Jason slouched in his favorite chair in front of the fireplace in the den, staring, unseeing, at the flames. In his mind's eye, he saw the horror in Leanne's eyes when she thought he might have bequeathed her the Dark Gift and turned her into a loathsome creature such as himself. The sound of her footsteps running out of the house, running away from what he was, echoed like a death knell in his ears.
He stared at his hands. He had not eaten for several days; his skin looked like old parchment. He knew his eyes glowed with hell's own fury, knew that soon he would either have to go to ground and lose himself in sleep, or satisfy the awful craving that was eating him up inside.
An unquenchable thirst for blood.
A deep and never-ending hunger for Leanne.
Had it been only two weeks since he held her in his arms, tasted her sweetness, heard the sound of her laughter? Only two weeks? It seemed a lifetime.
A lifetime, Jason mused with a bitter smile. He had walked the earth for three hundred years and never had the hours and the minutes passed so slowly.
During the long lonely hours of the night, as he prowled the alleys and dark streets of the city, he seemed to hear the wind taunting him with the sound of her name. Sometimes he paused outside a house, listening to the sounds of life inside: children crying, laughing. He watched people eating, talking, arguing, sleeping. And he thought of Leanne, always Leanne, of how wonderful it would be to be mortal again, to share her life, to sit across the breakfast table from her in the morning, to make love to her in the light of a new day, to father a child.
He haunted the shadows outside the Ahmanson, torturing himself with glimpses of her face. He read the lingering sadness in her eyes, and he was filled with bitter regret because he knew he was the cause of her sorrow. She didn't smile any more, and the world was the poorer because of it.
One night, driven by an uncontrollable need to hear her voice, he slipped through the crowd, past the ticket-takers, and made his way to the balcony. There were no empty seats, but it didn't matter. He stood against the wall, a part of the darkness, shielding his presence from the ushers.
Oblivious to everything else, he had eyes only for Leanne. Silent tears tracked his cheeks as he listened to her sing. Her voice, while still hauntingly beautiful, lacked the enthusiasm, the joie de vive, that had once set her apart from the others in the chorus.
Leaving the theater that night, he had told himself she would soon forget him. She was young, so young, and they had spent such a short time together. Soon, she would find someone else...
Now, staring into the fire's dying embers, he gripped the arms of the chair, his nails gouging deep furrows in the wood as he visualized her in the arms of another man.
Rising, he went into the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he picked up the pillow she had slept on. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, letting her scent engulf him. In his mind, he saw her as she had been the night they made love, her beautiful body lightly sheened with perspiration, her incredible green eyes glowing and alive. He felt again the touch of her hands as she undressed him, recalled the way her fingers had trembled as she caressed him, bold yet innocent. He relived every moment, every touch, embracing the pain of remembering, the shattering sense of loss now that she was gone.
Into his mind came the last soulful cry of the Phantom as he stood alone in his underground lair, bidding a final farewell to the only woman he would ever love.
The urge to kill, to destroy, welled within Jason, growing until he could think of nothing else. Overcome with rage, he stalked out of the bedroom, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. With a strangled cry, he grabbed the fireplace poker, holding it so tightly it bent in his grasp as though it were made of straw.
With an oath, he flung it against the wall, then stormed out of the house, the lust for blood, the need to hurt someone as he was hurting, driving him beyond all reason.
He found his prey in a dark alley. The vagrant struggled in vain, his red-rimmed eyes growing wide as he stared into the remorseless face of death. With a low growl, Jason lowered his head to the man's throat. He inhaled the malodorous stench of the drunk's unwashed body, felt the violent tremors that wracked the man as he realized he was about to die.
Unbidden, an image of Leanne rose in Jason's mind and he saw himself as she would see him, his eyes glittering with the insatiable lust for blood, his lips drawn back to expose his fangs as he prepared to drain this hapless creature of its life.
Filled with self-loathing, Jason shoved the man away and disappeared into the shadows of the night.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Leanne glanced up, meeting Jennifer's face in the mirror. As always, Jennifer looked as if she had just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Her make-up was flawless. Her long, honey-blond hair framed her face like a golden halo. Unlike the rest of the cast, who usually arrived at the theater in jeans and a tee shirt, Jennifer invariably looked as if she were about to go to a Hollywood premiere. Look like a star, be a star, she always said.
Leanne forced a smile. "Talk about what?"
"Whatever's been bothering you for the last two weeks."
"I don't know what you mean," Leanne said, and burst into tears.
Jennifer sat down on the stool beside Leanne and patted her shoulder.
"It has to be man trouble," Jennifer murmured with the air of one who spoke from experience.
"Oh, Jen, you don't know the half of it."
"I've got time to listen."
Leanne plucked a tissue from the box on the dressing table and dabbed at her eyes. If only she could tell someone, she thought sadly, if only she could pour it all out, all the heartache, the hurt, the horror. If only...
"There's nothing to tell, Jen. I met a...a man, and I thought...it doesn't matter what I thought. It's over."
"But you don't want it to be over?"
"No."
"Maybe he'll change his mind."
A rueful smile tugged at Leanne's lips. It wasn't Jason's mind that was keeping them apart. "Maybe."
"Come on," Jennifer said, gaining her feet. "Let's go get a cup of coffee."
It was unusually crowded backstage as she followed Jen toward the exit. Some of the cast members were giving friends and family a behind-the-scenes tour, showing them the props: the huge painted elephant that was part of the first act, the boat which ferried Christine and the Phantom across the underground lake, the numerous candelabra that came up through openings in the stage floor to light the Phantom's lair, the enormous winding staircase, and the trap door the Phantom used during the Masquerade number. Later, they'd see Twin's Gym, where members of the cast and crew sometimes worked out between shows.
Near the stage door, Leanne saw Michael Piontek, who played the Vicomte de Chagny, signing autographs, and Dale Kristen, who had played the part of Christine Daae for over four years, a role Leanne secretly yearned to make her own.
When they reached the street, she couldn't help glancing at the corner where she had first seen Jason. There was no one there now, and she experienced anew the pain of their separation, the awful sense of loss that had filled her heart since the night she ran out of his house like a frightened child.
She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.
"Where shall we go?" Jennifer asked.
"I'm really not up to it, Jen," Leanne said. "I think I'll just go home."
"Leanne..."
"Please, Jen. I need to be alone."
Jennifer gave Leanne's arm a squeeze. "All right, honey, but you call me if it gets too bad, okay? Any time, day or night. Promise?"
"I promise. And thanks, Jen."
"I'll see you Tuesday."
Leanne groaned softly. Tomorrow was Monday and the theater was dark. What would she do all day, all night, with not even a performance to help fill the empty hours?
Shoulders sagging, she crossed the street to her car. All the magic had gone out of the play, all the joy had gone out of her singing. Jason was gone from her life, and he had taken her heart and soul with him.
Sliding behind the wheel, she drove out of the parking lot and turned down Temple Street toward the freeway.
At home, she kicked off her shoes and sank down on the sofa. For a time, she stared at nothing and then, because the silence was too much for her, she switched on the TV.
It took a moment for the black and white images to register on her mind, and then she didn't know whether to laugh or cry, for there, clad in funereal black clothes and cape, was Bela Lugosi in his most famous role, that of Count Dracula.
The tears came then, burning her eyes, making her throat ache. She sobbed uncontrollably, wishing that she had never gone to Jason's house that day, wishing she could have gone on loving him in blissful ignorance.
For a moment, she considered going to Jason, begging him to do whatever was necessary to change her into what he was so they could be together, but she knew she lacked the courage to face the enormity, the horror, of such a vile transformation. She didn't want to live forever if it meant never seeing the sun again, never jogging along the beach on a bright summer day, never experiencing the joy and wonder of motherhood. And what about matinees? How could she play a matinee if she was a vampire?
How could she live without Jason?
Tears washed down her cheeks as she watched the movie, but it wasn't Bela Lugosi she saw walking down the long stone stairway, a flickering candle in his hand. It was Jason; Jason enveloping Mina in his cloak. How many people had he killed in the last three hundred years? In the last two weeks? Or perhaps he no longer had to kill. She remembered watching Love at First Bite and wondered if Jason visited the local blood bank to satisfy his thirst.
A burst of hysterical laughter bubbled to her lips. She must be going insane, she thought, comparing the reality of what Jason was to Hollywood's celluloid illusions.
Jason, Jason. Why couldn't she forget him? Why didn't she hate him? But she couldn't think of him as an evil monster, not when she remembered how tenderly he had made love to her.
Sniffing back her tears, she thought of all the hours they had spent together. Never had he done anything to hurt her, never had he treated her with anything but kindness and affection.
She lifted her hand to her neck. The tiny wounds had all but disappeared. She recalled asking him why he had bitten her, remembered the sadness in his eyes when he told her that their night together was to have been the last. She knew now he had planned to leave her because he was afraid for her, afraid of what he might do.
I wanted to taste your sweetness just once.
Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed, "Jason, help me. I can't go on like this. Please help me."
He paused in his headlong flight to nowhere as Leanne's soulful cry echoed in his ears. He felt her pain as if it were his own, felt her unhappiness, her anguish of spirit.
Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead against the cool stone wall that ran along the alley.
Ah, Leanne, beloved, he thought, if it gives you any solace, be assured that your pain is no greater than mine.
Leanne. The need to see her burned strong and bright within him and before he quite realized what he was doing, he found himself at her door.
He hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, and then he placed his hand on the latch. It was locked, but nothing as insignificant as a locked door could keep him from his heart's desire.
A wave of his hand and the door swung open. Quiet as a shadow, he entered the apartment and closed the door behind him.
She was in the front room. Her life force guided him as surely as a beacon.
On silent feet, he followed her scent.
She was curled up in the corner of a high-backed sofa, her head pillowed on her arms, her cheeks wet with tears.
He watched her for a long moment, and then, unable to help himself, he crossed the room and knelt on the floor in front of her.
"Leanne."
Her eyelids fluttered open and his breath caught in his throat as he waited - waited to see the horror and the loathing reflected in her eyes when she saw his face.
"Jason?" She reached out to him, her hand trembling. "Tell me you're really here, that I'm not dreaming."
"I'm here if you want me to be."
"I do. Oh, I do!"
Sitting up, she threw her arms around his neck and held him tight.
With a strangled sob, he drew her down into his arms and buried his face in her hair.
For a long while, they simply sat there holding each other close.
Leanne felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. He was here, really here. It didn't matter how or why or for how long, only that he was there, holding her as if he would never let her go.
"I've missed you." She whispered the words, afraid to break the spell between them.
"No more than I've missed you."
"Truly?"
"Truly." He drew back so he could see her face. "I've felt your sadness these past two weeks. I know how unhappy you've been." He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. "I can help you, if you'll let me."
"What do you mean?"
He took a deep breath. "I can make you forget we ever met."
Her eyes grew wide, and then narrowed. "You mean hypnotize me?"
He nodded. "I've done it before."
"When?"
"Do you remember the night those men attacked you in the parking lot?"
"Of course."
"Do you remember the dream you had after that?"
She nodded. How could she ever forget?
"It wasn't a dream. The man with the gun, he shot me three times."
Leanne shook her head. "That's impossible."
"You saw it all. If I hadn't erased the memory from your mind, you would have started asking questions I couldn't answer." A faint smile curved his lips. "I can show you the bullet holes in my coat if you don't believe me."
She didn't want to believe him, but she knew somehow that it was true. No wonder she'd had that nightmare.
"Do you want me to erase your memories of us?"
He would do it if she asked, he thought bleakly, though destroying her memories of their time together would be like destroying a part of himself. And yet, he would do anything she asked of him, anything that would wipe the soul-deep sadness from her eyes.
Slowly, Leanne shook her head. "No, I don't want to forget a single moment. I want...I want us to go on as before."
"Leanne, you don't know what you're saying."
"Yes, I do."
Jason shook his head. "No, beloved."
"You don't want me?"
"You know that's not true."
"Then why?"
"Leanne, you think you know what I am, but you don't. There's nothing romantic about being a vampire. It's a life against nature, a life against God. I could never forgive myself if I caused you harm."
"You won't. I know you won't."
"You don't know!" Rising, he turned his back to her, his hands clenched at his sides. "I never should have come here."
"Why did you?"
"Because I needed to see you one more time. Because I heard you call me and I couldn't stay away."
Gaining her feet, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his back. "I love you, Jason. I don't think I could bear it if you left me again."
Groaning softly, he turned to face her. "Leanne, you don't know how hard it is for me to be this close to you and not make you mine. You don't know how many nights I've wanted to take you in my arms and drain you of every drop of life." His gaze seemed to probe the furthest reaches of her heart and soul. "How will you feel about me if one night I can't control what I am? If I take you against your will and make you what I am?"
His words gave her pause. He saw the doubt in her eyes, recognized the fear in the sudden sharp intake of her breath.
"I never should have come here," he said again. "I'm sorry."
"Don't go, please. Stay the night with me. Just one more night."
"Leanne..."
"Please?"
He knew he should leave her, now, before it was too late, but when he opened his mouth to tell her he couldn't stay, the words wouldn't come. Instead, he bent his head and kissed her, kissed her with all the bittersweet longing that had tormented him for the past two weeks.
And when the kiss ended, she took him by the hand and led him into her bedroom.
He saw it all in a quick glance: the dresser and nightstand made of burnished oak, the large oval mirror that reflected her image, but not his, the double bed covered with a colorful cotton throw, the Broadway posters on the walls, the Phantom poster signed by the L.A. cast.
Leanne stood in the middle of the room, her heart pounding wildly in her breast as she waited for Jason to take her in his arms.
Instead, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, and when he looked at her, his eyes were filled with doubts. "Are you sure?"
She nodded, and then she reached under his shirt, letting her hand slide up and down the long line of his back. His skin was firm and cool beneath her fingertips.
With a suddenness that startled her, he swung her into his arms and covered her mouth with his, kissing her until she was breathless, weightless, until she wasn't aware of anything in all the world but the iron-hard arms that held her tight. His face blocked everything else from her vision, and she stared up into his eyes, eyes that burned with a bright blue flame.
"Jason." She whispered his name, just his name, but it conveyed all the loneliness she had felt during their separation, her anguish at the thought of never seeing him again, the deep void his absence had left in her life.
"I know," he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I know."
Gently, he lowered her onto the bed, his hands moving over her face, lightly tracing the outline of her lips, her brows, the delicate curve of her cheek.
"Leanne, beloved..."
He bent to kiss her again and yet again, knowing he could never get enough of her, knowing that, if he existed for another three hundred years, he would never love like this again.
Leanne stroked his brow. It was so good to touch him again, to know that he still cared. Their separation had not been easy for him either, she thought. There was a dark, haunted look in his eyes that had not been there before, a pain so deep it made her want to weep.
"Jason, please let us go on as before."
His expression mirrored his surprise. "I told you why that won't work."
"I don't care that you're a...a...it doesn't matter. I trust you."
"You say you don't care," he remarked quietly, "yet you cannot even say the word."
"Vampire. Vampire! I don't care what you are, only say you won't leave me, that you'll be a part of my life again."
"What kind of life can you have with me?" he asked, his voice dripping with self-loathing. "How long will you be content to be with a man, a monster, who can never share the daylight with you, who can come to you only at night, who feeds on the living? A man who can't always resist the urge to kill? A monster who can't always control his fiendish hunger, his rage?"
"I'll help you," she said fervently. "I'll love you so completely you won't have to be angry anymore." She took a deep breath. "And if you need to take someone's blood, you can take mine."
He stared into the depths of her eyes, bright green eyes filled with trust and hope, and for a timeless moment he let himself believe that such a life was possible.
Knowing it was wrong, knowing that to touch her now would only bring them both pain later, he kissed her.
Kissed her because he loved her so deeply.
Needed her so desperately.
He began to undress her then, his hands moving reverently over her as he reacquainted himself with the gentle contours of her body, the softness of her skin.
He closed his eyes, his joy so fierce it was almost agony as she rid him of his clothes. She explored his hard-muscled body freely, letting her hands glide over the width of his shoulders, down his hard flat belly, along the length of his thighs.
His response to her touch was instant, bringing a satisfied smile to her lips and a warm glow of pleasure to her eyes. He groaned softly as he drew her up against him, the lush curves of her body filling the emptiness in his.
His mouth covered hers again in a long hungry kiss, and he knew if he held her and kissed her until the end of time, it would not be long enough.
Trembling with the need to merge his flesh with hers, he rose over her, wondering what miracle had brought her into his life. Surely he had done nothing to deserve her love or her trust. He was a creature of the night, a man who had been cursed, but now felt blessed beyond belief.
Her arms wrapped around him as she lifted her hips in invitation, taking him deep within herself, cherishing him, loving him, until he wanted to weep with the wonder of it. She whispered that she adored him, and her words fell on his heart like sunshine, chasing the darkness from his soul, filling him with warmth and light, making him forget, for that moment, that he was more monster than man.
He held her tight as her body writhed beneath his, felt his self-control begin to slip as he watched the pulse that throbbed in her throat. A red mist veiled his eyes, reminding him that he wasn't a man, but a monster masquerading in human form, a fiend who had no right to love this woman or any other.
He gazed into the depths of her eyes, eyes so like Jolene's, and into his memory came an image of his wife, her beauty fading, her health deteriorating as time and disease ravaged her face and body while he stayed forever young. He could not endure the agony of watching Leanne grow old, he could not bear the thought that, after a few brief years, she would die and he would be alone again.
Neither could he bear the thought of being parted from her, and yet he knew that, if he stayed, it would be only a matter of time before he succumbed to the awful craving for her blood, a need that even now was raging through him, as hot and fierce as his desire for her flesh.
As surely as he knew that he must shun the sunlight or perish, he knew the day would come when he would force the Dark Gift on Leanne rather than watch her die. And he knew, just as surely, that she would forever hate him for it.
Painful as it would be, it would be better to leave her now, before he did something they would both regret, before her love turned to loathing.
He held her close, listening to the soft sound of her breathing as she fell asleep in his arms.
He had always feared dying, feared the prospect of an eternity writhing in the flames of hell, but he feared it no longer.
Hell was not a place awaiting his soul, he thought in despair.
Hell would be waiting for him when he kissed her goodbye.
He held her close until the last moment, until he felt the sunrise trembling on the brink of the horizon, felt the promised heat of it.
Leanne murmured sleepily as he drew the covers over her, then bent and kissed her one last time.
And still he lingered, imprinting her image on his mind so that he might carry it with him through all the endless days and nights of eternity.
Tomorrow night he would leave Los Angeles. It was the only way to keep from seeing her, the only way to keep her safe from the monster that dwelled within him.