Maggie Shayne: Twilight Phantasies

She sighed, unable to resist the smooth allure of his voice, or of his touch, though she knew it made no sense. “It’s dark, and there is a jungle of sorts, and a lot of fog and mist covering the ground so I can’t see my feet. I trip a lot as I run. I don’t know if I’m running toward something or away from something. I know I’m looking for someone, and in the dream I know that person can help me find my way. But I call and call and he doesn’t answer.”

He stopped stroking her hair all at once, and she thought he tensed. “To whom do you call?”

“I think that might be what’s driving me crazy. I can never remember. I wake as breathless and exhausted as if I really had been running through that forest, sometimes halfway through shouting his name—but I just can’t remember.”

His breath escaped in a rush. “Tamara, how does the dream make you feel?”

She stepped away from him and studied his face. “Are you a psychologist?”

“No.”

“Then I shouldn’t be telling you any of this.” She tried to pull her gaze from his familiar face. “Because I really don’t know you.”

She stiffened as her name was shouted from across the ice. “Tammy!”

She grimaced. “I hate when he calls me that.” She searched the eyes of her stranger again, and again she felt as if she’d just had a long-awaited reunion with someone she adored. “Are you real, or a part of my insanity?” No, don’t tell me, she thought suddenly. I don’t want to know. “I’d better go before Curt worries himself into a stroke.”

“Does he have the right to worry?”

She paused, frowning. “If you mean is he my husband, the answer is no. We’re close, but not in a romantic way. He’s more like a…bossy older brother.”

She turned and skated away across the ice toward Curt, but she felt his gaze on her back all the way there. She tried to glance over her shoulder to see if he was still there, but she caught no sight of him. Then she approached Curt and slowed her pace. He’d been hurrying across the ice, toward her.

He gripped her upper arm hard, and marched her off the edge of the ice. On the snowy ground she stumbled on her skates, but he continued propelling her at the same pace until they reached the nearest bench, and then he shoved her down onto the seat.

“Who the hell was that man?”

She shrugged, relieved that Curtis had seen him, too. “Just a stranger I met.”

“I want his name!”

She frowned at the authority and anger in his voice. Curt had always been bossy but this was going too far. “We didn’t get around to exchanging names, and what business is it of yours, anyway?”

“You’re telling me you don’t know who that was?” She nodded. “The hell you don’t,” he exploded. He gripped her shoulders, pulled her to her feet and held her hard. He glared at her and would have frightened her if she hadn’t known him so well. “What did you think you were doing sneaking out alone at night like that? Well?”

“Skating! Ouch.” His fingers bit into her shoulders. “I was only skating, Curt. You know I can’t sleep. I thought some exercise—”

“Bull. You came out here to meet him, didn’t you?”

“Who? That nice man I was talking to? For God’s sake, Curtis, I—”

“Talking to? That’s a nice name for it. I saw you, Tammy. You were in his arms.”

Anger flared. “I don’t care if I had sex with the man in the middle of the rink, Curtis Rogers. I’m a grown woman and what I do is my business. You followed me here! I don’t care how worried Daniel gets, I will not put up with you spying on me, and I won’t defend my actions to you. Who do you think you are?”

His grip tightened and he shook her once—then again. “The truth, Tammy. Dammit, you’ll tell me the truth!” He shook her until her head wobbled on her shoulders. “You know who he was, don’t you? You came here to meet him, didn’t you? Didn’t you!”

“L-let me go…Curt-tis you’re-rr…hurt-ting…”

Her vision had blurred from the shaking and the fear that she didn’t know Curt as well as she thought she did—but not so much that she couldn’t see the dark form silhouetted beyond Curtis. She knew who stood there. She’d felt his presence…maybe even before she’d seen him. She felt something else, too. His blinding anger.

“Take your hands off her,” the stranger growled, his voice quivering with barely contained rage.

Curt went rigid. His hands fell to his sides and his eyes widened. Tamara took a step back, her hand moving to massage one tender, bruised shoulder. The heat of the stranger’s gaze on her made her look up. Those black eyes had followed the movement of her hand and his anger heated still more.

But how can I know that?

Curtis turned to face him, and took a step backward…away from the man’s imposing form. Well, at least she now knew he was real. She couldn’t take her gaze from him, nor he from her, it seemed. Her lips throbbed with the memory of his moving over them. She felt as if he knew it. She should say something, she thought vaguely. Sensible or not, she knew the man was about to throttle Curtis.

Before she could think of a suitable deterrent, though, Curtis croaked, “M-Marquand!” She’d never heard his voice sound the way it did.

Tamara felt the shock like a physical blow. Her gaze shot back to the stranger’s face again. He regarded Curtis now. A small, humorless smile appeared on his lips, and he nodded to Curt. A sudden move caught her eye, and she glimpsed Curt thrusting a hand inside his jacket, as the bad guys did on television when reaching for a hidden gun. She stiffened in panic, but relaxed when he pulled out only a small gold crucifix, which he held toward Marquand straight-armed, in a white-knuckled grip.

For a moment the stranger didn’t move. He stared fixedly at the golden symbol as if frozen. She watched him intently, shivering as her fingers involuntarily touched the spot on her throat, and she recalled the feel of those skimming incisors. Could he truly be a vampire?

The smile returned, sarcastic and bitter. He even chuckled, a sound like distant thunder rumbling from deep in his chest. He reached out to pluck the cross from Curt’s hand, and he turned it several times, inspecting it closely. “Impressive,” he said, and handed it back. Curt let it fall to the ground and Tamara sighed in relief, but only briefly.

She understood now what the little encounter between her and Marquand had been all about. She resented it. “You’re really Marquand?”

He sketched an exaggerated bow in her direction.

She couldn’t hold his gaze, embarrassed at her earlier responses to what, for him, had been only a game. “I can appreciate why you’re so angry with my guardian. After all, he’s been hounding you to death. However, it might interest you to know that I had no part in it. I’ve argued on your behalf until I’m hoarse with it. I won’t bother to do so anymore. I truly appreciate that you chose not to haul Daniel into court, but I would not suggest you attempt to use me to deliver your messages in future.”

She saw his brow cock up again, and she caught her breath. “Your guardian? You said so once before, but I—” His eyes widened. “St. Claire?”

“As if you weren’t aware of it before your little performance over there.” She shook her head, her fingers once again trailing over the tender spot on her throat. “I might even be able to see the humor in it, if I wasn’t already on the brink of—” She broke off and shook her head as her eyes filled, and her airways seemed suddenly blocked.

“Tamara, that isn’t what I—”

She stopped him by shaking her head violently. “I’ll see he gets your message. He may be an ass, Marquand, but I love him dearly. I don’t want him to bear the brunt of a lawsuit.”