A week passed. ForNavarre , they were the longest seven days of his entire life.

Why, he raged as he paced restlessly from one end of the house to the other, why was he so intrigued by Miss Adrianna Grant? In his time, he had known women who were smarter, women who were more beautiful, more voluptuous, more everything. But he had never known one who had eyes quite that shade of blue, hair quite that shade of blond, a smile that made him believe anything was possible. She filled his thoughts by night and his dreams by day.

Like a schoolboy in the throes of his first crush, he made excuses to pass by her house, her shop. Sometimes, feeling like an adolescent fool, he followed her, always keeping out of sight, always careful to screen his presence from her mind.

He followed her home from work in the evening; he followed her when she went out to dinner with a girlfriend; he followed her into the movie theater one night.

Sitting in the back and off to the side, he had spent two hours watching her face, watching her reactions to the bittersweet love story unfolding on the screen. Her laughter filled him with sunshine; her tears made him long to comfort her.

Trailing after her as she walked home from the theater, he had cursed himself for being a fool. But he couldn't stop thinking of her, couldn't stop remembering the sweet womanly scent of her skin and hair, the way she had fit into his embrace, the intoxicating taste of her kisses.

He couldn't stop thinking of her; could not stop wanting her.

Prowling through the quiet rooms of his house, he told himself to take her and be done with it. She wanted him, whether she knew it or not. He could make her his at any time. With the power of his mind, he could call her to him. He could mesmerize her with the power of his gaze, bend her will to his, take what he wanted and send her away, the knowledge of what transpired between them erased from her mind with a word...

He swore a vile oath as he brought his fist down on a heavy oak table. He didn't want her like that - no better than a puppet while he pulled the strings. He wanted her warm and willing, fully aware of what was happening between them. He wanted to hear the sound of his name on her lips; he wanted to gaze deep into her eyes and see love reflected there...

Love! He cursed under his breath. Where hadthat come from? Love, indeed. What woman would love a creature like him, a man who was not a man at all, a man who lived by night and existed on the blood of others?

He thought of Katlaina, and pain ripped through him. She had promised to love him forever, and he had believed her. Even now, almost two thousand years later, he could remember the look in her eyes when he appeared to her after he'd been changed. She had stared at him in revulsion, sickened by the look of death in his eyes. She had recognized him for what he was - an inhuman monster. Even the recollection of her acceptance of him years later, when she was dying, could not banish the agony of that moment when she had backed away from him, her face as pale as death, her eyes wide with fear and loathing.

He cursed bitterly. He had lived almost two thousand years, and in all that time, he had never loved another woman. He had lived alone, though he could have taken any woman he desired, taken her and used her and tossed her away.

But now he was wanting a woman, one particular woman, very badly. Adrianna... Surely he deserved to have this one woman. He had lived alone for almost two thousand years, taking only the blood he needed to survive, leaving those he drank from alive when he could so easily have killed them. He had spared countless lives. Surely he deserved this one woman...

With a strangled cry, he stalked out of the house. He wanted her, and he would have her before the night was out, and heaven help anyone who got in his way!

With preternatural speed, he made it to her house in a matter of minutes. The drapes in the living room were open, and he could see her sitting on the sofa, her face bathed in lamplight, an open book, on her lap.

Lingering in the shadows under the oak tree, he saw a faint smile curve her lips as she turned a page. Curious to know what had brought such a melancholy expression to her face, he probed her mind, surprised to discover that she was wishing a knight in shining armor would ride into her life, sweep her off her feet, and carry her away.

He cursed softly. She was so young, so innocent. There were no fairy-tale endings in life - only pain and loss and endless loneliness.

A rueful grin twisted his lips. It would not be a gallant warrior in sun-bright armor sweeping her off her feet this night, but a monster in the guise of a man. For too long, he had pretended to be something he wasn't.

Tonight, he would unleash the beast within him.

A low, animal-like growl of remorse rumbled deep in his throat. For a moment, he thought of turning away, of returning home, his desire unfulfilled, his hunger unfed. With sheer effort of will, he forced the thought from his mind. A lion did not feel sympathy for its prey. It made its kill, clean and quick, took what it needed to survive, and moved on.

And so would he. Like the lion, he would take what he needed, what he wanted, and move on.

Adrianna sighed as she put the book aside and went to answer the door. She was no dreamer, no schoolgirl, to believe in fairy tales and happily-ever-after, but, oh, how she wished the man of her dreams would suddenly appear.

Wondering who would be coming to see her so late at night, she slid the safety chain in place, then opened the door.

She gasped when she sawNavarre standing on the porch. Speechless, she blinked up at him. Maybe dreamsdid come true!

She swallowed, then moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Hello."

Navarre's nod was curt. "Hello."

He wasn't wearing armor or riding a white horse, she mused, but he looked terribly handsome in a dark gray sweater and sweat pants.

She lifted one hand to the safety chain. "Would you like to come in?"

He stared down at her, at the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat, at the wonder in her blue eyes, and slowly shook his head. "No."

"Oh."

He felt the keen edge of her disappointment, knew, instinctively, that she had foolishly cast him in the role of white knight. White, indeed, he mused, when his whole life had been spent in darkness.

She licked her lips again, and he felt the stirrings of desire unfurl within him. "Did you want something?"

"The bed." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he had picked the wrong topic of conversation. It was all too easy to picture her in the bed he had once slept in, lying beneath the canopy, her hair spread over the pillow, her eyes heavy-lidded with passion.

"The bed?" she repeated, puzzled.

"Yes, I... I came by to make sure you were happy with it."

She hesitated a moment before answering. She was happy with the bed. It was beautiful and comfortable and yet, even though she knew it was silly, she couldn't help feeling that her new bed was somehow responsible for the strange dreams she'd been having.

"Is something wrong with it?"Navarre asked.

"No, of course not. I found an old lace bedspread for it in my great-grandmother's trunk. My mother told me it was part of great-grandmother Hall's dowry from the old country. Would you like to see it?"

Every instinct shouted at him to say no, to turn away before it was too late. Too late for her. Too late for him. Instead, he found himself nodding.

Adrianna closed the door so she could remove the safety chain, then invited him inside with a smile and a wave of her hand.

All too aware that he was making a mistake, he followed her down the corridor that led to her bedroom.

He hadn't paid much attention to the room before. Now, he noticed that the walls were papered with a delicate blue-and-rose print. An antique oak dresser stood across from the bed; an oval mirror hung on the wall. A rag doll sat in a small rocking chair located in one corner. Pale blue curtains hung at the window; a blue carpet covered the floor.

He stood in the doorway, careful to avoid the mirror.

Adrianna ran her hand over the spread. "It looks good, don't you think?"

Navarrenodded. Indeed, the ivory lace spread looked as if it had been made for his bed, this room, this woman.

He clenched his fists at his sides to keep from crossing the floor and taking her in his arms. It would be so easy, he thought, so easy to press her down to the bed that had once been his and satisfy his desire, his hunger, in one swift, fatal embrace.

Adrianna looked up then, her gaze meeting his. The expression glittering in his eyes sent the breath rocketing from her lungs. She was no expert on men, but she knew desire when she saw it, and never had she seen it burning hotter or brighter than in this man's eyes.

Awareness hummed between them, vibrant, palpable, so intense, it was frightening.

She took an involuntary step backward as he pushed away from the doorway and moved toward her. There was a predatory gleam in the depths ofNavarre 's eyes, a hunger that went beyond desire, a need that transcended the boundaries of time.

With a cry of despair, she shook her head, her foot catching on the bedspread as she recoiled from his touch.

The look in her eyes, so like the look he'd once seen in Katlaina's, cutNavarre to the heart, ravaging his soul as the sun would ravage his body dared he linger in its light too long.

He began to tremble convulsively as he fought to control the hunger raging through him. Never had he wanted a woman as he wanted this woman. Never had the urge to take what he wanted been so strong.

Never before had he truly realized how difficult it was to separate the desires of the flesh from the desire for blood.

"Forgive me," he rasped, and fled the room as if pursued by the devil himself.

Outside, he took a deep breath, willing his hands to stop shaking, his heart to stop pounding. Foolish heart, to be so easily swayed by the fear in a woman's eyes.

At home, he stood at the attic window and stared out into the darkness.

"Vampire." He spoke the word aloud, as if to remind himself of who and what he was.

Vampire. A solitary, soulless creature who hunted the night.

Vampire. An inhuman monster who lived off the blood of others, who dared not befriend humans for fear that desire would turn to blood lust, that a kiss of affection might be a prelude to sudden death.

Vampire. A ghoul who was not welcome in the world of humanity or among his own kind. Territorial creatures, those of the undead, jealous of their hunting grounds, secretive in their ways, zealous in the protection of their lairs.

"Vampire!"

Never had he loathed the word, loathed what he was, as he did at that moment.

Never before had the gulf between himself and the rest of the world seemed so wide, or so deep, or so impossible to cross.

Adrianna wandered through her house, bemused by what had happened between herself and Navarre. In spite of what he'd said, she didn't believe for a minute that he had come knocking at her door to ask if she was happy with the bed! So why had he shown up at her door so late at night?

She shied away from the answer that immediately came to mind, yet she could not forget the desire she had seen blazing in his eyes, could not forget the tension that had hummed between them like an electrical current.

She wondered what would have happened if she hadn't backed away, if he had pulled her into his arms, tipped her face up to his, and kissed her. Would she have protested, or would she have melted in his arms like butter left too long in the sun?

Going into the bedroom, she changed into her nightgown, brushed her teeth, then settled herself in bed to read for a few minutes.

But she couldn't concentrate on the story. Something kept niggling at her mind, something about Navarre...

She stared at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall across from the bed, and then it hit her. When he had crossed the room toward her, he had passed in front of the mirror. She had seen her face, the fear in her own eyes, but Navarre had cast no reflection in the glass.

"I must be hallucinating," she muttered, and picked up her book, determined to put it out of her mind. It had been nothing more than her mind playing tricks on her because she'd been so upset.

But that night her dreams were again filled with shadows, and lurking deep in the shadows was a tall dark man with hair as black as ink and gray eyes that burned into her heart and soul, leaving her aching and empty and yearning for something she dared not name. A man whose voice penetrated every fiber of her being, calling to her from the depths of sadness, wordlessly pleading for comfort and acceptance.

She woke with the dawn, her eyes wet with tears.