Her haunted eyes searched his. "How can I not? Every time I see him, I'll remember what he did to me...to my baby."

Nicholas sighed. "That was almost four hundred years ago. I hope you'll believe me when I tell you he isn't a danger to you. He won't harm you." He stroked her arm. "Tremont is a man to be pitied in many ways."

Before she could argue with his a.s.sessment, a wave of pulsing pain swept through her head, distracting her. She touched her pounding temples. "What happened? Why are you in my room?"

"You didn't want to be alone. Do you remember last night?"

She frowned, searching her memory. She recalled leaving the apartment with Nicholas and returning later. Her brows furrowed as she struggled to regain the memory of the lost time in between. The blissful expression of a dead man flashed behind her eyes, followed by a wave of s.e.xual arousal as she remembered the way she and Nicholas had reached for each other after feeding.

She grasped her head and leaned forward, whimpering. "What have I done?" she asked in a hoa.r.s.e voice.

"You fed," he said with a complete lack of emotion.

"How could I do that?" A surge of pleasure shot through her when she recalled the moment the man'sheart stopped pouring blood from the wound on his neck into her sucking maw. She moaned, disgusted and simultaneously delighted. "I killed someone," she whispered.

Absurdly, a memory of a conversation with Sara flashed through her mind. She had stayed over at her friend's house, and they had just watched a movie about a woman who killed her husband for cheating on her.

"Could you do it?" Sara had asked, as she snuggled against the pillow and c.o.c.ked her head.

Emily had frowned. "Do what?"

"Kill someone."

"For cheating on me?" She made a scoffing sound.

Sara shrugged. "Suppose it was self-defense. Could you then?"

She had emphatically shaken her head. "I couldn't kill anyone, ever."

The words took on a mocking tone as they echoed through her brain. She lifted her head to glare at Nicholas. "It's your fault. You've made me like this."

He sighed heavily. "Yes, I fully acknowledge changing you." He rolled from the bed and gained his feet.

His expression was cold when he stared down at her. "Grow up. Stop whining about how tortured you are, and what you've become. Appreciate what I've given you."

A harsh laugh escaped her. "What have you given me? You've done nothing but take from me since the moment I met you-my life, my friends, even my humanity. You want me to be grateful?"

He moved so quickly her eyes couldn't follow him. He went from standing by the bed to sitting in front of her, holding her face in his hands. His fingers bit into her cheeks. His eyes blazed with anger when he pressed his face against hers. "I've given you eight hundred years, Emily. I've given you eternal life, and I'm offering you undying love." He shook her roughly. "You're too foolish to accept what's in front of you. You prefer to moan about how you've been wronged."

She cringed as his nails punctured her right cheek, causing blood to ooze down her face. "Pweesh," she tried to say, but the word came out distorted.

Nicholas's fingers bit even deeper into her flesh, sliding through the skin of her left cheek too. "You're a child. A spoiled child." He sagged forward, and his grip eased before his hand fell away. His shoulders hunched, and he looked defeated.

Emily tentatively touched her face, wiping away the trails of blood. She stared at him for a long time without speaking, not sure what to say. He was wrong. How could he expect her to appreciate what he had done for her? She sighed softly, torn between a need to scream at him and an unsettling need to comfort him.

He looked up, and his eyes were a dull black when they locked with hers. "What do you want from me?"

Her breath caught in her throat at his whispered question. She struggled to breathe as emotions floodedher-guilt, torment and fear. Her clumsy tongue formed the words before she could tell herself not to say them. "Make it like it was."

He shook his head. "I can't."

"Let me go home."

Nicholas shook his head again. "No! You belong here with me. After all I've been through to find you again, I won't let you go."

Anger brought a flush to her cheek. "I don't want to be with you. I don't want what you're offering."

"Too bad." He spoke with cold finality as he got to his feet. "You know I'll never let you go."

A shiver of dark delight at the promise in his words caught her by surprise. She squirmed, anxious to deny what she felt. She didn't want him, and she didn't want him to need her. She wanted her freedom.

"I won't live like this."

He laughed, but it didn't sound like he was amused. "You don't have to. You're not really alive anymore, remember, beloved?"

She bounded from the bed, buoyed on a tide of anger, pushed past him, and rushed to the bedroom door. When she reached the black wood, she jerked on the doork.n.o.b, but it refused to move under her hand. She whirled around to face him. "Let me leave. Now." Her defiance threatened to crumble in the wake of his baleful glare, and she firmed her shoulders. "I don't want to be like you. You're a murderer."

"You're just like me." His lips twisted. "You're already a murderer. You killed two people last night."

He began walking toward her. "You felt their pulse stop beating under your touch."

She swayed at his seductive tone, struggling to deny the hunger his words stirred. "No, I-"

"You tore into them like a mindless animal." His voice dropped an octave as he stopped an inch away from her. "You consumed their blood, and you loved it." He pressed his body against hers, placing his mouth against her ear. "You were so turned on by what you'd done, you would have let me take you in the alley, amid the carnage we wreaked. We would be lovers now if that boy hadn't cried out."

She groaned as his words sent her head reeling. Frissons of desire swept through her, making her knees weak. She leaned against him as much as she dared. "Please stop. I don't want to remember."

Nicholas's hand rose to caress her breast through the silk of the pajama top, finding her nipple erect.

"Yes, you do." He brushed his lips against hers. "You want to tear into me as you did that man." He pressed his c.o.c.k against her stomach, offering proof of his arousal. "You want me inside you while you're drinking from me."

She collapsed as her legs trembled too fiercely to stand. Only his strong arms and body kept her upright against the door. "Yes," she whispered, parting her lips when his breath caressed her cheek. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to touch her.

He pulled away, but continued to support her. "You'll have to wait, Emily."

Her eyes snapped open. "What-" He chuckled, and not a trace of his previous anger or angst remained in his expression. "We're having company this evening." He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her gently on the lips before raising his head. "Otherwise..."

She blinked with confusion. "But, I thought you wanted me." Her cheeks reddened with a flush, and she dropped her eyes. He took her hand and pressed it against his c.o.c.k. Her eyes widened when he pulsed beneath her palm.

"I do," he said in a throaty whisper, before standing straight again. He sounded regretful when he said, "But satisfaction will have to wait until we have more time."

She nodded, suddenly anxious to have him out of the room so she could collect her thoughts. With him so near, she couldn't think about anything except how close the bed was, and how she ached for him to complete her. "O-o-okay."

He stepped away. "You have an hour until he arrives."

She nodded and moved aside so he could leave. She noticed he had no trouble turning the k.n.o.b. He glanced back briefly, and she forced a shaky smile. As soon as he closed the door behind him, she ran to the balcony, shoving aside the curtains. While she was gone, they had put in new doors, but she could get through them again.

She reached for the handle, but her hand hovered a half-inch from the door, unable to move forward to grasp the k.n.o.b. She took a step back and raised her bare foot to kick at the door. She came no closer than she had with her hand. No matter how she tried, she couldn't force herself to move forward and touch the door.

How would she ever escape if she couldn't get past Nicholas's mind control?

She turned around and walked back into the bedroom, collapsing midpoint as an unwelcome thought swept through her mind. Did she want to leave him? Tears flooded her eyes, but she couldn't weep. All she could do was rock back and forth, as she searched for the answers. When the questions-and their subsequent answers-became too much to face, she shied away from them and rose to her feet to walk into the bathroom, hoping a shower would sluice away her confusion, at least temporarily.

Later, wearing a plain black dress she found in the closet, Emily found the doork.n.o.b turned easily. She walked down the hall, drawn to the sound of voices in the living room. As she entered the room, her eyes fell on Tremont, and she flinched. She swayed unsteadily as he eyed her, unable to see his current form as memories of the past welled up in her mind. She didn't clearly remember all of the horrors he had inflicted upon her, but could feel flames lapping at her as a phantom child squirmed in her womb. A general sense of terror overwhelmed her, and she took a step back. When he lifted his hand, she whimpered and turned to flee.

"Emily." Nicholas's voice was soothing, and it served to stop her panicked flight in mid-step. He walked forward and touched her arm, ma.s.saging her stiff neck. "Come meet Michael."

Under his gentle touch, her racing heart slowed and the tension in her body eased. The fear faded away, and she nodded. She kept her eyes averted from Tremont as she turned back to meet Nicholas's friend. Her first thought was that he looked nothing like a vampire should look. He was short and balding, with a paunchy belly inadequately hidden by his ca.s.sock. The white collar fit tightly against his fleshy neck. His skin was pale, except for a pink flush in his cheeks, indicating he had dined recently. His blue eyes were warm, and his smile was friendly.

Emily curtailed the ridiculous impulse to curtsy. Instead, she inclined her head and murmured, "Father."

He stepped forward, extending his hand. When she took it, he enfolded hers in both of his. "Michael, please." He eyed her from head to toe. "And you are Emily."

She nodded, discomfited by his intense appraisal. She breathed a small sigh of relief when his eyes lit with approval, though she didn't know why. She could sense this man was important to Nicholas and hoped his emotions were simply transferring to her. She didn't want to crave his friend's approval.

Nicholas turned to Tremont. "We'll go through now. Begin serving."

Emily was surprised when Michael took her arm and looped it through his. She stood three or four inches taller than the rotund priest and had to bite back a grin as she imagined the picture they presented.

She cast a glance over her shoulder and saw Nicholas watching them with a small smile.

He escorted her into the dining room and seated her before taking a seat. Nicholas sat down without speaking, but his eyes remained on them.

Michael sipped from the winegla.s.s in front of him before turning his gaze back to Emily. "You're unhappy," he said abruptly. "Troubled, angry and confused."

She shot a glance at Nicholas before meeting the priest's eyes. She cleared her throat. "Nicholas said you're a priest at St. Peter's."

He nodded. "Yes, but don't change the subject." Michael's unsettling gaze turned to Nicholas. "Leave us."

He frowned. "But-"

"Please."

With a sigh, Nicholas got up from the table and left the dining room. Seconds later, his voice carried from the kitchen when he told Tremont to put a hold on dinner and bring him a gla.s.s of wine in the living room.

When he had gone, Michael shook his head. "He's hurting because of you."

"I didn't ask for this," she began defensively.

He nodded. "Of course not. He's headstrong. I spent the last fifty years trying to convince him to take a different approach if he found you again." He took another sip of the wine. "He loves you too much to listen to reason."

She bit back a thousand protests or blase remarks. Instinctively, she responded to the kindness and concern she saw in his eyes. "What do I do, Fath-Michael? He frightens me." "Yet you love him."

She shook her head vigorously. "No! I don't even know him. I don't love him."

He sighed again. "You're equally stubborn. You'll have to find the answers for yourself. Nothing I can say will convince you, as I told Nicholas."

She frowned. "He asked you to speak to me?"

"Yes, for all the good it has done." The priest took another sip of his wine and lowered the empty gla.s.s to the table. "Shall we eat now? I'm starving."

At his mention of eating, her mind's eye conjured an image of the seemingly benevolent priest tearing into the throat of a person and lapping away fresh blood as he drained the life from his victim. "How can you do it?" she burst out.

"Do what?" He regarded her calmly.

"Murder people. You're a priest. Don't you think it's wrong?"

He nodded. "Of course I do. I don't kill for blood."

She found herself hanging on his words. "Then how do you live?"

"I purchase blood from donors or, if I must, I take a small quant.i.ty from whomever happens to be convenient."

She felt a flutter of hope. "I don't have to kill anyone?"

He shrugged. "No, but it's difficult to fight the instincts." Michael's eyes dropped, and he looked troubled. "It took many years for me to control the impulses." He crossed himself. "I have much to atone for."

The hope flickered and faded. If a man of the cloth, driven by his beliefs and his devotion to G.o.d, couldn't overcome the dark compulsions for years, what chance did she have of controlling them?

Especially when dark joy filled her at the prospect of killing again.

He cleared his throat, and the twinkle in his eyes returned. "I suppose we should eat. Tremont has worked diligently to prepare my favorite dish."

She shivered and, not being Catholic, resisted the urge to cross herself at the mention of Tremont's name.

Michael gave her a small smile. "Don't be afraid of him anymore. Whatever evilness that was in him is gone now." A sad expression swept across his face. "Nicholas's rage twisted him into something else centuries ago. He is pitiable now and not to be feared."

She nodded, but couldn't find it inside herself to accept the priest's words on faith. He had not been the one burned alive by Tremont.

Chapter Ten.

Did she love him? Emily found herself studying Nicholas with disturbing intensity throughout the meal, and even after Michael had returned to his parish. When the priest first said the words, she had been shocked. An automatic denial came to her lips. As she mulled over the idea, she became less sure. Her uncertainty frightened her almost as much as the original statement had.

She shifted positions on the sofa slightly to better observe him where he stood looking out the window.

He had his back turned to her, and she studied his form at her leisure. He had bound his hair tonight, and he wore a simple red sweater and faded blue jeans. She propped her chin on her hand. The way the light reflected off his dark hair caught her attention, and she focused on the varying shades of dark-brown and black. Her fingers itched to run through his hair.

Emily realized she was arousing herself and cleared her throat. He turned around immediately, and she was sure he had caught her staring. She fought down the flush struggling to stain her cheeks and forced a smile. "Michael's nice."