Later, when she was snuggled under the covers in the big old four-poster bed that had belonged to her grandmother, it was hard to believe that there was anything to be afraid of. She had always felt safe within these walls. Sometimes she thought she could feel her grandmother's spirit nearby, watching out for her.
With that comforting thought in mind, Vicki closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, and in sleeping, began to dream.
She was walking through a dark wood. A brilliant silver moon hung low in the heavens, yet it did not penetrate the darkness beneath the trees. A voice warned her not to enter the woods but something deep within her compelled her to continue, and so she moved deeper and deeper into the forest. Deeper and deeper into the darkness. And then, far ahead, she saw a faint light that grew brighter as she moved toward it. As she drew closer, she saw that the light came from a single candle burning in the window of a small wooden cottage. The door opened of its own volition. She hesitated at the threshold, knowing that if she crossed it her life would be forever changed. And then she saw Battista. He was standing in front of an enormous fireplace. The flames rose behind him, casting eerie red and orange shadows on the walls and the floor, touching his long black hair with streaks of crimson. He held a goblet made of hammered gold in his hands. He offered it to her, but she backed away, afraid to look at the contents, afraid to look at him. Frightened now, she turned to leave, but the door was no longer open. She glanced over her shoulder, looking for another way out. But there was none.
She looked at Battista, an appeal for help rising in her throat, but one look at his face told her he would not help her. Eyes burning like fire, he tossed the goblet aside and moved toward her. His long black duster flared behind him like some ominous shadow.
She tried to run, but her legs refused to move. And then he was there, bending over her, his fangs bared. She cried out in fear as he lowered his head toward her neck, screamed in terror when she felt the sharp sting of his fangs at her throat…
Battista prowled the shadows around Victoria 's house, his preternatural senses probing the night. He had no proof that Dimitri Falco was in the area, or even in the country, but there was obviously a vampire hunting in the area and some deep, preternatural instinct told him that it was either Falco or another like him.
There were two types of vampires in the world: those who had shed all of their humanity and those who clung to an illusion of their old life. The first type no longer considered themselves to be a part of the human race. Seeing themselves as superior beings, they preyed on humans the way any predator preyed on the weak and the helpless, killing without mercy. The second type held on to the illusion of their old life, their old ways.
They took blood because there was no life without it, because the pain of abstaining was beyond bearing.
Dimitri Falco was the first type. Strong, powerful, arrogant. He had been made by Khira, who had been made by Alexi Kristov, an ancient vampire who had been one of the most powerful of their kind. Battista could hardly credit the fact that Khira had been destroyed. She had been defeated, not by another vampire, not by a hunter, but by a mortal woman. It was something worth remembering and only proved that no matter how old or how strong a vampire might be, they were all vulnerable. To the amusement of the Undead around the world, Edward Ramsey had been turned the night Khira was destroyed. The hunter had become the hunted.
Battista was about to find a place to settle down for the night when he heard Victoria scream.
He was in the house and at her bedside almost before the thought crossed his mind.
Vicki woke with the sound of her own cries ringing in her ears, screamed again as a dark shape materialized out of the shadows in a corner of her room.
"Do not be afraid," admonished a deep voice. "It is only me."
Hoping she was still dreaming, Vicki bolted upright, the blankets clutched to her chest.
"What are you doing in my bedroom?"
"I heard you scream."
She peered into the darkness. "You heard me? How?"
"I was outside."
Her panic ratcheted up a notch. "What were you doing outside my house at this time of night?" With a hand that trembled, she turned on the lamp on her bedside table.
"Perhaps I was just passing by."
"I don't believe you."
He shrugged, as if it didn't matter whether she believed him or not.
"I think you'd better leave."
"You screamed. What was it that frightened you? Did you see someone?"
She drew the covers up to her chin. "I had a bad dream, that's all." And you were in it, she thought, but didn't say so out loud.
He cocked his head to one side, his dark gaze intent upon her face, almost as if he was trying to read her mind. Fortunately, that was impossible.
"It must have been rather a frightening nightmare," he remarked. "To have you screaming so."
He looked like the stuff of nightmares, she thought, with his stark good looks and dark penetrating gaze. Add to that the fact that he wore a black shirt and pants beneath a long black duster and he was dressed for the part as well.
Her heart skipped a beat as he took a step toward the bed. She glanced wildly at the door, but Battista blocked that escape. Her gaze darted to the window, but that way out held dangers of its own, since her bedroom was on the second floor.
" Victoria, do not be afraid. I mean you no harm."
She wanted to believe him, but something in his tone, the heated look in his eyes, warned her that she would be wise to be afraid, though she had no idea what good that would do her. She had no defense against him. He was bigger than she was and certainly stronger.
She shook her head as he drew closer, her hand reaching for the crucifix she wore on a silver chain. Battista came to an abrupt halt as a ray of moonlight filtered through the window, its light seeming to illuminate the cross at her throat until it burned with a silver fire all its own.
"I did not mean to frighten you," he said, his gaze locked on the crucifix.
"You didn't." It was a lie, and a bold one.
He inclined his head. "May your faith keep you safe this night," he murmured.
And then, to her surprise, he turned and vanished out the window.
Chapter 6
In the morning, Vicki was certain she had imagined it all, or that it had been just another dream. Surely she had only imagined that Antonio Battista had been lurking in the shadowy corner of her bedroom last night. And only in a dream could he simply vanish out the window like Count Dracula!
Thinking of Dracula reminded her of her nightmare and she lifted a hand to her throat, then laughed self-consciously. Did she really expect to find two little puncture wounds in the side of her neck?