Megan crossed her arms, her chin jutting out defiantly. “What if I don’t want to meet the Council?”
“Be there, or I’ll come and get you.”
Forcing as much sarcasm as she could into her voice, she muttered, “Yes, Master.”
“Exactly,” he said. “And don’t you forget it.”
With a huff, she turned on her heel and walked up the driveway.
Rhys stifled the urge to call her back. She had every right to be angry with him. Dammit! He could compel her to return, force her to stay with him, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He loved her, and although she might not want to admit it now, she loved him.
Whether they spent their future together or not was up to her.
Chapter 49
Aware of Rhys’s gaze on her back, Megan went up the stairs and into the house, then slammed the door behind her. She knew it was childish, but she felt better for it. Then, unable to help herself, she hurried to the front window and peered out at the sidewalk. There was no one there. She couldn’t help feeling hurt that he had let her go so easily. Oh, she knew she had made him angry, but what had he expected? One day she was trying on wedding dresses and the next thing she knew, she was a vampire.
Vampire.
Undead.
Creature of the night.
She licked her lips, remembering how enjoyable it had been to feed off the dark-haired man, amazed by how natural it had seemed, how good he had tasted. She should have been repulsed by what she had done; instead, she was eager to go out and do it again. What if she went to visit her parents and all she wanted to do was snack on them? What would they think when they saw her, when they knew what she was? Would they be horrified? Or overcome with guilt for agreeing to let Rhys turn her into a monster?
But she didn’t feel like a monster. She felt the same as always, only better.
What was she going to do about Rhys? He had asked her to marry him, but she had been mortal at the time. Was his proposal still valid now that she was dead?
Not dead. Undead.
She blew out an impatient sigh. Whatever she was, she felt more vital and alive than ever before. Stronger mentally and physically. More sure of herself.
She lifted a hand to her face. Did she look the same? Shirl had looked the same, and yet not. Her hair had been more lustrous, her eyes more intense, her skin almost luminous. None of the changes had been blatant, but they had been there.
Just her luck, Megan thought ruefully. She probably looked better than she ever had but, being a vampire, she would never be able to see for herself.
Filled with a sudden nervous energy, she dived into a frenzy of housework, vacuuming the rugs, changing the sheets on her bed. Moving into the kitchen, she stared at the refrigerator for a moment and then, taking a deep breath, she opened the door.
Megan had expected to find a gallon of sour milk and a crisper filled with spoiled produce; instead, the refrigerator was empty. That was odd, she thought, then realized that while she had been in a coma, her parents had probably stayed here. Her mother must have cleaned out the fridge and watered the plants.
Murmuring, “Oh, Mom,” she sat on one of the kitchen chairs and burst into tears. How was she ever going to face her parents? How could she ever trust herself to be with them? What if she went to see them and they were repulsed by what she was, or, worse, afraid of her? But they hadn’t been afraid of Rhys, not if what he said was true.
Her sobs came harder, faster. She cried for her lost humanity, for the children she would never have, the suntan she wouldn’t get next summer, all the chocolates she would never eat.
She grabbed a towel and wiped her face, stared at the faint streaks of red on the towel, then, with her finger, she wiped a tear from her eye. It was red. But of course it was. She was a vampire now. Fighting a rush of hysteria, she went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face. So, she was a vampire. Time to stop feeling sorry for herself and look on the bright side. She would never get sick. She would never have to worry about getting old and wrinkled and helpless. But even that had its drawbacks. All the people she knew would age and die—her parents, Mr. Parker, Drexel, all of her other clients. Sooner or later, they would all be gone.
All but Rhys…
He loved her.
She loved him.
He was a vampire.
She was a vampire.
There was no reason for them to be apart now. Whatever danger she might have faced as his mortal companion no longer existed.
She sat there, thinking about her future, until a rather unpleasant tingle skittered down her spine. She knew instinctively that it was almost dawn.
She checked all the doors and windows to make sure they were locked, closed the curtains in her bedroom, then changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed, her heart pounding.
Lying on her back, she stared up at the ceiling. What would it be like when she was compelled to sleep during the day? Was it like death? A cold knot of fear formed in the pit of her stomach. What if she didn’t wake up again?
Megan, close your eyes and relax.
The sound of Rhys’s voice calmed her immediately. His thoughtfulness made her love him all the more. In spite of everything, he hadn’t left her to face her first day as a vampire alone.
Megan came awake as the sun went down. For a moment, she lingered under the covers. The Dark Sleep really was like death, she thought. Judging from the unrumpled blankets on her bed, she hadn’t moved at all once she closed her eyes. Nor had she dreamed.
Throwing the covers aside, she went into the bathroom to shower. Emerging some fifteen minutes later, she pulled on her bathrobe, then sat on the edge of the bed. What did vampires do to pass the time?
Feeling at loose ends, she found her cell phone, took a deep breath, and called her parents. As soon as she heard her mother’s voice, she knew everything would be all right. Vampire or not, her parents loved her. Nothing would change that. She talked to her mom and then her dad, and then her mom again. After assuring her mother that she was fine and promising to see them soon, Megan ended the call, had another good cry, and went out to try hunting solo.
At eleven thirty, Megan stood in front of her closet, her foot tapping impatiently as she went through her clothes. Nothing suited her mood. And then, on impulse, she reached into the back and pulled out a dress she had bought on a whim but never worn. Removing the plastic, she held it up. It was perfect. A pair of three-inch black heels and her grandmother’s antique pearl necklace completed the outfit.
“You can’t go wrong with basic black and pearls,” she muttered, and left the house.
She arrived at the address Rhys had given her ten minutes late, on purpose. It was a small act of defiance, but it made her feel better.