Twilight Hunger by MAGGIE SHAYNE

that he sensed was all that covered her. Her neck was long and slender. Dante licked his lips, and his desire stirred. He didn’t make a habit of sampling innocent blood. He killed, yes. He could live on cold, stale blood stored in plastic bags, as some did. But he didn’t really call that living. So he killed, but mostly only those who dearly needed killing. Other times, he paid for his desires to be sated. There were women who specialized in satisfying needs like his. They were discreet, and paid enough to keep them that way.
    This woman…she wasn’t one of them. And yet he was drawn to her, pulled. He wanted her.
    He stood so close to the doors that his breath, though cool, fogged the glass. He wiped it away, looking at her, and he wished silently that she would tug the sheet away, so he could see her more fully. Know for sure if she wore anything against her skin, underneath the covers.
    Almost before the thought was complete, the woman lifted her hand to the top of the sheet and peeled it slowly away from her body. She was completely naked, as he had suspected. And for a moment all he could do was look at her and drink in her beauty. Small breasts, but soft, their tips rose-colored and plump. She was far too thin, ribs showing clearly beneath her skin. The hair between her thighs was the same burnished color as that on her head.
    He let his gaze move up her body again. Let it linger on her breasts, and he thought about tasting them, and even as he thought it, her nipples stiffened. Frowning, Dante watched with some amazement. Could she be aware of his thoughts on some level? He could exercise mind control over a weak-willed mortal, he knew that, but he would at least have to be trying. The odd stray thought shouldn’t…
    He shifted his gaze to her face and wondered, should he happen to think about her creamy thighs parting for him, whether she would…
    Her legs moved apart. Dante shivered with arousal and hunger, and not a little fear. It was as he was backing away that his mind cleared, giving him the answer he should have seen right away. Suddenly he understoodwhat he’d been sensing earlier, that prickling awareness and attraction.
    She was one of them. She was one of the Chosen.
    He backed across the balcony, reached the railing and, turning, jumped it without hesitation. On the ground, he stood, looking around him and then out to the sea, as if it held the answers. If he’d had anywhere else in the world to go, he would have gone, and gladly.
    But the sun would be up soon. And this place was the only haven he had left. He could create others, but that would take time. No, for now, he could only stay here.
    But he was going to have to avoid the woman at all costs. Never had he experienced that sort of mind link with a mortal. Never. Nor had he with others of his own kind. What the hell did this mean?
    He walked out toward the cliffs and, at the familiar spot, looked down at the stone ledge, some fifteen feet below. There was a small opening in the stone wall that backed that ledge. It was still shrouded by the vines he had planted ages ago. They sprouted around his feet where he stood and grew from the bits of soil along the cliff-face, draping downward to cover the cave’s entrance like a curtain.
    He hoped the passage that ran beneath the earth all the way back to the house hadn’t collapsed by now. And he hoped the rooms hidden beneath the old house hadn’t disintegrated to dust after so much time.
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    She was dreaming about Dante again.
    He stood over her bed, staring down at her. Just stood there. He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t touch her.
    She lay there, staring back at him, wishing he would do or say something. Anything. But he didn’t.
    She opened her mouth to speak and found she couldn’t. So instead she looked at him. It was odd that she knew his face so well, she thought idly as she perused it in her dream. It was angular, and cruel.