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it echoed back to him on the wings of the night.
    Analisa. Analisa. Analisa.
    She stared up at him, mute, helpless, and he knew he could not take her by force, knew that as much as he craved her sweetness, as much as he needed it, he did not want to take her life's blood by force or by trickery. He wanted it as a gift, freely given.
    One kiss, he thought; one kiss would do no harm. Her eyelids fluttered down as his mouth sought hers. Her lips were warm and soft and tasted of chamomile and honey. She was so young, so alive; being this close to her was like standing in front of a roaring fire. She radiated life and goodness. It drew him like a living flame, chasing the coldness from his being, banishing the loneliness from his soul. His lips moved over hers, ever so lightly. Desire surged within him as, ever so tentatively, she returned his kiss.
    Afraid of hurting her, afraid he could not for long resist the powerful temptation of her nearness, he lifted her into his arms, carried her swiftly into the house, and put her to bed.
    "Sleep, my sweet Analisa." He brushed a lock of hair from her brow, let his fingertips slide down the warm, sweet curve of her cheek. "Sleep and dream your girlish dreams," he murmured, "and I will make them come true."

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    Chapter Four
    Analisa awoke late the next morning, feeling wonderfully alive and refreshed. For the first time in weeks, she hadn't been bothered by the nightmare that had been plaguing her. But she'd had another dream to take its place, a wonderful dream. She had seen him in the garden, the mysterious man who had come to her in the hospital, and he had kissed her, only a brief touch of his lips to hers, yet she had felt it in every fiber of her being.
    She lifted her fingertips to her lips. Even though it had been only a dream, it seemed as though she could still feel his touch. Such a strange dream. She was certain she had actually gone walking in the gardens last night, yet she had no memory of returning to her room. Had she dreamed that, too? His voice seemed to linger in her mind. Sleep and dream your girlish dreams , he had said, his voice soft and low and strangely compelling. And I will make them come true .
    Rising, she rang for Sally, who brought her a cup of cocoa and then went into the dressing room and laid out her clothes for the morning. At first, Analisa had felt rather uncomfortable having a maid wait on her, but Sally had quickly put her at ease with her cheerful chatter; now their morning routine had become a habit. While Analisa drank her cocoa, Sally filled a basin with hot water, then left the room for a few minutes so Analisa could wash up. When summoned, Sally returned to the room, lacing up Analisa's corset and arranging the folds of her dress over her petticoats.
    She sat at her dressing table while Sally brushed her hair and then drew it up into a neat coil, leaving a few tendrils to frame her face.
    Smiling her thanks, Analisa went downstairs to breakfast. She ate quickly, then left the house, hurrying down the flagstone path that led past the gardens and the lake until she came to the circle of trees.
    She was breathing heavily as she stepped into the center. And the crypt was there, just as she remembered. It was made of white marble, shimmering in the sunlight, almost as if the marble were alive, breathing.
    Analisa.
    She heard his voice within her mind again, felt his presence there, within the grove, imagined she felt the touch of his lips on hers, the whisper of his breath against her skin.
    She glanced around, certain he was nearby. "Where are you?" she asked plaintively. "Why are you hiding from me?"
    But there was no reply, only the soft sighing of the wind through the trees.
    She placed her hand on the head of the crypt. It was cold to her touch, and yet she felt a warmth in her fingers, a warmth that spread through her hand and up her arm. With a startled cry, she jerked her hand away. Filled with a sudden unease, she turned and ran out of