Embrace the Night

Page 105



had indeed been Gabriel's voice. "You were there, weren't you?"
"No questions, cara."

"You were there," she said again, with more conviction this time. "Why? Are you engaged in something illegal?"

"No questions!" His fist came down on the table with such force her silverware skittered across the surface, knocking over her empty wine glass.

"Maurice said…" Abruptly, she pressed her lips together, fear for Maurice's life making her suddenly cautious. For the first time since she had known Gabriel, she was truly afraid of him.

"I should like to go home now." She clasped her hands in her lap to still their shaking, but she could not stay the tremor in her voice. "Please."

Gabriel rose stiffly to his feet and pulled out her chair. "As you wish, cara," he said quietly.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye while she drew on her evening cape and gloves, fearing he would try to detain her, but he remained by the table, his hands clenched at his sides, his deep gray eyes filled with pain and self-reproach.

"Good night." She was trembling so badly she could scarcely speak the words. A sad smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Goodbye, Sara Jayne."
Chapter Seventeen

The next two weeks were the most miserable of Sara's life. She filled her mornings with long rehearsals, and her afternoons with Maurice. He took her shopping, to lunch, on long walks, onapicnic. She refused to discuss Gabriel or the cottage, refused to relate what had happened between herself and Gabriel at the hotel.

She took a nap late each afternoon, then went to the theater. She tried to lose herself in her dancing, but she found no joy in it. Her feet felt like lead; her heart seemed to be made of wood. The ballet mistress scolded her nightly, admonishing her to pay attention, to listen to the music, but to no avail. There was no joy in her heart, no music in her head, nothing but the sound of Gabriel's voice bidding her good-bye.

If her days were long, and her dancing less than perfect, her nights could only be described as hellish.

She was tormented by nightmares—dark dreams filled with phantoms and fiends, ghouls with eyes that glowed, demons with fangs dripping with blood. Her blood.

Night after night, she woke in a cold sweat. On several occasions, she slipped out of bed and lit the lamp, checking in the mirror to make certain there were no bites on her neck.

As bad as those dreams were, there were others that were worse—horrible nightmares in which the fiends that chased her had Gabriel's voice, Gabriel's eyes.

These dreams started innocently enough. They would be walking in the park, or they would be dancing while he sang to her, and then, gradually, she would be overcome with a sense of dread. A shroud of