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  It didn't matter which variation prevailed on any given night. Claire always awakened from these dreams aching from the lack of hands and cock on her, in her. Cold showers, she quickly learned, did not help in the slightest, nor did taking matters into her own hands. If anything, she became more frustrated as time passed. That was why she had told Maggie: to let it all out. All, or nearly all.

  As nerve wrecking as the erotic dreams could be, she had even stranger ones. They weren't as frequent, but they were just as vivid. In those dreams, she wasn't herself; instead, she was her great, great grandmother Helena. She had thought, the first couple of times, that maybe she was reliving Helena's life through her dreams, but soon she realized that the explanation was far simpler. Everything she dreamed of, she had learned from either Matthew's mouth or the letters he and Helena had exchanged. It was merely a case of her mind playing tricks on her, and nothing more. On the one hand, she felt relieved that it was no more than that. Her life was beginning to be strange enough without adding past lives and reincarnations to it. On the other, she almost wished she could have truly experienced the depth of Matthew's feelings for herself, rather than having to rely on her imagination.

  "So, are you going to go back and see him?"

  Claire sighed. “I don't know. I shouldn't."

  "Why not?"

  "Because he has fangs? Because he could kill me in the blink of an eye? Because I'm not that desperate?"

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “I've listened to you talk about him for the past hour, honey. If you're not desperate yet, it's a close thing. And who cares that he's a vamp? Not all of them are killers."

  Claire knew that, of course, and she had come to believe that Matthew wouldn't ever hurt her. It was hard to let go of her best reason to stay away from him, however. If she admitted he didn't scare her, she might just go find him.

  Now that she knew who he was, the way he had approached her at the club the first time, his warning, and the rescue on her drunken night all made more sense, and she liked the portrait these events painted when combined together. It was the portrait of a man dedicated to a promise, but also capable of stepping out of his role when required; the portrait of a man she regretted having chased out of her home.

  "It's been two weeks since you last saw him?” Maggie asked.

  Claire nodded. Two weeks ago today, she had acted like an idiot and gotten drunk. Two weeks of dreaming about Matthew.

  "I think,” Maggie said very slowly, “and it's only my opinion so don't get in a huff, that you should go see him. Do what you need to get him out of your mind...” She paused, took a good look into Claire's eyes, and reached over the table to clasp her hand. “...or into your life."

  Claire started leaning back, but Maggie held on to her hand.

  "Don't tell me you can't because he's a vamp. That's not a good excuse. If you didn't think there are good vamps around, you wouldn't have gone to the police to try and stop Jonas. What matters is that you're attracted to him, and from what you've told me, he's a good man."

  Maggie's words stayed with Claire long after they had said their goodbyes. In all truth, she had started thinking along the same lines in the past few days, and maybe she had told Maggie about Matthew because she wanted to hear from someone else that it was all right to be interested in him. And now that she had...

  She had waited long enough. She would find Matthew, tell him she believed him, ask these questions that haunted her, and then ... Then she couldn't help but hope that some of her most daring dreams might come true, even if she didn't know whether Matthew was attracted to her in that way or not.

  The sun had not yet set when she left her home and drove to On The Edge. She wasn't planning on drinking at all—she had learned that lesson, at least. She had dressed in the same dark blue dress she had worn the night he had come to her on the catwalk. She didn't know if he'd recognize it, but to her, it was a message to him. She wanted to make the first step she had been too frightened to make that night.

  She only hoped she would have the occasion to take that step. But as she waited vainly at the club, Matthew did not come. The woman that usually accompanied him came alone instead. Claire wondered if, maybe, he had changed his habits. Maybe he had taken his hunting to other grounds. Maybe he had even left town altogether when she hadn't believed him. Maybe...

  The idea that she had chased him out of town felt like a hand clenching over Claire's heart, and she refused to accept it. He had to be in another club. She would find him.

  Remembering names of places she had once heard Jonas mention as vampire grounds, she left the club and drove to the closest one. She never noticed the shadow trailing after her until he came to her.

  * * * *

  "Our last night in town, Childe. Are you ready?"

  Matthew smiled at Diane as she linked her fingers through his and brought them to his lips for a brief kiss. She sounded as excited as a child on the eve of a big trip.

  "Ready,” he repeated, though more sedately.

  He had returned to observe Claire several times in the past two weeks, but had caught nothing more than glimpses of her. It was certainly better for him to leave her be, at least for a few years. He'd keep an eye on her thanks to a private investigator—he had arranged those details earlier that day—but he'd stay away. He had never been as obsessed with any of his girls as he seemed to have become with her, and he didn't like the mistakes he had made because of it, the worst of which had been to reveal himself to her.

  He decided he wouldn't go to see her, this night; instead, he would accompany Diane to the club, choose a willing girl, and enjoy himself. His resolve shattered when he recognized Claire's car, parked only a street away from the club. He had seen that car often enough, he knew its license plate, and there was no doubt in his mind that it was Claire's, or that she was at the club.

  He stopped on the sidewalk, so abruptly that Diane took two more steps before turning back to him.

  "What is it?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.

  "She's there. She's at the club."

  Diane closed her eyes for a brief moment and sighed.

  "We're still leaving tomorrow night,” she warned. “Whatever happens, I am not changing my mind on that."

  Matthew lowered his head, acquiescing. “Go ahead,” he told her. “Go hunt, and have fun. I'll stay away from her."

  The look she gave him before leaving told him all too well that she didn't believe he would be able to stay away from Claire when she was so close. In truth, Matthew did not believe it himself. He flagged down a cab, and gave the driver enough money that he was content to park just a few cars away from Claire's and wait. Claire eventually came back to the car, and Matthew had the driver follow her from one club to another all over town. She never stayed more than a few minutes, and Matthew finally understood that she had to be looking for someone. He tried not to let himself hope that she was looking for him, but at the fourth club he decided that he had had enough. As she was coming out of the club, he walked out of the shadows and caught up with her.

  "You're looking for someone, sweetie? Or you're looking for trouble?"

  She practically leapt away from him, her hand rising to her chest. As she blinked in surprise at him, he could hear her heart accelerate; not in fear, though, he was sure of it. Her scent did not lie.

  "Trouble, then,” he answered his own question with quiet resignation.

  She gave him a hesitant smile. “I ... I was looking for you, actually."

  "Why?” He asked, challenging her. “You made it clear last time we talked that you wanted nothing to do with me."

  A couple exited the club at that instant, and caught Matthew's last words. They peered at him and Claire curiously, and Matthew felt the urge to walk away, where their conversation wouldn't be overheard. Tilting his head toward the club, he invited Claire to walk in with him. To his mild surprise, she did.

  "I've had time to think,” she said, cool and composed, after they had s
at at a table together and ordered light drinks. “About what you said. And I read the letters. All of them."

  Something tightened in Matthew's chest; he had parted with Helena's letters with difficulty. He had been meaning to get rid of them for decades, both because Diane had suggested it many times and because he knew he spent too much time reading them, but had never been able to let go of them. At least giving them to Claire had served a purpose. He had been hurt when she had accused him of lying, and to hear that she had changed her mind about his story touched him. He smiled.

  "So you believe me now?"

  "I do believe you. It's still incredible, and I can't begin to understand how or why you'd keep an eye on her family for so long, but I believe you."

  He shrugged. “The how is easier than you'd think. Money will help you track down anyone if you only know who to go to, and people are often all too willing to gossip about their neighbors and their problems. After that, helping someone find the job they need or buy the house they want is only a matter of being discrete and pulling the right strings."

  It was a little more complicated than that, and it had taken Matthew long years before he had perfected his anonymous benefactor act. Claire didn't need to know everything, however, and Matthew realized he might even have said too much as it was. She looked at him intensely, as though seeing him for the first time.

  "So ... you had my neighbors spy on me?"

  She sounded more perplexed than upset, and he took that as a good sign.

  "Sometimes,” he admitted. “One of them thinks she's helping your father make sure you're all right. She never liked Jonas much, so she was happy to keep an eye on how he treated you."

  The shake of her head only made her confusion clearer. “Why would you want to know about that?” she asked. “It's not like you could do anything about it."

  "No, but I could come back if something seemed strange and make sure you were not with someone who might hurt you."

  She took a sip of her lemonade before asking with a casualness that sounded forced: “What would you have done, if he had?"

  Matthew saw no reason to lie. “Talked to him and scared him away."

  He had done as much for her grandmother's first fiancé the night after he had first laid a hand on her. The man had left town within the hour.

  "Wow,” Claire murmured, her eyes wide as she looked at him. “That's ... nothing I'd ever have imagined. It's like having a guardian angel or something. Except, a vampire one."

  Matthew chuckled at that and raised his glass to salute her. She raised her own to touch his, smiling the entire time. Suddenly, her smile wavered and her eyes widened.

  "You,” she breathed. “The pictures of Jonas and that girl ... It was you, wasn't it?"

  Once again, Matthew refused to lie. “It was me."

  Observing her closely, he waited for her reaction. He had debated with himself, before sending her proof of Jonas’ infidelity, knowing that it would hurt her. He almost felt like apologizing for it now, even though he still believed it had been the right thing to do. Her eyes filled with tears, but a small smile curved her lips.

  "Thank you."

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  Chapter Fourteen

  The club was much smaller than On The Edge, with the bar and dancing area on the same floor and tables of various sizes scattered on the periphery. The atmosphere, however, felt similar. The DJ played the same kind of music, the lighting was alike, and the patrons seemed no different from those at On The Edge. The one difference was the ceiling. Wall to wall mirrors reflected the entire space, and almost all of the patrons. At the moment, only one of them showed no reflection in the mirrors, and if Claire looked directly up, she could see herself sitting alone at a small table. If she looked straight across the table, however, deep brown eyes looked back straight into hers, eyes that were as captivating as they had been the first time Claire had plunged into them.

  She and Matthew had been talking for almost half an hour, and the two glasses between them on the narrow pine table were almost empty. Claire's was lemonade; after her last debacle with wine, she preferred to stay away from alcohol. Matthew had smiled at her choice, and chosen a vodka cocktail for himself.

  As she continued to ask him questions about what he had done over the years, and what his life with Helena had been like, Claire realized that the letters hadn't lied, nor had they given her a false impression of the man sitting next to her. He was every bit as passionate about the promise he had made to Helena to keep her family safe as Claire had begun to suspect. It made something extremely clear to her.

  "You really loved her,” she said quietly. “Didn't you?"

  He smiled. His answer was simple, but it tightened Claire's heart like the most poignant declaration.

  "She was my life."

  She couldn't help feeling some disappointment at that. If she believed the tone of his voice rather than his words, Helena might be long gone but Matthew's feelings for her were still as strong. Claire felt a little silly for thinking he cared about her for herself.

  "And you lost her when you died, and again when she did,” she murmured, unable to resist voicing the end of Helena and Matt's relationship. “It's very ... sad."

  Matthew's head bowed for an instant, as though in remembrance, but when he replied, after taking a sip of his drink, his voice was steady and calm.

  "Sad, yes. But I didn't lose her completely. We wrote to each other. And then I looked after her family. I promised to her I would, and I did."

  Claire had admitted, both to herself and to Matthew, that she believed him, but that didn't mean it was easy, especially when it didn't mesh with what she had always believed about vampires.

  "That's where it's really weird for me,” she said with a frown. “Promising to take care of humans doesn't really sound like what a vampire would do."

  "So my Sire tells me. But other vampires think differently. It's all a matter of perspective, I suppose."

  Claire shook her head and her frown deepened. She wasn't sure she'd ever truly understand. Maybe she needed to be a vampire to do so.

  "All that because of Helena,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. Looking up again, she tilted her head and asked another one of these questions that had tormented her: “Why didn't you ever tell anyone?"

  "They didn't need to know.” His gaze seemed to lose focus as he raised his glass to his lips once more. “And vampires were not always tolerated by humans as they are today. Helena accepted what I had become because she loved me, but her daughters would have been horrified at the idea that a vampire was so close to them. Telling them was not an option. I never even approached them."

  Claire's spirits perked up at that. “But you told me,” she pointed out. “You talked to me, and then you told me. Why me?"

  She hoped, during the few seconds it took him to come up with an answer, that he would confess she was special, and different from the others. His words, however, had the same effect as a bucket of icy water.

  "Because you look a lot like Helena."

  She took the blow and nodded to herself. She should have known. She had heard him talk about Helena; she should have expected something like this. Still, she needed to ask, to be sure.

  "Do you see her when you look at me? Is that why you talked to me that first night?"

  This time, Matthew answered right away.

  "At first, yes. But you're different from her. She'd never have dreamed of going to On The Edge. She'd never have asked so many questions. She'd never have sat with a vampire, or talked to him as you're doing now. Writing letters was the most she could bring herself to do, and you've read them. You know the subject of me being a vamp never came up."

  Claire's hope sprang back to life, and she made a decision. She was attracted to Matthew, had been since the first night she had seen him at the club, and the dreams of him she had had in the past two weeks had only deepened her attraction. Maybe she was wrong in thinking that that sam
e feeling was reflected back in his words, but she would never know if she didn't at least try.

  "Would she have done this?"

  Trying not to think about what she was doing, she leaned toward him over the narrow table to reach his lips. They were cool, and soft. All she did was press her own lips to his, but as chaste as the kiss was, it had her heart thundering in her chest. Breaking the contact when he didn't respond to her touch, she sat back and wondered, close to panicking, if she had crossed a line, if she had gone farther than he was ready to go, if...

  The flame she saw in his eyes, just a second before he leaned in and crushed his mouth to hers, reassured her that she hadn't gone too far—but it didn't help her panic or hammering heart in any way.

  * * * *

  Left to decide what would happen between them, Matthew would never have taken that first step. He could admit that he wanted her, her body, not because she looked like Helena but because she was beautiful in her own way. Mostly, though, he longed for her to know what and who he was, longed for one of his girls to finally acknowledge his existence and understand that he was keeping them safe. Such recognition would have been enough.

  A simple kiss changed that.

  He had broken so many of his self-imposed rules, already, that he couldn't feel guilty about abandoning one more. He had talked to one of his girls. He had interfered in her life with her knowledge of that fact. He had told her about the link that existed between them. How wrong could it be to have a relationship with her—because in his mind, already, it would be more than a kiss, more than one night, never mind that he was supposed to leave town the next day—when she was the one to light that spark with a kiss?

  Leaning over the table between them, he cupped her chin in his palm to draw her closer and savor her mouth all the better. Her kiss had been chaste, no more than her lips pressing to his, but her mouth parted easily when his tongue pushed at the seam. The lemonade flavor on her tongue made his own tingle as he hunted down the taste, slowly discovering her mouth and warmth. He was pleased when, rather than remaining passive, she covered his hand with her own and leaned in just a little more, offering herself more fully, but also taking advantage to run her tongue against his own, then his lips.