by Amanda Ashley
$5.99 US / $7.99 Can.
He whispered her name, and it echoed back to him on the wings of the night. One kiss, he thought, one kiss would do no harm. She was so young, so alive. She radiated warmth and goodness, chasing the coldness from his being, banishing the loneliness from his soul. In four centuries of prowling, the shadows had brought him few pleasures, but the nearness of her soft lips, her warm throat, promised sweetness beyond imagining. She had wandered unchaperoned to the moonlit tomb where he took refuge by day, little suspecting that with his eyes alone he could mesmerize her, compel her to do his bidding. Yet he would not take her life's blood by force or trickery. He would have it as a gift, freely given, and in exchange, he would make her wildest dreams come true.
A voice from from the shadows
"Here lies Alesandro de Avallone. Born the seventh day of June in the year of our Lord 1435. Left this world the twenty-second day of January, 1469."
Below that were the words: "I am not an answer to a prayer - nor a whisper - nor a dare - I am but a thought - across time."
She ran her hand over the cold stone, wondering if the Alesandro who had so generously given her the hospitality of his home had been named for the man buried here.
"Alesandro," She murmured the name aloud, liking the sound of it.
It had been no voice within her head this time, and she whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat when she saw a man standing in the shadows. A man she had seen before. A man she would never forget.
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