Night's Pleasure (22 page)

“I need to call Mr. Van Black and see if I still have a job.” Not that she needed to work. Her father had left her well-off financially. Still, she needed something to do, something to give her life meaning. Something besides hunting Vampires.

“So, what shall we do this evening?” Rane asked.

“I don't know.” Tossing the towel on the counter, she went into the living room and sat down. “Play cards? Watch a movie?”

“Or we could just neck here on the sofa,” Rane suggested, dropping down beside her. He took a deep breath, his nostrils filling with the now-familiar fragrance of her hair and skin. He could hear the beat of her heart, steady and strong, could smell the scent of her blood flowing quietly through her veins.

“That sounds nice,” Savanah said, snuggling closer. “What will we do if Mara comes home while we're here?”

“Nothing. She won't mind our being here, as long as you don't try to take her head.”

Smiling, Savanah kissed his cheek, amused by the bizarre twist her life had taken. Only weeks ago, her days and nights had been boring and predictable. Now, everything had changed. Her father was gone. She had a Vampire for a lover, and she was on the run, hiding out in the home of the world's oldest creature of the night. Yes, indeed, a strange twist of fate, one she might have welcomed if it hadn't cost her father his life.

“You're very quiet,” Rane said, lightly stroking her cheek.

“Nothing to say, I guess.”

“Don't worry, we'll find the one responsible for your father's death.”

Savanah nodded. If it was the last thing she did in this life, she would avenge her father.

And if the Fates were on her side, maybe she could find the monster who had killed her mother, as well.

Clad in a long white dress reminiscent of the kind Cleopatra had once worn, Mara reclined on a curved settee, her gaze fixed on Kyle. She loved to watch him paint. He wielded his brushes with single-minded concentration. And after each session, he made love to her as gently and sweetly as ever a man had loved a woman.

Only, she wasn't a woman, not in the way he thought she was. Did she dare tell him the truth? She shook the thought away. There would be plenty of time for that, later.

Awareness thrummed through her when he glanced her way. What was there about him that had so quickly and thoroughly captivated her? True, he was handsome, but she had met many handsome men in the course of her existence. Perhaps it was nothing more than the fact that he made her laugh. She refused to entertain the notion that she could be falling in love with him. She had resisted entanglements of any kind for centuries. She had taken lovers, she had created others of her kind, but she had never given her whole heart to any man, living or Undead.

Perhaps it was just being home again that made her vulnerable. It was wonderful to see the Great Sphinx again, to explore the pyramids inside and out. Walking barefooted along the banks of the Nile made her feel young and carefree; breathing the air of her native land, resting in the rich, fertile soil, renewed her in ways nothing else could.

Anticipation curled through her insides when Kyle laid his brush aside and walked toward her.

“It's finished,” he said, his tone almost reverent. “It's the best thing I've ever done.”

“Finished!” Mara leapt from the settee. Thus far, he had not even let her glance at the canvas.

It was beautiful. Breathtaking. Being somewhat vain, she'd had her portrait painted every twenty-five years or so. The artists changed. The backgrounds changed, fashions changed, but she had always looked the same. Until now. Perhaps it was Kyle's affection for her that made the difference.

“Surely that can't be me,” she murmured.

The woman in the painting was exquisite, slender yet curvaceous. Her hair fell over her shoulders in luxurious waves, her eyes were bright with a hint of mischief and mystery, her lips were pink and slightly parted, as if awaiting love's first kiss.

She glanced at Kyle. “Is that how I truly look, or how you see me?”

“It's how you truly look,” he said, “but why are you so surprised? It's the same face you see in the mirror every day. You must know how stunning you are.”

“Yes, of course.” She looked at her image more closely. Of course she looked beautiful. She was a Vampire, with a Vampire's inherent glamour.

“You're displeased?”

“No, of course not.” Rising on her tiptoes, she kissed him, and felt again that peculiar tingle.

“Can I keep it for a few days? I'd like to make a copy for myself.”

Resting her forehead against his chest, she blew out a sigh. He really was a dear man. How was she ever going to leave him? Would he still love her if he knew what she was? Few mortals who learned her true nature lived to tell the tale. Dare she trust him with the truth?

His hand moved in her hair. His touch sent a shiver of longing coursing through her. Lifting her head, she gazed up at him. Desire lurked in his eyes, the scent of musk rose from his skin.

“Mara, I look at you and I want you with every fiber of my being, every beat of my heart.”

She trailed her fingernail down his cheek. “An artist and a poet.”

He captured her hand in his and kissed her palm, his tongue like a flame against her cool flesh. “Only a fool in love with a goddess who dares to dream…”

“Of what do you dream, Kyle?”

“Of making love to you.”

“Come, my love.” Taking him by the hand, she led him to the settee and drew him down beside her. “And dream no more.”

Another week went by and Savanah started to get restless. Not that she didn't enjoy being with Rane, but she was beginning to feel like a prisoner. He had gone to her house again last night and when he got back, he had told her he didn't want her going outside unless he was with her, which meant she couldn't go swimming until the sun went down. When she'd started to argue, he'd kissed her until she forgot everything else. Now, she wondered what he knew that he wasn't telling her.

She was anxious to go home, anxious for her life to return to normal, or as normal as it could be without her father, but Rane wouldn't hear of it. He reminded her that Vampires and Werewolves were nothing if not patient creatures, and that just because they hadn't seen or heard anything out of the ordinary in the last week, it didn't mean there was nothing to worry about.

Savanah knew he was probably right, but she still wanted to go home. She missed living in her own house and sleeping in her own bed. She missed going to work. She had called Mr. Van Black and asked for more time off. She had called Jolie a couple of times to see what was happening at the
Chronicle,
she had called the police department to see if they had turned up any leads on who had killed her father even though she knew it was unlikely. As far as she knew, there weren't any Vampire hunters on the force. She grinned inwardly. If she lost her job at the
Chronicle,
maybe she could go to work for the Kelton P.D.

Now, she wandered from room to room on the main floor. The views from the front windows all looked like scenes from picture postcards. Lofty green pines reached upward toward the bright blue sky with the mountains standing like sentinels in the background. Moving toward the back of the house, Savanah gazed longingly at the pool. Sunlight glinted invitingly off the still water, tempting her to go outside and take a quick dip, but Rane's warning echoed in her mind.

Resigned to staying inside until he awoke, she decided to read awhile, only then remembering that she had left her book on the patio table last night. She drummed her fingertips on the window frame. It would only take a moment to run outside and back.

She glanced out the window again. She could see her book lying on the table where she had left it, the pool beyond, and the high wooden fence that surrounded the backyard. There was no one in sight, and no place to hide in the pool area.

Going into the kitchen, Savanah unlocked the door and took a step across the threshold, only to pause when a cold chill skittered down her spine. She was about to dart back inside when a heavy hand clamped over her arm and jerked her out of the kitchen.

A scream erupted from her throat as her attacker dragged her out of the house. Kicking and scratching, she screamed again even though there was no one to hear her.

“Let me go!” She tried to scratch her attacker's eyes, but he held her away with ease. She renewed her struggles as they neared the side gate, but it was no use. The man was close to seven feet tall, as wide as a barn door, and had a grip like iron.

“The books,” he said, slamming her up against the house. “Where are the books?”

She stared up at him, her insides suddenly as cold as ice. “I don't know.”

“I think you do.” Her head slammed against the wall when he shook her. Black spots danced in front of her eyes. “Where are the books?”

“Please, I don't know…”

His hand closed around her throat. “Don't make me ask you again.”

The strength went out of her legs as her vision blurred. She was going to die, she thought dully, and she hadn't even killed one Vampire. Vampire…Rane…she would never see him again.

And then, unaccountably, her attacker released her.

Savanah slid to the ground, her hand massaging her throat as she fought to drag air into her lungs. A scuffling sound drew her attention. With an effort, she turned her head, squinting against the bright sunlight.

In the scant shelter of the patio, Rane was fighting her attacker. The scent of blood filled the air as they savaged each other. She could see smoke curling from the back of Rane's T-shirt, smell his burning flesh. How much longer could he endure the sunlight before he went up in flames?

Forcing herself to her feet, she staggered into the house and grabbed her pistol. Standing in the kitchen doorway, she pointed the gun at the intruder's back and then, taking aim the way Rane had taught her, she gently squeezed the trigger.

An inhuman howl filled the air as her attacker grabbed his right shoulder. Bright red blood oozed between his fingers. Whirling around, he started toward her, his lips drawn back in a feral snarl.

Fear coiled in Savanah's stomach as she stared at the inhuman creature striding toward her. Hair sprouted from the backs of his hands; long, curved claws emerged from the ends of his fingers.

She waited until he was several steps away from Rane and then, taking aim at the Werewolf's heart, she fired again, and then again, until the hammer clicked on an empty chamber.

The Werewolf dropped like a felled ox as her last shot pierced his heart, dead before he hit the ground.

Tossing the gun on the kitchen table, Savanah ran out the door. “Rane!”

He had fallen to his hands and knees. Swaying, he looked up at her. The skin on his face was red, blistered where the sun had touched him.

“You're on fire!” Using her hands, she slapped at the flames eating through the back of his T-shirt and searing the skin beneath. “Come on!” she cried, “we've got to get you into the house!”

Grabbing him by one arm, she dragged him inside, then sank down on the floor beside him as all the strength drained from her limbs. For a minute, she just lay there, her body shaking uncontrollably, her nostrils filled with the stink of gunpowder and the awful smell of scorched flesh.

Rane lay facedown on the floor beside her, his eyes closed, his back muscles twitching. His skin was raw and red in some places, burnt black in others.

She continued to stare at him, afraid he would go up in smoke at any minute even as she wondered how he had survived being outside when the sun was up. Fortunately, he had only been in the sun a short time. The Werewolf's claws had left deep furrows along Rane's arms, down the side of his neck, and across one cheek. Thick, dark red blood oozed from the wounds.

What to do, what to do?
Taking a deep breath, Savanah put her face close to his. “Rane? Rane, can you hear me?”

He mumbled something unintelligible.

She started to touch his shoulder, then jerked her hand away. “Rane, what should I do?”

A long shudder wracked his body, and then he opened his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” It was almost the truth. There was an ugly bruise on her forearm where the Werewolf had grabbed her, a lump the size of an ostrich egg on the back of her head, and a horrible sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had ignored Rane's warning and almost got both of them killed. How could she have been so stupid?

She looked at him again, the queasy feeling growing stronger. The eyes staring back at her were as red as hellfire.

“Savanah…go down to Mara's lair…and lock the door.”

She didn't have to ask why. He was in pain. He needed blood to heal. And she was the only game in town.

“Savanah, go.”

“You need help.”

“You can't give me what I need,” he said, his eyes blazing. “Get the hell out of here. Now!”

Scrambling to her feet, she ran out of the room and down the stairs to the subbasement as if her life depended on it.

Which she feared it did.

She had never been in Mara's lair before. She closed the steel-reinforced door and slid the heavy bolt home, then stood there, her heart pounding. What was he doing now? How long did she have to stay down here?

She glanced around as she paced the floor.
Staying here wouldn't be much of a hardship,
she thought. She had never seen anything quite like the huge room that surrounded her. Ornate wrought-iron sconces adorned the pale blue walls, along with a number of paintings that looked like originals. Several pieces of artwork she thought might be Egyptian were carelessly scattered around the room. The king-size bed was hung with gauzy white curtains. A thick white carpet covered the floor, muffling her restless footsteps. She paused at an antique dresser to run her fingers over a gold tiara set with what looked like rubies and emeralds. She picked it up and put it on, wishing for a mirror so she could see how she looked, but she wasn't likely to find one in a Vampire's lair. She replaced the tiara, then examined the other pieces of jewelry, one by one, certain that each one was probably worth more than her whole house and everything in it.

Turning away from the dresser, she began to pace again. What was Rane doing up there? She knew he needed blood to heal, but it was hours until sunset. Was he in pain? Did he need to sleep and if so, where would he rest now that she was in the lair? The curtains were open upstairs. What if the sun found him?

Fear shot through her. What if the Werewolf that attacked her hadn't been alone? What if there were more of them, waiting outside? Rane was alone upstairs, wounded and helpless.

Spurred by her concern for his safety, she unlocked the door and bolted up the stairs. “Rane!”

She ran into the kitchen and skidded to a stop. The back door stood open. There was no sign of him.

Surely he hadn't gone outside! Taking a deep breath, she went to the door and took a quick look at the patio and the yard. There was no sign of him out there, either.

Closing the door, Savanah turned the lock, then glanced at the floor. For the first time, she noticed the spatters of blood on the tile, as if he had dragged himself out of the room.

She followed the crimson trail out of the kitchen and down the hall, thinking it was a good thing Mara had chosen tile for the hallway instead of the beige carpet that covered the floor in the living room.

The blood spots ended at a door under the staircase. Savanah stood there a moment, her heart hammering in her chest and then, with a hand that trembled, she opened the door, revealing a combination closet and storage area. A few coats hung on a wooden pole. She couldn't see anything beyond that.

“Rane? Are you in there?”

A low growl rose up from the darkness. And then she saw his eyes, eyes that burned red with need. “I told you…to stay…away.”

“I can't.”

He growled at her again, a sound filled with soul-deep pain and need. A sound that tore at her heart even as fear of the unknown rose up within her once again.

She took a step into the darkness, and then another, her love and concern stronger than the fear that screamed in her mind, urging her to turn around and run back down to Mara's lair as fast as her feet could carry her.

She could hear him breathing now, the sound ragged and uneven, loud in the stillness. She shrieked as his hand shot out and closed over her wrist, his grip like iron.

“What do you think you're doing?” he demanded gruffly.

She forced the words through lips gone dry. “You need blood.”

“Are you offering?”

She nodded, wishing she could see his face, and then glad that she couldn't. The tone of his voice frightened her anew. He didn't sound like her Rane, but a stranger. A stranger whose eyes burned into hers, threatening to steal her very soul.

“Savanah.” Her name was torn from his throat as he dragged her across the floor and into his embrace.

“Rane…please…” She fought down her terror. “Please don't…hurt me.”

But he was beyond hearing. With a savage growl, he jerked her off balance. She tumbled into his lap, crying out as his arms imprisoned her. His breath skimmed over her face, her neck, and then she felt his fangs, cold and sharp against her skin, and knew she was going to die.

Trapped in the darkness, unable to move, she closed her eyes and waited for death, only to be jarred to full awareness when, with a vile oath, he pushed her away. Confused, she scuttled out of his reach, her hand lifting to her neck. And then she felt it, the cool touch of the silver chain that had belonged to her mother.

His curses continued to fill the air.

And suddenly, in spite of his earlier warning, she knew what she had to do. Gaining her feet, she backed up until she stood in the hallway. “Come to me, Rane.”

Mocking laughter tinged with pain and despair rang out.

“Rane, come and drink.”

She jumped when he suddenly loomed over her.

“Are you courting death, Miss Gentry?” he asked, his voice harsh. “Isn't one close call a day enough for you?”

Squaring her shoulders, she met his mocking gaze. His T-shirt was in tatters, there was blood smeared across his mouth and splattered across his chest and arms and down the front of his jeans. His skin was blistered wherever the sun's light had touched him. He looked scary as hell.

She took a deep breath, and then lifted the silver chain over her head and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans.