At Twilight Read online

  twilight fantasies [070-4.0]

  By: maggie shayne

  Synopsis:

  Who are

  you?

  Tamara whispered to the dark stranger who held her in his arms.

  “You don’t know?

  His voice sent another surge of recognition coursing through her.

  I feel I do, but.

  She felt as if some great void within her had suddenly been filled

  simply by the sight of this man.

  Words swirled and eddied in her mind, absurd words.

  Thank God you’ve come back.

  I’ve missed you so.

  Please don’t leave me again.

  Tears filled her eyes, and she wanted to turn away so he wouldn’t see

  them.

  He was staring so intensely, and the feeling that he could somehow see

  inside her mind struck her with an impossible certainty.

  She wanted to turn and run away.

  And she wanted him to hold her forever.

  “Twilight Phantasies is an absolutely compelling read, a dark romance

  full of sensual obsession, pure love and ultimate evil where you least

  expect it.

  Maggie Shayne is a wonderful writer—don’t miss her.

  —Award-winning author Anne Stuart Dear Reader Welcome to Intrigue”!

  This month kicks off with a fabulous story from favourite author Gayle

  Wilson, Never Let Her Go. Undercover agent Nick Deandro has lost his

  memory, and with it all knowledge of the woman he once loved including

  the fact that she’s carrying his baby! And in Remember Me, Cowboy,

  Slate Walker blacked out during a bank raid and was then falsely

  accused of the crime. Now he’s determined to find out what really

  happened.

  Our exciting Lost & Found series continues this month with A Father for

  Her Baby.

  Kit Bannack and her child are on the run from a murderer until sexy

  Luke St.

  John kidnaps them for safe-keeping!

  And Twilight Phantasies is the first thrilling tale in a new trilogy by

  top author Maggie Shayne watch out for the second book in October.

  Finally, this month look in the shops for the first book in our

  fantastic MONTANA series: Rogue Stallion by Diana Palmer.

  Happy reading The Editors Twilight Phantasies MAGGIE SHAYNE

  gSILHOUETTE

  INTRIGUE DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?

  If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was

  reported unsold and destroyed by a retailer.

  Neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this

  book.

  __ All the characters in this book have no existence outside the

  imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone

  bearing the same name or names.

  They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown

  to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or In

  part in any form.

  This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises

  II

  B.

  V.

  The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced

  or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

  including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval

  system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the

  publisher.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of

  trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated

  without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or

  cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar

  condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent

  purchaser.

  Silhouette and Colophon are registered trademarks of Harlequin Books

  S.

  A.

  , used under licence.

  First published in Great Britain 1999 Silhouette Books, Eton House,

  18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR Margaret Benson 1993

  ISBN 0373 27018 6 469909

  Printed and bound in Spain by Litogrqfia Roses S.

  A.

  , Barcelona MAGGIE SHAYNE is a best-selling author whom Romantic

  Times magazine calls ‘brilliantly inventive.

  Maggie has won numerous awards including a Romantic Times Career

  Achievement Award.

  A three-time finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s prestigious

  RITA Award, Maggie also writes mainstream contemporary fantasy.

  In her spare time Maggie enjoys collecting gemstones, reading tarot

  cards, hanging out on the Genie computer network and spending time

  outdoors.

  She lives in a rural town in central New York State with her husband.

  Rick, five beautiful daughters and a bulldog named Wrinkles.

  Other novels by Maggie Shayne Silhouette Sensation Forgotten Vows.

  Forever, Dad The Littlest Cowboy The Baddest Virgin in Texas Badlands

  Bad Boy The Husband She Couldn’t Remember The Baddest Bride in Texas

  Strangers in the Night

  “Beyond Twilight’ Fortune’s Children A Husband in Time The Brand

  Family Series To the real ‘hearts’ of New York, the members ofCNYRW.

  And to the young blond man on the balcony high above Rue Royale.

  PROLOGUE Desires and Adorations, Winged Persuasions and veiled

  Destinies, Splendours, and Glooms, and glimmering Incarnations Of hopes

  and fears, and twilight Phantasies; And Sorrow, with her family of

  Sighs, And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gleam Of her own

  dying smile instead of eyes, Came in slow pomp.

  —Percy Bysshe Shelley March 20, 1793 He stub of a tallow candle

  balanced on a ledge of cold stone, its flame casting odd, lively

  shadows.

  The smell of burning tallow wasn’t a pleasant one, but far more

  pleasant than the other aromas hanging heavily all around him.

  Damp, musty air.

  Thick green fungus growing over roughhewn stone walls.

  Rat droppings.

  Filthy human bodies.

  Until tonight, Eric had been careful to conserve the tallow, well aware

  he’d be allowed no more.

  Tonight there was no need.

  At dawn he’d face the guillotine.

  Eric closed his eyes against the dancing shadows that seemed to mock

  him, and drew his knees closer to his chest.

  At the far end of the cell a man coughed in awful spasms.

  Closer, someone moaned and turned in his sleep.

  Only Eric sat awake this night.

  The others would face death, as well, but not tomorrow.

  He wondered again whether his father had suffered this way in the hours

  before his appointed time.

  He wondered whether his mother and younger sister, Jaqueline, had made

  it across the Channel to safety.

  He’d held the bloodthirsty peasants off as long as he’d been able.

  If the women were safe he’d consider it well worth the sacrifice of his

  own pathetic life.

  He’d never been quite like other people, anyway.


  Always considered odd.

  In his own estimation he would not be greatly missed.

  His thirty five years had been spent, for the most part, alone.

  His stomach convulsed and he bent lower, suppressing a groan.

  Neither food nor drink had passed his lips in three days.

  The swill they provided here would kill him more quickly than

  starvation.

  Perhaps he’d die before they could behead him.

  The thought of depriving the bastards of their barbaric entertainment

  brought a painful upward curve to his parched lips.

  The cell door opened with a great groan, but Eric did not look up.

  He’d learned better than to draw attention to himself when the guards

  came looking for a bit of sport.

  But it wasn’t a familiar voice he heard, and it was far too civilized

  to belong to one of those illiterate pigs.

  “Leave us! I’ll call when I’ve finished here.”

  The tone held authority that commanded obedience.

  The door closed with a bang, and still Eric didn’t move.

  Footsteps came nearer and stopped.

  “Come, Marquand, I haven’t all night.”

  He tried to swallow, but felt only dry sand in his throat.

  He lifted his face slowly.

  The man before him smiled, absently stroking the elaborately knotted

  silk cravat at his throat.

  The candlelight made his black hair gleam like a raven’s wing, but his

  eyes glowed even darker.

  “Who are you?”

  Eric managed.

  Speaking hurt his throat after so many days without uttering a word, or

  downing a drop.

  “I am Roland. I’ve come to help you, Eric. Get to your feet. There

  isn’t much time.”

  “Monsieur, if this is a prank” — “I assure you, it is no prank.”

  He reached to grasp Eric’s upper arm, and with a tug that seemed to

  cost him minimal effort at best, he jerked Eric to his feet.

  “You—you don’t even know me. Why would a stranger wish to help me

  now?

  “Twould be a risk to your own freedom.

  Besides, there is naught to be done.

  My sentence is passed.

  I die on the morrow.

  Keep your head, friend.

  Leave here now.

  ” The man called Roland listened to Eric’s hoarse speech, then nodded

  slowly.

  “Yes, you are a worthy one, aren’t you? Speak to me no more, lad. I

  can see it pains you.

  You’d do better to listen.

  I do know you.

  I’ve known you from the time you drew your first breath.

  ” Eric gasped and took a step away from the man.

  A sense of familiarity niggled at his brain.

  He fumbled for the candle without taking his eyes from Roland, and when

  he gripped it, he held it up.

  “What you say is quite impossible, monsieur. Surely you have mistaken

  me for someone else.”

  He blinked in the flickering light, still unable to place the man in

  his memory.

  Roland sighed as if in frustration, and blocked the candlelight from

  his face with one hand.

  “Get that thing out of my face, man. I tell you I know you. I tell

  you I’ve come to help and yet you argue. Can it be you are eager to

  have your head in a basket?”

  Eric moved the candle away, and Roland lowered the hand and faced him

  again.

  “In your fourth year you fell into the Channel. Nearly drowned,

  Eric.

  Have you no memory of the man who pulled you, dripping, from the cold

  water?

  The eve of your tenth birthday celebration you were nearly flattened by

  a runaway carriage.

  Do you not recall the man who yanked you from the path of those

  hooves?

  ” The truth of the man’s words hit Eric like a blow, and he flinched.

  The face so white it appeared chalked, the eyes so black one couldn’t

  see where the iris ended and the pupil began—it was the face of the

  man who’d been there at both those times, he realized, though he wished

  to deny it.

  Something about the man struck him afraid.

  “You mustn’t fear me, Eric Marquand. I am your friend.

  You must believe that.

  ” The dark gaze bored into Eric as the man spoke in a tone that was

  oddly hypnotic.

  Eric felt himself relax.

  “I believe, and I am grateful. But a friend is of little use to me

  now.

  I know not even the number of hours left me.

  Is it full dark yet?

  ” “It is, lad, else I could not be here. But time is short, dawn comes

  soon. It took longer than I anticipated to bribe the guards to allow

  me this visit. If you want to live, you must trust me and do as I say

  without question.”

  He paused, arching his brows and awaiting a response.

  Eric only nodded, unable to think for the confusion in his brain.

  “Good, then,” Roland said.

  “Now, remove the cravat.”

  Eric worked at the ragged, dirty linen with leaden fingers.

  “Tell me what you plan, monsieur.”

  “I plan to see to it that you do not die,” he said simply, as if it

  were already done.

  “I fear no one can prevent tomorrow’s fate.”

  Eric finally loosed the knot and slid the cravat from his neck.

  “You will not die, Eric. Tomorrow, or any other day.

  Come here.

  ” Eric’s feet seemed to become one with the floor.

  He couldn’t have stepped forward had he wanted to.

  His eyes widened and he felt his throat tighten.

  “I know your fear, man, but think!

  Am I more fearsome than the guillotine!

  ” He shouted it, and Eric stiffened and looked around him, but not one

  body stirred.

  “Why—why don’t they wake?”

  Roland came forward then, gripping his shoulders.

  “I don’t understand. Why don’t they wake?”

  Eric asked again.

  The guard pounded on the door.

  “Time’s up!”

  “Five minutes more!”

  Roland’s voice boomed, nearly, Eric thought, rattling the walls.

  “I’ll make it worth your while, man! Now go!”

  Eric heard the guard grumble, and then his footsteps shuffle away from

  the door as he called,

  “Two minutes, then. No more.”

  “Blast it, lad. It has to be done. Forgive me for not finding a way

  to make it less frightening!”

  With those words Roland pulled Eric to him with unnatural strength.

  He pressed Eric’s head back with the flat of one hand, and even as Eric

  struggled to free himself Roland’s teeth sank into his throat.

  When he opened his mouth to release a scream of unbridled horror,

  something wet sealed his lips.

  It sickened him when he understood that it was a wrist, gashed open and

  pulsing blood.

  Roland forced the severed vein to him and Eric had no choice but to

  swallow the vile fluid that filled his mouth.

  Vile?

  No.

  But warm and salty.

  With the first swallow came the shocking realization that he wanted

  more.

  What was happening to him?

  Had he lost his sanity?

  Yes! />
  He must have, for here he was, allowing another man’s blood to assuage

  his painful hunger, his endless thirst.

  He didn’t even cower when the word rushed through his brain like a

  chilling breeze.

  Vampire.

  Fear filled his heart even as roland’s blood filled his body.

  He felt himself weakening, sinking into a dark abyss from which he

  wanted no escape.

  It was a far better death than the one the dawn would bring.

  The blood drugged him, and Roland stepped away.

  Eric couldn’t stand upright.

  He felt emptied of everything in him, and he sank to the floor.

  He didn’t feel the impact.

  His head floated somewhere above him and his skin pricked with a

  million invisible needles.

  “Wh-what have you d-done to me?”

  He had to force the words out, and they slurred together as if he were

  drunk.

  He couldn’t feel his tongue anymore.

  “Sleep, my son. When next you wake you will be free of this cell. I

  promise you that. Sleep.”

  Eric fought to keep his eyes from closing, but they did.

  Vaguely he felt cold hands replacing his soiled cravat.

  Then he heard Roland pound on the door and call for the guard.

  “He’ll not live long enough for his execution, I fear.”

  Roland’s voice seemed to come from far away.

  “The hell, you say! He was fine ” “Look for yourself, man. See how he

  lies there? Dead before the dawn, I’ll wager. I’ll send a coach for

  the body.

  See to it, will you?

  ” “For a price, sir.”

  “Here, then. And there will be more to follow, if you do it precisely

  as I say.”

  “Well, now, if he dies, like you say, I’ll see he gets in your coach.

  But if not, I’ll be here to see he keeps his other appointment. Either

  way he ends up the same. In the ground, eh, mister?”

  Harsh laughter filled the cell and the door slammed.

  CHAPTER ONE In the dream she was running.

  From something, toward something.

  Someone.

  She plunged through dense forest woven with vines and brambles that

  clawed at her legs, snared her, pulled her back.

  Swirls of smoky mist writhed, serpent like, around her calves.

  She couldn’t even see where her feet touched the ground.

  All the while she kept calling for him, but, as always, when she woke

  she couldn’t remember his name.

  Jet hair stuck to her face, glued there by tears and perspiration.