“Do you hear it?” he asked quietly.
“Yes.” She rubbed her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt.
“I have faith that everything will be all right,” he told her. “I might have been broken before, but I never lost my faith.”
She lifted her head and looked into his shadowed gaze. “I believe you.”
He cocked his head and gave her a teasing smile. “Before we head upstairs, shall we try to waltz for ninety seconds?”
Something light and buoyant bubbled up inside. She said, “Oh, why the hell not?”
Looking very tired now, but immensely pleased with himself, he clasped her in the correct position, at the precise distance, and she took his hand and placed her fingertips on his shoulder.
He said under his breath, “One-two-three, one-two-three. . . .”
When he nodded to her, she stepped backward.
EPILOGUE
In southern California, the sun was just setting over the ocean, throwing ribbons of spectacular light and color across the sky, as Melisande reached her Malibu residence. She climbed stiffly out of the black Lincoln town car while the driver opened the trunk and pulled out her luggage.
Melly was in a foul mood, and her leg and hip ached abominably. While her skiing trip had been fun, she knew she shouldn’t have taken that last slope, but the snow had been so damn perfect—what they called champagne powder—so even though she had been tiring, she had thought, what the hell. One last downhill trip for the road.
Famous last words.
She’d gone downhill, all right. She’d hit a submerged rock and tumbled down the slope on her ass, on her stomach, sprawled every which way but upright.
While she was lucky she hadn’t broken any bones, now everything hurt. Worst of all, her head ached like a son of a bitch. She was supposed to be on the set for her new movie in the morning, and she had lines to memorize.
Unlocking her front door, she told the driver, “Just set everything in here in the hall, thanks.”
“No problem.” The driver set her Louis Vuitton cases just inside the door and gave her a bright smile, eyes shining. “Ms. Aindris, I’m such a big fan of yours. Would you mind—could I have your autograph?”
Setting aside her own issues, she gave the nervous man a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”
Signing her name on the back of his business card, she tipped him generously and breathed a sigh of relief when he left and she could close the door on the rest of the world. As the last of the daylight faded, she limped through the downstairs and flipped on lights.
While she had a cell phone, she kept a landline too, and as she passed the answering machine, she punched the PLAY button.
Julian’s rough, deep voice filled the room. “Melly, pick up. I know you’re avoiding me . . . this is important, damn it.”
Her stomach lurched, and she almost picked up the phone before she remembered she wasn’t speaking to him, and besides, the message was an old one, about the stupid trade agreements, and Xavier had already handled it.
“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath.
She played the message again, just to hear the sound of his voice, that rough, low voice of his that would brush over her skin like crushed velvet. . . .
How many years had it been since they’d tangled together, wrapped in nothing but a sheet and their own passion?
How pathetic was she?
It was a good thing she couldn’t stand him anymore.
She jabbed the DELETE button and stopped the message replay, in case one of the other messages was him again.
Then she limped toward the liquor cabinet.
Vodka. Vodka vodka vodka.
Her doorbell rang. She almost ignored it, except she lived in a gated community, and there were only so many people who had access to her front doorstep.
With a sigh, she changed course and went to open the front door.
Justine stood outside, her beautiful face wreathed in a warm smile. “Hi, Melly. I hope you don’t mind me stopping by unannounced.”
“Justine, what on earth are you doing in Malibu?”
“I came down to LA to meet with your mother, and I just had to take a detour to say hi.” Justine opened her arms.
Melly stepped across the threshold to give her a hug.
When she would have pulled back, Justine’s grip turned to iron. “I’m truly sorry, my love,” Justine said in her ear. “Your mother and I have known each other for a long time, and I really enjoy you. But things haven’t gone so well for me lately, and you’re much too valuable a piece of leverage for me to ignore right now.”
Struggle as she might Melly couldn’t break Justine’s hold. The Vampyre was too old, too Powerful.
Taking her by the chin, Justine forced Melly to look into her gaze. Melly couldn’t look away.
The world went black.
Turn the page for a sneak peek at Thea Harrison’s next novel of the Elder Races
MIDNIGHT’S KISS
Coming soon from Berkley Sensation
“Come on, Melly, will you wake up already?” someone demanded. An impatient woman, with a familiar voice. “Hell’s bells, I didn’t realize I compelled you to go down that hard. Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.”
Melly had been having the strangest dream.
The first part had been awesome. She dreamed she was skiing, whipping along the downhill slope so fast she could hear the wind whistle in her ears. Gods, she loved that rush.
Something snagged her left ski, and she lost all control. The world flipped as she tumbled head over heels. Ow. Ow. Ow.
Then with the sneaky suddenness that dreams could sometimes have, the scene shifted and she landed in a sprawl in her Malibu living room. Through the open archway that led to her bedroom, she saw Julian lying in her bed.
The tangled sheets had fallen around his hips. She knew from memory every muscled bulge and hollow of his broad, scarred chest. Her heart started to pound as she stared at him. It’d been so long since they’d been together, so very long.
Could it be possible for skin to feel hungry? Her skin ached for the sensation of his rough, callused fingers.
His white flecked dark hair tousled, he watched her with wolflike eyes. “Pick up your damn phone will you?” he snapped.
He was such a killjoy. Furiously, she threw her phone at him, and he blurred to catch it. As she watched, Julian crushed the phone in one hand.
“Okay,” the director said. (Who was directing this film? Squinting, she tried to look past the bright set lights.) “We need just one more thing before we call it a wrap. Come on, Melly—give us one of your awesome screams. Wake up and don’t hold back, just let ’er rip.”
Obligingly, she tried to open her mouth to belt out a good one, but she still had her skiing helmet on with the chin guard, and somebody had added a mouthpiece to it that was actually kind of making it hard to breathe. She struggled, trying to get her hands free so she could tear off the mouthpiece, but somebody had put her in a straitjacket . . .
That couldn’t be right. They finished the film with the straitjacket years ago.
What the hell?
Her eyes popped open.
Someone, a Vampyre male, was carrying her over his shoulder, fireman style. Her head bobbed upside down. She had pinned her long, curling hair into a loose chignon, and it had slipped sideways over one ear. Strong, bobbing beams of light illuminated a rough stony hallway.
Not a hallway. A tunnel.
She was gagged, and her wrists and ankles tied.
Panic struck. She erupted into wild struggles.
She almost managed to flip out of the strange male’s hold, but swearing, he hoisted her into a more secure position and wrapped his arms around her thighs.
Someone bent over her and smacked her over the ear so hard her head rang. “Behave.”