Night's Touch (3 page)

She kissed his image, then placed the photograph on her dresser. Soon his death would be avenged and when the deed was done, she would join him in the After World where they would finally be together forever.

With that thought in mind, Serafina crawled into bed, one of Anthony's handkerchiefs clutched to her breast.

She would dream of him again tonight.

Roshan DeLongpre looked up as his daughter entered the room. She was a lovely child, he thought, though at twenty-two, he supposed she was no longer a child. Still, she would always be his little girl. Her hair, the color of ripe wheat, fell to her waist in soft waves. Her eyes were as blue as sapphires, her skin smooth and unblemished. How had she grown up so fast? It seemed like only yesterday that Brenna had found Cara's mother in an alley giving birth. Roshan had spread his cloak beneath the girl; Brenna had helped bring the child into the world.

He remembered that night clearly, especially the look of wonder in Brenna's eyes as she wrapped the tiny, newborn infant in her cloak.

"You have a beautiful little girl," Brenna had said.

"Take her, " the mother said. "I don't want her. I don't want to see her."

Brenna had looked up at him, her arms tightening around the infant.

He shook his head. "Don't even think about it."

"But she does not want it."

"Brenna, what would we do with a baby?"

"Love her."

"
No. It won't work. There's no way
…"

The mother glanced at Brenna. "If you don't take her, I'm just going to dump her in a trash can somewhere. I can't take her home with me."

"
Surely the baby's father
…"

"I don't know who he is. " The teenager was pulling on her discarded jeans as she spoke. Taking a deep breath, she stood up, one hand braced against the wall behind her.

"What are you doing?" Brenna asked.

"I'm leaving." A sob rose in the girl's throat. "Do whatever you want with the baby."

How quickly that baby had grown, Roshan thought again. It was hard to believe he had not wanted her. Now, he couldn't imagine their life without her. She was vibrant and alive and he loved her more than his own life.

"Did you have a good time tonight?" he asked as she sat down on the sofa beside him.

"Yes."

"Where did you go?"

"I went for a drive and then I stopped at a nightclub. It was a strange place."

Warning bells went off in Roshan's mind. "Strange?"

She nodded. "Everyone was dressed in black, like something out of an old horror movie, if you know what I mean. I met a guy there. He seemed nice."

"What was the name of this place?" Roshan asked.

"The Nocturne. It was like Halloween inside, you know? Lots of people wearing black. The valet wore a black suit and a hooded cloak. And then, to get into the club, you have to walk under this black canopy, and then down some stairs. Talk about a creepy atmosphere! The door was carved with all these mystical signs. It was awesome. I'll have to take you and Mom there sometime."

Roshan nodded. It was all he could do not to demand that she never go there again. The Nocturne! There was no telling what kind of man she had met in that place. It was a hangout for vampires and other creatures of the night. Of course, he rarely let any other vampire remain in his town too long. Like all of his kind, he was a territorial creature, not disposed to sharing his domain or his food source.

"Where's Mom?" Cara asked.

Roshan smiled inwardly. His wife was outside, dancing under the stars. She did that from time to time. He enjoyed nothing more than watching her, but tonight she had wanted to be alone.

"Why don't you go up to bed," he suggested. "I'll find her and send her up to you. I know she'll want to hear about your evening."

"All right." Cara kissed him on the cheek and then, humming softly, she went upstairs.

Roshan stared after her a moment and then, muttering, "I've got a bad feeling about this," he went out the back door.

A wide path lined with night-blooming flowers wove its way through the yard. Wrought-iron benches were placed here and there along the way. A small white headstone occupied a small bower, marking the final resting place of Brenna's cat, Morgana. He had expected Brenna to find another cat to take Morgana's place, but when he had asked her about it, she had simply said that Morgana couldn't be replaced, and that had been the end of it. Of course, they'd had their share of pets once Cara got old enough to want one. Dogs and cats, birds and turtles, mice and fish had all come and, thankfully, gone.

Roshan found his wife in the middle of the yard in the midst of a circle of tall trees. He paused in the shadows, watching her dance. It reminded him of the first night he had seen her. She had been dancing in the nude then, too. It was one of his favorite memories, burned forever in his mind.

Tonight, her fiery red hair shimmered like flame in the silvery light of the full moon. Her deep green eyes were flecked with gold and sparkled with delight as she twirled in the moonlight, her only covering the waist-length hair that fell down her back and over her shoulders like veils of crimson silk as she dipped and swayed to music only she could hear. A necklace of amber and jet circled her slender throat. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

After a moment, she stopped dancing, a seductive smile playing over her lips as she turned to face him.

"Come," she beckoned, holding out one slender hand. "Dance with me."

"Another time," he said, stepping out of the shadows. "Our daughter is home
and asking for you."

"Oh." Moving toward a stone bench, Brenna pulled a velvet gown the color of the midnight sky over her head and smoothed it over her hips in a sensual, feminine gesture. "Is she all right?"

Roshan nodded. They had ever been overprotective parents, but perhaps that was to be expected. Cara was their only child, the only one they would ever have. "She's fine. She met a man."

"Really? Where?"

"At The Nocturne."

Brenna stared at him in disbelief. "The Nocturne! What on earth was she doing there?"

"I have no idea."

"Roshan, you have to talk to her. Tell her she mustn't go there again. The Nocturne!" Brenna pressed a hand to her heart. The Nocturne. Merciful heavens!

"Go on up and tell her good night," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "I'm going out to talk to Di Giorgio."

The bodyguard lived in a small house in the rear of the property. He was a solitary man, seemingly content with his own thoughts and his own company. Roshan knew Frank Di Giorgio had been connected to one of the crime families in Italy when he was a young man, but that had been a long time ago.

At Roshan's knock, Di Giorgio opened the door, gun in hand.

"Evening, Frank."

Grunting softly, Di Giorgio shoved the gun into the waistband of a pair of expensive looking trousers, then invited his boss inside.

The bodyguard's report was brief. Cara had been sitting at the bar in The Nocturne when a young man approached her. He had bought Cara a drink. They had talked and danced one dance. The man seemed harmless enough. He hadn't said or done anything out of line.

Roshan listened carefully, some of his worry ebbing as he listened to what Di Giorgio had to say. Bidding the man good night, Roshan returned to the house.

Brenna was waiting for him in the living room. She had turned the lights down low and started a fire in the hearth. Smiling, she patted the seat beside her.

Sitting down, he draped his arm around her shoulders.

Brenna sighed. This was her favorite time of the night. Cara was home and safely tucked into bed and all was right with the world.

A wave of her hand turned on the TV. She surfed through the channels until she found a movie she liked, then settled back once again, her head resting on her husband's shoulder.

Roshan stared into the flames as scenes from the past paraded across his mind. He had fallen in love with Brenna Flanagan when he happened across her image in a book titled
Ancient History and Myths, Fact or Fiction
. It had been a small pen-and-ink drawing depicting a woman bound to a wooden stake, surrounded by a mob of angry men waving torches over their heads. The caption under the drawing had read:
The Burning of Brenna Flanagan, Accused of Witchcraft
.

He had become obsessed with that drawing, so much so that he had traveled back in time to the year 1692 where he had saved her from a fiery death. He had brought her back to his time, helped her learn her way around his world. She had blossomed here, free to practice her witchcraft if she wished to do so. While exploring the city, she had come across the Wiccan Way Coffee Shop and Book Store. It had been there that she met Anthony Loken, an evil warlock who had been obsessed with discovering the secret of immortality. Convinced that the blood of vampires held the secret of eternal life, Loken had frequented The Nocturne in search of vampires, luring them to his laboratory where he took their blood and their lives. Due to Myra's treachery, Roshan had found himself strapped to a table in that lab, bound with heavy silver chains that had burned his flesh and weakened his powers. Only his concern for Brenna, who had also been Loken's prisoner, had given Roshan the strength he needed to free himself. In the end, Roshan had forced Loken to drink his own potion. The warlock had died a horrible, excruciatingly painful death.

Feeling suddenly restless, Roshan went to stand in front of the hearth.

"What's wrong?" Brenna asked, switching off the TV.

"I don't know."

Rising, she went to stand behind him; her arms slipping around his waist. "Is it Cara? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"No." He shook his head. "It's probably nothing."

"If it was nothing, you wouldn't be so worried."

Turning in her arms, he brushed a kiss across her cheek. "I'm going out for a while."

"Where are you going?"

"Just out for a walk. I won't be long."

Grabbing his cloak, Roshan left the house. Standing in the shadows, he let his preternatural powers probe the night. Although he sensed nothing amiss, he couldn't shake the feeling that danger lurked nearby.

Anton Loken Bouchard stood across the street from DeLongpre's house. Hidden by the darkness, he watched the vampire walk down the long driveway and stop at the gate in the high fence that surrounded the property. Hatred rose up within Anton as he stared at the creature who had killed the father he had never known. Ever since Anton had been old enough to understand, his mother had told him stories of his father. Anthony Loken had been a great man, a wizard without equal. He had been on the verge of a fantastic discovery that would have benefited all mankind when Roshan DeLongpre killed him in a jealous rage.

Every year, on the anniversary of his father's death, Anton accompanied his mother to the site of his father's grave, where he lit a black candle and vowed to avenge his father's death. As someone had once said, revenge was a dish best served cold. Over the years, Anton's grief and anger had coalesced into a hard icy lump in the core of his being. Avenging his father's death was the only thing that could melt that painful lump. Revenge. It was so near, so near he could almost taste it. It would be sweet, indeed.