Ohe was as bruised and battered as if I'd beaten her. I felt her pain, in spite of myself, as I bathed each spot in cool water. But she drew away, her eyes partly angry, but mostly afraid. "Don't touch me. I won't stay, do you hear me? You have to let me go."

With my simple glance, an icy one, she stilled. And I resumed pressing the cool cloth to the bruises.

"You will stay," I said.

"They'll worry about me in the village. They'll come looking." Her breasts strained against the bra she wore. A small purple welt formed on one of them, and I pressed the cloth gently over it, not taking my hand away, but keeping it there. Feeling her warmth seeping into my palm. And the heat of desire flaring up from within. She went utterly still, staring at my hand where it rested upon her breast. Her breaths coming shallow and quick.

"Be honest, Rachel. You didn't tell a soul where you were going." She blinked, and I knew I was right.

"You'll send a note... to Mary at the pub, telling her you've gone traveling and don't know when you'll return."

"I'll do no such thing." And she pulled free of me, leaping to her feet, snatching her blouse from the set tee and struggling into it.

"You will do exactly as I tell you, Rachel."

"Never." She surged toward the door, and I stood still, letting her make her foolish attempt. When she tugged, she found the entryway sealed tight.

Locked. She went still, her back to me, hand still on the door, and her head slowly lowered. Softly, she whispered, "What are you, Donovan O'Roark? And what are you going' to do with me?"

"I think you know what I am."

She turned very slowly, and I felt her gaze burning into me, searching my soul.

"No.

"Tisn't possible. Tis..." tis some elaborate hoax. "

"It's not only possible, but true. And I think you know it." Her eyes narrowed, a little of the fear leaving them. She came nearer, studying me so closely I felt exposed to my bones. But she stopped before she reached me.

"There are no such things as vampires," she whispered.

"And the tale of Donovan O'Roark is but a legend. Not real."

I stood very still, wondering why I felt so vulnerable, why I was waiting in secret dread of her reaction when she finally realized the truth.

"That's it, isn't it? This is your idea of a joke. You're but tryin' to teach me a lesson." One step, then another, and she stood very close.

"You're only trying to scare me, and for a time, you succeeded. But I've come to my senses now, Donovan. So why don't you simply tell me the truth rather than playing out this game and pretending you won't let me leave?"

Raising my hands, I let them rest gently on her shoulders.

"It is no game, Rachel. Tell me, why should I- let you go the way Dante let Laura Sullivan go a century past? So you can run screaming through the village the way she did? So you can lead a mob back here at the break of dawn to end my miserable life?" Closing my eyes very slowly, I whispered, "Perhaps if I were wise I'd do just that." But I instantly regretted that impulsive declaration. When I opened my eyes again I saw her frowning at me.

"I won't believe any of it. If you're a vampire, prove it to me."

Lowering my head, I shook it slowly.

"You have the talk of the villagers. The way they look at me when I pass...

as if the devil himself is in their midst. What more proof do you need, lass?" She shrugged her shoulders.

"Turn into a bat," she suggested. I looked up quickly, sensing the edgy humor creeping into her voice. God, did she really believe this was all a joke?

"I'm afraid that's not a skill I've mastered. I've heard that shape-shifting is possible to the truly ancient ones among us. But I'm only two centuries old."

"Barely old enough to drive," she mocked.

Closing my eyes, sighing deeply, I muttered, "Do you have a mirror, Rachel?"

"A mirror?"

I nodded, not looking at her. She hesitated. Then, "Look, d-don't you think you've carried this joke far enough? You knew I wouldn't leave as you told me, so you pulled that prank with the coffin, and your timing was perfect. Though how you could be sure I'd find you in this maze of crumbling stone--I mean, I could've been killed and it really wasn't all that amusing, and" -- "Get the mirror." I met her eyes, stared into them.

"Get the mirror, Rachel, and let's get this part of it over with, shall we?"

"You're a lunatic." She dug into her pocket.

"This isn't going to prove a thing. I swear, you've made your point. I learned my lesson, my snooping days are over, and I..." She drew a compact out of her pocket, fingered it slowly, and I knew her fear was coming back.

She fought it, but it was returning in spite of her skepticism. "Open it," I told her.

"And then you can go back to hating me the way the rest of them do."

"Don't be silly," she said.

"They don't even know you." She opened the compact.

"They've known me for two centuries," I said.

"I was one of them once." I took the mirror from her hands, bit my lip slightly.

"Look, Rachel. See me for the monster everyone else does." And I held the mirror before my face.

She drew a deep breath, and moved around beside me. And then she gasped, and backed away.

"It can't be... it can't be true." I only stood where I was, snapping the despicable mirror closed and tossing it to the set tee "Oh, it's true."

"And the legend? The tale of how you sat up in your own coffin and the priest tried..."

"Tried to kill me. My own father handed him the mallet and stake. My own mother called me a demon. And the girl I'd planned to marry screamed for my blood."

I heard her try to swallow, and the way she struggled to breathe.

"And the rest of it? The belief that you'd return one day to destroy the village and take revenge on the Sullivan women?" I lowered my head.

"Do you believe that's why I've come home, Rachel?"

She blinked, and looked up into my eyes.

"You said I couldn't leave.

What do you intend to do with me? "

"I don't know."

"Am I in danger here?"

"If I said no, would you believe me?"

Her throat convulsed.

"Let me leave, Donovan."

"You weren't so eager to leave me last night, Rachel. Or have you forgotten that kiss in your chamber?"

"That was before..."

"Before what? Before you knew the truth? That I'm a monster, bent on destruction and revenge? You know nothing about me, and yet you readily believe the worst."

For a moment she was silent. Then sighing, she said, "You're right.

I'm behaving just the way the others do. Judging you, when I swore I never would. Exactly the way you believe the worst about me. " And her words rocked me.

"That I'd betray you simply because my ancestors did. That if you let me go, I'd shout your secrets to the world." I lowered my head. She was right, that was exactly what I thought. "So we're at an impasse."

She huffed. Folded her arms across her chest.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"No." Then I met her eyes.

"Do you believe that?"

"I shouldn't, but for some reason I do." "Good." I literally sighed in relief.

"Don't celebrate, Donovan. Part of the reason I believe it is because I want to. I'm only too aware that I'm likely kidding myself."

"I won't hurt you, Rachel, you have my word on that." "Will you let me go?"

"I can't. Not ... yet."

"When?"

"I don't know." I pressed both hands to my head and turned in a slow circle.

"I have to think."

She stood still for a long moment. Then she blinked and looked at the ceiling.

"I'm having some trouble believing all this. I should be screaming or running for my life, or fainting, shouldn't I?"

"You already did those things."

Her mouth quirked very slightly, a tremulous hint of a smile.

"So how do most women react when you tell them you're a vampire?"

"I've never told another woman."

I didn't look at her when I said it. Instead I turned and walked toward the blazing fireplace, then lowered myself into a chair close to it, seeking the warmth.

"But if I had, I imagine they'd have reacted the same way you did. First with horror, then disbelief, and now..." I turned to look back at her, where she still stood.

"What are you feeling now, Rachel?"

She moved closer, taking the opposite chair.

"I'm mad as hell at you, for keeping me here against my will. As for the other..." Shaking her head quickly side to side, she shrugged.

"I'm not sure I know what to make of it. And there's one other thing I'm feeling, Donovan O'Roark."

A hint of panic tickled at my nape.

"What?"

"Hunger."

She watched him, still battling an eerie sense of having fallen into some dream world. Dizzy with the weight of his revelations, not sure she believed what her own eyes had shown her, she was dazzled. But not terrified--or not as much as she had been at first. He went away, leaving her to explore on her own, and she did, thumbing through the books in his bookcase, taking a closer look at the tapestries on his wall. She recalled last night. The kiss. The way his lips had trailed over her throat, and he'd tasted her skin there. The incredible sensations the touch of his mouth had evoked in her.

Sensations she'd never felt before. Just at a kiss. What had he been thinking? Was it the way it was depicted in fiction? Had he been battling some kind of mad bloodlust? Barely restraining himself from taking her life? And why wasn't she paralyzed with fear?

But she wasn't. She was curious now that the fear was beginning to ebb. And more. Still drawn to him as she'd always been. And only now beginning to realize that what she'd believed as a child. might very well be true. It was no longer impossible, was it? She'd never feared the shadowy figure she saw as her protector when she'd been a child. And she wasn't afraid of him now. Nervous, uncertain, angry, curious. But not afraid.

She must be losing her grip on reality, for she certainly should be.

He appeared then, a bowl of soup steaming in his hands, a glass of something red beside it. As her gaze fell on the scarlet liquid and widened, she heard him mutter, "Wine," and immediately felt foolish.

Of course it was wine. What else would it be?

He set the soup on a marble stand, then moved it closer to her chair.

She returned to her seat, eyeing the meal.

"It was the best I could do. The workers left a few supplies in the cupboards when they left this last time."

She tilted her head to one side.

"And... what about you?" He lowered his head.

"Don't ask questions if you aren't prepared for the answers, Rachel."

"I don't think anyone can be prepared for something like this. Were you?"

His head came up quickly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well... I mean, when you first... how did it happen to you?" "Why do you want to know?"

She shrugged.

"I ... I just do. You're holding me prisoner here, the least you can do is make conversation."

"It isn't conversation, it's interrogation."

She scowled at him.

"It's curiosity. Nothing more."

"It's a girl after a story. That paper, my secrets, as you said." He cleared his throat, staring at a spot just past her.

"However, maybe it's for the best that you still want to know. I believe I've come up with a solution to our mutual problem here. A compromise."

"Oh?" She sipped soup from her spoon, and dipped in for more. It was hot, tasty.

"A bargain, you mean? "

"Yes."

"Well, this is interesting. How can you make a bargain with me when you've already made it clear I'm stuck here whether I like it or not?"

"At least this way you'll get something in return." "What?"

"Everything you want to know, Rachel. Stay with me, give me time to make certain... arrangements. Do this, and I'll tell you my story.

And when I've done the things I need to do, I'll let you go. " She tilted her head to one side.

"What kinds of arrangements are you speaking of, Donovan?"

I shrugged, unable to take my eyes from hers, openly curious, the fear fading bit by bit.

"I'll need to change my name, establish a new identity, prepare a place for myself to live, a new place, where no one has seen me before."

Shaking her head slowly from side to side, she whispered, "But why?"

"Because you'll know all my secrets. And when you write your paper, others will know. They'll flock here in droves, some merely curious, others...

others intent on my destruction."

"I think you're overreacting. No one would even believe it was true..."

"The locals already believe it."

s She lowered her head.

"This isn't 1898, Donovan. The angry mobs you envision are in your imagination."

"No," I said softly.

"They're in my memory. I saw the best friend I'd ever had driven to his death, Rachel. I have no intention of ending my life that way. I won't."

She lifted her gaze to mine, probed my eyes.

"I don't suppose I blame you." Then she set her bowl aside, still half filled, as if she'd lost her appetite.

"You seem to have given this a lot of thought." "I have."

"I believe there's one thing you haven't considered, Donovan." I looked at her, waited. She rose and paced to the hearth. Bracing her arms on the mantel she stared into the flames. Their light bathed her face, gleamed in her eyes.

"You haven't credited me with an ounce of humanity. So it will come as a surprise to you to learn I am, indeed, human, since you seem to believe I'm the same sort of monster you keep calling yourself."

"I never implied" -- "I would never write a paper that would drive a man from his home, force him to give up his entire life. Why would I? For a degree?

"Tis hardly a fair exchange."

I searched her eyes, looking for the lie. But I didn't find it. "None of this is necessary, Donovan. I'll simply find another subject for my paper."

My eyes narrowed. I almost wanted to believe her. "Lord, but you think I'm lyin' to ya, don't you, Dono- van?" I had to look away.

"You might be lying," I said.

"Or you might be telling the truth. I can't be sure. And I'm afraid I can't risk taking you at your word."

"I've never broken my word in my life!"

She declared it with such fierceness it nearly shook my resolve. Lowering my head, unable to face her, I whispered, "I'm sorry."

She faced me, then glanced beyond me toward the door, and when I managed to look at her again, there were tears building in her eyes.

"You really are going to keep me here--like a prisoner--aren't you?"

"I have no choice, Rachel."

"The hell you don't, Donovan O'Roark. The hell you don't. You've been right about one thing, I'll grant you that. You truly are a monster.

And not because you're a vampire, but because you have no heart. No trust.

Nor a care for anyone besides yourself. Make your arrangements if you must.

An' when you're ready to set me free, come fetch me. "

Her anger washed over me like a tempest, and I actually staggered backward under its force. Then she whirled and stomped up the stairs, intent, I was certain, on finding her room, slamming its door and throwing the lock. And it would have been a very dramatic exit, too, if she hadn't paused, panting, halfway up the stone staircase.

Without looking back she said, "Kindly guide me back to my room, O'Roark. I've no desire to become lost in this mausoleum again." I nodded, and slowly mounted the stairs. When I got to her, I touched her elbow, cupped it in my hand, and she pulled away.

"I am the way I am because I have to be," I said slowly as we moved up the stairs.

"It's a matter of self-preservation. If Dante didn't teach me another thing, he taught me this. We're meant to be alone. To live alone. To trust no one. It's the only way we can survive. He forgot his own most important lessons. And he died because of it."

She'd stopped walking, and when I glanced down to see why, she was staring at me, still angry, but there was something else in her eyes as well.

"Alone," she whispered.

"An' just how long have you been living by those words, Donovan?"

"Ever since Dante died," I told her softly.

"A hundred years..."

I shrugged and started walking again, touching her elbow, propelling her upward.

"One gets used to it."

"No, I don't believe one does.

"Tis little wonder you've no idea how to behave toward another."

I turned at the head of the stairs, stopped before a large door.

"I think you'll like this room better, Rachel. I. I had it decorated myself. "

She blinked.

"For whom?"

I looked at her.

"I... for no one. It was a whim. A foolish whim." I pushed the door open, turned a knob affixed to the wall, and watched as the gaslights slowly came up. I'd connected the lines while she slept, ignited all the pilots, even cleaned the glass globes. I hadn't really expected her to leave as I'd ordered. But I hadn't expected her to find my resting place either.

She stepped past me into the room I'd had built for no imaginable reason. I remembered more than Dante's betrayal at the hands of a woman, and subsequent death. I also remembered my friend's happiness, the glow about him when he'd been in love, and believed himself loved in return. Even I had been hesitant to berate Dante or speak my doubts of Laura Sullivan's loyalty aloud. There must be no other happiness in the world like that of love.

And while I'd existed in utter solitude all this time, my mind had opportunity to wander. To wonder. To dream. What would it be like?

What if it happened for me?

And that fantastical dream had inspired me to build these rooms. The suite I'd created for a dream lover I would never know. The rooms I would give to her if she were real. The rooms we would share. Empty.

They stood empty and likely always would.

Except for Rachel. For a few nights, they'd be filled with a woman whose beauty was worthy of them.

"Lordy, but this is lovely..." She stepped inside, twirling in a slow circle to take in the sheer mauve fabric draped from the bed's canopy to form curtains. The carpet, a similar color and so thick her feet left imprints as she moved. The glass doors, that opened out onto a stone balcony fit for a princess. The elaborately hand-tooled woodwork, painted gold to match the trim on the velvety wallpaper, and the tiebacks for the mauve drapes.

Her smile came, despite the situation. And I secretly relished it. The rooms were wasted with no one to enjoy them. That they gave her pleasure pleased some secret part of me.

"There's more," I told her, taking her hand and drawing her toward one of two doors.

"The bath, here." She gasped at the sunken tub, the golden fixtures. Plump towels in deep green lined every rack, and deep rugs the same shade covered the floor. Bottles of expensive oils and fragrances lined the shelves.

"Who did you dream of entertaining here, Donovan? A queen?" My lover.

The one I would never know. But I didn't tell her that. "There's a sitting room as well," I said, going back to the bedroom and pushing open a second door to reveal a room lined with bookshelves, two window seats, a small pedestal table with a pair of cushioned chairs, and a set tee sofa, and rocker. A fireplace laid ready, but unlit, and gas lamps lined the stone walls.

But she wasn't looking at the room. She was looking at me.

"Why all this?" she whispered.

"Why go to all this trouble if you truly intended to live your life alone, Donovan O'Roark?"

I shook my head.

"As I said, a foolish whim."

"No, I don't think so." She came closer, tipping her head back, searching my eyes.

"You're lonely. And tired of being, I think."

"That has nothing to do with..." I lowered my eyes, my voice trailing off.

"With what? With why you're keeping me here?" She blinked and looked around her.

"You might believe that, Donovan, but I don't think it's true. I think you built this room with every intention of bringing someone here to fill it. To fill... you."

I turned fully now, glancing at the fireplace as if it fascinated me and trying not to tremble in fear at her words.

"Thinking that way will only confuse you, Rachel. I need no one. I share my life with no one. You're here because I cannot let you leave. But I will, the moment my arrangements are made and it's safe for me to do so. That's all. There is no more to it than that."

I felt her staring at my back.

"All right. If you say so." I turned to go. She stayed silent as I stepped into the hall and closed the door. And then I stood there, trembling. God, could she be right?