Out of the Night

The touch of his lips against her skin, the stroke of his hand, felt so familiar and yet so incomprehensible. But then, some things defy explanation. The way he touched her reminded her of things that were impossible. His lean body against hers. The scent of his skin. The cloudy desire in those brooding eyes, so familiar. The only thing not part of her memories was the icy sensation of his skin beneath her fingers. And the beast that lurked under the surface of his loving touch, ready to devour. She wasn't aware of when he left, yet he haunted her dreams long after he was gone. Even as Jessie fought to wake from those dreams, part of her never wanted to leave again. Jessie moved to the window and stepped out onto the balcony. Below her were no longer the deserted streets of Bourdaqueste, but the landscaping of what was once a magnificent garden, winding gently up to meet the Carpathian Mountains beyond. A pale mist swirled from the foot of the mountains toward the castle, just as the full moon burst from its bondage of clouds. At that moment, the mournful cry of what sounded like a wolf, the lost creature of the night, broke the silence. He emerged from the mist as if shedding a cloak, making no sound, moving with fluid grace. Jessie knew and recognized her beloved, Prince Viktor Brincoveanu. His eyes were piercing as the night. When they met hers, she was powerless to look away. There was something about him, an air of commanding power, as he hesitated before simply rising from the ground, like a magician levitating above the stage, before ascending the wall. Only when he had reached the balcony did Jessie slowly back away, until she reached the unmovable obstacle of the four-poster bed. She was amazed at how soundlessly he crossed the room. His stride was full of purpose and unrelenting determination. His eyes bore into hers. Her heartbeat quickened and yet she wasn't afraid. It was not fear that caused uncertain feelings within her. It was realization. In his eyes were truths she dared not contemplate. His hands were gentle against her skin as he lifted her. He spoke softly against her ear, and she listened and understood his words as he carried her as if she were a child to the large, intricately carved bed, where he laid her gently down, joining her there. "You've come back to me, Meaus Amore. I guess, I've always known you would. Our bond together was always that strong. You've come back to me to spend the centuries of time by my side, as it was destined to be. As it should have been all these years. You belong to me, Gabrielle'. Let me be with you."

About the Author :
Mary Eason grew up in a small Texas town famous for, well not much of anything really. Being the baby of the family and quite a bit younger than her brothers and sister, Mary had plenty of time to entertain herself. Making up stories seem to come natural to her. As a pre-teen, Mary discovered romance novels and knew instinctively that was what she wanted to do with her over-active imagination. She wrote her first novel as a teen, (it's tucked away somewhere never to see the light of day), but never really pursued her writing career seriously until a few years later, when she wrote her first romantic comedy and was hooked. Today, Mary still lives in Texas, and still writes about romance. In fact, she can't think of anything else she'd rather do.