ANALISA . . . He whispered her name, and it echoed back to him on the wings of the night. One kiss, he thought, one kiss would do no harm. She was so young, so alive. She radiated warmth and goodness, chasing the coldness from his being, banishing the loneliness from his soul. Four centuries of prowling the shadows had brought him few pleasures, but the nearness of her soft lips, her warm throat, promised sweetness beyond imagining. She had wandered unchaperoned to the moonlit tomb where he took refuge by day, little suspecting that with his eyes alone he could mesmerize her, compel her to do his bidding. Yet he would not take her life's blood by force or trickery. He would have it as a gift, freely given, and in exchange, he would make her wildest dreams come true.