"So, how did you spend your time?"
He shrugged. "In the beginning, I tried to maintain my associations with my old friends, but they soon questioned what they viewed as my suddenly peculiar behavior. They wanted to know where I went during the day and why I refused their invitations to go hunting or engage in other daytime activities. I made excuses, told them I had contracted a rare disease that made it impossible for me to go out during the day and severely restricted what I could eat."
"What about your family?"
"My father was killed in battle. My mother died soon after." He didn't mention Rissa, or how she had rejected him. He supposed he couldn't blame her, but he did.
"Did you have any brothers or sisters?"
"Four brothers. We were very close. When they started to notice that they were aging and I was not, I left home."
"That must have been hard for you."
He grunted softly. "It was a long time ago."
"I'm sorry." Relieved to have something to do, she added spaghetti to the boiling water and set the timer, then poured a jar of spaghetti sauce into another pot and put it on the stove.
Rourke watched curiously, thinking how much easier life was now than it had been over seven hundred years ago. In his time, there were no grocery stores, no malls. If a man wanted meat, he hunted it, or he raised it and butchered it. If a woman wanted a dress, she wove the cloth and made it herself. Books were rare, movies undreamed of.
He wrinkled his nose as the nauseating smell of garlic and oregano and tomatoes filled the air. Excusing himself, he left the room.
He wandered the length of her living room, pausing now and then to examine the odds and ends arranged on tables and shelves. She had a fondness for cats. Feline figures made of wood and stone and some hard material he didn't recognize crowded a wooden shelf. A picture of a fat black and white cat hung on one wall; a large ceramic cat sat on a corner of the hearth.
The clink of dishes and silverware drew his attention back to the kitchen, and the woman. He recalled the kisses they had shared and wondered where they might have led if her tongue hadn't brushed against his fangs and drawn blood. He cursed, quietly berating his inability to completely separate his hunger for blood from his desire. And desire her he did, with every fiber of his being. She was a woman unlike any he had ever known, strong yet vulnerable, feisty yet shy, and all female.
Sitting on the sofa, he picked up the remote and switched on the television, amazed anew at the images that flashed on the screen. Truly a magnificent invention, but his interest in it paled next to his hunger for the woman.
Perhaps, when Karinna finished her repast, he could persuade her to take up where they had left off.
Chapter 10
Kari picked at the food on her plate, her mind on Rourke, always Rourke. He was such an enigma and she had so many questions she wanted to ask him. How many people had an opportunity to find out what life had really been like 767 years ago, not by reading about it in books or researching it online, but by talking to someone who had actually lived it? Even more amazing than his age was the reality of what he was. A vampire. Not a movie villain. Not a creature of myth and legend. But a living, breathing vampire. Well, maybe not living. Still, it was incredible.
After carrying her dishes to the sink, she rinsed them off and put them into the dishwasher. She poured herself a cup of coffee, added cream and sugar, and carried it into the living room.
Her vampire--she rather liked the sound of that--was sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, a quizzical expression on his face as he watched a football game.
He looked up as she entered the room. "This game makes no sense to me."
Kari smiled as she sat down beside him. "Me neither." She sipped her coffee. "You can change the channel, you know."
"No." He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, as several players wearing red uniforms fell on top of a player wearing blue. "I like it."
The male animal, she thought. Man or vampire, there was no understanding any of them. "Can I ask you something?"
He didn't take his gaze off the screen. "If you wish."
"Were you ever married, or anything?"
He glanced at her briefly. "Once."
"Were you a vampire at the time?"
She had his attention now.
"I was turned after Rissa and I had been married for several years."
Remembering the story he had told her, Kari blinked at him. "You were married when you slept with the vampire?"
Rourke nodded, his expression unreadable.
"How could you? I mean..." She had thought him different, honorable, with his impeccable manners and polite speech.
"I knew it was wrong," he said quietly, "but I could not resist her." At Kari's skeptical look, he said, "Male or female, a vampire on the hunt exudes a kind of sexual glamour that mortals find hard to resist."
"Is that why I find you so..." Kari bit back the last word, her cheeks warming with embarrassment at what she had almost said.
"Perhaps, in the beginning."
She frowned. If that was true, how was she to know if what she felt for him was real, or merely some kind of irresistible vampire allure? "Are you working that magic on me now?"
"No."
She studied him a moment, wondering if he was telling her the truth, and then changed the subject. "Your becoming a vampire must have come as quite a shock to your wife."
He nodded. That was putting it mildly. Once Rissa had discovered what he had become, she had refused to share his bed, refused to let him touch her again. There had been days at a time when she refused to speak to him, or even look at him.
Kari put her coffee cup aside. "Did you have children?"
He hesitated a moment, remembering his joy at the birth of his children, remembering how Rissa had done everything in her power to turn them against him as they grew older. It was a pain that lingered to this day. "Twin sons. They were ten when I was turned."
"Does it bother you to talk about it?"
"When I think of that life now, it is like it happened to someone else."
His sons had been approaching manhood when they began looking at him strangely. He knew they were wondering why their mother aged and their father did not. His brothers, too, began casting suspicious glances his way. Once, Rourke had overheard his brother's speculating on whether he had sold his soul to the devil in exchange for good health and eternal youth. Soon other people in the village began murmuring behind his back, and when he heard whispers of witchcraft and Satanism, he packed a few belongings and left home in the dark of night, never to return. He had never seen his family again.
"Rourke, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to resurrect unhappy memories."
"As I said, it was a long time ago."
"I know, but..."
He covered her mouth with his fingertips. "No more about the past. It is the present that interests me now."
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as his knuckles gently stroked her cheek.
"I have so much to learn." He leaned toward her, his eyes darkening. "So much to learn about you."
"Me?" Her heart jumped into overdrive. It was suddenly hard to breathe.
"Yes. For instance, do you like it when I do this?" he asked, his voice husky, as he claimed her lips with his.
Once again, all rational thought deserted her as he drew her down on the sofa so that they were lying face-to-face, their legs entwined. His kisses were more potent than whiskey, sweeter than honey, more addictive than dark chocolate, and she knew if he kissed her until the end of time, she would still be hungry for more.
His hands caressed her. Wickedly clever hands that seemed to know exactly how to arouse her. After a moment, she slipped her hands under his shirt and began a slow exploration of her own, reveling in the feel of his skin beneath her palms. His body was solid, with washboard abs and biceps like steel. A distant part of her mind wondered if he'd had a weight room tucked away in the castle somewhere.
The heat of his arousal pressing against her belly gave her pause. He was a vampire. He had been trapped inside a painting for three hundred years. Blood wasn't the only thing he'd had to do without during that time. It was a daunting thought. She felt her ardor cooling at the thought of being the first woman he had been with in such a long time.
As though attuned to her thoughts, he drew back.
Was it a trick of the light, or were his eyes red and glowing?
"Karinna?"
She was keenly aware of the strength of his arms wrapped around her. Would he let her go if she asked? Or slake his desires for her flesh and blood whether she was willing or not?
"What is wrong?" he asked.
"I...I need to, ah...go to the bathroom."
He regarded her for a moment, as if weighing the truth of her words, and then he nodded as comprehension dawned. "You have changed your mind."
"No, really, I just need to..."
"You do not have to be afraid of me." Releasing her, he sat up, putting some space between them. "I have no intention of taking you, or your blood, against your will."
She looked up at him, her expression puzzled. "How do you do that? Read my mind, I mean. You've done it before."
He shrugged. "It is a by-product of being a vampire. I can sense strong emotions, and sometimes your thoughts."
"Well, it's very disconcerting."
"Yes," he replied dryly. "I suppose it is."
"Three hundred years is a long time for a man to go without...to be celibate."
He snorted softly. "You have no idea." Vampires were by nature sensual creatures. Abstaining from intimacy for more than a few weeks caused discomfort; living like a monk for the last three centuries had caused almost as much physical agony as being deprived of nourishment.
He rose and went to the window and looked out into the night. In spite of his words to the contrary, Karinna was right to be afraid of him. He had been a fool to think of seducing her. She was far too young and far too innocent for the likes of him, especially in his current state. Perhaps he should seek out a lady of the evening. They had been plentiful in his time; men being what they were, he assumed there were still women whose favors could be had for a price.