Desire the Night (9 page)

The sun was setting when the ladies from Bloomingdale’s packed up the rejects, thanked her profusely, and left the apartment.

Kay was standing at the window, gazing at the darkening skyline, when Gideon ghosted up behind her. Slipping his arms around her waist, he drew her against him. “How was your day?”

“Wonderful. Thank you.” She turned in his arms and smiled up at him. “I hope you really are rich.”

His gaze moved over her. “Whatever that outfit cost, it was worth it. You look terrific.”
Better than terrific,
he thought with an admiring glance. A sleeveless black dress made of some clingy material outlined every delectable curve. A pair of black, sling-back pumps did wonderful things for her legs, which were long and shapely.

“I should look fantastic, considering the small fortune this little black dress cost you.”

He laughed softly. “You’re right. You do look fantastic.”

“So do you.” Her gaze moved over him. He looked gorgeous in a dark green, long-sleeved shirt, a pair of khaki pants with a crease that looked sharp enough to cut steel, and black leather boots. “It was very thoughtful of you, sending all those clothes over, but really, something a little less expensive would have served just as well.”

“Nothing but the best for my lady werewolf,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, it’s only money, and if you don’t spend it, what am I gonna do with it?”

“Well, I’ll be more than happy to spend it for you, since you have so little regard for it. Where did you come by it all, anyway?”

He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “In the beginning, I pilfered what I needed from the rich. But then, as I got richer, I invested it. And now …” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “Now, I have more than I need.” He grinned at her. “And finally, someone to spend it on.”

“‘Pilfered’? Now there’s a word you don’t hear every day.”

“True.”

“How long have you been a vampire?”

“Three hundred and sixty years, give or take a decade or two.” His hands spanned her waist, his thumbs lightly stroking back and forth. “In answer to your next question, I was turned when I was twenty-seven by an ancient vampire who had grown weary of living but who didn’t want her very old, very powerful blood, to go to waste.”

“So, she turned you against your will?”

“Most assuredly. For someone so ancient, there was little substance to her,” he recalled. “Or so it seemed. But she was a lot stronger than she looked. I tried to fight her off, but she held me down easily. ‘I’m going to give you a wondrous gift,’ she said, and then she buried her fangs in my throat. When it was done, she took me to her home and told me what I needed to know to survive.

“It was near dawn when Lisiana told me good-bye. When I asked where she was going, she told me she was over a thousand years old and she was tired of living. ‘I’m going out to meet the sun,’ she said. ‘Do what you wish with the house. Keep it, sell it, burn it down.’” He paused a moment. “Before I could ask her anything else, she was gone. When I woke up that night, I was a vampire. I never saw her again.”

Kay stared up at him. It was an incredible tale, she thought, and then she grinned. “You seem to be a magnet for older women. What are you doing with me?”

Gideon threw back his head and laughed. “Damned if I know.”

Moving to the sofa, Kay sat down and crossed her legs. “You seem to like being a vampire.”

“No sense being miserable over something that can’t be changed,” he said, sitting beside her. But the truth was, once he’d gotten over the fear and the shock, he did like it. “What about you? You like being a werewolf?”

She tossed his words back at him. “‘No sense being miserable over something that can’t be changed.’ I was born this way.”

“So, basically, when the moon’s full, you turn furry.”

She nodded.

“How does it usually affect you? You didn’t go all Lon Chaney the other night and start killing everything on two legs, so I’m assuming you have at least some control.”

“Yes. I’ve never had the overpowering urge to go on any kind of killing spree, although”—a faint blush heated her cheeks—“I feel the need to hunt, but only deer or rabbits and the occasional squirrel.”

He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, his fingers lightly stroking her bare shoulder. Her skin was soft, and warm, and baby smooth. “So, are all werewolves as benign as you are?”

“The civilized ones. I’ve heard there are a few who go totally feral and kill anything they come across, but, thankfully, I’ve never met one.”

He mulled that over a moment before asking, “If you bite someone, do they turn fanged and furry?”

“No. That only works with vampires. Werewolves are born, not made.”

He grinned wryly. What would happen, he wondered, if a very old vampire tried to turn a very young werewolf?

During the next week, Kay gradually changed her sleeping habits so that instead of sleeping until eight or nine in the morning, she slept until one or two in the afternoon, which meant she ate breakfast about the time she would normally have been eating lunch, which she skipped altogether. Gideon took her out to dinner except when he needed to feed. On those nights, she dined alone, and then they spent the rest of the evening together.

Kay had never been to New York before and each night brought a new adventure. One evening, after dining at the Savoy, he took her to the top of the Empire State Building. She had stared in awe at the bird’s-eye view of the city spread out below. The next night, they went walking through Central Park, and even though the Conservatory Gardens were closed, Gideon whisked her inside for a private tour, and then he transported them to the Bronx Zoo, which was also closed.

“Not much to see,” she remarked as they passed exhibit after exhibit of sleeping lions, tigers, bears, camels, zebras, elephants, and monkeys.

“I guess the animals need their beauty rest,” he replied, grinning as they paused to watch a pair of sleeping pandas.

“They aren’t the only ones,” Kay said, yawning behind her hand.

“Don’t tell me you’re tired?”

“A little.”

A moment later, she was in his car, with no memory of how she had gotten there. “I wish I could do that,” she exclaimed. “How does it work?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just think of where I’d like to be and I’m there, and so is anyone I happen to be touching—or holding—at the time. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Very.”

The next night, he presented her with two tickets to the
Phantom of the Opera.

It was the most amazing play she had ever seen. Sitting in the front row, she was close enough to see the actors’ facial expressions, to feel the flames when one of the actors lit the footlights. She lost herself in the play, totally caught up in the Phantom’s anguish as he told Christine good-bye. Gideon obligingly offered her his handkerchief so she could dry her tears.

She was still crying when they left the theater.

“Hey,” he chided with a smile, “it was just a play.”

“But it was so sad! How could she leave him like that when he loved her so much?”

Gideon snorted. “Are you serious? Did you really expect her to give up a life of ease with a rich, handsome count to live in a drafty old cellar with a disfigured madman?”

“I would have. He needed her. The count didn’t. Raoul could have had his pick of other women.”

“The phantom was a murderer.”

Muttering, “I think the pot’s calling the kettle black.” Kay thrust his handkerchief at him.

Gideon arched one brow. “Is that so? Just what are you accusing me of?”

“Nothing. I mean, you
are
a vampire. I just assumed … oh, never mind.”

He came to a stop, turning her to face him. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “I’ve killed a lot of people in my time.”

She bit down on her lower lip, her gaze not quite meeting his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …”

“It’s all right, Kiya. I’m not making excuses for what I’ve done, but that was before I learned I didn’t have to kill to survive. Since then, I haven’t killed anyone who wasn’t trying to kill me.”

He started walking again and she hurried to keep up. “I believe you.”

“There was a lot of vampire hunting going on back in the early seventeenth and eighteenth centuries,” he remarked. “Lots of superstitious nonsense back then. Witch hunts. Vampire hunters. A lot of innocent people died.”

She knew about that. She had read about the Salem witch hunts in school, had done additional research online. Now and then, she had overheard her father talking about ancestors who had been killed before the werewolf community went underground.

“Vampires have always gotten a bum rap,” Gideon said. “Back in the old days, anytime there was an illness no one could explain, or the hens stopped laying, or the cow dried up, the old men in the village would start looking for a vampire. And sure enough, sooner or later they’d find some poor soul who looked a little pale, or who was a stranger just passing through, and the next thing you knew, it was ‘off with his head.’ Sometimes they accused whole families.”

“That’s terrible.”

He shrugged. “People were a lot more superstitious back then, a lot more ignorant than we are today. Uncontrollable weather, unexplained deaths, insane behavior—the culprit had to be a vampire. It was probably the same for werewolves, wasn’t it?”

They were at the car now. Gideon held the door for her, then walked around the front and slid behind the wheel.

“Not so much,” Kay said, fastening her seatbelt. “We’ve managed to keep a low profile. No one believes in werewolves anymore,” she said. “Partly because vampires were getting all the notoriety for a while there. Then, too, there aren’t so many of us. We rarely go off on our own, and we’re bound to do whatever our Alpha says. There are only five packs left in the United States and all the Alphas have agreed not to do anything that would draw undue attention to the double-natured.”

“Where does your pack makes its home?”

“Jackson, Wyoming.”

“More open spaces,” he mused. There would be good hunting in Yellowstone and the National Elk Refuge.

Kay nodded.

“So, do you like living on your own, away from the pack?”

“Probably more than I should.” She bit down on her lower lip. “I’m going to miss my freedom when I go back.”

“Then don’t go.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much choice.”

“Pack law and all that, I guess.”

“That’s part of it, although there are a few lone wolves. But …”

“You don’t want to be one of them?”

“Even if I did, it would never be allowed.”

“Because you’re a female?”

“No.” She took a deep breath and blew it out in a long, slow sigh. “Because my father is also my Alpha.”

Chapter 13

Verah hurled the black bowl across the room. It hit the fireplace with a resounding thud, raining broken glass and water on the hearth stones. She had spent the last several days trying to locate Gideon, but to no avail. She had a few hairs from his head, she had vials of his blood, but no matter which spell she used to conjure his location, nothing happened. What was she doing wrong?

Seething with frustration, she pulled her favorite grimoire from the shelf and thumbed through the pages, her exasperation growing as spell after spell failed to provide the information she needed. Near the end of the book she found a page devoted to vampires and vampire lore. A notation, written in the margin in a spidery hand, declared there were no known spells whereby vampires could be tracked because they were, for all intents and purposes, dead, and one could only perform ritual magic on the living.

It took all her self-control to keep from sending the grimoire after the scrying bowl.

Eyes narrowing, Verah went upstairs and sank into the chair beside the hearth. Rama immediately jumped onto her lap. For a time, Verah stared into the flames, her hand absently stroking the cat’s head. It was soothing, petting the cat, listening to its low purr. Gradually, her anger receded and her mind cleared.

“We’ve been going about this all wrong,” Verah murmured. “We can’t use magic to find the vampire, but it should be easy enough to locate the girl.”

Yes, she thought, nodding. The girl might well be the answer to her dilemma.

“Come, Rama,” Verah said, rising. “We have work to do, you and I. And if we work it just right, perhaps the werewolf will lead us to the vampire.”

Chapter 14

Three nights later, Gideon was still mulling over the fact that Kay’s father was an Alpha werewolf. Although she was the first of her kind Gideon had ever met, he had heard enough stories to know that messing with an Alpha werewolf was not to be considered lightly. They were strong. They were territorial. They were loyal. And they were vicious. And while a bite from your run-of-the mill werewolf was extremely painful, the bite of an Alpha male was usually fatal to humans and lesser wolves.

He looked up as Kay entered the living room. Tonight, she wore a pair of black leggings and a white sweater and, as always, she looked good enough to eat. Literally and figuratively. A pair of black sandals dangled from one hand.