Byron brought one of her hands to his mouth and kissed it. “No,” he said. “Not now you don’t. But perhaps you will again.”
Before Jane could contradict him he kissed her. His mouth closed over hers, his lips full and warm. Jane struggled only a moment before giving in. She kissed him back, hating herself but unable to resist. His arms slipped around her, pulling her close so that their bodies were pressed tightly together. Almost immediately Jane was overcome with a tingling that flowed over her skin, causing her to shudder. She’d forgotten what it was like to kiss one of her own kind.
The sensation grew more intense the longer they kissed. Jane felt her thoughts begin to join with Byron’s. She knew that soon she would lose all control as her connection with him intensified. She had only moments left.
Summoning what was left of her will, she pulled away from him. The separation was painful, and she gasped. It was as if she’d been torn away from a dream and plunged into reality. She was suddenly intensely cold, and put her arms around herself in what she already knew was a futile attempt at getting warm.
“I can’t,” she whispered as Byron reached for her.
“You can,” he said. His voice was seductive, and for a moment she felt herself slipping back into the dream state.
“No,” she said, shaking her head vigorously. “Please, just go.”
She was surprised when Byron turned and walked to the door. He opened it and turned back to look at her. “Who listens once will listen twice,” he said softly. “Her heart, be sure, is not of ice, and one refusal no rebuff.” Then he was gone, and Jane was alone in her living room.
“Damn you,” she said to the door.
She turned the lights off and went upstairs. In her bedroom Tom was curled up on her pillow. He opened one eye and gave her a brief look before returning to sleep. Jane sat on the bed and began to pet him, and he purred softly.
She still felt the effects of Byron’s kiss. She knew it would last for some time, probably until she fed again. She resented the fact that she would have to feed earlier than usual. But she could go another day or so before the need became too great. Had she remained in his arms much longer the need would have been nearly impossible to resist.
As it was, her thoughts were all jumbled together. And some were Byron’s. She saw faces she’d never seen, smelled scents foreign to her, felt longing and fear and lust that were not her own. It was as if she’d been drugged.
She undressed and lay down, slipping beneath the sheets and trying to sleep. But her body burned. She was unbearably hot. Kicking the quilt and sheets away, she tried to cool her overheated skin. Sweat beaded her forehead and dampened her nightgown. Tearing at the garment with trembling fingers, she drew it over her head and dropped it to the floor. The air around her was thick, and her breathing became labored.
Invisible hands caressed her, running over her arms and down her sides, cupping her exposed breasts. Lips teased at her neck, her fingertips, her nipples. To whom did they belong? There were two mouths, three, a dozen. She searched the darkness for faces but saw nothing.
These are his memories, Jane thought. She tried to banish them, to regain control over her mind, but it was like fighting off the effects of too much wine. Instead she became more confused. The bed seemed filled with bodies, with arms and legs intertwining. Hot breath licked at her while she tried to turn her head away.
“No!” she cried.
Cold descended. She was alone, standing on the shore of a wide, dark lake. Above her the sky was filled with glittering diamonds and the moon, impossibly full, was reflected in the water at her feet. She was naked. Then arms were around her and she felt the slow beat of another’s heart against her back.
“It’s time for your rebirth,” Byron’s voice said in her ear. “Come with me.”
He took her hand and stepped into the water. His body, white in the moonlight, was like marble. His eyes burned like the stars. Jane looked into them as she allowed him to lead her into the lake. The water rose around her. Then Byron was lifting her, and she floated on the water, looking up into the eyes of the heavens.
Byron too was floating, his body beneath Jane’s and her head resting on his chest. He held her in his arms like a child as he kicked his legs, pushing them into deeper water. As he swam he hummed a lullaby, the words of which Jane heard in her mind but which flitted away as soon as she tried to capture them.
They seemed to swim for hours, or maybe days. Then they came to a stop and floated on the still surface of the lake. Byron took Jane’s wrists in his hands and crossed them over her chest, laying his arms atop hers.
“I feel as if I’m dreaming,” Jane murmured.
Byron released her, his arms moving to her shoulders. He caressed her gently. “The great art of life is sensation,” he said. “To feel that we exist, even in pain.” His hands gripped her more tightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and Jane was pushed beneath the water.
She struggled for breath. Through the water she could see the stars. They broke apart, swarming like bees, as she thrashed around. Her ears rang with the sounds of her muffled screams. But Byron’s hands, like iron weights, held her down.
Water poured into her mouth, filling her throat. She gasped and found no air. Her eyes grew cloudy, and overhead the stars winked out one by one, until all was black.
She woke up choking. She was in Byron’s bedroom, cradled in his arms. He was stroking her hair and once again humming the tuneless lullaby. Jane turned and spat onto the floor, clearing her mouth.
“It’s all right,” Byron said. “It’s all right now.”
Outside, the storm was still raging. The stars were gone, and the moon was black. Although still naked, Jane was dry, as if she’d never been in the lake, never floated beneath the sky, never been pushed beneath the water.
“What did you do?” Jane asked. She felt her heart beating, but something was different. She was changed somehow.
“You’ve been reborn,” said Byron. “I took your life, then gave it back to you.” He showed her his wrist. Blood flowed from a fresh wound. Jane realized with horror that the liquid in her mouth was not water. She ran her tongue over her teeth and found them thick with the taste of meat and iron.
“No,” she said, trying to push herself away from Byron. “Let me go!”
Byron pulled her back, holding her tightly against his chest. “It’s too late,” he said. “It’s done.”
“You drowned me!” Jane cried, beating at him with her fists.
“A dream,” said Byron. “Of your rebirth. We all experience it differently. But you have never left this bed.”
“What have you done?” Jane sobbed. “What have you done to me?”
The alarm woke her up. Tom was sitting beside her, staring down at her expectantly. He meowed once.
Jane sat up. Already the nightmare was fading. But she remembered enough of it. It hadn’t come to her in a very long time. Now, she feared, it would return again and again. Byron’s kiss had given new life to it.
“Damn him,” she said to Tom. “Damn him for coming back.”
Chapter 13
To be a writer, she thought, must be the most wonderful thing in the world, if for no other reason than that one’s characters would have to do exactly as they were told. Unlike flesh-and-blood men, they were not likely to behave in contrary ways, forever-leaving one perplexed and unsettled, never-knowing quite what they were thinking.
“I’ve got good news.”
It took a moment for Jane to recognize Kelly’s voice. “Should I sit down?” she asked.
“You’ll just jump back up again. We got a blurb from Margot Aldridge.”
Jane couldn’t suppress a squeal of joy. “The Beauty of Lies Margot Aldridge?” she said.