Night's Kiss

"Why?"



She lifted her chin defiantly, refusing to be intimidated even though she knew she was in the wrong. "I was curious," she said, and then frowned. "How did you know I was there?"



"I felt your eyes watching me."



"'Tis not possible!"



He lifted one brow. "No?"



She shook her head. "How could you?"



"You admit it then? You were spying on me?"



"I summoned your image in my scrying glass."



Clever girl, he mused. "And what did you use for a mirror?"



"A bowl of water."



He recalled the conversation they'd had earlier when she had told him she had been thinking of buying a mirror. He had assumed she wanted a mirror for the same reason as any other woman. But she wasn't like any other woman. Still, there was no reason why she couldn't have a small mirror for scrying, if that was what she wanted. No reason why she couldn't have a full-length looking glass in her bedroom. Just because he avoided them, there was no reason why she couldn't have a couple if she wished.



And then, drawn by her scent, by the warmth of her living flesh, he forgot all about mirrors and witchcraft. Closing the distance between them, he took her in his arms. His body quickened immediately, every cell and nerve ending remembering the night they had made love.



She looked up at him, her green eyes luminous.



"Ah, Brenna," he murmured helplessly, and lowering his head, he kissed her. She went up on her tiptoes, her arms twining around his neck, her body molding itself to his.



The heat of her body warmed him, the sweetness of her lips enflamed him. He held her closer, tighter, felt his fangs lengthen as his hunger stirred to life. The memory of making love to her rose in his mind, tempting him to sweep her into his arms and carry her upstairs, to lay her down on the bed and make love to her until the sun crept over the horizon. Temping, so tempting. Only his guilt at ravishing her the first time, and his fear that he might indulge in more than the pleasure of her sweet flesh, kept him from putting thought into action.



Muttering an oath, he released her. She blinked up at him, her gaze unfocused, her lips swollen, stained with a single drop of blood where his fangs had broken her tender skin.



A low growl rose in his throat as her tongue slid over her lower lip to lick the blood away.



"I'll be back later," he said gruffly, and hastened out of the house and into the night.



Lifting her fingertips to her lips, Brenna stared after him. One kiss, that's all it took, she thought One kiss, and she was ready to let him carry her upstairs to bed. She had known him only a short time, yet she could not imagine her life without him. It was as if she had known him all her life, as if they were bound together by invisible cords, as if, in some strange metamorphosis, he had become an integral part of her and she had become an integral part of him. Was that what happened whenever two people made love? Did it happen to everyone, that sense of belonging? She knew making love to Roshan without the blessing of the church had been wrong. It was immoral, a terrible sin, and yet right or wrong, all she could think of was being in his arms again, making love to him again. Even now, she felt bereft, lost without him. Even the house felt different when he was away.



Would it be so bad, being married to a vampire? True, there was much they could not share, but there was ever so much more that they could. She enjoyed his company, his caring. He was kind and patient; he would protect her, help her learn her way around in this new place. Though her days would be her own, her nights would be his. Best of all, he wasn't afraid of her witchcraft, nor was he intimidated by her power. Quite the contrary, he seemed pleased by it, proud of her abilities, limited though they might be.



Of course, she was taking a lot for granted. Just because they had made love didn't mean he wanted to marry her. If there was one thing she had learned, it was that a good number of people in this century had no qualms about living together, or having children together, out of wedlock. But, accepted or not, she knew it was wrong. Children deserved a mother and a father, a home secured by the bonds of marriage.



Perhaps it is time you became like him, whispered an insidious little voice in the back of her mind. If there is no cure, if he can never be mortal, then perhaps you should embrace the Dark Gift. It is the only way you can truly share his life, the only way he can share yours.



She thrust the disquieting thought from her mind. To be a vampire was a life against nature. It meant giving up the sun's light and all hope of ever having a child. It meant giving up her humanity, living in the shadows, existing on the blood of others.



It was not a life she would willingly choose for herself or anyone else.



And yet the seed had been planted. Repellent as it was, it took root in a distant corner of her mind.



Leaving the house, Roshan willed himself to the Nocturne. Clad all in black, he quickly blended in with the rest of the crowd, his hunger growing as the sound of a hundred beating hearts called out to him. His nostrils filled with the scent of prey, ripe and ready for the taking.



A young woman moved toward him, threading her way through the crowd on the edge of the dance floor, her hips undulating, her breasts thrust out. Her dyed black hair fell long and straight over her shoulders.



"Dance with me?" Her voice was low and husky. Looking up at him through eyes that promised more than a dance, she ran a black-painted fingernail across his chest. "Well?"



"Sure." He pulled her into his arms and swept her onto the dance floor.



"I've seen you here before," she purred.



"Indeed?"



"I was watching for you tonight, hoping you'd come alone."



He smiled down at her. "Then I'm glad I came."



"So am I." She studied him intently for a moment. "You don't look like the other guys that hang around here," she remarked. "Or act like them."



"Oh?"



She shook her head, her brow furrowed in thought. "Maybe it's because they're all just little boys at heart. But you, you seem much older."



He laughed softly. "You have no idea, Carrie, my sweet."



Her eyes widened. "How do you know my name?"



"As you said, I'm not like the others." He drew her closer, one hand sweeping her hair from her neck. "Look at me, Carrie, only me."



She stared up at him, her lips slightly parted, a trace of fear in her eyes.



"See only me," he murmured. "Hear my voice, only my voice."



"Yes," she whispered. "Only you."



Slowly, he lowered his head. To anyone watching, it would seem he was kissing her neck as he turned her slowly around the floor. He drank quickly, taking only what he needed, and quickly sealed the two tiny puncture marks left by his fangs.



He lifted his head just as the music ended.



"Carrie?"



She blinked up at him, her gaze unfocused.



"Thank you for the dance."



"You're welcome." Frowning, she lifted a hand to her neck, then blinked at him again.



He kept his arm around her waist. "Are you all right?"



"I don't know. I feel a little dizzy."



"Come," he said, taking her by the hand, "let me buy you a drink."



Roshan was leading Carrie toward the bar when he saw Anthony Loken sitting at one of the tables toward the back. The warlock saw him at the same time and animosity flowed between them, a palpable sense of malice so strong that Roshan was sure the others in the room felt it without knowing what it was.



At the bar, Roshan ordered Carrie a tall glass of orange juice. Standing beside the woman, he was careful to keep Loken in sight.



The warlock turned his back to him, his attention again centered on the young man who shared his table.



Using his preternatural hearing, Roshan eavesdropped on their conversation. The young man was tired of pretending to be a vampire and he had come to the Nocturne in hopes of finding one of the undead. Loken nodded sympathetically. Leaning closer to the young man, he told him that his search was at an end. He, Loken, was a vampire. If the young man was sincere, he had only to come to Loken's lair to begin the transformation. The young man, whose name was Roger West, quickly agreed. Loken paid the check and the two men left the table, heading for the rear exit.



Roshan swore softly as he watched them leave the club. He had seen the results of Anthony Loken's last experiment.



He stood there a moment, undecided. It was of no consequence if Loken killed West. The young man meant nothing to Roshan. Mortals, in general, meant little to him other than their ability to satisfy his hellish thirst.



He danced with another one of the women in the club, drinking from her as he had from the first. Leaving her at the bar, he was about to go home when, on a totally inexplicable impulse, he found himself headed for Loken's laboratory on the outskirts of town.



CHAPTER 18



Roger West whistled softly when he saw Anthony Loken's car. "Nice," he said, running his hand over the top of the Lexus.



Grinning, Loken unlocked the door and slid behind the wheel. As soon as West was in the car, he pulled out of the parking lot, tires squealing as he turned onto the road and headed for home.



"Hey, buddy, slow down," West said, grabbing the armrest. "I'm not immortal yet."



Loken flashed him a smile. "All in good time." A whispered incantation gave him green lights all the way home.



"Is this your place?" West asked as Loken parked in front of a large house and killed the engine.



"It is indeed." Opening the door, he exited the car.



"You must be rich as hell," West muttered as he followed Loken up the stairs to the front door.



"Almost," Loken said. He smiled wolfishly as he opened the door. "Come in, won't you?"



"So," West said as he crossed the threshold, "how long does it take? To become a vampire?"



"Not long."



West nodded. He gasped, startled, as lights began coming on in the room.



Loken grinned at him. "A little magick, nothing for you to worry about."