Adara sighed in pleasure and tilted her head to meet his eyes. "As you are mine, Trey," she said andsmiled. "It's funny but now that you've mentioned it, I can see a light shining around you, a kind ofrainbow that isn't going away."

He smiled, his heart in his eyes as he caressed her cheek with a long finger. "You have saved me, Adara," he said. "And I will never take you for granted, ever."

A few moments of silence filled the room as they lingered in the haze of ecstasy still throbbing through them.

"Trey?" Adara said hesitantly. Now that she'd finally accepted and admitted her love for him, she could never let him go. Just trying to imagine a life without him made her soul cry out in pain. "I want you to make me like you." Trey stiffened beneath her and Adara sat up to watch his features. "Are you sure, Adara? Once the conversion begins, there is no turning back. And even then, it may not take."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"Well, if I try to convert you to my kind and it works, you will know immediately. But if it doesn't, youwill be more than you were, but not vampire. And if that is the case, know that I will end my life whenyours ends," he said simply. Adara stared at him and felt tears burn her eyes. He spoke of forever withher so easily, in his lifetime or that of a normal human's.

"I want to try," Adara said and touched his chest above his heart. "I'm yours forever, Trey."

Chapter Eight.

Trey perused the November issue of Chic Ventures with a large grin. The photographer had captured a wonderful picture of John and Sue dressed as vampires during the club's Halloween Bash and the accompanying article made him more than proud.

He stared at the new Mrs. Blackthorne as she typed furiously at her computer. It had only been two weeks but he couldn't have asked for two better weeks in his life. Perhaps the Elders had seen that his soul was in jeopardy, for he couldn't believe Adara to be anything other than an angel heaven-sent to save his soul.

He wondered at the pulsing light that always enveloped her, though now it burned with a touch of darkness that proclaimed her one of his kind. Adara on the other hand, loved the rainbow of colors that now coursed around him, even if his aura was a few shades darker than her pulsing brightness.

"I can feel you staring at me," she said as she continued to type, a smile on her mouth. He watched her lips purse and a sudden image of her in the bedroom overwhelmed him.

Adara suddenly stopped typing and looked up at him, her eyes dark as she smiled s.e.xily at him. Her conversion to his kind had been surprisingly simple. It had taken only one deep exchange of blood, draining her body and refilling it with his essence. Even John had been harder to convert and Trey had done so at the Elders' request.

Adara clearly saw what Trey envisioned and she smiled. Adara's psychic gift had been enhanced by her new abilities as a vampire. And she liked to tease him by sending him projections of what they would do whenever he could grab a moment of peace with her.

She moved seductively towards the bedroom and he growled as she laughed and ran into the room. She had moved in with him in his house, where they could be a.s.sured of safety during the day. Adara's article had been an instant hit and apparently her agent wanted her to do a full-length book on being the 'bad girl'. Success and happiness abounded in their lives.

He found her lying naked in bed, a velvet scarf hiding her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and loins from his view. As he stood there looking down at her, he thanked G.o.d for blessing him with such happiness. He still took those needing justice into the afterlife, but no longer did he hunger for anyone save Adara.

"So when are we going to make a little vampire?" Adara asked with a grin.

"Oh, you won't be fertile until your body has been pleasured beyond thought," Trey said and smiled at the intrigued look on her face. "And it will be more than my duty to ready your luscious body." He grinned as he stripped out of his clothing. "It will be my utmost pleasure."

The End.

The Dark One.

by Goldie McBride.

Chapter One.

The tour guide had touted it as one of the most haunted places in western Europe. Samantha Lancaster felt a delightful shiver skate down her spine as she studied the ancient chateaux. Her mother would've loved it.

A wave of loss washed over her at the thought. Resolutely, she dismissed it. The two of them had planned the trip together. She was determined she was going to enjoy it to the fullest for both of them. She knew in her heart that her mother would've wanted it that way. Her mother had spent most of her adult life yearning to visit Europe, to track down family roots, if possible, but more importantly, to visit every reputedly haunted site on the continent.

The Chateaux du Beauchamp had topped her list.

A sense of excitement replaced her melancholy as she studied the stone building in the fading light almost with a sense of awe. It never failed to amaze her that people had managed to build such masterpieces of architecture centuries ago with the most primitive of tools.

The closing of a door drew her attention from her study of the gargoyles that guarded the chateaux's roof top. She turned to look toward the front door of the chateaux. A young man, dressed in what looked to be authentic late medieval clothing, was striding rapidly toward her. He stopped beside the car and Samantha rolled her window down, looking up at him questioningly as he said something to her and gestured toward the side of the building. She hadn't a clue of what he'd said, but the language and accent sent a thrill of pleasure through her. She hadn't been in France a full day and she still wasn't used to finding herself in a world where no one spoke her language. She'd found she didn't particularly care, though. She loved the French tongue. They could say s.h.i.t and it still sounded beautiful.

"I'm sorry," she said apologetically. "I don't speak French." She'd studied French in high school, but that had been almost ten years ago. She hadn't used it since she graduated and she didn't remember enough to do her much good.

"American?"

She nodded.

He pointed to the narrow driveway that wound around toward the back of the chateaux. "You must leave the automobile in back. I will take your luggage, if you like."

Samantha smiled at him gratefully and got out so that he could reach the luggage she'd piled in the backseat. He grunted as he unloaded it, straining much as she had when she'd loaded the suitcases in.

Packing light wasn't her forte'. She hadn't been tempted to change her ways when she was traveling all the way to Europe.

Finally, he had all of the bags out and stacked. "I see you brought everything," he commented.

She supposed she should have been insulted, but she couldn't help but laugh. "Believe it or not, I probably missed a few things."

Climbing back into the rental car, she started it up again and pulled around to the back of the chateaux. A gravel parking area had been added just beyond the cobble stone courtyard that stretched from the back of the chateaux to what must have once been the stables. She pulled the tiny car into a s.p.a.ce between a sports car and another compact like the one she was driving and got out.

The chateaux was almost as beautiful from the back as it was from the front, she decided appreciatively. Glancing around at the outbuildings, she saw with a twinge of disappointment that it was going to be too late by the time she registered and settled in her room to do any exploring until the following day.

Heaving a sigh, she crossed the cobblestone courtyard and climbed a set of stone steps that led up onto a verandah. Several French doors let out onto the verandah where tables were scattered here and there for outdoor dining. The gla.s.s-paned doors undoubtedly led into the dining room, she decided, and turned toward the only wooden paneled door, more than half expecting to find it locked. It opened easily, however, onto a dim hallway lit only by a couple of wall sconces.

She ran smack into the man just inside the dim interior, a gentle collision that nevertheless plastered her full length against a hard, muscular body. Embarra.s.sed, she took a step back. "Excuse me," she muttered, barely glancing at the man as she rushed past him.

To her relief, she found that the corridor led to the front desk.

The man at the desk looked at her in surprise as she appeared out of the darkened corridor. "Sorry. I guess I was supposed to go around to the front?"

His brows rose. "Are you checking in, madam?"

Samantha blushed again, this time with a pique of annoyance. She wasn'

t married, wasn't wearing a ring, and she wasn't even twenty eight yet. Surely she deserved a ' mademoiselle'?

On the other hand, she'd had a mature look about her her entire life. She supposed it was her narrow face and the high cheek bones. If she'd had rounded cheeks, people might've thought she was younger.

She forced a smile. "Yes. .. uh ... Oui. I'm Samantha Lancaster. I was supposed to be here earlier today, but the flight was delayed and then I had trouble getting the rental car...."

She allowed her voice to drift off, looking around at the room she found herself in as he nodded and began thumbing through a file on the desk. Undoubtedly, the area had originally been part of the great room that seemed typical of most castles. Now, it was a guest lounge and office.

The walls were wainscotted in a dark, rich looking wood. Above the panels, the walls had been covered in what looked like silk, but was probably just wallpaper made to look like silk. She wondered if it was anything like the original or if they'd opted for the pale blue watered silk to lighten the area.

She jumped when she saw the man staring at her from across the room. Dressed in clothing somewhat similar to the 'bellhop' who'd first greeted her and taken her luggage, she a.s.sumed he must be staff, but if he was, he was brazen.

He was propped against a wooden column that doubled as a newel post for the stairs that wound upwards from the great room to the balcony above. His expression was a mixture of boredom and annoyance.

Dark and brooding, her mind supplied descriptively.

Despite his unwelcoming demeanor, the man had a 'pant' factor of ten on a scale of one to ten. His hair was black and undoubtedly long, swept back from his face and tied behind his head. His complexion was swarthy, his features almost cla.s.sically refined, but there was something about him that made her think of gypsies. Maybe the devil may care att.i.tude?

He was tall, lean and well shaped. She had a feeling he was tautly muscular, lean rather than merely slender, but she wasn't certain why ... until it occurred to her that it was the same man she'd run into as she was coming inside.

Smiling at him a little uncertainly, she returned her attention to the concierge as he called her name for the second time, blushing when she realized that neither man could be in any doubt that she'd gone into zen meditation when she caught sight of the hunk lounging against the wall and burning holes in her with his gaze.

"I have found you," the concierge announced, smiling faintly. "We were not certain that you would come when you did not arrive this morning, but we are slow now. We still have your room."

An uncomfortable jolt of panic and irritation went through Samantha at that calm p.r.o.nouncement. It hadn 't occurred to her, before, that she might've lost her reservation, but there didn't seem much point in dwelling on the fact that, if they'd given her room to someone else, she might've had to drive miles and miles to find somewhere to stay-it wasn't like the chateaux was close to a major city. She supposed it didn't matter now, but it was unpleasant to think she'd had such a close call through no fault of her own. "I did say that I might be delayed," she pointed out.

"No harm." He struck the bell on his desk. "I will have Antoine take your bags up for you and show you to your room."

Antoine, it transpired, was the young man who'd greeted her upon her arrival. He didn't look terribly enthusiastic about lugging her bags up, but hefted two of the three and started toward the stairs. Samantha did her best to ignore the dark man-whom she saw was still giving her that enigmatic examination-as they approached him where he stood by the stairs. Despite her determination, she found she simply couldn't resist glancing up at him as she came abreast of him.

He was taller than she'd realized. Something about his build had suggested that he was probably no more than medium in height. She saw now, though, that he must be at least six one or two. She was short and she was used to looking up at people, but even so, she noticed when she was around anyone taller than average.

She couldn't have failed to notice the man in any case, even if he hadn't shown so much interest in her.

There was something about him that went beyond his physical appearance that was purely magnetic.

He was, she discovered, looking directly at her when she glanced up. Their eyes met for what might've been a half a dozen heartbeats if Samantha's hadn't paused painfully in her chest, forcing the air from her lungs as if some unseen arm was squeezing her chest. His eyes were an eerie, pale blue that sent a jolt through her like an electric current.

With an effort, she looked away, stumbling slightly as she misjudged the height of the first stair.

Fortunately, she'd gripped the banister and caught herself. Ignoring both men now, her heart beating unpleasantly fast, Samantha concentrated on each step as she carefully made her way up to the second floor. She paused at the top, waiting for Antoine to take the lead and show her the way to her room.

The room he led her to made up for the disconcerting beginning she'd had. As she moved to the middle of the room and stared up at the ceiling, a sense of wonder filled her. The painting-a depiction of some mythological tale-- had deteriorated over the years, but it was still beautiful. Plaster moldings of intricate design framed the ceiling painting. The upper portion of the walls were covered in the same blue, watered silk as the great room below. The paneling below that and the molding had all been painted a creamy white, giving the room the intricate charm of a fancy gift box.

The stone mantel piece that surrounded the fireplace, supported by a pair of snarling griffins, was the crowning touch.

The room's furnishings, lavishly carved and made of some gleaming, well polished, dark wood, were almost certainly reproductions. Though they looked to be antiques from several different periods, she could hardly credit it.

On the other hand, antiques in Europe, because of their long history, weren't quite the same as American antiques. To them, the room might be furnished with nothing more than second hand castoffs.

The clatter of her suitcases. .h.i.tting the floor drew her attention away from her study at last and Samantha looked around in surprise to discover that she'd been so enthralled Antoine had already made the trip downstairs and back with the rest of her luggage. Digging in her purse, she produced a tip and thanked him.

Obviously pleased with the offering, he glanced around the room. "The Chateaux was occupied during the war, first by the Germans and later by the Allied forces. It survived the war with only minor damage. It was restored in the early 1900's and some modernization was added, but it remains today much as it did during the life time of the Count du Beauchamp, who was reputed to be a very powerful witch."

"Warlock?"

Antoine's brows rose, but he nodded.

"He died before the revolution, didn't he?"

"Oui et non. The count was defeated in a duel between himself and another powerful warlock. He was cursed, madam, and never seen again. The portrait in the corridor is believed to be a likeness of him.

"Many believe the Chateaux itself was enchanted, for it has survived much turmoil since his time and remained virtually unscathed, even by time. It has been vandalized and looted many times, but somehow the original furnishings always seem to find their way back to the chateaux."

Samantha thanked him again for the brief history lesson and smiled dismissively. Shrugging, he pointed out the room's amenities and left, closing the door behind him.

She'd read most of what he'd told her in the guide book, which was why her and her mother had chosen the Chateaux to begin with, but she was curious to know how much of it was 'invented' history, and how much was actually true. Dismissing it finally, she lugged a suitcase onto the bed, extracted her toiletries and a change of clothes and went into the tiny 'modern' bath that had been added...she supposed when the chateaux had been renovated into a bed and breakfast landmark---or maybe not.

Either they'd gone out of their way to find antique fixtures for the bath to make it as un.o.btrusive as possible, or the bath had been added at least a hundred years earlier.

It worked reasonably well, though, and that was all that really mattered. She'd rented the room for the atmosphere, and the thin hope she might actually encounter the ghost. If opulent accommodations had been the object, she could've stayed at one of the modern luxury hotels.

When she'd freshened up, she left the room, locking the door behind her. Instead of heading down to the dining room immediately, though, she went in search of the portrait Antoine had mentioned. She found it about halfway down the corridor. There was no missing it, for it was very nearly big enough to be a life sized portrait, and framed in an ornate picture frame that looked as if it must weigh every bit of a hundred pounds.

The corridor was dim and the portrait dark, but she noticed at once that the clothing the man wore was very similar to that adopted by the staff. He was seated in a chair of the Louis XV variety, as ornately carved and gilded as the picture frame, his posture casual rather than formal, one knee bent, the other leg sprawled casually. His arms were resting on the arms of the chair, but in one hand he held a cane topped by large crystal.

The lights in the room below brightened as she peered at the painting, illuminating the portrait, and she stepped back so that her shadow was no longer blocking her view.