfume rushing through the room. Will stood, as if posed, but when I entered, he came to me and took me into his arms. “You look lovely,” he whispered, his lips tickling my skin, lighter than any feather. “Would you like some wine?” My mouth felt dry as if dust from the dirt roads back home in Texas caked it and I felt as tightly strung as new guitar strings. “Yes, please.” He poured us goblets of Sauvignon Blanc and raised his glass, then drained it. I sipped mine, savoring the taste on my tongue. When my glass became empty, he set it aside. “Is it time?” I asked Will, every nerve in my body on high alert. My body craved his and I thought I might drown in my own desire. “It is whenever you’re ready, Cara.” He caressed the curve of my face with a tender hand. “I want to make it as easy for you as I

can, but the effect will be tremendous. Don’t be afraid, though, I will hold you and it will pass.” I nodded and waited as he put down his goblet. He changed the music too and the memorable, unmistakable sound of Strauss’ Vienna Waltz surrounded us. “Would you like to dance?” “Yes.” My kind of dancing involved doing some boogie steps but instinct told me that he would waltz and do it well. Will seized me into his embrace, positioned my hands, and took off dancing, graceful as a swan skimming over a lake. I followed his lead, trying not to trip over my own feet, and as we twirled through the room, I understand why waltzing is sometimes called tripping the light fantastic. His presence, his proximity intoxicated me far more than my single glass of wine and ached for his touch. He kissed me as we waltzed, light little kisses that teased my lips and touched my cheeks. Each sparked across my skin like electricity. Just when I thought, I could bear no more; Will stopped and kissed me for real. I sank into his embrace and let his mouth distract me from everything else. He fanned my fever into delirium and I ignited into desire so hot that I thought that surely I would scorch him with my touch. When his mouth left mine to stray along the line of my throat, I knew what must be coming and tensed a little. Even so, I expected nothing more than a simple love bite that tantalized and tormented but when he sank his fangs into the side of my throat, stabbed into my jugular vein, I thought that I would die. Pain pierced me at that point and spread with speed over my entire body. That white-hot agony hurt with such intensity that I could make no sound because it required all my senses to withstand the torture. Every ache or ill I ever endured paled beside this torment and I clung to Will as my sole salvation. When the pain began to diminish, one tiny bit at a time, I realized he spoke, that he comforted me with his words and so I focused on that until the last of the hurting ebbed away. Weak, half-sick, I leaned against him for support thinking that we reached the end but he whispered in my ear, “Hang on, Cara. It will be over soon.”

Then he put his lips alone over the raw bite, where the wound throbbed, and suckled. He did not drink but tasted with the consideration of a wine connoisseur considering a new vintage. That erotic feel of his mouth sent shockwaves through me, a pleasure as intense as the pain was, and I rocked with the force of it. Everything shifted and spun as I plummeted into sensual delight too deep to fathom. A maelstrom of feeling spun me and sucked me into its spirals. I went blind, could hear nothing, but I felt everything. Each delight heightened to levels beyond what I knew or thought I could bear. My thoughts flew away, migrated for the season, and left me in confusion, unable to do anything but know physical pleasure. In those moments, I lived a lifetime and in that space of time, I died. Somewhere in those moments of pure erotic ecstasy, my lungs ceased and my heart slowed to a final stop. My vast system of veins and arteries shut down as I transformed from human into vampire. When the whirlpool slowed and I emerged, head still spinning, I felt reborn. Strength and power radiated from my flesh, settled into my bones. I blinked when my vision returned and noticed that I could see now with sharper clarity than ever before. A sound seeped into my consciousness and I understood that it came from far away. I had a heightened awareness of everything around me. Colors loomed brighter and my senses seemed like they operated on overload. My rush of energy faded, leaving me to collapse into Will’s arms. He kept me from falling to the floor and I leaned against him, thankful for his solid bulk and his strong arms. “Tell me it’s over now.” I managed to say and I felt his chest vibrate with laughter. “It is, Cara.”’ “I don’t feel very well.” I whispered. He kissed me with the gentle touch reserved for children and the very old. “I’m sorry, mo anam cara, but you’ll be better soon.” I shivered in his arms. “I’m cold.” Will lifted me like a fragile china doll, carried me over to the sofa near the fireplace, and lay me there. Then, as I lay halfdrowsy while the heat of the fire baked warmth back into me, he took my hands and rubbed them between his. I peeked at him and saw the

frown lines of concern. He loves me, I thought, with a thrill that warmed me far more than the fire and I sat up. “Come sit with me.” “You feel better.” It was not a question but I nodded. “Do you want more wine?” I did and I let the sweetness of the fermented grapes trickle down my throat. By the time I finished that glass, I felt wonderful but there was just one more thing I wanted. “Will?” “Yes, beloved?” “Take me upstairs and love me.” He did not hesitate, not for a single second. He snatched me into his powerful arms and cuddled me against his chest, his strength radiating into me. He strode out of the room carrying me and mounted the stairs without breaking his stride, swift and sure-footed. In the bedroom – our bedroom now – he put me on my feet. Before I could undo the side zipper of my gown, Will stripped away his garments and folded them into a neat square. As I stepped out of the dress, he scattered roses across the bed and their heady aroma wafted toward me. The candles still burned from before but now wax dripped down their sides like raindrops. He stood before me, aroused and proud, and then pulled me into the circle of his arms to where I belonged. His lips caught mine, captured them, and then overpowered them. Will bent them to his will and I kissed back, my lips caressing his with unholy joy. One mouth fused into the other, connected and he drank of me, not my blood, but my soul like a thirsty man might seek water in a drought. He took what he needed and I gave to him without restraint. We did not hurry; there was no need for time stretched before us, blank and infinite. We owned the night and all those to come. Some poet once wrote, “if we had but world enough and time” to lament coyness but we had what he lacked, all the time there is to come. Will worked his way from my mouth to those other lips, his tongue fondling as it moved downward leaving my soft skin to tingle with delight in its wake. He touched my breasts with a slow, tender hand and brought my nipples to blossom, pink and proud. When he parted my thighs, I quivered with anticipation and when he tasted me, I thought that I could not bear such intense pleasure without

shattering. Instead, though, I rode the waves of pleasure until I soared on a rush of pure delight and then, to show I cherished him just as much, I rose so that my lips could encircle his nipples. I suckled him until he made small sounds of pleasure, his nipples hard as small stones in my mouth. By then we reached a fever pitch of need, our joint rising desire so strong and full that it consumed us even as it fueled our passions. We touched and tasted, licked and loved, and gloried in each other until neither of us could bear the separation any longer. Will entered me, joined his body to mine with a tremendous rush that rocked me to my very foundations. We connected and as our pleasure points met, I came with a hoarse shriek of joy that carried me over the threshold into paradise. Will called out my name and then, as spent and sated as I was, collapsed onto me where we lay together, soaked with sweat but complete. We two were one, now and for always. “I love you, mo anam cara,” his dear, darling voice murmured into my ear as we lay together. He called me soul mate and that I was, always. My beloved is mine and I am his. “I love you, Will Brennan.” His grin brightened my life, more brilliant than the sun and I buried my face against his chest, happy. We fell asleep together as the shadows in the room faded and I lay secure, knowing that we had all the nights ahead of us together, forever. **** He gave her all she needed to start this new life, the one he knew so well. He taught her how to find a donor and how to get what she needed without notice. Cara learned well, a perfect student, and soon, she knew how to survive as well as he did. Now he could not imagine how he endured those lonely years without her. Each time he looked at her, his dear woman, his soul mate, amazement at all she surrendered to become his filled all his empty spaces. Love swelled his heart that did not beat but that could love and did. Through her, he gained family who never questioned why their daughter and her man could only visit in the dark of night,

people who cared and bought him presents at Christmas. He became an uncle and a brother-in-law and like another son to Cara’s parents. On the road, she accompanied him, riding beside him with beaming pride. She chattered over the endless miles, shared the sleeper cab, infusing it with her scent, and loved him, no matter what the weather or the town. Whatever sins he had, he must have atoned for them, and he had to wonder if his Purgatory had existed on earth because, with her, his Cara, he gained the nearest thing to heaven he ever dreamed of having. In his castle, she would be queen forever and in his life, she would be forever. Life as a vampire, the existence of an undead Irishman, was good.

Cara’s Afterword If that priest, an old man with half-blind eyes, had any idea what we were, my love and I, he would have never married us. We broke every rule that the Catholic Church has about marriage, anyway. There was no pre-marital counseling, no pre-Cana training, nothing but Will and I, standing before an altar in a quiet church in Coushatta, Louisiana, a little wide spot in the road somewhere southeast of Shreveport. We didn’t bother with a marriage license because neither of us cared about the legalities – we were together and staying that way for eternity but when Will suggested we go to church, I agreed. We wore what we wanted. Will stood up in his usual black and I changed into the dress I bought for my third love tattoo, my transformation. Then we spoke our vows before the priest, in the simplest short form of the ceremony. Formal blessing from the Church mattered to Will and if it meant something to him, then it did to me as well. That was on our first truck trip together and when we came to that small town in Louisiana, Will asked where we might find the Catholic church. Once we found St. George’s, we went to the rectory. The ancient priest, Father Tobin, fussed at first, wanted to do everything right and by the tenets of his faith but Will persuaded him to change his mind. Will possessed charm in such quantity that he could convince the devil to serve ice water in hell if he wanted. Or, if he ever thought about changing careers, he would make one heck of a used car salesman. He also gave him a very healthy donation to the church building fund and so we went to the church a little before midnight and spoke our vows. After the formal rite, the unchanging and age old promises made, Father Tobin let us express ourselves in our own way. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened if there had been a church full of people but at that hour, alone, he gave us flexibility. I picked up my Gibson from the front pew and faced Will, strap over my chest as if this were a gig. The words were not mine but what I sang, I sang from the heart. As I chorded the music, the plaintive, tender words of Jim Croce’s Time In A Bottle, I watched Will’s face and the joy I saw reflected echoed in my own heart. We

have time, all the time there will be, together, all the days until eternity passes away to spend together. That’s more than Croce had and I treasure it. When I finished the song, a stray tear tracked down Will’s cheek and he took my hands in his, despite the guitar between us. In that voice I adored, he quoted again from Romeo and Juliet, “My bounty is as boundless as the sea; my love as deep. The more I give, the more I have for both are infinite.” Like an arrow shot with skill, those words struck me through the heart, speared me, and reached my very soul. My song, his quoted poetry, those became our personal vows as we expressed our love with our style. Emotion flooded all my senses and overflowed as tears cascaded down my cheeks. With one swift move, I ditched the guitar and pitched myself into Will’s open waiting arms. He kissed me, the first time as his bride, and our love radiated around us, something real and tangible. “I love you,” I whispered as he cradled me close. Will smiled and quoted yet another poet, “I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life, and if, God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.” Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s lines resonated, the meaning deeper than anyone but Will and I could know. I said no more because I could not, silenced for the moment, overwhelmed with the magnitude of our love. Father Tobin blessed us then, pronounced us man and wife, and sent us on our way into the night. I think we must be the first vampires married in the one, holy, and Catholic Church and I like that. It’s historical. Most of all, though, I like being Will’s wife and I love him, my sexy as hell vampire husband. I always will – way beyond till death do us part because it won’t. Our love will live forever, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, amen.

The End

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