As she feared, Alesandro avoided her the next day, and the next. She took comfort in his promise not to send her away until she realized she should have made him promise that hewould not leave the Manor, that he would not hide away from her.

She knew he was afraid that he would lose control and hurt her, but it was a chance she was willing to take in order to be with him. She knew he had killed in the past, that he was capable of killing again, knew that being in his presence was dangerous. And yet, she had faith in him, in his ability to control the hunger that drove him. Hadn't he already proved that he was stronger than the darkness that dwelled within him?

On the third night, she put on her cloak and left the house. She wandered through the gardens, hoping he would seek her out. When he didn't, she called his name aloud and in her heart, hoping he would come to her, butto no avail.

Discouraged, she walked back to the house, pausing when she heard the sound of muted laughter. Curious, she followed the sound, smothered a gasp when she saw Sally and Robert sitting on a bench, locked in each other's arms. Sally's skirts were hiked up to her thighs. Her bodice was open. Even more shocking was the sight of Robert's hand cupping Sally's breast. For a moment, Analisa simply stood and watched, too stunned to move, as the couple kissed and fondled each other with complete abandon.

Unable to watch any longer, Analisa turned on her heel and ran back to the house.

"Ah, there you are," Mrs. Thornfield said as she entered the parlor, breathless. "Dinner is ready. Have you seen Sally? I asked her to take care of something for me an hour ago and haven't seen her since."

"I... oh... yes... I mean, no," Analisa stammered, and hurried into the dining room.

She sat there, picking at her food, vivid images of Sally and Robert running through her mind. It was wrong, terribly wrong, for Sally to behave so brazenly, and yet Analisa couldn't help feeling envious of the love they shared.

Leaving the table, she went into the library, hoping Alesandro might be there, but the room was dark and empty. Feeling lost and alone, she went into his bedchamberand closed the door. A fire burned inthe hearth, lit each night in case he should return. She warmed herself at the fire, longing to be in Alesandro's arms, to kiss him with abandon, the way Sally had kissed Robert, to touch Alesandro and have him touch her...

The thought made her shiver with longing, with a sense of fear that she was loath to admit. But it was there nevertheless, lurking deep within her, a primal fear of the unknown. The undead.

Feeling suddenly chilled in spite of the fire, she folded her arms over her breasts. How could she be afraid of the very man she claimed to love? But I am not a man. His words echoed in her mind.

She glanced around the room. His chamber here was also furnished with dark wood. A thick dark blue comforter covered the bed. There was a large armoire, a small dresser, a table, a chair. And over the bed, a large painting reminiscent of the one in Alesandro's chamber at Blackbriar Hall. This, too, was a powerfully haunting piece. Had Alesandro posed for it? Eyes narrowed, she took a step closer. He must have posed for it, she mused, for the resemblance was far too strong to be mere coincidence. Instead of looking into a pool, the man in this painting was standing in a dark room gazing into a mirror. Again, instead of seeing his own reflection, a black wolf stared back at the man, a wolf with hungry eyes and fangs stained with blood. Were the paintings symbolic? Did the wolf represent Alesandro's dark side?

With a shake of her head, she turned to stare at the fire. Where was he?

The warmth of the flames made her drowsy, and she climbed onto his bed and closed her eyes...

The wolf ran though the night, his senses filled with sights and sounds unknown to mortals. He reveled in the feel of the earth beneath his feet -  sensitive feet that felt every blade of grass, every rock, every twig. The wind filled his nostrils, carrying the scent of coming rain, trees, grass, the blood of another's kill. He ran on, caught up in the sheer joy of running, unfettered, through the dark.

A deer sprang from its hiding place, the scent of its fear arousing his instinct to give chase. He brought the animal down easily, stood over it, tongue lolling, fangs bared, blue eyes aflame with the lust for blood...

Analisa woke abruptly, a cry of panic erupting from her throat as she found herself staring up into the wolf's eyes.

" 'Lisa, what are you doing in here?"

She blinked, and blinked again. "Alesandro? Oh, Alesandro, please don't leave me again!" she cried, and threw her arms around his neck. "Please!"

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he drew her onto his lap. "Shh, 'Lisa, do not cry." The sight of her tears made him ache deep inside. His hand moved over her back. She was small and slender, as delicate as a flower.

She looked up at him through eyes swimming with tears. "I love you," she whispered.

" 'Lisa."

"Every time we..." She bit down on her lip, not knowing how to say what she wanted to tell him. "Every time we seem to get close, you go away from me."

He didn't deny it. How could he? But she was far too tempting for his peace of mind. Love and lust, hunger and desire, all warred within him, so closely interwoven it was difficult to separate one from the other.

"You do love me a little, don't you?" she asked shyly.

"You know I do."

"Tell me."

"I love you, Analisa Matthews. Never doubt it."

"Won't you kiss me, then?"

He stared at her, a silent battle raging within him as the man he had once been struggled with the monster he had become. But neither man nor monster could resist the invitation in her eyes, the temptation of her lips.

Muttering an oath, he cupped her head in one hand, his mouth slanting over hers. Warm. Sweet. Soft as velvet. He groaned low in his throat as he deepened the kiss, hoping on some deeper level that his intensity would frighten her,send her running from the room before it was too late. Instead, she snuggled against him, her arms lifting to twine around his neck. Her heat engulfed him, her scent intoxicated him, her lips... there were no words to describe their effect on him, and he drank from their sweetness like a man too long deprived of nourishment.

He kissed her until she was breathless and then, mustering all the self-control he possessed, he drew back, knowing that if he didn't stop now, he would never stop.

She stared at him, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes cloudy with passion. "Don't stop," she whispered, and leaning back, she drew him down until his body covered hers.

She moved beneath him and desire exploded through him. How long, he wondered, how long since he had made love to a woman?

He kissed her again, and yet again, his hands lightly caressing her, each touch filling him with both pleasure and guilt. How could he make love to her, defile her? How could he not?

And then, to his relief, the decision was no longer his to make. He could sense the dawn's approach, feel the promised heat of the rising sun, the sudden heaviness in his arms and legs.

One last kiss, and he drew back, sitting up.

She reached for him, but he stood, eluding her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her gaze searching his.

He didn't answer. Instead, he swung her into his arms and carried her swiftly through the house to her room.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "Alesandro, answer me!"

"It's almost dawn," he said, depositing her on her bed. "I must go."

She wanted to argue, to scream her frustration, but one look at his face stilled her voice. He looked haunted, tortured.

"Where do you spend your days?" she asked, unable to restrain her curiosity any longer.

"You know where."

"Is there some reason why you must... must sleep there?"

"No."

"Then why do you not stay here?"

"I have never rested near the presence of others, or trusted anyone to know where I take my rest."

"But... I know."

"You are the only one. I must go."

"Tomorrow night," she said. "I'll see you then?"

He nodded once, curtly, started to turn away, then bent down and kissed her gently, tenderly. "Until then, cara mia," he whispered, his voice thick, and he was gone.

She didn't awake until after two that afternoon, woke remembering the heat of Alesandro's lips on hers as the sun chased the moon from the sky. She sat up, smiling. He had said he loved her. Excitement rippled through her. Alesandro loved her!

A moment later, there was a knock at her door. "Are you awake, miss?"

"Yes, come in, Sally."

Analisa watched the maid as she opened the drapes, laid out a change of underwear. It was easy to see that Sally was deeply in love. Her eyes glowed; she smiled all the time now, was often lost in a world of her own.

Analisa grinned, wondering if her own eyes held the same glow.

"Will you be wanting breakfast this afternoon?"

"Yes."

"Anything in particular?"

"No. Tell Cook to surprise me. Sally, we need to talk."

"Is something wrong?"

"Mrs. Thornfield was looking for you last night."

"Oh?" Sally's voice was suddenly wary.

"Sally, please be careful. I should hate for you to be dismissed."

"I've done nothing wrong," the maid said defensively, but there was no mistaking the guilt in her eyes or the flush that stained her cheeks.

"I saw you, Sally. With Robert."

"You didn't tell Mrs. Thornfield?"

"No, but - "

"Please don't tell her." Sally dropped down on her knees beside the bed. "Please, miss. I've no place to go if she sends me away! I love Robert, and he loves me. Here, at the Manor, is the only place we can be together."

"Of course I shan't tell her," Analisa said. "But she already knows how you feel, and she's not blind."

"Oh, bless you, miss."

"You must be more careful."

Sally nodded. "You're right, I know. But we have so little time together."

"Perhaps I could speak to Lord Alesandro," Analisa suggested. "I'm sure he could arrange for the two of you to be together."

Tears filled the maid's eyes. "You'd do that for me? Oh, miss, I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. People in love should be together."

Sally grabbed Analisa's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you, miss." Rising, she blinked back her tears. "I'll go get your cocoa and tell Cook to prepare your breakfast."

Rising, Analisa washed her hands and face. Sally came back a few minutes later. Analisa sipped her cocoa while Sally brushed her hair and then helped her dress, and all the while Sally thanked her over and over again for not telling Mrs. Thornfield about her rendezvous with Robert the night before.

When she finished dressing, Analisa went downstairs to breakfast, leaving Sally to make the bed and tidy up the room.

Analisa loved the Manor. It was so much brighter, so much more cheery, than the Hall. The grounds outside the window were all green and gold.

She ate slowly, wishing Alesandro were there with her, that they could share the day together, go for a walk in the sun...

Overwhelmed by a sense of guilt for even wishing such a thing, she quickly put the thought from her mind. Giving up walks in the sun was a small sacrifice to make. She would give up much more just to be with Alesandro. He was the most fascinating man she had ever known, even though he had told her time and time again that he was not a man at all.

She spent an hour in the library with Mrs. Thornfield, who declared she had made such wonderful progress in reading and writing that there was nothing more she could teach her and suggested that Lord Alesandro might hire a tutor for her if she wished to pursue her education further. But Analisa had no interest in furthering her education. It was enough that she could read and write. When Mrs. Thornfield went to see to her other duties, Analisa perused the bookshelves. It was mind-boggling, the number of books Alesandro owned. Two libraries filled with books, and no two volumes the same. Of course, she mused, he'd had many, many years to collect them. As at Blackbriar, there were books here in many languages - medical books, history books, ancient texts and scrolls, books on art and music. And on vampires.

She plucked one of the books about vampires from the shelf, then made herself comfortable in his chair in front of the fireplace. She thumbed through the pages, reading a paragraph here, a paragraph there, fascinated by the various facts andmyths. Some people believed that crossroads were unhallowed ground and therefore travelers should not approach them at night, as they were meeting places for vampires, ghosts, witches, and other supernatural creatures like trolls and demons. In some parts of England, suicides were buried at the crossroads.

Reading on, she found a chapter on how to destroy a vampire. Driving a stake through the heart or cutting off the head were considered the most efficacious methods. Both thoughts left her feeling slightly sick to her stomach, especially when she imagined such a thing happening to Alesandro. Fire was another option, as was immersing the vampire in water. She frowned at that. Alesandro bathed, didn't he?

Another chapter gave opinions on how one became a vampire, such as being born the seventh son of a seventh son, or being born on a holy day or when there was a new moon, though why that should cause one to become a vampire was beyond her comprehension. Being a werewolf, practicing witchcraft, eating a sheep killed by a wolf, or committing suicide could lead to becoming a vampire. It was also believed that a person might turn into a vampire if he died by drowning, or if he was killed by a vampire, or if a cat jumped over his grave, or a candle was passed over his corpse.

Analisa shook her head. Did anyone really believe such things?

She turned one page after another, pausing when she came to a section on the supernatural powers of vampires. Could Alesandro do all these things? She knew he was capable of transporting her from one place to another in the blink of an eye, but could he turn into mist? Control the elements? Transform himself into a bat? Or a wolf?

She frowned, remembering the black wolf that had run alongside the carriage when she arrived at Blackbriar, the wolves in the paintings in Alesandro's bed-chamber here and at Blackbriar. She had heard the howling of a wolf late at night from time to time. Could that have been he? Perhaps tonight she would ask him.

On another page, she found several drawings of what vampires were supposed to look like. They were depicted as hideous creatures, with sunken eyes, enormous fangs, long fingernails, hairy hands, and pointed ears.

Distressed by the sight, she closed the book and set it aside. Alesandro was not like that. He wasn't the spawn of the devil. He wasn't a ruthless killer... and yet she couldn't shut out the memory of his voice, or his words, the night he had told her what he was.

" I am a vampire, Analisa. Much of what people say of my kind is untrue. What is true is that I must have blood to survive. I cannot bear the light of the sun, and I am vulnerable during the hours of daylight. I am constantly at war with what I am, constantly struggling to survive. We are predators, hunters. Killers."

Feeling suddenly chilled, she went outside and stood in the sun, letting its warmth seep into her bones. How beautiful the sun was! How good it felt on her skin. She walked along the narrow path that wove through the gardens. It was hard to imagine there was evil or ugliness in the world on such a bright and beautiful day. Poor Alesandro! To think he had not seen the sun or felt its touch in over four hundred years. She sat down on a bench, the same bench Sally had shared with Robert, and stared into the distance, thinking of all the things Alesandro could no longer enjoy, like watching a flower lift its face to the sun, the taste of rich, warm cocoa on a cold night, bread fresh from the oven, one of Cook's airy soufflis, a glass of cold buttermilk. Poor Alesandro. How had he survived so long? How had he endured the loneliness?

She sat there for a long time, thinking of him, of the night he had first come to the hospital. For all that he considered himself to be a monster, if not for him she would be dead now. She knew he had killed in the past, but she could not hold him guilty. She couldn't imagine how horrible it must have been for him to accept what he had become, nor could she imagine the awful hunger that drove him. But, as bad as it was, he had overcome it, learned to control it, even learned how to use his powers to help others. She considered the blood he took from her a small price to pay for regaining her life.

Her Alesandro. He was a hero in her eyes. Not like that fiend, Rodrigo, who killed for the love of it.

A sudden chill made her realize the sun was going down. It would soon be time for dinner. And then Alesandro would come to her. Alesandro.

Rising, she hurried back to the house, eager to see him again.