A WHISPER OF ETERNIT

Page 83



After tuckingTracy into bed, Dominic wandered through the house. ThoughTracy had only been under his roof for a short time, her influence was everywhere—her shoes were on the floor beside the sofa, there was a jar of roses on the mantel. The very air in the house was filled with her scent, along with the odor of food, both cooked and raw.

The bathroom held bottles of peach-scented shampoo and conditioner, lipstick and perfume, and myriad other feminine articles, all with their own unique scents.

He went into her studio, curious to see what she had been working on. To his surprise, he found she had painted his portrait again, not as a vampire this time, but as a mortal man. He moved closer, studying the lines of his face. He looked as he had the last time he had seen himself in a mirror. Kitana had not told him that vampires cast no reflection. Even after all these centuries, he could remember his shock the first time he had looked into a mirror, expecting to see his face looking back at him, and seen only the room behind him. It had made him feel as though he no longer existed.

Kitanahad laughed at his chagrin. "Didn't you know?" she replied with a laugh. "Vampires have no souls—therefore, they have no reflection."

"No soul?" The thought had astounded him. Though he had never been a deeply religious man, he was a believer nevertheless. How could a body move and have life when it was nothing but an empty shell? How could he live without a soul?

"But you are not alive," Kitana had said airily. "You are Nosferatu . Not dead and not alive."

"Not dead and not alive?" He had scoffed at her. Of course he was alive!More alive than he had ever been before. His sight was keener, his touch more refined, colors were brighter, textures deeper and richer. His hearing was nothing short of phenomenal. A tear slipping down a cheek, a raindrop sliding down a leaf, the movement of a spider over a web, the delicate flutter of a moth's wings, he could hear them all. He was never sick, never tired,never cold. How could she say he was not alive?

And it had been a good life, whenTracy was there to share it with him. It was only when they were separated, when he was on the earth and she was not, that he felt dead.Dead inside and out. His existence had no meaning without her. In the beginning, he had tried to find fulfillment in the arms of other women, but their beauty paled beside hers. Physical gratification alone was not enough. He neededTracy , needed her love. Itmattered not what body she inhabited, the color of her eyes or her hair, whether she was tall or short, dark or fair, whether she was bound or free. Without her, he was nothing but a dry, empty husk, a shell of a man with no reason to live and nothing to live for.

He left the house and wandered aimlessly through the gardens. For centuries, the moon had been his sun, the night his day. With his preternatural eyesight, he saw everything distinctly—each individual leaf on each tree and flower and shrub, the small creatures of the night scurrying through the dew-damp grass, the thorns on the rose bushes,each crack in the wall that surrounded the house. He heard the distant hooting of an owl, the sighing of the wind through the trees, the ripple of the water in the stream beyond the wall. He had so many wondrous abilities, yet they meant nothing withoutTracy .

Tracy. She tasted sweet, so very sweet, like the finest nectar. He had thought one taste might be enough, but now that he had tasted her once, he was eager to do it again.And again. To drink of her sweetness until he was sated, until the taste of her, the very essence ofher, filled all the empty places within.