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  She had a bedroom voice.

  “My car broke down out here in front. It seems to be out of oil.”

  He continued to look at her, unaware of his hungry expression.

  She continued, unphased by him. “I heard the engine knocking earlier today, but thought I’d make it through my errands. I had planned to stop and have the oil changed, but then this happened before I could.”

  She stopped talking, biting her lip and searching him for some sort of response. “I was . . . um . . . wondering if you could—” she stopped again, smiling as if to say, Yeah, I’m an idiot! Please excuse me while I run off and die of embarrassment.

  On the contrary, Roman felt the foolish one for not responding. But her voice sang like an angel in his ears. He couldn’t believe this blessed creature stood shining like a star on his doorstep.

  A gentle breeze lifted her hair a little, sending sweet herbal smells of lavender and yarrow in his direction. “Pardon me, miss, come in and have a seat,” he offered, opening the door wider to allow her to come through.

  She smelled . . . familiar.

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly intrude,” she insisted. “I just need some oil for my Nissan and wondered if, by chance, you had any that I could purchase from you.”

  She reached for the bag that hung from her shoulder and unzipped it.

  “I have money to give you,” she offered, “and I happened to notice all the vehicles parked outside.” She started to fumble around in her purse, apparently unable to locate the money. “So, naturally, I figured maybe you were a mechanic or something like that and could save me.” She flashed a smile at him, then continued to search her bag.

  “You don’t need to pay me. I will give you the oil. It’s no problem.” he said, flatly.

  “What?” she asked without looking up. Blood rushed to her beautiful cheeks. “I couldn’t possibly—” she started.

  “Please. Come in.”

  She was not 100% at ease with the handsome stranger. None of her words came out right and she was flustered. She was never like this with men! Usually, she was the bitchy type having to constantly fend off their advances. What the hell was her problem?

  Finally, after retrieving a small leather wallet, she took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before lifting her head to meet Roman’s gaze.

  He took his time studying her features, not hiding the fact that he enjoyed looking at her. The fine definition of her cheeks and her plump, pouting lips enticed him. Her eyes held a recognizable innocence, and moving his eyes down a little, he noted the rounded hips lying beneath the thin material of the soft, purple chiffon dress she wore.

  His heart began to thump harder in his chest. The curve in her tiny waist was fantastic and her flesh was supple and soft.

  Maybe she would prove to be a good visitor, if only he could convince her to stay a while.

  “Come on in. Would you like some tea?”

  “Well, I don’t know.” She was trembling slightly.

  “Oh, no need to be afraid, my lady.” He reached out to take her hand and lead her inside the warm shelter. She stood in the foyer for a moment before advancing into the living room area. The fireplace burned with a comforting red glow against the dark backdrop of the chimney.

  She looked around the room, studying the antique furnishings. She took in another deep, refreshing breath and sighed to show her admiration of the house. It was so warm; not just from the fireplace, but the whole feel of the décor. It all intrigued her enough to make her forget she was not at home.

  Roman left her to retreat to the kitchen for tea.

  “What do you take in your tea?” he called from halfway down the hall.

  No answer.

  He stopped at her silence and walked backwards toward the living room, peering through the doorway. “Hello?” he said, smiling.

  She spun around to face him. “I’m sorry?”

  “I asked you what you took in your tea,” he said.

  She stood with her back to him, admiring his wall of gothic art, including Henry Fuseli’s The Nightmare, William Blakes’ Hecate and The Blasphemer, Edvard Munch’s Scream, and Gustav Klimt’s Love—Roman’s personal favorite.

  He moved next to her. “You like art?”

  “Yes, I do. I don’t know much about it, really, but I love to admire it.” She smiled, coyly.

  He returned the smile. “I think this one might be my favorite of all time,” he said, nodding toward the Klimt. “I’d be happy to give you the story surrounding that one someday, if you’d like.” He winked at her.

  She blushed. She was easy to fluster; he loved it.

  “I thought you were getting tea?” she said, moving her eyes back to the painting.

  “I was, but you didn’t answer me.”

  “Oh,” she said, “I’m sorry.” She giggled—a soft, sexy sound. “If it’s black tea, then milk and sugar, please.”

  “What if it’s green tea?” he countered.

  “Just honey,” she said, flashing that brilliant smile again.

  “Aaannnd, if I decide to go with straight herbal tea?” he played.

  She laughed—nice and hearty. “Honey.”

  “Got it.”

  Roman left the room again, returning seconds later with two steaming cups of tea. He placed them down on the glass coffee table in front of her.

  She drew in her legs, gracefully, for him to pass.

  “You ended up with green; hope that’s okay?”

  “Definitely. Thank you.”

  He took a seat next to her on the black leather sofa. “So, what’s your name?” he asked, blowing on his tea.

  “Oh yes, forgive me. It is—” a faint sound brought her vision to the staircase. She studied the darkness, thinking she could make out the outline of a person. “Excuse me; I didn’t know you had company. You’re very—”

  “Married? No, I’m not,” he said, hurriedly, looking up the staircase, probing mentally for movement. “Why would you ask?”

  Deciding it was nothing, he crossed his legs and slumped forward, resting his elbow in his knee and his chin in his hand. He studied the woman sitting on his couch. She had the most peculiar expression.

  “Don’t you like the tea?” he asked.

  “I do, but I didn’t ask if you were married,” she insisted, humored by his clowning.

  Suddenly sensing Devendra’s close presence, he jumped up off the couch, interrupting her in mid-sip. “I’ll be right back. I need more honey.”

  He left hurriedly, racing up the steps to his bedroom.

  Inside, he crept around the bed, looking for her. “Devendra?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she whispered back.

  “What are you doing here? You left so abruptly; I’m very surprised to see you!”

  She came out from his closet. “I know,” she admitted. “I just had to see her. I’ll be leaving again after you and I have had the chance to talk about this.”

  “Talk about what? You leaving me like you did? Do you have any idea what you put me through?” He leaned against the cedar dresser, folding his arms in front of him.

  “Roman,” she said, quietly, advancing slowly toward him, “I’m sorry. I just thought that—”

  “Was it easy for you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Forget it.”

  Uncomfortable silence passed between them. Devendra’s heart hurt.

  “Well,” he said, breaking the silence. “you scared my visitor half to death. I think she wants to leave now. Thank you.”

  “It’s her, Roman. You know that don’t you?” Devendra asked, carefully.

  He looked at her for a few moments before answering. “No, it can’t be.”

  “Roman, look into her soul, not with lust but with your vampyric ability; reach down and find her. She is right in front of you!”

  “I have to go. We’ll talk about this later,” he said, reaching over to open his door.

  He made his way back down th
e steps, and before walking into the living room, remembered to stop in the kitchen for honey.

  “Here we go,” he said, sitting next to her and adding honey to his already too-sweetened tea.

  She watched him. “I thought I saw someone upstairs,” she explained, in a hushed voice, attempting to hide their conversation from the possible eavesdropper. “I should go.” She peered upstairs again.

  Roman didn’t respond. Instead, he worked at hiding his anger at Devendra. He didn’t want her to think she had anything to do with his foul mood change.

  “May I trouble you for that oil, sir? I don’t want to keep you any longer.”

  “No trouble, please, stay a little longer. I haven’t seen anyone in quiet some time.”

  “What do you mean? Don’t you have any friends or relatives?”

  “Well, yes, friends, but no relatives.”

  She opened her mouth to comment but was interrupted. “I am Roman, Roman Demone,” he said, holding out his hand. She put her small, delicate hand in his. He kissed it tenderly.

  “Nice to meet you, Roman,” she said, taking in a deep breath and looking him square in the eyes, “Alethea. I’m Alethea Glaskill.”

  A few moments passed as they stared deeply into each other’s eyes.

  Alethea Glaskill.

  The name stood on the forefront of his brain like a gentle wave of relaxation, washing away his tension. His body accepted the serenity she offered.

  “May I remove my shoes, sir, my feet are killing me.”

  She held his gaze, but when she wanted to move away, she was entranced by his emotional hold. She couldn’t look away no matter how hard she tried. She couldn’t move. He soothed her like nothing she’d ever known before.

  “Of course. Please . . . call me Roman.”

  “Okay, Roman.” Again, the sound of footsteps upstairs. She nearly dropped her teacup with a start.

  “Are you all right, Alethea? That’s such a beautiful name,” he looked at her coyly. “And Glaskill . . . from what origin does such a perfect name stem?”

  “No, I don’t mind you saying so . . . are you absolutely sure nobody else is here? I keep hearing things upstairs.”

  “Nobody is here,” he said, nonchalantly. “It’s probably the cat.”

  “You have a cat?” Alethea asked. “I love cats.”

  “Yes, I have a white cat. Her name is Sake, after the Japanese rice wine.”

  “Beautiful.” She searched the steps, hoping the feline would make an appearance.

  “She’s quite the shy one, unfortunately. She doesn’t immediately take to strangers.”

  “Oh,” she said, disappointed. “Well, I really should get going.” She set down the empty tea cup, glancing at her watch. “I was supposed to meet a friend of mine hours ago. Can I have that oil, please,” she asked, putting her flats back on.

  Jumping to his feet, he replied, “If you must go, I understand.”

  He disappeared from the room quickly, returning with an unmarked plastic bottle.

  “Allow me to put it in for you.”

  She shot him a stern look before realizing he was talking about the oil for her car and not making a sexual innuendo. Her eyes moved down to the bottle in his hands. “Hmm, I’ve never seen that kind before.”

  “It’s the best and most expensive oil around. I promise it won’t hurt anything. Just let me put it in for you.”

  “I suppose. Thank you again for the tea,” she said, as they walked out to her car.

  Why was she going to leave this incredible man again? Probably because her best friend was waiting at her apartment, but Camilla could wait a little longer. Although she did promise her they would go out dancing that night, and she intended to keep her promise, but damn, what would she miss? Would she ever see him again, or was this one of those heart-breaking experiences where it never happens at all.

  “What?” she asked, blinking up at him, fighting to pull herself back to the present. Her mind tended to suck her in, blocking out everything else around her.

  “I didn’t say anything, Alethea.” He put the top back on the bottle and closed the hood.

  She didn’t remember walking all the way outside. He caught her gaze again by taking her hand gently and putting it to his lips. “It has been a pleasure; we shall meet again.” He brushed his soft, full lips over her hand, almost immobilizing her.

  Those eyes, they were lethal! “Yes,” was all she could manage to get out. Then she climbed into her car and drove away, checking for him in the rear view mirror.

  Back inside his house, he found Devendra sitting in the spot Alethea had occupied on his leather couch.

  “Well,” he said, closing the door behind him, “what’s the deal?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Will you stop saying that?” He shot her a stern look. “You’ve been acting crazy. Mortal, even.”

  Devendra stood up, walking over to him. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have left that way. In fact, I shouldn’t have left at all.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have! You put me through hell.”

  “I’m sorry. Okay? I thought it was the right thing to do.”

  He let her suffer a few minutes before reining in his rage. “What will you do now?”

  “Well, I will take a trip to the forests of Lavender to check on my wolves. I haven’t been by in a while and I miss them. Plus, it will give you a chance to figure things out here.”

  “Figure things out?”

  “Yes, Roman. About Alethea.”

  “No,” he turned away from her, pacing the large room. “It isn’t her!”

  “Yes, it is,” she said, simply, keeping her voice calm.

  “NO!” Roman covered his ears. “Stop it, Devendra. That couldn’t have been her!”

  He sat down on the sofa with his head in his hands.

  “I would have known,” he whispered under his breath.

  “It is her; you just haven’t realized it yet. And, until you do, I should go. I don’t want to influence what happens between the two of you either way.”

  Not convinced, he pulled her down on the couch next to him, holding her tight. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You won’t! Look at me,” she insisted, lifting his face level with hers. “We will be connected for eternity. You know that! But, my being here will only make her uncomfortable. A woman knows these things. She won’t like me around at first. She’ll need time to settle into her new life with you. It’s not going to be easy, Roman. It will take a lot of work on your part to bring her around.”

  Then it dawned on him: if Alethea were Alexandria reborn, she would have remembered him, wouldn’t she? There would have been some sort of recognition, right?

  “Not set in stone, no.”

  He looked up at her sharply. “I just don’t know.”

  She stood up, straightening her silk pantsuit. “Walk me out.”

  He got up, reluctantly. “If you’re wrong, and it’s not her,” he started, sadly, “what will—”

  She put her finger to his lips. “Shhh. It is her. Don’t you trust me?”

  “Yes, but—”

  He opened the front door and walked out with her to the road.

  “No, ‘buts,’ darling. Just go with it. When I see you again, everything will be as it should with the two of you.” She pulled her thick, glossy black hair up and bound it in back of her head.

  She moved up to him and got up on her tiptoes to kiss him. He lingered in her embrace.

  Giving him her prettiest smile, the one that reached her sapphire eyes, Devendra turned to leave, disappearing into the warm, starry night.

  Twenty Two

  Alethea walked into her Victorian flat to find Camilla in the bedroom rummaging through her closet and mumbling to herself.

  “Oh really?” Alethea asked, playfully, tossing her purse on the bed.

  Camilla twisted around, smiling. “Leave me alone, you brat. Why do you always catch me talking to
myself?” she asked, turning bright red.

  “Because you always do, Camilla.”

  She tried to think of an excuse to get out of dancing. She felt too distracted and didn’t want to have to explain anything about the day to Camilla. She didn’t know how to describe Roman and his impact on her. He was just a stranger. Wasn’t he?

  “Looks as though you can entertain yourself without me, so what would you say if I tried to back out of our plans tonight?” She looked at Camilla carefully, watching for her immediate expression.

  “Alethea! You promised.” Camilla stared at her wide-eyed, and obviously hurt. “We haven’t gone out together for weeks, now you are not getting out of it,” she insisted. “You used to love going out to the club!”

  “I still do,” Alethea countered, feeling bad for trying to back down. “I just had a tough day. My car broke down.” She tried to keep her own face expressionless.

  Camilla ignored her reasoning, as she pulled clothes out of the closet, throwing them out behind her, until finally she found what she had been looking for.

  “Here, I think you should wear this.”

  She held up a small, black lycra dress with pointed bell sleeves, fishnet stockings, and a burgundy silk scarf. “For a splash of color,” she explained, indicting the scarf. “This looks absolutely fabulous on your cute little figure. I wish I had a body like yours. You know how lucky you are?”

  She had to smile at Camilla’s persistence. “No. Why am I lucky, Camilla?”

  Camilla plopped down on the bed next to her and put her arm around her shoulders. She obviously wasn’t angry anymore. “Because you are so beautiful and every single man you pass drools at the very sight of you. But I just can’t understand why you are so cold with them. They are only reacting as they feel natural in the presence of such a sight as yourself.”

  “Yeah, right. That’s why the last guy tried to take advantage of me just because I let him buy me a drink. Remember that guy; what was his name? Oh, never mind, it really doesn’t matter.”

  Irritated, she stood up, beginning to undress. “I guess I’ll wear this, but you better stay right by my side. I hate when men drool on my clean clothes!”

  Biting back a smile, Camilla’s laughter broke out at the vision of Alethea’s disgust at some guy literally drooling on her. “Where are we going anyway?”