cold water onto his face.
He hadn’t intended what had just happened between them. And yet, he’d learned far more than he’d ever hoped to learn. He knew now that she wasn’t working for the Sisterhood of Athena—not really. She didn’t know anything about them, didn’t trust them any more than he did. He knew that she hadn’t stolen the ring. But she intended to find the ring and destroy it, and he knew why. She feared that ring—feared wearing it would be the death of her soul, and would result in her body being surrendered to an intruder.
And so it would.
And he’d learned that she loved him. Tempest loved him, and it hurt her to believe that he didn’t love her in return. That he would choose Elisabeta over her. Even if it meant her life.
Above all else, he’d learned something more vital than anything else. Tempest believed herself immune to invasion from Elisabeta in her dreams. But she was wrong. Elisabeta had been there. She’d heard, felt, experienced, all of it. He’d felt her there. Why she hadn’t come into full control, he didn’t know. It might be that she was too weak after so much time. Or it might be that she was waiting, listening, trying to learn the same things he was. Who had the ring and how to obtain it.
He could visit her as often as he liked. He could make love to them both, Tempest and Elisabeta, if only in dreams.
Was it wrong to visit Tempest’s body this way? Probably. But it wasn’t against her will—he knew her will, could sense it in her mind. But the will to make love to a vampire in her dreams might not be the same as it would be in her waking state.
Did he give a damn if what he was doing was right or not? Gods knew he’d done worse things in the centuries he’d been alive. And if this was the only way he could have her, so be it.
He knew he would return—night after night if he could manage it. He was like an addict craving a drug, and having found a font of it, endless and undefended, he couldn’t do less than take his fill.
Especially being fully aware just how little time remained. Four days. Four short nights until the Red Star of Destiny eclipsed Venus. And then they would both die.
Beyond the physical pleasure he would give, and eventually receive, as well—yes, why the hell not? Beyond those things, he would be able to keep himself fully apprised of Tempest’s progress and her interactions with the Athena group.
He returned to the bedroom, leaned over her and whispered in her ear, “Remember me only as a dream, Tempest. Remember and know you will dream of me again. From now on, beautiful Tempest, your nights, and your will, belong to me.”
“Don’t go,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me again.”
He leaned closer, pressed his mouth to hers, kissed her softly, deeply, and wished for more. And more. He had to leave. He had to find a victim, feed on hot, rich blood, before his will failed him and he took hers instead.
That would make him vulnerable to her. It would strengthen the already powerful bond and create a weakness in him. One that might make him falter in the things he needed to do.
And he could not falter. He had to move forward with his plan or all would be lost.
4
Stormy felt warm all over. She rolled onto her side to hug her pillow to her with a deep contented sigh and felt a smile tug at her lips. And then she came fully awake and the smile died. The sigh died. The warmth turned to a chill that shivered from her toes to her throat, where it caught and lodged.
Vlad had been there.
She sat up in the bed, scanning the darkness of the room around her. The balcony doors were closed, their curtains still, blocking out the night beyond them. She saw no one lurking in the shadows. The luminous red eyes of the digital clock beside the bed read 4:15. There were no other eyes glowing at her from the corners. She reached out, groping for the lamp just to be sure, found the switch after a couple of false starts, and turned it on.
Light flooded the bedroom. She saw no one. But she felt them: eyes on her, watching her. The sensation was so real, she spun around to look behind her, but no one was there. Even so, it felt as if someone was standing right behind her, breathing down her neck.
Shivering, hugging herself, she moved across the room to the French doors of the balcony and tested them. Locked. Swallowing the dryness in her throat, she went to the closet and closed her hand around the cool brass doorknob. She stiffened her spine and jerked it open.
But no one was lurking inside. Sighing in relief, she turned and moved to the bathroom, reaching in first to flip on the light, then scanning the room. She’d left the shower curtain open, but she glanced behind it anyway.
Nothing.
She left the bathroom light on when she retreated to the bedroom, though it was a stupid, childish thing to do. Dropping to her knees beside the bed, she gripped a handful of covers and lifted them so she could peer underneath. But there was nothing there except an expanse of the same carpet that covered the rest of the floor. And then she shook her head at her own foolishness. The very notion of Vlad hiding under a bed… It was ludicrous.
She was alone.
But he’d been there. She was sure of it. It hadn’t been just a dream. She ought to know, she thought. She’d been dreaming of him for sixteen years. She’d never felt like this upon waking. She felt relaxed; fulfilled. Sated.
Swallowing hard, she moved to the French doors again, unlocked and opened them, then stepped out onto the balcony and faced the darkness.
“Vlad? Where are you?”
The only answer was the gentle whisper of the wind moving through nearby trees, and sliding around the eaves and the railing.
“I know you’re out there, Vlad. And I know you want that damned ring. Don’t you try to put it on me, Vlad. Don’t do it. I’m warning you.”
There was still no answer. She stood there for a long time as bits of the dream that wasn’t a dream came back to her. She remembered the way he’d touched her, the way he’d made her body come alive, made it sing.
Don’t be stupid! It was me he was touching, me he wants, not you! Never you!
The voice, familiar and hated, shouted the words inside her mind, and Stormy gasped, gripped her head and closed her eyes. That was who she’d felt watching her. Elisabeta! She was getting stronger again. Rising up again.
She closed her eyes, chasing away the shivers of fear racing through her body. She had to focus on what he’d said, not on what he’d done.
He’d said he didn’t have the ring.
Had he been telling the truth? Maybe so. Because if he had it, why hadn’t he put it on her last night? Why wait?
Perhaps because he still hadn’t located the rite that went along with it. Maybe he was just waiting for the one missing piece, biding his time.
From now on, Tempest, your nights, and your will, belong to me.
She heard his passionate whisper, a command, not a request. She lifted her head, staring out at the night. “No part of me belongs to you, Vlad. Understand that. I’m not
