Private Demon

Unlike so many others, this night he would not spend strangled by his solitude.

She walked down the wooden steps from the edge of her property to the cluster of large stones that formed a natural ridge bisecting the two hundred yards of shore in front of her home. As always, she went to the rocks and perched on the largest and flattest of them, and looked out at the water.

It was her favorite place, which was why he came out here each night on the pretense of needing time to think, in order to watch it.

Jaus had never set out to fall in love. Human women provided nourishment and sex, but their short life spans made anything else inadvisable. Jaus had never been expected to love, either; he had been born and raised to manhood in a time when men did not feel such emotions, not toward their wives or even their mistresses.

Men loved their horses, their swords, and their liege lords, usually in that order.

Many men of his class married women. It was an expected duty, performed to obtain property, produce heirs, and secure family fortunes. His contemporaries regularly took mistresses to give their delicate lady wives relief from the physical demands of holy matrimony, and to enjoy sex with a ripe, willing woman. Women had never tempted Jaus beyond a few hours of sweaty pleasure, so he did not regret forsaking them when he took his vows and became a knight of the Temple.

Would she think differently of me if she knew I had been a priest for fifteen years? An inane question, that; he thought of her as his lady, but suspected she rarely thought of him, if at all. Would she share my life if I find some way to save hers?

He had a terrible suspicion that he was not above using her gratitude, or blackmailing her with it, to get what he wanted.

Jaus climbed over the short seawall and made his way toward the rocks. Despite all his caution and longings and endless inner debates, this was when he felt most ridiculous. He had come to this country to acquire power. A man in his position had thousands of responsibilities, and no time to indulge such useless pursuits. He also knew nothing would come of going to the rock and speaking to his lady. He never dared to do anything else.

Still, he went to her, as helpless as a storm-tossed ship driven to shoals.

"Good evening, Miss Shaw," he said as soon as she noticed him approaching.

"Mr. Jaus." She turned and smiled. "How have you been?"

"Very well, thank you."

Their conversations rarely varied from the polite, impersonal greetings exchanged by passing acquaintances. Before and after such meetings, Jaus often thought of many clever remarks he might have made, but whenever he spoke to Jema, none of them would come out of his mouth.

It would help if she gave him permission to use her given name, but she never had, and the rigid manners he had been taught as a boy prevented him from using it without her leave. Thus they had remained Mr. Jaus and Miss Shaw. It made Valentin want to dash his own head against the rocks. No, that was not precisely true. It made him want to scoop her into his arms and carry her back to his house.

There he would show her how he had been for the last twelve years. There he would teach her exactly how he wished her to say his name.

His eyes studied Jema's calm, thin face. She had not the faintest idea of what he wanted to do to her, or how often he had fantasized about it. How much he wanted to peel the dull clothes she wore from her body and worship it with his hands and mouth. How without a qualm he would hand over his jardin for a single night in which he could kiss her, and touch her, and fuck her until dawn—

This need was turning him into a mindless fiend.

The shame Valentin felt over his lust for Jema did nothing to banish it. The thought of having her caused his fangs to slide out of the twin holes in his palate, fully extending, aching with need. He breathed in deeply, willing his cock not to do the same thing.

I am not an animal at the mercy of my needs. I am a man, an honorable man, and this is my lady. I will conduct myself accordingly.

"I think it might snow this weekend," Jema said, tilting her head back to look at the sky. "Then we'll be stuck indoors until April."

Here he was, literally shaking with desire for her, and she was speaking of the weather. She was brilliant and charming and entirely engaging, and he loved her with a passion that left him speechless, but she was also, as the American saying went, totally clueless.

"Are you ready for winter?" she was asking.

Jaus hated the long, cold months, because they deprived him of these chance encounters. So did her disease, which was draining the life out of her year by year with slow, relentless cruelty. The reminder of the little time they had left together made his fangs retreat, but for the first time, hope would not permit him to bid her good night. "Would you care to walk with me?"

She gave him a short, startled glance, and then suddenly jumped down from the rock. "Lead the way."

Jaus did not lead her, and in fact slowed his steps so as not to hurry her. His first walk with Jema was going to last as long as he could make it.

Why did I not ask her to do this before tonight? He sensed the scant inches that separated them, a bare handbreadth of air. His insides clenched. Before tonight I had more sense than to draw this close to her.

Jaus had never dared touch his lady. His curse, and his talent, made it too dangerous.

"I love the lake at night," Jema said. "It's so quiet, and I can always sleep a little better after I've walked down to look at the water. It's hypnotic or something." She glanced at him. "Is that why you come down here, or are you more into the exercise?"

He came down for her, of course. He couldn't have her, and he refused to touch her, but that didn't stop him from seizing a few minutes in her company.

I am a fool, Jaus thought as he watched her hips move as she walked, and imagined them welded beneath his, framed in the blue satin of his bed linens. His fingers digging into the slight curves as he sank into her. A fool, and a masochist.

She was waiting for him to answer.

"It is very tranquil," Jaus said. "I find it relaxes me." This close to her, he could see new changes that were not evident from a distance, and he focused on them instead of the siren song of her hips. "Are you feeling well? You seem more slender than the last time we met."

"Skinny, you mean." Jema made an adorable face. "My appetite has been terrible. I never feel like eating anything. I just force it down because I know I have to."

He could sympathize, but he doubted she would appreciate his dietary difficulties. No, if she knew what he needed to live, it would send her screaming into the night.

She gave him the same swift scrutiny. "You, on the other hand, never change. You always look like you just came from the gym."

The gym. Jaus groped for the meaning of the word. Some sort of sports facility? Was his hair disordered? Were his clothes wrinkled? "I am not certain of your meaning."

"You're so fit." She gestured toward one of his arms, the forearm exposed by his sleeve, which he had rolled up to make his appearance more casual, more human. "You must work out every day to keep in such good shape."

Now he understood the reference. "I am fortunate to have a… happy metabolism." He could smell blood on her breath when she spoke, and it was terribly distracting. Had she cut her lip, or had a tooth pulled? No such matter had been reported to him. "I wonder if I might impose upon you."

"Impose?" She stopped and turned to him, her expression openly curious.

It reminded him of the first time he had seen Jema. Now, standing here and staring into her face—they were exactly the same height—Jaus wished he could go back in time to that moment. If he could, he would not have let her go. He would have abducted her, taken her out of the country that very day. Over the centuries he had reclaimed his family's vast holdings and influence in Austria; no one would challenge him there.

Fantasies of having Jema to himself had filled many of his lonely hours.

It would never happen. Jaus's obsessive desire for Jema was too dangerous. Such primal, reckless lust was just the sort of thing that sent the Kyn into thrall. Wanting her to this degree made her automatically off-limits to him.

He would not risk killing the only woman he would ever love.

"Mr. Jaus?" Jema was saying. "Is something wrong?"

Her voice shook him out of his thoughts as a hard hand might drag him from slumber. "Forgive me; I was gathering sheep," he lied.

"Wool." At his blank look, she added, "The expression is 'woolgathering.'"

"Ah, yes." He had mastered her language but not its idioms. Yet another reminder of how different they were. "Miss Shaw, each year I hold a masque for my friends and business associates. I would like it very much if you were to attend."

"A masque." She sounded puzzled. "Is that like a Mardi Gras thing?"

"A little, perhaps." He inclined his head. "One wears a costume and dances to music. It is to be held on the night of October thirty-first."

"Oh, a Halloween party." She laughed, delighted. "I forgot it was so close." Her happiness abruptly ebbed. "Is it just for couples? I'm not seeing anyone, so I'd have to come alone."

He would have to go carefully now. "I, too, am presently unattached. Perhaps you would consent to having me serve as your escort as well as your host?"

"I guess." She sounded puzzled. "Are you sure? I mean, I've seen some of your girlfriends. They're all so beautiful." Girlfriends? She was speaking of the women Sacher procured for his nourishment and occasional entertainment. What excuse could he make?

"None of them are available."

"Okay. I might as well celebrate my last night in my twenties; I'll be thirty the next day." She gave him a wry look. "But you already know that."

Each year on November first, Jema's birthday, Jaus sent a bouquet of camellias he had raised himself to Shaw House. It was a long-standing tradition.

"Yes." He smiled. "I have been saving a special birthday gift for you. Perhaps you will like it better than the flowers."