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Authors: Amanda Ashley - Masquerade
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run wild.
"Just a dream." She spoke the words aloud as she closed her eyes. "Just a dream."
* * *
Leanne stared at her reflection in her bedroom mirror, but all she saw were the two small puncture wounds in her neck. For the fifth time in as many minutes, she pressed her fingertips to the twin holes. As before, heat seemed to flow from the wounds and Jason's image danced before her eyes.
She had looked at those marks in the rear view mirror time and again as she drove home that morning. Looked at them and shuddered. There had to be a rational explanation.
Now, still staring into the mirror above her dresser, she tried to laugh at the ridiculous image of Jason bending over her, his teeth turning into fangs, biting her neck. Drinking her blood. She had been watching too many vampire movies, she thought, reading too many books by Rice and Herter and Gideon. She was losing her grip on reality. The marks on her neck were probably nothing more menacing than a couple of mosquito bites.
Leaving the bedroom, she went into the kitchen, grabbed an old rag, and began dusting the living room furniture. Her apartment had been sadly neglected since she met Jason Blackthorne...
Jason. He had been gone when she woke up. A note informed her that he had been called to court to testify in a case, but promised that he would meet her that night after the show.
She had never seen him in the daytime.
Leanne thrust the thought away, plugged in the vacuum cleaner, and ran it over the living room rug. She vacuumed the bedroom, then put the vacuum away, and changed the sheets on her bed. She bundled up her laundry, carried it downstairs, and stuffed it into one of the machines, then went back upstairs to fix lunch.
She had never seen him eat.
Sitting at the table, she cradled her head in her hands. It couldn't be. There was no such thing as vampires. Everybody knew that. They were just myths, stories made popular in films and novels. There had to be a logical explanation for the oddities in Jason's life.
There just had to be.
She wondered if he was still in court and then, because she couldn't wait until after the show to see him, she grabbed her car keys and drove to his house, her laundry forgotten.
She had hidden his house key under a flower pot on the front porch. A sudden unease filled her as she unlocked the massive front door. Without thinking, she dropped the heavy brass key into the pocket of her jeans, then stepped into the entry hall. Never before had she noticed how still the house was.
"Jason?"
She tossed her car keys on the small table inside the front door and walked through the house, as if seeing it for the first time. The rooms were all dark, the sunlight held at bay by the heavy drapes that covered all the windows.
Remembering vampire movies she had seen, she explored every room, every closet, looking for the secret door that led to the hidden room where Jason slept during the day.
She shuddered at the thought of seeing him lying in a silk-lined casket, sleeping the dreamless sleep of the undead during the hours of daylight. Unbidden, unwanted, came a rush of images as she recalled every vampire book she had ever read, every horror movie she had ever seen. All had vividly portrayed vampires as the embodiment of evil, preying upon unsuspecting mortals. She felt a rush of nausea as she imagined Jason stalking some helpless woman, sinking his fangs into his victim's neck...
She pressed her fingers to the marks on her own neck, grimacing as she imagined Jason biting her, drinking her blood. The thought made her gag.
With an effort, she shook the image from her mind. In the den, she paused before one of the paintings signed J. Blackthorne. Jason had told her an ancestor had painted it. She ran her fingers over the distinctive signature, and then she went into the kitchen and picked up the note Jason had left her that morning.
Returning to the den, she compared the handwriting on the note to the signature on the
"Just a dream." She spoke the words aloud as she closed her eyes. "Just a dream."
* * *
Leanne stared at her reflection in her bedroom mirror, but all she saw were the two small puncture wounds in her neck. For the fifth time in as many minutes, she pressed her fingertips to the twin holes. As before, heat seemed to flow from the wounds and Jason's image danced before her eyes.
She had looked at those marks in the rear view mirror time and again as she drove home that morning. Looked at them and shuddered. There had to be a rational explanation.
Now, still staring into the mirror above her dresser, she tried to laugh at the ridiculous image of Jason bending over her, his teeth turning into fangs, biting her neck. Drinking her blood. She had been watching too many vampire movies, she thought, reading too many books by Rice and Herter and Gideon. She was losing her grip on reality. The marks on her neck were probably nothing more menacing than a couple of mosquito bites.
Leaving the bedroom, she went into the kitchen, grabbed an old rag, and began dusting the living room furniture. Her apartment had been sadly neglected since she met Jason Blackthorne...
Jason. He had been gone when she woke up. A note informed her that he had been called to court to testify in a case, but promised that he would meet her that night after the show.
She had never seen him in the daytime.
Leanne thrust the thought away, plugged in the vacuum cleaner, and ran it over the living room rug. She vacuumed the bedroom, then put the vacuum away, and changed the sheets on her bed. She bundled up her laundry, carried it downstairs, and stuffed it into one of the machines, then went back upstairs to fix lunch.
She had never seen him eat.
Sitting at the table, she cradled her head in her hands. It couldn't be. There was no such thing as vampires. Everybody knew that. They were just myths, stories made popular in films and novels. There had to be a logical explanation for the oddities in Jason's life.
There just had to be.
She wondered if he was still in court and then, because she couldn't wait until after the show to see him, she grabbed her car keys and drove to his house, her laundry forgotten.
She had hidden his house key under a flower pot on the front porch. A sudden unease filled her as she unlocked the massive front door. Without thinking, she dropped the heavy brass key into the pocket of her jeans, then stepped into the entry hall. Never before had she noticed how still the house was.
"Jason?"
She tossed her car keys on the small table inside the front door and walked through the house, as if seeing it for the first time. The rooms were all dark, the sunlight held at bay by the heavy drapes that covered all the windows.
Remembering vampire movies she had seen, she explored every room, every closet, looking for the secret door that led to the hidden room where Jason slept during the day.
She shuddered at the thought of seeing him lying in a silk-lined casket, sleeping the dreamless sleep of the undead during the hours of daylight. Unbidden, unwanted, came a rush of images as she recalled every vampire book she had ever read, every horror movie she had ever seen. All had vividly portrayed vampires as the embodiment of evil, preying upon unsuspecting mortals. She felt a rush of nausea as she imagined Jason stalking some helpless woman, sinking his fangs into his victim's neck...
She pressed her fingers to the marks on her own neck, grimacing as she imagined Jason biting her, drinking her blood. The thought made her gag.
With an effort, she shook the image from her mind. In the den, she paused before one of the paintings signed J. Blackthorne. Jason had told her an ancestor had painted it. She ran her fingers over the distinctive signature, and then she went into the kitchen and picked up the note Jason had left her that morning.
Returning to the den, she compared the handwriting on the note to the signature on the
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