CHAPTER TWENTY

The day after Halloween was All Saints Day. A day to honor the dead. A day for generations of New Orleans families to gather in the crumbling cemeteries and receive one another over the graves of those they had loved. It was a sweetly sunny afternoon, the clouds ephemeral as a long ago dream. Michael raised all of the downstairs windows. He was reading a monograph on gene therapy and dreaming of a day in which he could return to the art and practice of medicine.

"The real estate office dropped this off," Selene announced as she walked into the room. She was holding a box of chocolates. "I suppose they didn't know who they were selling this house to." She handed Michael the congratulatory card as she passed. "I'm going to throw this away and lie down for awhile." More and more, she craved sleep.

Michael heard her footsteps on the stairs. He finished the journal he was studying. Then he had an idea. He went into the kitchen, where he found the chocolates still sitting on a counter. He opened the box and selected a dark cream. He tiptoed up the beautifully turned, Cuban mahogany staircase to join Selene.

She was reclining on a chaise in the front bedroom. He walked over to her and leaned down. "Selene," he breathed into her ear. "Don't open your eyes." He knelt beside her.

"Open your mouth, love," he whispered.

"What?"

"Ssshhhhh…just do it."

She obeyed and he bit the chocolate in half. He placed a piece on her tongue. Surprised, her eyes flew open.

"Close your eyes," he said again. "Just let it sit on your tongue for a minute."

He studied her face, watching her expression change from surprise to bliss.

"Don't swallow."

She tilted her head back and sighed. A glow spread across her cheeks. Presently, she opened her eyes. Michael held out his hand, "OK, you can spit it out now."

She did so and asked, "Who taught you to do that?"

"No one, I just missed the taste of chocolate so much. It was worth a try, right?" he grinned and put the other half in his mouth. He held it on his tongue until the urge to swallow became overwhelming. He spit it into his palm and winked at Selene. "I'll be right back," he said.

He washed the chocolate away and returned. He swept Selene off of the chaise and carried her to the bed. She laughed and ran her hands up and down his back. As they tumbled amid the pillows, he purred into her ear. She combed her fingers through his hair, pulling it gently. He smiled down at her. His love was so great for this fierce, stubborn vampire that it hurt. He blinked away sudden tears and said, "I want to give you this." He pulled something from his pocket.

"More chocolate?"

"No, hold out your hand." With grave care, he slid a ring onto her finger. It was ornately carved and very warm from the heat of his body. "I found this in Budapest. It was made the century you were born," he said softly. "I bought it when I realized about the baby."

"Michael…"

"Wait, let me say this. We might live a thousand years, or maybe a hundred." He paused, looking down at Selene. "We may only last this year. I don't know. However long we have…whatever becomes of us…I love you. It doesn't matter anymore if you don't marry me. I love you and I know you love me, Selene. Whatever happens, we will have made this baby, you and I." It was the first time he had said anything about her pregnancy since they had arrived in Louisiana. He placed his fingers over the small mound. "And that means more than any ceremony ever could."

Selene didn't move or speak for a long, long moment. She pulled Michael to her with a sudden ferocity. She held him tightly, unable to utter a word. He rolled onto his back, taking Selene with him. The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows, making patterns on the hand blocked French wallpaper of the opposite wall. The shadows slowly lengthened, faded and darkness came. Michael slept, his chin resting against Selene's hair. She lay with her head cradled on his chest, her eyes wide and unseeing. The ring on her finger had a strange, terrible weight to it. She knew she could not again ask Michael to abort their child. Not so long as she wore the ring he had given her.

She knew what Michael wanted…what his ring meant. Its symbolism left her unable to relax, unable to rest. She knew she was unequal to Michael's need. To his dreams and his desires. She did not want the baby. She knew she never would. She also knew the hours Michael spent away from her were not only to hunt or bring her blood from the Ziodex subsidiary. She knew he was actively working with a lab on an antidote. He came home to her, the smell of antiseptic and strange compounds woven in the fabric of his clothes, clinging to his hair and skin. He wanted his child set free from a world that might seek to take its life or take its blood as a weapon. She knew he wanted nothing more than to return to his life as a healer. Or perhaps to become a different sort of healer altogether.

When at last sleep found her, she was gripped with visions of loss and grief.