Night's Pleasure (26 page)

She wondered how and where her parents had obtained holy water. Had they gone to the local Catholic church with a jar and asked the priest to fill it up for a good cause? And what about stakes? She seemed to recall that one of the books had mentioned that hawthorn worked the best. Luckily, there were several hawthorn trees growing in the backyard.

Coincidence? She thought not.

She closed the box, then picked up her cell phone, intending to call Mr. Van Black to let him know she was home but would need more time off, only to sit there staring at the screen. Being a reporter didn't seem as important as it once had. It might take years to get the kind of break that would allow her to work in New York City or Los Angeles. In the meantime, she would be stuck here, a small-town reporter covering small-town stories, when she should be devoting all her time and energy to finding and destroying Vampires. Her parents had left her financially well-off. Her father had carried a large insurance policy; her mother had turned Vampire hunting into a lucrative business.

Savanah ran her hand over the top of the box again. To tell the truth, she didn't know what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. Of course, all things considered, the rest of her life could be days instead of years.

And with that in mind, she punched in Mr. Van Black's number and told him she was quitting.

 

Rane stirred with the setting of the sun, his senses expanding, his nerves on edge until he detected Savanah's presence inside the house. She was in the kitchen cooking dinner. Something with chicken. Food, he thought. Mortals spent a lot of time thinking about it, preparing it, eating it. He remembered sitting on the kitchen counter helping his mother make Christmas cookies when he was five or six and how he and Rafe had decorated the cookies, the kitchen, and themselves with colored icing. Rafe's favorite dessert had been fudge brownies. He remembered how he and Rafe had argued over who got to lick the spoon and who got the bowl and how once, when their mother's back was turned, Rafe had opened the oven door and the two of them had eaten spoonfuls of warm, uncooked brownie batter.

It seemed like an eternity since he had seen his mother and his brother. And his father. What were they all doing now? Did they think of him often? He had shut them out of his life, blocked the link between himself and Rafe, and yet he couldn't help feeling hurt that they hadn't found him. Had they even tried?

Berating himself for his melancholy thoughts, he burrowed up through the earth alongside the house, then stood there a moment, drinking in the sounds of the night, his senses searching for anything out of the ordinary. When he was convinced that there was no danger lurking in the shadows, he willed himself into the house.

 

Savanah opened the oven door to check on the chicken. Another few minutes and it would be baked to perfection. She stirred the rice, turned the fire down low under the corn, and let out a shriek when she turned around and saw Rane standing in the doorway.

He grinned at her. “Sorry.”

She pressed a hand to her heart. “A little warning would have been nice.”

“Next time I'll say, ‘Boo.'”

“Very funny. Where have you been?”

“Resting.”

“Where? I…Well, I looked for you in the house.”

“I decided to sleep outside.”

“Oh?”

He closed the distance between them and took her in his arms. “Did you miss me?”

“Maybe.”

He grinned at her.

“Okay, maybe a little,” she admitted. “Mostly I was just curious about where you were.”

His grin widened. “You're a terrible liar. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Just you.” She blew out a sigh. “I quit my job today.” Now that it was done, she was having second thoughts.

“If you're worried about money, don't,” Rane said. “I have more than I need.”

“No, it's not that. It's just…I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now…” She shrugged. “Nothing in my life seems to be going the way I planned.”

“I suppose I'm partly to blame for that,” Rane remarked.

“Partly.” She jumped when the oven timer buzzed. “My dinner's ready.”

Releasing her, Rane watched her take a pan out of the oven and set it on the counter. He wrinkled his nose as the smell of cooked meat permeated the room.

Savanah bustled about the kitchen, setting the table, filling a glass with milk, spooning rice and corn onto a plate, adding a chicken breast.

“Do you want to keep me company while I eat?” she asked, sitting at the table.

He shook his head. “My dinner awaits.” Bending, he kissed her cheek. “I won't be gone long,” he said, and vanished from her sight.

Rane materialized on the sidewalk. Because he didn't want to leave Savanah alone any longer than necessary, he hypnotized the first mortal who crossed his path, took what he needed, and made his way back to Savanah's.

As soon as he reached the front door, he knew leaving her had been a mistake, perhaps a fatal one. The smell of blood and death hung heavy in the air, and with it, the familiar scent of Vampire.

“Savanah!”

Rane burst into the kitchen prepared for battle, only to find that it was already over. A female Vampire lay in a lifeless sprawl on the floor, a hawthorn stake driven deep into her heart. Savanah stood with her back against the kitchen table, her eyes wide and unfocused.

“Savanah?” Rane stepped over the body. “Are you all right?”

“Is she dead?”

“Pretty much.”

“I need to…”—the blood drained from Savanah's face—“…to take her head to make sure.”

“What happened?”

Savanah looked up at him, her eyes wide, her face pale. “I was rinsing my dishes in the sink when she came up behind me. She grabbed me and tried to…to tie my hands together. She said someone, I can't remember his name, was coming to…” She swayed unsteadily. “How could she come into the house? I didn't invite her.”

“Your father did.” Taking Savanah by the hand, Rane led her to a chair and urged her to sit down. “Go on. What else did she say?”

“She said he'd kill me if I didn't tell him what he wanted to know. I pushed her away, I don't know how. I had a stake in the waistband of my jeans and I…I grabbed it, and when she reached for me again, I…”

Savanah swallowed the bitter taste of bile in her throat. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget how easily the stake had penetrated the Vampire's flesh, like a knife through butter, nor would she soon forget the horrified look in the Vampire's eyes when she realized what had happened.

“It's all right,” Rane said gently. “I think I get the picture.” He squeezed her hand. “Savanah, get hold of yourself. Try to remember the name. Who's coming?”

“Cliff? Clayton? No, Clive.” She nodded. “Yes, that was it. Clive.”

Rane swore softly. Clive. The undisputed leader of the North American Werewolves was as powerful in his own way as Mara was in hers. Rane frowned. It had been Clive and Mara who had ended the old war. What was the Werewolf's interest in Savanah? Rane had never met the man, but he couldn't help wondering if it was Clive's footprint he had seen outside the Gentry home, and if so, why the Werewolf had teamed up with a Vampire.

Rane glanced at the body on the kitchen floor. She had been a pretty woman. Perhaps that was reason enough, but he didn't think so.

“Savanah?”

“I'm all right.”

He regarded her through narrowed eyes. Her heartbeat was slower, more regular, the color had returned to her cheeks. “Do you want me to dispose of the body?”

“No. I should do it. I killed her.”

He saw the indecision in her eyes, her need to be strong warring with her revulsion at what she had already done, at what still needed to be done.

“I thought she'd disappear or turn to dust.”

“Only the very old do that.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Will it make it easier if I tell you she's the Vampire who killed your father?”

“What? Are you sure?” Savanah looked at the dead woman, the horror at what she had done quickly turning to a sense of victory.

“Yes.” He glanced at the body, then back at Savanah. “It's a messy business, taking a head.”

“Have you done it before?”

“No.”

“I should do it,” she said again. “I need to…”

“Dammit!” Rane said, pivoting toward the door. “He's here.”

He had no sooner spoken the words than the back door slammed open with a bang.

Fear coiled in Savanah's belly as a man stepped into the kitchen. He was as tall as Rane, his body compact and well-muscled. His hooded gaze swept the room in a single glance, his expression hardening when he saw the woman's body.

“Ah, Tasha,” Clive muttered, and then his gaze settled on Rane. “I don't want to fight with you over this,” he said curtly. “I want the books, that's all.”

“Do you always get what you want?”

Clive nodded. “Always.”

Rane stepped between Savanah and the Werewolf. “Not this time.”

“Want the books for yourself, do you, Vampire?”

“No, I just don't want you to have them.”

“It seems there's only one way to settle it, then,” Clive said. “Survivor gets the books.” He glanced at Savanah. “And the woman.”

“Let's take it outside,” Rane said.

Clive jerked his head toward the back door. “After you.”

“I don't think so.”

Clive winked at Savanah. “I'll be back in a few minutes.” He glanced at the dead Vampire, and then back at Savanah. “Be ready to take her place.” And so saying, he turned and walked out of the house.

“Rane…”

“Get your gun and get the hell out of here.” Rane didn't wait for her reply, but turned and followed the Werewolf out the back door.

Savanah stood there a moment, her heart pounding wildly. And then she went upstairs to get her gun.

Clive stood in the middle of the backyard, his hands fisted at his sides, his eyes narrow slits. “To the death?”

“Suits me.”

Exhilaration flowed through Rane's body as he summoned his preternatural power. He knew Clive was doing the same. The Werewolf's Supernatural energy danced across Rane's skin like static electricity, alien yet familiar.

They circled each other slowly, their bodies tense and slightly hunched over, their arms loose at their sides.

Rane took a deep calming breath. If he lived, Savanah would live. If he died, she would die. Knowing that, everything else ceased to exist as he focused all his attention on the Werewolf.

Clive darted forward, his hands changing, the nails becoming a wolf's sharp claws as he endeavored to sweep Rane's legs out from under him. Sidestepping to the left, Rane brought his fist down across the Werewolf's back. Clive grunted, then spun away. Wheeling around, he charged again, a yellow-eyed nightmare on two legs. Sharp fangs protruded from his mouth.

Rane blocked the Werewolf's charge again and again, hardly aware of the bites and scratches he received. His breath came in harsh gasps, his nostrils flaring as the scent of the Werewolf's blood rose in the air. They came together again and yet again, each seeming oblivious to the injuries they sustained, neither inflicting any serious damage to the other.

With a howl of frustration, Clive shifted to wolf form.

An instant later, Rane did likewise.

Again, they were evenly matched in size and strength. Clive's teeth raked the length of Rane's left foreleg, shredding flesh and muscle. With a savage snarl, Rane lowered his head and charged. Clive scrambled backward, his hind legs tangling in his cast-off clothing. With a feral growl, Rane sprang forward, intending to bury his fangs in the Werewolf's throat. He let out a growl as his left leg gave way beneath him and his fangs closed on Clive's shoulder instead of his throat. Blood filled his mouth and he reveled in it. Clive lay still beneath him, his for the taking.

Exhilarated by the thought of destroying his enemy, caught up in the lust for blood, Rane realized a moment too late that Clive was changing again.

Uttering an inhuman cry of triumph, the Werewolf wrenched his shoulder from Rane's jaws. With blood pouring down his arm, Clive pulled a syringe from the pocket of his shredded jacket and jabbed the needle between Rane's shoulder blades.

Rane howled as pain exploded through his back, as hot as the fires of hell. His vision blurred. Shaking his head, he focused on the Werewolf. If he was going to die, he was taking Clive with him. Gathering his rapidly-waning strength, he lunged at the other man, his body shifting in midair. The force of his momentum drove Clive backward to the ground. The Werewolf landed hard, and Rane landed on top of him, his hands circling the Werewolf's neck. Clive bucked and kicked, shrieking and howling in fury as his nails raked Rane's back. It took every ounce of Rane's remaining strength for him to hang on. He didn't know what kind of poison had been in the needle, but it burned through his whole body, leeching his strength, blurring his vision, as he slowly squeezed the life and breath out of the Werewolf.

And then, unable to fight it any longer, Rane tumbled into the blackness that beckoned him.

Savanah ran out of the house crying his name. She spared hardly a glance for the dead Werewolf as she sank to her knees beside Rane.

For a moment, she could only stare at him. He couldn't be dead, she thought. He was already dead, or Undead. He was just unconscious or something. His body was covered with bites and scratches, but none of them looked fatal.

“Rane.” She shook his shoulder gently. “Rane, wake up.” She shook his shoulder again, harder this time. “Rane, wake up! Dammit, this isn't funny! Wake up! Please!”

He didn't stir, didn't seem to be breathing.

She glanced at the sky, a silent prayer rising in her heart.
Please, please, please, don't let him be dead. Please.

The night settled around her, deep and dark and quiet. She needed help, but there was no one here, no one for miles. No one who could help her. She rested her forehead on his chest as that painful reality hit home.
There was no one who could help her.

She glanced back at the house. Somehow, she had to get him inside before morning. But how? She couldn't lift him, not now, when he was deadweight…deadweight. Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat, only to emerge in a flood of tears.

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there, sobbing, when she felt a change in the wind. It raised the hair at her nape and along her arms, made her palms sweat and her mouth go dry.

Scrambling to her feet, with a stake in one hand and her gun in the other, Savanah turned in a slow circle, her gaze seeking to penetrate the darkness in the distant corners of the backyard.

Someone, or something, was out there, hiding in the shadows.

Savanah froze, narrowing her eyes as what looked like a shimmer of silver motes moved toward her through the trees. Certain she was imagining things, she rubbed her eyes and when she opened them again, a man was striding toward her, a tall man dressed all in black.

Lifting her gun hand, she aimed the weapon in his direction. “Don't come any closer.”

He didn't stop, or even slow down. “I mean you no harm. I've come to help.”

“Are you a doctor?” She knew the question was ludicrous even as it passed her lips. Why would a doctor be lurking outside in the shadows just when she needed one?

Before she could decide whether or not to pull the trigger, the stranger was upon her. Plucking the gun from her hand, he slipped it into his coat pocket.

Savanah stared at the stranger, glanced down at Rane, and then looked at the stranger again. She frowned as realization dawned. The man standing in front of her could be no one but…“Rafe?”

He nodded. “At your service.”

“What are you doing here? How did you know…?”

“We're twins,” Rafe said quietly. “I can feel the pain burning through him.” He glanced at the Werewolf's body. “The bastard injected Rane with holy water.”

Fear knotted deep in Savanah's belly. A few drops of holy water on Rane's face and neck had blistered his skin. What would it do to his insides? “Will it kill him?”

“I can't say, but it has rendered him helpless, powerless.” He closed his eyes a moment, his jaw clenching. “The pain is excruciating.”

“You can really feel what he's feeling?”

“Yes.” He let out a long shuddering sigh. “It is beyond description, almost beyond bearing.”

Savanah regarded the Vampire. Though he'd said he was feeling his brother's pain, he gave little visible sign of it. She wondered if it was due to some deep inner strength, or if he was making an effort to shield his pain from her eyes. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered now but Rane. “Can you help him?”

“I hope so.” Kneeling, Rafe lifted his brother into his arms, then nodded toward the house. “After you.”

Moving quickly, Savanah led the way to the back door. She was halfway across the kitchen when she realized that Rafe wasn't behind her. Of course, he had never been here before. He needed an invitation to enter her home.

Calling, “Come in” over her shoulder, Savanah hurried down the hallway to her father's room. She turned down the covers on the bed, chewed on her thumbnail as she watched Rafe lower his brother gently onto the mattress.

Blood from the numerous bites and scratches that covered Rane's body quickly soaked into the sheets. Vampires were supposed to mend quickly, so why wasn't he? Was it the holy water that kept his wounds from healing, or something else? Something worse?

“You might want to wait outside,” Rafe suggested.

“Why?”

“I'm going to give him my blood and hope that it will counteract the effects of the holy water.”

“And if it doesn't?”

“Let us hope that it does,” Rafe said, his expression grim.

“Get on with it then.” Savanah looked at Rane, more worried than she wanted to admit. He looked pale, so pale. She stared at his chest. His breathing seemed shallow and labored. His hands were tightly clenched at his sides; tight lines of pain bracketed his mouth. She yearned to brush the hair from his brow, to wash the blood from his wounds, to kiss his hurts and make them better. “Hurry!”

Rafe glanced at the door and then at Savanah, a silent, none-too-subtle hint that she should take his advice and leave.

Savanah shook her head. “Forget it, I'm staying.”

“As you wish.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, Rafe removed his jacket and tossed it aside, then rolled up his shirtsleeve. He slid a glance in Savanah's direction and then, turning his back to her, he bit into a vein in his left wrist.

Moving closer to the bed, Savanah saw Rane's nostrils twitch as the coppery scent of blood wafted through the air.

Lifting his brother's head, Rafe held his wrist to Rane's lips. “Drink, Rane.”

She watched in horrified fascination as Rane's mouth closed over the bleeding wound.

She didn't know how much time passed. It might have been a minute, it might have been an hour. She couldn't tear her gaze away from the two men on the bed. How had their parents ever told them apart? They appeared to be identical in every way.

After a time, Rafe drew his wrist away.

Savanah watched as he licked the wound, which healed instantly. And then she looked at Rane. As far as she could see, nothing had changed. His wounds, still oozing blood, looked raw and angry.

Moving up beside Rafe, she tapped him on the shoulder. “Did it work?”

“No.” Rising, he stared down at his brother. “We need Mara.”

“Then get her.”

“If I know Mara, she is already on her way.”

“But…how will she know to come here, that Rane needs her?”

“She's our godmother. When we were born, she took blood from each of us so that she would always know where we were. She'll know what has happened.” He looked at Savanah and smiled. “As you surmised, I am Rane's brother, Raphael.”

“Savanah Gentry.”

“Gentry?” He shook his head. “No, it can't be.”

“Excuse me?”

“There was a rather notorious hunter named Barbara Gentry a couple of decades ago.”

“She was my mother.”

Rafe's gaze moved to his brother before settling on Savanah's face again. “Forgive my impudence, but exactly what is your relationship to my brother?”

Savanah lifted her chin. “I love him.”

“I see. And he loves you.” It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.

“Yes.”

Rafe nodded, his lips curving in wry amusement. “My folks will never believe this.”

Savanah felt suddenly light-headed. “Are they coming, too?” One Vampire, fine. His brother, okay. Add to that Rane's parents and a Vampire rumored to be thousands of years old, and Savanah thought it might be time to crawl into a hole and pull the hole in after her.

“Rane said he hasn't been in touch with any of you in years. How did you know where to find him?”

“We are more than brothers, more than twins. There is a blood link between us. While Rane was conscious and in control, he blocked it. But tonight…” Rafe looked at his brother. “Tonight I felt his pain, and I followed it. Why don't you sit with him while I go dispose of the bodies?”

Relieved to be spared the gruesome task, Savanah sat on the edge of the bed and took Rane's hand in hers. His skin felt cool and dry. What if nothing could be done to save him? What if even the infamous Mara couldn't help?

“Fight, Rane,” she murmured. “You've got to be strong.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth. Would her blood help?

Savanah was debating whether to suggest it to Rafe when there was a change in the atmosphere. Her skin prickled, the hair raised along the back of her neck. Before she had time to be afraid, a woman appeared beside the bed.

It was Mara. Savanah knew it without being told. And then she frowned. How was it possible for the Vampire to enter the house without an invitation?

The woman didn't spare a glance for Savanah. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she drew Rane into her arms. Lifting her sweater, she made a slit in her left breast with her thumbnail, then pressed Rane's head to her bosom.

She didn't have to tell him to drink.

Savanah stared at the scene before her. It was like something out of a horror movie, one Vampire feeding off another. She couldn't stop watching, couldn't take her eyes from Mara. Clad in a pair of skintight white pants and a black vee-necked sweater, Mara was the most beautiful creature Savanah had ever seen. Her hair fell down her slender back like a fall of black silk, long and thick. Her eyes were green, though green seemed too pale a word to describe them; her skin was pale and flawless; her lips pink and perfectly shaped.