Free Dark Series, The Color of Seven and The Color of Dusk (Books We Love Special Edition) by Gail Roughton Page A

screaming in terror to find out he still does.”
    She did, leaving nothing out. He sat in silence as she wound down her explanations.
    “Well?” Ria asked, when she could stand the silence no longer. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
    He sighed. Then he gave a soft laugh.
    “And I thought my cover story was such a good one.”
    “Oh, but it was! I mean, it is! Nobody else would ever have doubted a thing you said. Nobody.”
    “Except you.”
    “Except me.”
    “You being the type of girl who watches dead people live and then goes to the library to look them up. You know, most sane people would ’ve run out of the house screaming. What’s the current phrase? Oh, yes! ‘ What planet are you from, anyway? ’ ”
    “Oh, you were easy to find. You just have to know where to look.”
    Paul shook his head. “You just don’t get it, do you? You’ve been watching dead people live, Ria. And you never turned a hair. And tonight. It just didn’t occur to you that it might not be the smartest thing in the world to sit there and watch me wake up? Knowing what I am?”
    “Well, it’s a little hard to be scared of a man you’ve watched cry over his wife’s things. And anyway, I don’t know what you are.”
    Paul raised one eyebrow. “You don’t? C ’ mon, Ria Knight. Tell me another one.”
    “But I don’t, not exactly,” she protested. “I mean, I know what you seem to be, what you’re closest to, but so many things don’t fit. After all, you ate and drank and you never so much as glanced at my jugular vein—”
    “Certainly I did. It’s amazing, just like everything else about you.”
    “Paul.”
    “Sorry. You know, wh en I was in medical school—you said you knew from the old society registers that I studied in Scotland?”
    He felt her nod against his shoulder.
    “Well, since it was too far to come home to America during holidays, I used to ‘holiday’ in London. That’s what the English call it, going on holiday. Lord, I loved London. Anyway, there was one type of little book they used to sell at the bookstalls called ‘penny dreadfuls ’ . Forerunner of today’s horror novels, you know, like Stephen King, Dean Koontz—”
    “Robert Bloch, Ramsey Campbell, Rick McCammon, Clive Barker, John Saul, Graham Masterson. I’m addicted.”
    “You who read Shakespeare because it’s soothing? ”
    “I am a lady of many and varied tastes and talents.”
    “You don’t say,” Paul said dryly. “Anyway, they were full of monsters . W erewolves and goblins and ghouls and vampires. I’ve thought of them often over the years, poor misbegotten creatures.” He smiled slightly and continued. “There was a time, long ago, when I did stalk prey and guzzle blood.”
    He felt her start against him. “Oh, not for a long t ime. And not human, never—well, except for—no, I stand with that, never human. Not all creatures who walk upright on two legs are human, even if they look it. But the woods are full of prey.”
    “And you don’t now?” Ria hesitated. “But if you are what you seem to be, don’t you need it? Sometimes?”
    “I did at first. But I learned to control that need. And I hunted less and less and finally, one night, I just decided I wouldn’t. And if that decision did destroy me,” he shrugged , “ s mall loss to anyone. But it didn’t.”
    “So all the old legends are like you. A curious blend of truth and fancy. The blood’s an addiction and not a necessity?”
    “Oh, it’s a necessity. At first. But it can be overcome.”
    “But you eat and drink and cast reflections.”
    “You actually checked to see if I cast a reflection?”
    “Well, duh. But that was more on the idea that you might be a ghost than a vampire. The eating and drinking were really messing me up on both those theories, though, I got to tell you.”
    Paul laughed. “Actually, I think that part of the legend, the no reflection part, came about because of the speed with which we can disappear.”
    Ria