Anna Strong - Legacy Part 14

More than let him. I was his eager protegee. I believed everything he told me. Questioned nothing. Blinded by a powerful s.e.xual attraction and fueled by a new blood drive, I fed from him body and soul. It was powerful. It was an addiction.

It was wonderful beyond words.

Until I learned the truth.

Avery's house is on Mount Soledad. It sits behind a gated wall, perched high over the Pacific. The gate yawns open at my approach, but I see no one in the gatehouse. I steer the Jag up the long, palm-tree-lined driveway fighting a sudden impulse to turn the car around and race away.

As strong as that urge is, though, a burning desire to see Sandra is stronger. It propels me forward, sends fingers flying upward to smooth my hair, to touch my lips, to trace the curve of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s through the silk of my dress.

I can't control it.

My hands start to shake. I felt this way with Avery. Out of control. Bewitched.

I bang a fist on the steering wheel, hard enough to send a s.h.i.+ver of pain racing up my arm.

I won't let it happen again.

The house looms ahead. Light spills out of every window, warm, inviting shafts of light that signal welcome like a beacon. I pull up at the front door. There are no other cars or motorcycles in sight but there is a garage in back. Sandra must be parked there.

I climb out of the car, closing the door gently. She knows I'm here. Just as I know she's inside. I feel it like the breeze on my face.

There's a tickle of scent on the air. Jasmine. Rose. Something more exotic. Frangipani. I breathe it in. Closing my eyes, tilting my face. Stalling.

When I open my eyes again, I see it. Rising over the roof of Avery's house. Sending clouds scurrying from its brilliance like rats from a golden scythe.

The full moon.

CHAPTER 28.

THE FULL MOON.

I've never been a follower of astrological charts. Don't read my horoscope or follow lunar timetables to determine when to change the color of my hair or seek out new friends.

I didn't know the moon would be full.

Did Sandra? Is that why she wanted to see me tonight?

The book said the full moon, though a werewolf's reminder that he must change at least once a month, is not an edict. When I walk in, will I be met by an entirely different Sandra than the one I remember from Beso de la Muerte?

Do I care?

Not really.

I'm more concerned about how I'm going to handle being in Avery's house.

Unlike the gate at the front, the front door does not swing open at my approach. I press the bell with a hand that shakes in spite of my commanding it not to. I hear the chimes and, again, am transported back to the first time I found myself on Avery's doorstep.

Dread mixes with antic.i.p.ation in a strange concoction of emotion that makes my stomach lurch at the same time my libido jumps into overdrive.

This is ridiculous.

Maybe I should turn around and go home. Let Sandra come to me. Meet on my turf. I haven't read that last chapter. Wait until I've read it. Wait until the G.o.dd.a.m.ned full moon is past.

"h.e.l.lo, Anna."

The melodious voice floats on the air, and for a moment, I look around stupidly thinking she must have snuck up behind me. Then reason returns and I remember the security camera over the door. I frown into the blinking lens.

"Are you going to let me in?"

She laughs. "Of course. I wanted to warn you first. I have a pet inside, and she tends to be protective. Be a good girl and you'll be perfectly safe."

What the f.u.c.k? A pet?

The door doesn't open. She's obviously waiting for me to agree not to attack her on sight. Why would I? She still doesn't get that I'm not going to fight her about Avery's estate. It's not lost on me, though, that in effect, she's threatening me. I've never suffered bullying well.

"Either you're going to let me in or I'm going home. Makes no difference to me. If I do come in, you might want to put a leash on that pet. You may have forgotten what I'm capable of. Avery made the same mistake."

There's a moment's silence, then the door opens.

Sandra stands in the doorway, backlit by the soft glow of a fireplace in the living room behind her. I get a flash of Avery in that same spot, inviting me in, a party in full swing behind him. I'm dizzy with conflicting emotions. I vowed never to come here again.

The pain of finding David, of betrayal, of lost love sweeps over me with such force, it sends panic rioting through me.

As if reading what's in my head, Sandra lays a rea.s.suring hand on my arm. "I understand it is difficult for you to be here. I promise to make it better. Please come in, Anna. We have much to discuss."

The touch of her hand, the touch of her voice reaching into my psyche brings me back with a jolt. Avery fades. The party fades.

I'm back in the present staring into the eyes of a woman who seems able to read my soul.

But that's only the first shock.

When my senses return, and I look, really look, at Sandra, disbelief chases any other emotion right out of my head. She's wearing a red dress. A Badgley Mischka gown of silk cut low at the neck and slit high at the sides. The gown Avery gave me before our last meeting. The gown I threw in a wastebasket after I killed him.

CHAPTER 29.

SANDRA TAKES A STEP BACK AND TWIRLS AROUND. "Isn't this the most beautiful gown? I found it in a closet upstairs.

I couldn't resist trying it on. Fits me well, don't you think?"

The eyes are too wide, the voice too breathless, the innocence stamped on that smiling face too p.r.o.nounced to be real. She knows exactly whose dress it is. Or was. Where did she get it? The last time I saw it, it was crumpled in a wastebasket in David's condo.

"How did you get that dress?" It erupts like a growl.

No pretense in the emotion that shows on her face this time. Cunning. Self-congratulatory pleasure in having shocked me.

Arrogance in the belief that she now has the upper hand.

Mistaken arrogance.

I purposely keep my voice low. "How did you get the dress, Sandra?"

She blinks back to innocence. "I told you, Anna. In a closet upstairs."

She lets a heartbeat go by, then before I can reply, adds, "Why do you ask?" She lifts a hand, trailing a finger between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Don't tell me. Was this your dress? Did Avery buy this for you? He has been a naughty boy, hasn't he?"

Her eyes have turned cold, glittering in the dim light of the foyer like blue diamonds on snow. She's watching me, head tilted, eyes narrowed, body still except for the fingers that continue to move in a provocative path down to the depths of her decollete and up again.

When I move, it's so fast, she has no time to prepare. I grab that hand and bend it backward at the wrist. She flinches, gasping, trying to relieve the pressure. I step back with her, holding tight, and bring my face close to hers.

"Where did you get that dress?"

Then, before I can stop it, she's yanked her hand free and is pus.h.i.+ng me, forcing me back until I'm rammed with ferocious force into the wall. Now it's her face that looms above me, her hands that hold mine in a grip I can't break, and her voice growling in my ear.

"I told you to play nice, Anna."

Her eyes are animal eyes. Her body has lost its softness, as if the feminine has been swallowed up by a hard and masculine anger.

Her scent has changed. Gone is the subtlety of roses and pheromones, the promise of s.e.x. In its place are musk and testosterone and an odor I don't recognize until I see the burning in her eyes. It's the smell of rage, sharp, pungent, threatening. Violence a flicker, a kiss, away.

I stand still and wait for it to pa.s.s. Wait for the instant she no longer perceives me as a threat and the animal retreats.

She burrows her face close to my neck. She inhales my scent, licks the skin, her tongue rests on my jugular. She's interpreting my intentions the same way I did hers.

At last, the fury drains from her body. I feel it, in my head and in the physical release as her muscles lose their rigidity, and the softness, the feminine, returns.

She straightens up and stands back. She turns, head down as if embarra.s.sed, and walks away, into the living room. She doesn't say a word or look around to see if I'm following.

I slump against the wall for a moment, waiting for my body to stop shaking and for my head to clear.She's strong and fast. Faster than I am. Stronger? I'm not sure. She caught me off guard and tossed me into that wall like a rag doll. I've fought centuries-old vampires and won.

Not this time, though. The first round goes to Sandra. I realize now I cannot let my guard down for a moment with this one. Not if I want to survive.

I watch her, in front of the fireplace, her back to me, her posture relaxed. She raises her hands and runs her fingers through her hair.

She stands with one hip slightly thrust forward, a model's stance that draws one's eyes to the curves of her body. It's a cultivated pose. She knows I'm watching.

The siren is back.

CHAPTER 30.

I Pa.s.s A HAND OVER MY FACE TO GATHER MY WITS, clear my head before moving to stand beside her at the fireplace.

She does not acknowledge my presence. She's grown still. She's staring into the fire, eyes dreamy and unfocused, head tilted, her thoughts obviously turned inward. She seems to be listening. To what or to whom, I have no idea.

"Sandra?"

The sound of my voice brings her back. It's subtle. Her shoulders straighten a bit, her eyes brighten. She half turns toward me, an eyebrow arched, as if trying to remember who I am or why I'm here.

The ambiguity pa.s.ses quickly.

"Anna." She gestures toward one of the chairs placed on either side of a large coffee table. "Please, sit down. We have business to discuss."

No indication, no mention of what transpired between us. She gathers the long folds of the gown and eases herself into a chair, waiting for me to do the same.

"I want to know about the dress," I say, still standing.

She looks up at me with a hint of impatience drawing the corners of her mouth into a small frown. "I told you. I found it upstairs."

"Not possible. It was my gown, and I know where I left it. It was not in this house."

She waves a hand. "G.o.d. What difference does it make where you left it? It may not be the same dress."

"It's the same. It was an original." I hesitate a moment, wondering if I should say anything else. When the expression on her face darkens into irritation, it trips my own. "I know it because Avery told me it was. The night he gave it to me."

"And you believed everything he told you. How did that work out for you?"

Her fingers begin to move restlessly, picking at the dress, pinching the silk, plucking at the neckline. It's as if they are acting to relieve the agitation I see building again in her eyes. She's fighting to control-what? Herself? Me? I'm having a hard time recognizing the woman who bewitched me in Culebra's bar with the sound of her voice, the warmth of her smile. Suddenly, I feel foolish. Why am I standing here dressed to seduce or be seduced by a woman who doesn't seem capable of either?

I feel her watching me. When I meet her eyes, the frantic movements have stopped. Her expression is once again calm, detached.

Then, as if having conjured up my last thought, she rises from the chair.

"We can do whatever you want, Anna," she says, her voice rough as new wine. She slips the straps of the gown off her shoulders, and it falls in a silken puddle to her feet. "All you have to do is ask."

CHAPTER 31.