Stellan! she called like a wolf to the moon. Stellan, Stellan Stellan!
He ran his tongue up over her mound, her belly, her br**sts. He kissed her face, her eyelids, her earlobes, and as his lips touched the fullness of her wet mouth, he pushed slowly into the heat between her legs. She called out again, hands digging into his back.
Open your eyes, he said.
Angelina looked up at him and for moments, like years passing, they stared into each other’s depths. She began to rock beneath him, and he matched her rhythm, plunging deeper with every thrust. His eyes never left hers as he bellowed his pleasure into the night, his whole body shuddering.
Angelina tucked damp strands of hair behind his ears and traced the contours of his face. Stellan . . . Don’t leave me. Ever.
I won’t. He hesitated a moment, opened his mouth, and sank his fangs into her neck.
4:45 A.M.
Wednesday, April 18, 1906
STELLAN LEFT ANGELINA’S room and closed the door behind him. The house was asleep, his footfalls dead quiet. He thought of her lying there, wrapped in a black-and-red-embroidered silk dressing gown, her body glowing from their passion as she drifted off to sleep. It was almost impossible to walk away. How could he leave her? How could he stay? For her to join him was to ask the unthinkable. But the blood bond. It would never be broken, at least it never could be between Mar. He wondered at his sister. Had it happened to her all those centuries ago? It might explain a few things, but if it was any indication of the outcome for a Mar-human coupling, it didn’t bode well. Salila had lost her man, and it had left her more than a little jaded. No! It can’t be like that for me and Angelina. Stellan went down the hall, each thought wrestling with the other. He’d said his good-byes; he only wished she would remember them when she woke.
The smell of fresh blood halted his thoughts. He sniffed the air, the aroma rushing through his nostrils and tickling the back of his throat. It led him farther down the hall to Mason Blackwell’s door. Salila? He tried the handle, but it was locked. She wouldn’t . . . A loud thump sounded, and he shouldered in. It took him a moment to register the scene.
The room pulsed in the glow of soft candlelight. The bed was rumpled, the covers thrown back. On the floor was Salila’s evening gown. The Mar woman hunched nak*d over a dazed, and equally nak*d, Blackwell.
In a blink, Stellan was there. He pulled her up and slammed her against the closet. Salila! Stop!
She flung hair out of her face and snarled. Faster than humanly possible he flipped her to the ground and pinned her down, his teeth grating against her ear. “Listen to me, sister, and listen carefully. You’re going to get up, gather your things, and leave. In that order and nothing else.”
“What is the problem with you?” She ground out the words into the carpet. “He was willing!”
“He was extremely drunk!”
She sighed, relaxing. “You do know how to ruin a good night, don’t you.”
“I’m not joking, Salila! You have to leave.”
Let me up. She growled. Someone’s coming.
Damn . . . As Stellan released her, there was a knock at the door. It squeaked open, and Angelina appeared. Her face was momentarily soft in the candlelight until she took in the scene. “Mr. Fletcher, what is going on here?”
“Shall I show you?” Salila sprang at Angelina. Stellan grabbed the Mar woman and hurled her to the other side of the room. By then, Jeanie and Mrs. Ralston were at the door, gasping, then screaming.
Get out of here! Now! Stellan roared into Salila’s mind. And put some clothes on! He threw the top sheet over Mason as the man tried to sit up. His hand clutched his neck.
Footsteps thundered down the hall. “Nobody move!” Mr. Ralston’s voice boomed as a rifle was cocked. He burst in on them, let out an oath, and leveled his rifle at Stellan. Salila got behind him.
“Don’t shoot,” Angelina cried out. She moved directly in front of the gun.
“Get out of my way!” he shouted at her.
Mrs. Ralston grabbed her daughter and handed her off to Gerald, who stood near the door, eyes wide, his usual reserve abandoned. Mrs. Blackwell pushed past him into the room, and the screams began again.
“We’re so sorry to have caused a disturbance,” Stellan said, as he and Salila backed toward the window.
Mr. Ralston looked from the bed, to the floor, to Salila. At that moment, Mason slumped, the bite wounds obvious as his head lolled to the side. “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot!” Ralston said.
Salila broke for the door, and Mr. Ralston squeezed the trigger.
“No, Father!” Angelina yelled.
Faster than the human eye could follow, Stellan dove for Salila. He rolled with her and flung them both backward out the window, ahead of the bullet. They slammed hard into the ground, glass shattering around them like ice. Stellan released her, jumped to his feet, and ran toward the sea.
5:00 A.M.
Wednesday, April 18, 1906
ANGELINA’S HANDS SHOOK as she sipped her tea. Jeanie tried to pour more, but she nearly dropped the pot.
“It’s alright, Jeanie. Sit down.”
“I mustn’t, Miss.”
“This is not the time for propriety. Sit down. I insist.”
“Thank you, Miss.” The young maid sat on the edge of the parlor chair and looked at her hands.
Angelina got Jeanie a cup and filled it for her. “You’ve a right to be as distraught as the rest of us.”
Her maid took a deep breath. “I agree it was no small horror. What a scene! The gunshot was earsplitting. I was sure Mr. Fletcher and Mrs. Fisher would be splattered on the pavement, but . . .”
“They were nowhere to be found.”
“I’ve never seen a man altogether nude. Quite startling.” She glanced at Angelina. “Does this mean the engagement is off?” Jeanie asked.
Angelina pushed her long hair back from her face. “Let’s not speculate on that topic right now, shall we, Jeanie.”
“Sorry, Miss.” Her maid blushed.
Angelina nodded and sipped her tea.
The police had arrived and questioned everyone. They were upstairs now with her father and Dr. Medleys, and a very confused Mason Blackwell, who seemed to remember nothing but a knock at his door in the wee hours of the night. She frowned. Stellan was in the room. He and his sister ran . . .
But Stellan couldn’t have been involved, she argued with herself.
Then what was he doing there in the first place?
He must have heard a noise, same as I . . .
Are you sure? Images of Stellan falling backward out the window flashed again into her mind. How could he survive and run away. Her most troubling question was, When will I see him again.
“I can’t stand this!” Angelina stood up.
Jeanie jumped as if prodded. “Miss?”
“There’s too much whirling in my head. I’m going to my darkroom if anyone needs me.”
“To develop photographs, Miss?”
“I have to do something, or I’ll go mad,” she whispered.
“Do you need help, Miss?”
“No, thank you.” Angelina gave Jeanie a quick hug. “Get to the kitchen with the others. They will all have their appetites back soon enough.”
Jeanie curtsied and left. Angelina headed for the one place she could be alone with her feelings and put some kind of meaning to the night’s crazed events.
Chapter Six
5:00 A.M.
Wednesday, April 18, 1906
STELLAN DIDN’T STOP running until he reached the end of the pier. Salila was ahead of him, and she dove from the edge, disappearing beneath the black swell. Stellan shucked his coat. There was no turning back, thanks to Salila. He could only hope Angelina would understand his sudden disappearance. But how? He stared at the water, dark and lapping against the pilings. Minutes passed as he watched the gray light of predawn give form to the city. I can’t leave you, Angelina.
Salila surfaced beneath him. “What’s taking you so long? Get out of those ridiculous clothes and dive in.”
“Something’s wrong.”
“Of course something’s wrong. You’re not in the water.’
“No, I’m serious. Listen.”
“To what?”
“That’s just it. Nothing. It’s dawn, and the gulls aren’t screeching at the fishing boats. No sea lions barking . . .”
Salila sprang from the water and stood dripping beside him. She grabbed his arm and made to drag him off the edge. “You need to stop worrying. I got us out of there in time, and now all we have to do is swim for it.”
He pulled back. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Teern’s set things in motion.”
The color drained from his face. “No! He doesn’t have to! The bridge isn’t going forward, not for decades by the looks of it, and when it does . . .”
“That’s just it, Stellan. When it does . . . Teern’s making sure that ‘when’ isn’t going to happen.”
The air grew still, as if the city held its breath. Before Stellan could say another word, the ground began to rumble. Whitecaps appeared on the water, and the whole length of the wharf undulated like a serpent. A thunderous roar welled up. Waves splashed high, soaking his clothes. It sounded as if the city would tear apart.
“Earthquake?”
“Yes, Stellan, a large one, and it’s arrived, so be smart, jump into the water, and swim to the tombs!” She let him go and dove back into the choppy waves.
Stellan! A voice rippled through his mind.
Angelina! He turned toward Pacific Heights in the distance.
5:10 A.M.
Wednesday, April 18, 1906
ANGELINA IMMERSED THE photographic paper in the developing tray. The soft red light made it look as if it rippled in a bath of blood and water. As she moved it to the fixer, her frown lines deepened. Give it a minute, she told herself, but a minute made no difference. A photograph didn’t lie, and this image of her and Stellan was missing one essential component: Mr. Fletcher himself. “Impossible.”
The camera had captured Angelina, one hand on the gnarled old oak tree and the other resting softly against the folds of her skirt. Her eyes were supposed to be on Stellan, if memory served, but instead they stared across time and space into . . . nothing. Not even a fog or blur. There was simply nothing where his body should have been. Where his body was! She dropped the picture back into the fixer and released the tongs as if they’d caught fire. Who is this man? Her hand went to her neck, and she shivered.
The fixer settled over the image and went still, but as she watched, it began to ripple on its own. Soon, the liquid in all three trays became agitated and sloshed onto the table. The red light overhead swung violently, and upstairs, someone yelled “Earthquake!” Footfalls sounded above. Shouts and confusion. Someone called her name. The floor seemed to rise, and she buckled to her knees.
“I’m down here!” She tried to climb the stairs, but the floor tipped, and she fell, rolling toward the back wall, along with bottles of developer, tools, bags of flour, and boxes. When she struggled to her feet, the light winked out. “I’m down here!” she screamed again. As the walls cracked and caved, she had one thought and one only. Stellan! Where are you?
5:12 A.M.
Wednesday, April 18, 1906
STELLAN BOLTED ALONG the wharf, past the ferry building, and up California Street. The buildings rushed by in a blur, his speed as fast as light. The paving warped under his feet. Whole sections of street dropped away. Others shot up as if punched by an underground giant. Teern! Stop this madness! But the only thing he heard was Angelina’s voice in his mind.
He ran on. People were pouring out into the street, carrying their belongings, running for their lives. He tore past, only a rush of wind to them. Stellan reached the house and leapt the wrought-iron gate. It was still standing though the fence was gone, the bricks scattered into the street. The Ralstons’ Queen Anne home looked as if it had been uprooted and slammed back into the lot askew. It listed downhill, shutters and doors dangling open. The entrance wall had fallen, and a turret lay in the garden. Inside was worse. Dust rose, thick and gritty. Mr. Ralston climbed over the rubble.
“Where’s Angelina?”
“I don’t know.” Screams came from upstairs, and Mr. Ralston ran toward them. “I have to get them out. Gas fire’s started in the kitchen!”
“Angelina!” Stellan shouted.
“I’m in the basement!”
He was at the door in seconds, heaving aside timbers and bricks. Flames shot up from the adjacent kitchen. Faster than human sight could follow, he pulled the rest of the rubble and beams aside, stormed down the stairs, and jumped the last few feet to land in front of Angelina. Light from above flooded in, and black smoke billowed. Suddenly, the tremor stopped, and they fell into each other’s arms. For a moment, the horrors of the world faded. The flames and falling ceiling, the broken ground and the devastation disappeared as he held her tight. He looked into her eyes, fire turning them golden. “We have to get out.”
She took a step back. “The wound on Mason? Did you do that?”
“Of course not. Let’s go!”
“Not until you tell me who you are.”
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“The photographs I took. You’re not in them!”
“Angelina . . .”
“You’re a demon, aren’t you.”
“No.” He took her hands. “We must go!”
“What then?” She pulled out of his grip. “How can we hear each other’s thoughts?”
“Angelina, there’s no time. I promise you, I will not harm you.”
“Just say it, Stellan. Ghost? Apparition? Angel?”
“Nothing like that!”
“Then tell me the truth!”
He clenched his fists. “Mar!” he shouted. “I’m Mar!”
“I don’t know what that means!” she yelled back.