“Aw, come on, Jean, you can stay longer.”
“No, unfortunately, I can’t. Mother has a young lady she would like me to meet at dinner tonight. I shouldn’t keep them waiting.” Amaia’s skin crawled, and her thumb absently rubbed against the band of her ring. Why she should care whether he married or not was a mystery to her. Yet she did.
“You mean to tell me that you will abandon our good company to meet a woman? Stay with us, and I’ll rent you a whore when we get back.”
“Stop, Charles. You know I would rather spend my time with all of you, but my duty requires that I find a wife. I can’t abandon the needs of my family.”
“Sure, the needs of your family come first. Forget about your friends and what they need.” Charles had full, pouty lips and large brown eyes that he probably used to get what he wanted on most occasions. Amaia didn’t like him.
“You need a good dose of responsibility. I’m sorry I’m not as wealthy as you, Charles, but I must continue to provide for my family.”
“Fine, go meet your potential bride, but take it from a man who knows: wives are nothing but trouble. I’d do anything to give mine back. Why do you think I spend so much time with you boys?”
The men laughed. Amaia picked out Michael’s distinct rumble, rich and full. It was the most pleasant sound she had ever heard. He turned his horse and started for home. Before he disappeared into the trees on the other side of the clearing, he turned and looked directly into her eyes. Amaia’s stomach fluttered, and it took her a split second to hide herself behind the tree. She stayed there until the sound of his horse’s hooves disappeared in the distance.
As the sound of Michael’s retreat faded, so did her sense of well-being. Seeing him had calmed something in her. Already, she felt the urge to follow him. The only thing that stopped her was that last look. His eyes had made contact with hers. He had to have seen her. It seemed impossible that he hadn’t, but he hadn’t stopped. His sight probably wasn’t good enough to make her out. The simpler explanation was that he had caught a flash of light glinting off her necklace and earrings. Still, it seemed too risky to follow him. She had seen him. That would be enough to get her through. For a while.
Amaia knew she shouldn’t have come, but the pull proved too powerful. When Michael was younger, it had been easier to resist. Whole years had gone by without her visiting. It was different now. He was different. He was becoming the man she had known.
Each year, she witnessed his growth. His voice formed French words instead of English. His frame was shorter than hers rather than taller. All cosmetic differences. None hid the truth.
Running to the beach for a few minutes in the sand, she felt the strength of her immortal body as she leapt across the ground with an agility no man possessed. Why had she let her weakness overcome her? Why did she let a mortal affect her so? Foolishness. This was no way for a vampire of her standing to behave. She had come to the conclusion long ago that Lawrence was right. Michael was simply a reincarnated mortal, nothing more. That conclusion should have closed the matter, but she kept returning to see him. There was no satisfactory reason for her to continue harboring an interest in him.
In the distance, she heard a man walking. She listened and confirmed that he was alone. A smile lighted her lips. This was how she should act. Lowering her fangs, she altered her course for the man who would sate her hunger.
***
Curiosity proved a firm master. After eating, Amaia found herself obsessed with Michael’s evening plans. The soft sand and cold water at the beach were not adequate distractions. After much deliberation, she decided that a little more time wouldn’t hurt. It had been too easy to convince herself that by spending more time now, she could avoid another visit. The sun had set, and clouds obscured the moon. Darkness facilitated Amaia’s spying. Lying on the roof of Michael’s house, she hung her head over the edge, right next to his window.
Michael’s mother was a strong woman. Firm, yet kind. Amaia found herself grateful that she had resisted the urge to kill her all those years ago. For some reason, Michael’s safety mattered a great deal to Amaia, and his mother watched over him. Perhaps, in this life, Amaia would be able to see him as an old man.
“I don’t understand what the problem is, Jean. Brigitte is a perfectly nice girl.”
“Yes, Mother, she is, but I’m looking for more than a perfectly nice girl.” Michael sat in a chair beside the hearth, soaking in the pleasant warmth.
“What more is there?”
“Fire, passion. How about intelligence, wit? Brigitte hasn’t an opinion on anything. She will live and die swayed by every stray wind. I want a woman who can stand beside me, be more of an asset than just her dowry.”
“You ask for too much.”
“No, I ask only for what Father found in you.”
Her eyes softened as she grinned. “You flatter me, dear.”