Night's Pleasure (3 page)

“I should imagine doing either one in here would cause quite a stir, don't you think?” Savanah said dryly.

He smiled. It was the first genuine smile she had seen from him and it hit her like a bolt of electricity. For a moment, she forgot everything else, thinking only that she would be willing to do anything he asked if he would just smile at her like that again. His physical presence was almost overpowering, but that smile…it was a deadly weapon.

The waitress appeared a moment later, giving Savanah a chance to regain her composure.

Rane ordered another glass of red wine. Savanah declined a refill. Rane's smile was intoxicating enough.

“Have you run out of questions?” he asked after the waitress moved away.

“No, but what's the point? You haven't answered any of them.”

“No?” He arched one black brow. “I thought I was being very cooperative.”

Savanah shook her head, then took a deep breath. She hadn't expected this to be easy, but she hadn't expected it to be this difficult, either. He was hiding something, she thought again. But what?

He lifted his glass, his gaze intent upon her face as he sipped the wine.

The heat of his gaze brought a quick flush to her cheeks and made her stomach quiver with pleasure. Lordy, he had the most mesmerizing eyes she had ever seen.

“Well,” she said, dragging her gaze from his, “since you're not going to answer my questions, I might as well go home.”

Rising, she turned off the tape recorder and dropped it into her handbag. “Thanks for the drink.”

“Don't go.” His voice was little more than a whisper, but she heard it clearly enough.

“Give me a reason to stay.”

“The night is long,” he said, his voice soft and somehow vulnerable, “and I don't want to be alone.”

It wasn't Rane's words so much as the look of desolation in his fathomless black eyes and the tone of his voice that made Savanah decide to stay. Resuming her seat, she studied the man sitting across from her. It was hard to imagine that he was ever lonely. He was devastatingly handsome, he could be charming. She doubted he ever lacked for female companionship when he wanted it. His voice, his smile—how could any female possibly resist? And yet there was a deep sadness in his eyes that she hadn't really noticed before. Was he mourning for someone? Was that why he seemed so melancholy?

“So,” she said, “what now?”

“I still want to know about you.”

“There's not much to tell. I'm a reporter for the
Kelton Chronicle
. I live at home with my father. And I'm not very good at getting interviews with magicians.”

A slow smile spread over his face. “If I was going to tell anyone my secrets, Savanah Gentry, it would be you.”

There was that smile again. She could almost forgive him for being so taciturn. Almost. “That's very flattering, but I still don't have a story.”

“Maybe there isn't one.”

“I don't believe that.”

She ran the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass. “What do you do when you aren't mesmerizing audiences and ignoring reporters?”

He shrugged. “Nothing very exciting. Watch the sports channel. Go to the movies. Take long walks…”

“Walks? Really?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I don't know. I guess I pictured you more as the zero-to-sixty type.”

“Can't I enjoy both?”

“I knew it! So, what do you drive? Something incredibly fast, I'll bet.”

“Fast enough.” He had tried his hand at racing for a while, until he got into a monumental wreck that no mere mortal would have survived. They had pronounced him dead at the scene. He hadn't raced under his real name, of course. There had been quite a stir the following day when his body turned up missing at the morgue. The newspapers had had a field day speculating on what had become of his corpse.

He leaned forward, his gaze intent upon her face. “How about it, Savanah Gentry? Are you brave enough to go zero to sixty with me?”

He wasn't talking about cars and they both knew it. For one impulsive moment, Savanah was tempted to go with him, to indulge in one crazy, wild, once-in-a-life-time night of unbridled passion, to do something totally outrageous and out of character. But only for a moment before her good sense kicked in. “I don't think so.”

“Afraid of me?” he asked, a challenge lurking in his dark eyes.

“Not exactly.”

“Then what, exactly?”

“I don't make a habit of hot-rodding with men I hardly know.”

“Afraid I'll make you disappear?” he asked with wry amusement.

Savanah nodded. That was exactly what she was afraid of. She had covered too many stories where women got involved with seemingly nice, wholesome guys and were never heard from again. Sometimes their bodies turned up in a ditch, sometimes they were discovered by joggers in remote areas of the mountains, and sometimes their bodies were never found. When Savanah got her name in the paper, she wanted it to be in the byline of a great story, or as the recipient of the Nobel Prize for literature, not as the hapless victim of a violent crime.

Sitting back, he muttered, “Smart girl,” then gestured at her glass. “Can I buy you another?”

“I don't think so. I'd really like to know how you transform into the wolf.”

“You and a couple hundred other people.”

“Would you tell me if I promise to keep it a secret?”

“I'll show you,” he said, “but it will cost you.”

“How much?”

“No money involved.”

She canted her head to the side. “What do you want?” she asked suspiciously.

His gaze slid across her lips. “A kiss.”

She blinked at him. “A kiss? That's all? Just a kiss?”

“Along with your promise that this is completely off the record.”

Her expression betrayed the battle between her hunger for a good story, her ethics, and her curiosity.

He leaned back in his chair, his elbows resting on the arms, his chin resting on his folded hands as he waited for her to make up her mind. Even if she wrote the story, most people wouldn't believe her. The war between the Vampires and the Werewolves had ended eighteen years ago. Mortals being what they were, they had quickly brushed aside what they couldn't explain once the conflict was over. Since that time, the Supernatural creatures had been keeping a low profile. But it would only take one sensational story to bring the hunters out again.

“So,” he said, “do we have a deal?”

“Yes.” Savanah glanced around the club. Did he mean to kiss her here, in front of all these people?

“We'll have to go outside,” he said. “For the kiss, and for the transformation.”

“Where outside?” she asked suspiciously.

He shrugged. “The parking lot out back?”

She thought about it a moment. It was against her better judgment to be alone in the dark with this man, but she was a woman and a reporter and her curiosity would not be denied. “All right.”

She told herself she had nothing to worry about as she followed him out of the club. There were people on the street, and she had a healthy set of lungs if he tried anything funny, not to mention a can of pepper spray in her handbag.

The parking lot wasn't as dark as she expected, thanks to a full moon and the floodlight affixed to one corner of the club's roof.

Rane stopped between two cars, which would afford them a degree of privacy from anyone driving by on the street or walking down the sidewalk.

Savanah looked up at him, her heart pounding like a drum. Why had she agreed to this? If she screamed, would anyone hear her?

Rane lifted one brow. “Have you changed your mind?”

She had, but she didn't want to admit it, didn't want him to think she was a coward, so she shook her head. “No, have you?”

“Not a chance.” He moved toward her, his heated gaze fixed on hers.

She wanted to back up, to run away, but she seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to tear her gaze from his.

“Savanah.” Murmuring her name, he reached for her.

Her heart was beating so fast, Savanah thought she might faint. She couldn't stifle a gasp when his arm circled her waist and drew her close. She could feel the latent strength of him, knew that he could crush her with no effort at all. Never in her life had she felt so helpless, so vulnerable.

She looked up at him, hardly daring to breathe. The rest of the world faded away until all she saw, all she knew, was this man holding her close, his breath fanning her cheek as he bent his head toward hers. He was too near, his presence too overpowering. She started to say she had changed her mind, but it was too late. His mouth captured hers in a kiss that left no room for coherent thought, no room for anything beyond the wave of sensual heat that unleashed a familiar tingling in the pit of her stomach and threatened to turn her blood to liquid fire. For a moment, she stared into the depths of his eyes, and then, with a sigh, she closed her eyes and surrendered to his touch.

Lost, she thought, she was lost in a churning sea of ecstasy. A dim part of her mind set off warning bells. If his kiss was this arousing, she would be wise to avoid anything more intimate.

It took her several moments to realize the kiss had ended.

As sanity returned, she glared at him, annoyed by the smug look in his eyes.

His arm tightened around her waist. “Are you ready?” he asked.

She blinked. “Ready for what?”

He laughed softly. “I thought you wanted to see me perform.”

“What? Oh, yes, of course. Are you going to do it now?”

He grinned at her.

She slammed her fist against his shoulder. It was like hitting a block wall. “Get your mind out of the gutter,” she said irritably, “and do your trick.”

His grin widened. His teeth were very white.

“Stop that! You know what I mean.”

Releasing his hold on her, he took a step back. There was a tremor in the air, a rush of Supernatural power as Rane's body shimmered, and suddenly he was gone and a large black wolf stood in his place, staring up at her out of Rane's deep black eyes.

Savanah shook her head. She glanced around the parking lot, looking for Rane, looking for something, anything, that would explain what she had seen. But there was no one else there, no accomplice lurking in the shadows.

She looked back at the wolf. It was sitting on its haunches now, grinning a wolfish grin.

Feeling foolish, she whispered his name. “Rane?”

And the wolf wagged its tail.

She took several steps backward. “It can't be.”

Yet even as Savanah told herself that what she was seeing was impossible, bits and pieces of ancient folklore and mythology surfaced in her mind. In her senior year in high school, she had done a paper on shape-shifters for her English class. She had found the subject so fascinating, she had researched it far more than was necessary for one paper. In British folklore, fairies, witches and wizards were all known to have the ability to change shape.

In Norse mythology, both Loki and Odin had been shape-shifters. Buddhist folklore featured stories of the
naga,
snakes which could take on human form. There were numerous tales of Werewolves, humans compelled to turn into wolves when the moon was full. One of the most highly debated themes in shape-shifting was whether it was voluntary or induced by outside influences. Circe had transformed those who intruded on her island into swine. Some Indian shamans were believed to be able to take on the form of animals. Then there was Savanah's favorite fairy tale,
Beauty and the Beast,
in which the prince had been cursed by an enchantress and turned into a beast, only to be saved by Beauty's love.

Savanah shook her head. Werewolves and curses and old Norse gods were all just stories and legends, but the wolf looking up at her through Rane's eyes was real.

She tensed as the wolf stood and padded toward her, insinuating its head under her hand, pressing its body against her legs.

Oh, yes, it was very real.

And then the wolf's body shimmered and Rane stood before her.

A memory from her childhood rose from the misty corners of her mind. She had been six or seven at the time, feigning sleep on the sofa, when she overheard her parents talking about the Werewolves that were terrorizing the countryside.

Feeling light-headed, Savanah stared at Rane. Werewolf, she thought. She had kissed a Werewolf, and liked it. It was her last thought before everything went black.

Muttering an oath, Rane caught her before she hit the blacktop. He supposed he really couldn't blame her for fainting. She had thought his transformation on stage was a trick, an illusion. Sometimes the truth was more than the mortal mind could handle.

Cradling her to his chest, he debated what to do with her. He could wait until she regained consciousness and take her back into the club, he could drop her off at her place, or he could take her home with him.

If he was smart, he would bid the lovely Miss Gentry farewell and never see her again. But he was tired of being smart, and tired of being alone. He would be in Kelton for another two weeks. What better way to spend his free time than getting better acquainted with the beautiful woman in his arms?

With his mind made up, he picked up her evening bag and shoved it into his back pocket, and then, using his preternatural powers, he took her home.

Of course, it wasn't really his home, just a small, nondescript house he had rented during his stay in Kelton. Truth be told, he didn't have a place to call his own. No strings, no roots, nothing to tie him down. Like the wind, he was footloose and fancy-free.

And damned tired of it.

He reached the house in a matter of moments. A thought opened the front door, another lit the candles on the mantel and brought the banked fire in the hearth to life.

Rane glanced around the room, wondering what Savanah would think of it when she woke. It wasn't much to look at—just a square room with beige walls, brown tweed carpeting, and mismatched furniture. There were no pictures on the walls, no mementos, nothing of a personal nature save for a program from the Kelton Performing Arts Center. Call it vanity, but he had a collection of programs from the various venues where he had performed.

He lowered Savanah onto the fake leather couch, tossed her handbag on the mantel, then stood there, gazing down at her. Why had he brought her here? She would be repulsed if she knew what he was.

He swore softly as a decidedly jealous inner voice reminded him that Kathy hadn't been repulsed by his brother, Raphael. His mother hadn't been disgusted by his father's true nature, nor had Grandmother Brenna been repulsed by Grandfather Roshan. True, the females in the family might have had some problems in the beginnings of their various relationships, but sexual attraction hadn't been one of them.