Bolting from the chair, Jason ran into the bedroom, ready to do battle with Satan himself if need be. But there was no one in the room except Leanne, tossing restlessly on the bed.

Her hair spread across the pillow like chocolate silk. She had thrown off the covers and the gown's full skirt pooled around her thighs, offering him a beguiling glimpse of shapely calves.

Another cry was torn from her throat and he saw a tear slip down her cheek.

Before he quite realized what he was doing, Jason was at her side, gathering her into his arms. "Hush, love," he murmured. "It was only a dream, a bad dream."

"Jason?"

"I'm here."

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "It was awful," she said, her voice husky with sleep. "I was dreaming about tonight, but it was worse, much worse." She drew back, her gaze seeking his. "That horrible man shot you."

He shook his head. "No."

"Yes!" She placed her hand on his chest, over his heart. "I saw it so clearly. It couldn't have been a dream."

"But it was," he said reassuringly. "Look." He lifted his shirt so she could see his chest. "You see? No bullet holes."

"But I saw it, I know I did. I heard the gunshots..."

He settled her in his lap and rocked her gently. "Go back to sleep, Leanne. Everything is all right."

"Is it?" Sighing, she rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. "You feel so cold."

Unable to help himself, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, willing her to relax, to sleep, to forget.

"I love you, Jason," she murmured drowsily. "Please don't leave me again."

He closed his eyes, her words pouring over him like hot August sunshine. She loved him.

It was a dream come true.

It was his worst nightmare.

"Promise me," she whispered. "Promise you'll never leave me."

Ah, Leanne, my love, if you only knew what you were asking of me. If you only knew how your nearness torments and tempts me. If you only knew how long, and how lonely, forever can be.

She pulled back a little so she could see his face, her eyes searching his. "You don't love me, do you?"

He looked away, unable to bear the sight of the pain shimmering in the depths of her eyes. Love her, he thought, if only he didn't!

A single tear slipped down her cheek. It was his undoing.

"I do love you, Leanne."

"You mean it?"

"I swear it by all that I hold dear." The words were wrenched from the depths of his soul. "Please, do not weep. I cannot bear the sight of your tears."

"Oh, Jason!" She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, kissed him until they were both breathless.

She was fire and honey in his arms. All his senses came alive until he was drunk with the taste of her lips, the scent of her flesh, the sound of her whispered endearments. He trembled, his body hardening with desire. The need to nourish himself with the very essence of her life burned through him, as potent, as strong, as his desire for her flesh.

He groaned deep in his throat as her body molded itself to his. Her tongue laved the lobe of his ear, his neck; her hands explored the length and breadth of his back and shoulders, then boldly explored his thigh, her fingertips tracing the muscle there.

"Leanne." He caught her hands in his and willed his body to relax, knowing that in another moment his desire and his lust for blood would be impossible to control.

"It's all right," she said, her eyes shining with love and trust. "I want you to make love to me."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Why not? What possible excuse could he give her? "I don't have any... any..." Hell's bells, what did they call those things? "Any protection."

"I don't care."

He summoned a tight smile. "I do."

"I don't have any diseases, Jason," she said quietly. "I've never been with a man before."

He swore softly, his self-control hovering on the brink of collapse. "All the more reason why we should wait."

Maybe he was right, she thought, though she couldn't help being disappointed. Her mother had always taught her that good girls didn't "do it" until they were married. Her father, a wise and sober man blessed with the gift of sight, had warned her that, if she let herself be defiled before marriage, her life would be in great danger. When Leanne asked him to explain, her father had taken her in his arms and told her that he'd had a most disturbing vision of her future - a vision in which he had seen her surrounded by darkness and danger, protected only by her innocence. And then he had warned her that if she gave herself to the wrong man, she risked the chance of being forever cursed.

Thinking of that now, she was ashamed of her own weakness and doubly grateful for Jason's self-control.

"If I promise to behave, do you think you could stay with me until I fall asleep?"

With a nod, he drew the covers up to her chin, his expression solemn, and then he sat beside her, one of her hands holding tight to his.

She smiled up at him and then, tucking his free hand under her cheek, she closed her eyes.

He sat there, listening to the soft sound of her breathing, aware of her fingers entwined with his, of her cheek nestled in the palm of his hand. Her warm womanly scent filled his nostrils. The steady beat of her heart made sweet music in his ears even as it teased his hunger.

It was both pain and pleasure to sit so close to her. He would have liked to stay until she woke, to be the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes, but all too soon he sensed the approach of a new day. Freeing his hands, he brushed a kiss across her lips and then, regretfully, left the room.

In the kitchen, he wrote her a note, saying he had been called to work early, and he would see her at the theater that night. He invited her to stay as long as she liked, to take Lucifer out for a ride if she was inclined to do so. He dropped the keys to her car on top of the note, and then, his steps growing heavier by the moment, he made his way down to the basement.

He closed the door behind him, slipped the bolt into place, and then wrapped himself in the quilt. Sighing, he closed his eyes.

The slow, steady beat of her heart lulled him to sleep.

* * *

Leanne woke with a smile on her face. Jason loved her. She stretched her arms over her head, feeling as contented as a well-fed cat. He loved her.

And she couldn't wait to see him. Bounding out of bed, she hurried out of the room. She had expected to find him in the kitchen and when he wasn't there, she checked the other bedroom. It, too, was empty.

Shrugging, she went back into the kitchen. She would fix herself something to eat, shower, and then go home. It was then that she saw the note.

She read it quickly and then, clutching the slip of paper in her hand, she glanced around the kitchen. She had been looking forward to cooking breakfast for Jason. It would have been the first time they had spent a day together, the first meal they had shared. She'd wanted to spend as much time as she could with him before it was time to go home and get ready for the theater.

With an effort, she shrugged off her disappointment. If she was going to be in love with a cop, she supposed this was the kind of thing she would have to get used to. Police officers worked irregular hours. They were on call twenty-four hours a day. They missed birthday parties, and Christmas mornings, and anniversaries. They worked long hours for little pay. And these days, when law officers were being maligned and criticized more than ever, a cop needed the support of his loved ones.

Crossing the floor, she opened one of the cupboards. It was empty. So was the next one, and the next. Frowning, she opened the refrigerator. Nothing.

Leanne shook her head. She could understand it if he never cooked, but she had expected him to at least have the basics in the house - coffee, sugar, salt and pepper. A loaf of bread. Margarine. A quart of milk.

Puzzled, she went into the bedroom and opened the closet. It was reassuring, somehow, to see his clothing hanging there, to see several pairs of shoes and boots in a neat row on the floor.

After getting dressed, she wandered through the house again. There were no personal items to be found; no photos of Jason, no souvenirs or personal mementos. Why had she never noticed that before? If not for his clothes and the hundreds of books in the den, she would have wondered if the place was really his.

With a shake of her head, she picked up her keys and left the house. He could answer her questions tonight; in the meantime, she had some shopping to do.

* * *

Jason felt Leanne stirring in the rooms above. Even though he was trapped in the daylight sleep of the undead, he could feel her presence as she moved from room to room, sense her confusion when she realized there was nothing to eat in the house. He should have thought of that, but then, he hadn't planned to see her again, or to bring her here again.

Leanne. Leanne. Her name whispered through the sluggishness of his mind. He yearned to go to her, but his body, held prisoner by the daylight, refused to obey.

Trapped in a web of darkness, he willed the sun to hurry across the sky.

* * *

Leanne stood in the wings, peeking out at the audience during intermission. She felt her heart skip a beat when she saw Jason. He was sitting in the fifth row, center section.

How handsome he was! His dark jacket complimented his hair, the dark blue shirt brought out the color of his eyes. Her gaze moved lovingly over his face, the width of his shoulders. He seemed to be in a world apart as he sat there. People milled around, waiting for the second act to begin, laughing and talking, making their way down front to look into the orchestra pit, which really did look like a pit. It was lined in black cloth; the musicians always wore black. She saw several girls talking to Andy, the bassoon player. He was a nice guy, funny and outgoing, and seemed to know everyone.

Leanne took her place backstage as the house lights dimmed and the orchestra began to play the Entr'acte. She was glad when the second act, shorter than the first, began. Soon, she thought, soon she would be with Jason again.

She was aware of his gaze as she moved onstage during "Masquerade". Of all the scenes she was in, this was her favorite. She loved the costumes and the music, the humor at the beginning, the sudden change in mood as the Phantom appeared in the guise of Red Death, the way he descended the staircase, each step, each nuance depicting power and mystery. Most of all, she loved the way he disappeared in a flash of smoke through a trap door in the floor of the stage.

She loved to hear Dale Kristen sing Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again. But of all the songs in the play, her favorite was Wandering Child. She wasn't sure why, only that the words and the pain in the Phantom's voice always made her cry.

Jason sat forward, lost in the depths of the Phantom's anguish as he told Christine she must choose between himself and Raoul.

And then Christine's voice, pure and beautiful, filled the auditorium, her words of pity and compassion melting the anger and hatred in the Phantom's heart.

He felt the aching loneliness that engulfed the Phantom as the Phantom watched Christine leave the underground lair with Raoul. What would Leanne do, Jason wondered, if she knew the man she loved was truly a creature of darkness. Would she look at him with pity, the way Christine looked at the Phantom, or would she back away from him, the love in her clear green eyes turning to revulsion? Would she flee from him in horror, disgusted by the memory of his kisses?

When he left his basement lair earlier that night, her scent had lingered in the air, filling the empty rooms of his house. Evidence of her presence had been everywhere - in the vases of fresh flowers on the mantle in the living room and on the table in the kitchen. There was food in the refrigerator, food that he couldn't eat, milk and soda he couldn't drink. She was fond of fruit, he noted. Melons and strawberries, apples, oranges, and peaches. He opened the cupboard, curious to see what else she had bought. He found a jar of instant coffee, a box of hot chocolate, three cans of chicken noodle soup, a box of crackers, a jar of boysenberry jam, another of peanut butter.

She had left her mark in the bathroom, as well - a bar of perfumed soap in the soap dish, a bottle of vanilla bubble bath on the edge of the tub, a lacy fern in a bright blue vase on the shelf. He noted a change of clothes on the bed in his bedroom, along with a note that said she would fix him a midnight snack after the show.

She had also rented a movie. A mirthless grin had curved his lips when he saw the title: Dracula starring Frank Langella. She seemed to have a fondness for vampire movies, he mused ruefully, and, though she didn't know it, a fondness for a vampire, as well.

Now, sitting in the theater, listening to the applause that thundered through the auditorium as Davis Gaines received a standing ovation, Jason forced himself to admit that, just as the Phantom had let Christine go because he loved her, so he would have to let Leanne go. He could not hide his identity from her forever, nor did he trust himself to go on seeing her without hurting her, without turning her into a creature as wretched as himself.

Just one more night, he thought. Just one more night to hold her and love her, and then he would let her go.

He lifted his gaze to the stage, focusing on her face as she stood in the background with the other chorus members. Her eyes were bright, her lips parted in a smile that was his and his alone.

Just one more night, he thought again, one night to last him for eternity.

Heavy-hearted, he left the theater and went to wait for her at the stage door.