William by Claire Cray Page B

of green. "Shall we see the pond?"
    "Yes, let's." Setting aside old memories, I
found the shadows of the pasture rather welcoming. And I was
surprised to notice that I could see quite clearly into the
darkness, almost as if by some invisible lantern. Another vampire
blessing, I realized.
    Even as we stepped onto the grass and into
the dark quiet, I had begun to taste what Merrick had meant by
"changes yet to come." My teeth, in particular, were becoming
distracting. Every so often they tingled faintly, and I had an
increasing urge to stretch my jaw like a cat. At last I had to lift
my hand to my face to cover the odd yawn. "Pardon me," I said,
puzzled. "I don't feel tired at all."
    "It's your teeth. You're getting
thirsty."
    I looked at him. His eyes were always
brightest in the dark. I wondered if mine were, as well. Anyway, he
was right. I was getting thirsty. But that I had expected. It was
part of the deal. What I had not anticipated was the truth of
Theo's words back in New York: Instinct will do the job.
    Bloody Hell. He was right. I'd gone
cold-blooded, and it seemed as though—if I wanted to—I could make
the transition quite peacefully, indeed.
    Merrick took my hand, lacing his fingers
through mine, and raised it to his lips for a kiss. We were far
enough from the street not to be seen through any windowpane;
indeed, in the dark groves of the Common, we seemed to be
completely alone. It was almost as though we were back in the woods
outside his cottage upstate. We had walked them after nightfall
once, through the thick, winding trees in the inky darkness of the
Hudson Valley wilds, the night he finally put his mouth on my body,
the night before he fled his desires and sent me away.
    Now we came to a stop at the crest of a
little knoll crowned by several grown elm trees. The pond was a
circle of black in the dale below, shimmering with tiny obsidian
ripples wherever the breeze swept the surface. After a quiet
moment, Merrick gently pulled me back into the darkest space
between the trees and wound an arm about my waist, drawing a
fingertip along the edge of my jaw as if he needed to prompt me to
look at his unforgettably handsome face. And, ah, here was the
Merrick I remembered, gazing into my eyes with that inscrutable
look, searching for something only he understood.
    "Shall we not discuss it?" I whispered, for
my teeth, my teeth, my lips and my tongue, they felt more urgent by
the moment.
    "What was all that talk of being my
apprentice again?" Merrick smoothed my hair, his tone gentle.
"Where is the confidence you once had in my guidance?"
    At that, I looked down with a flicker of...I
didn't know what, but it wasn't pleasure, and I schooled my brow so
as not to betray it.
    "Of course," Merrick said softly, "I was a
more confident teacher."
    Damn it, I loved him. Sometimes the things he
said made something in my chest twist in the most delicious way,
and I did not even know why, except that I loved him, and
apparently that was one of the symptoms. I closed my eyes and
turned my cheek into his hand. "Botany was a subject I found
somewhat less intimidating," I murmured.
    "Yet I've no doubt you'll take to this just
as gracefully."
    I was breathing in the dark fragrance of his
silky wrist as he spoke, and now I exhaled with a soft laugh.
"Gracefully? You keep using that word. Are you sure you know what
it means in this century?"
    "I gather you've not heard it from anyone
else. It's my honest pleasure to be the first."
    I smiled and lowered my head to his shoulder,
wrapping my arms around him for a long and blissful embrace.
Christ, I loved him. "Make no mistake," I said. "I'm hanging onto
your every remark. Your faith in my character is profoundly
comforting."
    "Faith would imply a lack of evidence,"
Merrick murmured, echoing my own words from earlier. When I lifted
my head to respond, he kissed me; softly, at first, as though he
meant to be brief, and then with a slower, deeper intent. Soon we
were molded together,