Night's Pleasure (27 page)

A wave of jealousy rose up in Savanah's heart as she watched Rane suckle at the other woman's breast. It should have been her blood that nourished him, Savanah thought. She was the one who loved him, but apparently her mortal blood wasn't good enough.

After what seemed like forever, Mara drew back. She kissed Rane on the forehead, then eased him down on the bed again and drew the covers over him. Only after rearranging her clothing did she acknowledge that there was anyone else in the room.

Rising, she turned her amazing green eyes on Savanah. “So,” she said, “you must be the princess.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“'Tis nothing,” Mara said with a wave of her hand.

“Is Rane going to be all right?” Savanah asked.

“Of course. He's Nosferatu. He will rise in a few days.” Mara laid her hand on Rane's brow, her own brow furrowed. “Holy water is like poison to us, but I had hoped…” She gave a toss of her head.

“Hoped what?” Rafe asked, stepping into the bedroom.

“That my blood would speed the healing process.”

“But he will get better, won't he?” Savanah asked anxiously. In spite of their assurances, she wasn't reassured at all.

“In time. And now,” Mara said, focusing her attention on Savanah once more, “tell me about you. Are you in love with him?”

“Yes.”

“And he loves you?”

Savanah frowned, wondering if every Vampire she met was going to ask her the same questions. “Yes.”

“And it doesn't matter to you what he is?”

“Of course it matters.”

“Yes,” Mara said thoughtfully, “I can see where there might be problems, what with Rane being a Vampire and you being a hunter. Have you destroyed any of us yet?”

It was in Savanah's mind to lie, but one look into Mara's eyes and she knew it would be a waste of breath. Lifting her chin, she said, “Yes, I have.”

“Clive's whore,” Mara said, as if she had known the answer all along. “Good riddance. Had you not destroyed the little traitor, I would have done it myself.”

Savanah glanced at Rane. Why were they talking about the dead Vampire when Rane wasn't healing the way he should be?

“And where are the books Clive was searching for?” Mara asked.

“I don't know,” Savanah said. “Rane said he buried them somewhere.”

“Mara, what the devil is going on?” Rafe asked. “I thought the war was over.”

“As did I. Apparently Clive decided to start it again. His wolves have been quietly disposing of Vampires and Vampire hunters, to what end I'm not sure, although I suspect for the same reason they started the last war. He and his kind want to rule the world.”

“These books you mentioned,” Rafe said. “What have they do to with anything?”

“One of them contains a list of all known Vampires, their countries of origin, and their favorite cities and hangouts. There's also a list of hunters. I imagine being in possession of such a list would have made Clive's task easier.”

“What happens now that he's dead?” Savanah wondered aloud.

“I will speak to his lieutenant when I leave here,” Mara said. “I will tell him to stop this madness immediately, or I will destroy him and all of his kind.”

The expression in Mara's eyes, more than her words, sent a chill down Savanah's spine. She had no doubt that the Vampire could do exactly what she said.

Rafe frowned. “If you can do that, kill all the Werewolves, why didn't you do it when we were at war?”

Mara shrugged. “I had hoped it wouldn't come to that. Killing grows tedious after a while and draws unwanted attention. But I will not hesitate to do it now, if necessary.” She glanced at Rane, her brow furrowed. “Come, let us leave him to rest in the dark.”

Savanah was reluctant to leave Rane alone but surely Mara knew what was best.

Whispering, “I love you,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek, then turned out the light and followed the Vampires out of the room.

Mara and Rafe were sitting side by side on the sofa when Savanah entered the living room a few moments later. She stood in the doorway, never more aware of the beat of her heart, or her own mortality, than at that instant. It was a totally bizarre situation, two Vampires and a fledgling hunter under the same roof.

Striving for an air of confidence, she slid her hand into her pocket, her fingers closing over the bottle of holy water tucked inside. She was pretty sure it would stop Rafe, if necessary. She wondered if anything could thwart Mara. She had been skeptical when Rane told her that Mara was thousands of years old but now, having seen her, after experiencing her overpowering presence, Savanah knew it was true.

Taking a seat on the chair across from the sofa, Savanah clasped her hands in her lap. Had her visitors been mortal, she would have offered them refreshment; in this case, she was the only refreshment in the house, and she wasn't offering. She couldn't help staring at Rafe, amazed by his resemblance to Rane. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn it was Rane sitting across from her.

Rafe lifted one brow, amused by her scrutiny.

“I'm sorry,” Savanah said, “but I've never seen twins who looked so much alike. How did your parents ever tell you apart?”

He chuckled softly. “Sometimes they couldn't. And as teenagers…” He shrugged. “We played numerous pranks, not only on our parents, but on our tutors, as well. Mara was the only one we could never fool.”

Mara looked at him, an indulgent smile curving her lips. “Where's Kathy? Why didn't she come with you?”

“She went to Italy to attend some rare book auction with my parents.”

“Why didn't you go?” Mara asked.

“I felt the need for some solitude.”

Mara nodded her understanding. “Have you told them about Rane?”

“Yes.”

“I'm surprised they're not here.”

“I told them there was no need, at present. If Rane's existence was in danger, they would be here, but since he is likely to recover, they decided not to intrude on his privacy. He's made it clear that he wants no contact with any of us.”

“And yet here you are,” Mara remarked.

“He is blood of my blood. I came to share his pain.”

Sitting there, listening to the two Vampires, Savanah felt as though she had stumbled into an alien world. They spoke of things beyond her comprehension. She glanced from one to the other. They were both beautiful, their skin flawless, their hair thick and lustrous. They looked human and yet, in some subtle way she couldn't quite put her finger on, they didn't. With Rane, she had thought it was because he was extraordinarily handsome, and because she loved him, but now she realized it was more than that.

She yawned behind her hand. Would they think her rude if she excused herself and went to bed? It might be the shank of the evening for Vampires, but it was past her bedtime. Had her guests been mortal, she would have invited them to spend the night. Would they expect her to do so?

“I'm afraid we're keeping our hostess up,” Mara said. “Perhaps we should go so she can get some sleep.”

With a nod, Rafe gained his feet. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gentry.”

“Savanah, please.”

He smiled at her, his expression so like Rane's it made her heart ache. What if they were wrong? What if Rane didn't recover? What if he remained unconscious forever?

Mara bid Savanah good night, assuring her again that Rane would be his old self in a few days.

Savanah nodded, felt her heart skip a beat when Mara and Rafe held hands and disappeared from her sight.

He couldn't open his eyes, couldn't move, couldn't speak. Blackness thicker than anything he had ever known engulfed him. He fought against it, struggled to make his way to the surface, but to no avail. It surrounded him, smothered him. This was death, he thought. Clive had destroyed him and now he was in hell. He could feel the flames eating through his flesh, burning through his veins. The agony was excruciating.

Now and then he thought he heard Savanah's voice. Was she here, too? He tried to call for her, but no sound emerged from his lips. And then he heard Rafe's voice.
Ah, Rafe,
he thought,
how I've missed you.

“Drink, Rane.” Rafe's voice, filled with urgency, and with it the scent of blood. It dripped past his lips and he swallowed convulsively. For a blessed moment, it eased the pain. For a blessed moment, the darkness seemed to recede, but then it returned and with it, the same excruciating pain he had known before.

A cruel joke, to offer him a moment's respite. He wanted to scream his agony, but again, no sound rose in his throat.

Time passed; how much, he didn't know. Time had ceased to exist in the thick darkness that held him fast. It was unlike anything he had ever known, this blackness. It oppressed him in ways that the Dark Sleep did not. It weighed him down, smothering him. Perhaps he really was dead, caught in some hellish limbo from which there was no return.

And then he heard Mara's voice, felt her presence there, beside him. Hope fought its way through the darkness. Mara. The queen of their kind. Surely her ancient blood would revive him. He drank greedily, and like Rafe's blood, it eased the pain for the moment, but it didn't draw him out of the darkness. Only Savanah could do that.

Ah, Savanah, with hair like spun moonlight and eyes as blue as the sky. Savanah, who should have taken his head and had given him her love instead. It was her blood he craved, her voice he longed to hear, her touch he ached for.

Savanah. Only her blood, thick and warm and filled with life, could rescue him from the darkness.

 

Savanah stared at the place where the two Vampires had stood, thinking there were some things she would never get used to, like Vampires who could appear and disappear in the blink of an eye. But at the moment, she was only interested in the Vampire resting in her father's bed.

Going into the kitchen, she filled a pan with warm water and then, with some trepidation, she went into her father's room, put the pan on the bedside table, and turned on the light. Rane lay as before, eyes closed, barely breathing, unmoving. He was a big man; undressing him was no easy task. When it was done, she could only stare at him. His wounds still hadn't healed, but at least they didn't look any worse.

Expelling a sigh, she went into the bathroom for a washcloth, a towel, and a bar of soap. Returning to Rane's side, she washed him from head to foot, wondering, as she did so, why neither Rafe nor Mara had suggested it. Of course, they'd both had other things on their minds, or maybe they had just assumed that Savanah would do it.

When she finished washing Rane, she changed the sheets. Again, no easy task, rolling an inert body from one side of the bed to the other. She was sweating and breathing heavily by the time she finished, but he looked more comfortable, and she felt better because of it.

After pulling the covers up over his chest, she smoothed a lock of hair from his brow, then bent and kissed his cheek.

“If this was a fairy tale and I was a princess, maybe you'd wake up,” she murmured.

But it wasn't a fairy tale, she wasn't a princess, and he didn't wake up.

With a sigh, she dumped the pan of bloody water down the toilet, then turned out the lights and closed the door behind her. She carried the pan into the kitchen and rinsed it out, then went upstairs where she took a quick shower, slipped into her nightgown, and brushed her teeth. She stood there a minute, staring at herself in the mirror over the sink as the night's events replayed in her mind. If she called Jolie and told her what had happened, Jolie would never believe it in a million years. If Mr. Van Black printed the story in the paper, people would assume it was fiction.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she, too, found it hard to believe.

With a sigh, she went to bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, only to lie there, staring up at the ceiling, while the house settled around her. She heard the wind rustling the leaves of the tree outside her window, the tick-tick of the clock on the nightstand, a distant siren, the howling of a dog.

But it was thoughts of Rane that kept her awake as one hour slipped into the next. Rafe and Mara had assured her that Rane would recover, but what if they were wrong?

Rising, Savanah pulled on her robe, then padded barefooted down the stairs. She paused at the foot of the banister, wondering if Rafe and Mara had returned, but she had no sense of their presence as she moved quickly down the hallway to her father's room and opened the door.

Rane lay on the bed as before, unmoving.

Savanah stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Rafe and Mara had both given Rane their blood and it hadn't wrought any visible change in his condition. What made her think that her blood, her weak, mortal blood, would make a difference when the blood of the Queen of the Vampires had failed to heal him?

And yet she had to try.

Moving into the room, she sat on the edge of the bed. Murmuring Rane's name, she stroked his brow, and then lifted his head into her lap. Too late, she realized she should have stopped in the kitchen for a knife with which to make an incision in her flesh since she was pretty sure she couldn't do it with her thumbnail.

She started to get up, then remembered that her father had always kept a pocketknife in his nightstand, a keep-sake from his childhood scouting days. Opening the drawer, she picked up the knife. The blade was small and very sharp.

Taking a deep breath, she made a shallow cut in her left wrist.

Recalling what Rafe had done, she held her wrist to Rane's lips and murmured, “Drink, Rane.”

The scent of her blood cut through the pain as cleanly as a surgeon's scalpel. Like a blind pup, he followed the smell, then latched on to the source. The warmth slid down his throat—living blood, pure and fresh, as rich and smooth as the finest wine. The beat of her heart was like music to his ears. This was what he needed, what he had yearned for. The pain fled, leaving him weak. And grateful.

He murmured her name, then sank down into blessed, healing, oblivion.