Night's Kiss

She stopped beneath a weeping willow tree, lightly rolling one of the leaves between her thumb and forefinger, amazed at the nuances in the texture of the leaf. How beautiful the tree was! She could hear the whisper of each leaf, hear the sap running through the branches, the creak of the wood as the tree swayed in the breeze. Everything was different when absorbed through her enhanced senses. No wonder Roshan didn't want to give it up. Except for the blood part, being a vampire seemed a wonderful thing.



She picked up her pace until she was running again. Never in all her life had she felt so wonderful, so free! Laughter bubbled up inside her. Why had she made such a fuss earlier? Would she truly rather be dead now? How awful it would be if she could never again catch the scent of rain in the air, or dance in the silvery light of a full moon. And what of Roshan? Would she be happy, even in heaven, if he were not there to share it with her?



She slowed as she reached the end of the park, her earlier enthusiasm waning. She would never have a child now. It was the only true regret she had. Of course, she thought, rationalizing, if he had let her die, she wouldn't have been able to have a child, either.



Roshan. She had spared a thought for little else since the first time she had seen him outside her cottage, and he was all she could think of now. His scent was in her clothes, in her hair. His voice was a welcome echo in her mind. His kisses a memory she would never forget. Roshan. He had told her, in word and deed, that he loved her. And she knew, without doubt, that she loved him. Perhaps she had loved him from the moment his eyes met hers.



Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, to feel his lips on hers, to hear his voice whispering that he loved her.



Laughing out loud, she turned and ran toward Roshan. Toward home.



He knew the moment she passed through the gates, felt it in the deepest part of his being. He wasn't sure why she had come back, but at least she was here, where she belonged, of her own free will.



Walking through the living room into the kitchen, he shook his head as he glanced at the damage her fury had wrought. Wading through the debris scattered from one end of the kitchen floor to the other, he opened the back door and went outside to wait for her. Morgana sat beside him, a low rumble reverberating in her throat.



He clenched his hands as he watched her walk across the grass toward him. She stopped when she reached the door, and he took a step back so she could enter the house.



Taking a deep breath, he followed her inside, ready to face her wrath or her hatred. Ready to go down on his knees and beg for her forgiveness if necessary.



"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.



She shook her head, her hair swirling like a fiery cloud around her shoulders. "No, I am not all right."



"Brenna, I'm sorry. Please, just listen to me. It doesn't have to be as bad as you think. I'll help you for as long as necessary, teach you everything you need to know."



She arched one brow. "Will you?"



"I'll do anything you ask, spend the next thousand years making it up to you."



"Will you?" she asked again.



He nodded, wondering what penance she would require. "Only tell me what you want."



"What I want!" She frowned at him, her hands fisted on her hips, her chin raised defiantly. "I will tell you what I want, Roshan DeLongpre. I want the wedding night we never had."



He stared at her, then shook his head, wondering if he'd heard right.



She poked her finger at his chest. "You heard me," she said, a slow smile curving her lips. "We never had a wedding night. Do you not think it is long overdue?"



"Indeed, wife, I do."



"Well, husband, what do you intend to do about it?"



"I intend to make love to you until the sun comes up," he said, swinging her up into his arms, "and when the moon rises, I intend to start all over again. And then," he said, raining kisses over her face and the hollow of her throat, "I expect you to clean up the mess you made."



Laughing softly, Brenna wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, nestling against him as he carried her up the stairs to their bedroom.



Morgana padded after them, complaining all the way.



CHAPTER 28



Roshan glanced at his wife out of the corner of his eye, amazed as always by her beauty, a beauty that had only been enhanced by the Dark Trick. To his relief and delight, she had taken to vampire life as if she had been born to it. With him there to guide her and reassure her, to explain what she was feeling and why, she had been able to control her hunger. At first, she had fed several times a night, but that was no longer necessary.



Brenna lifted her face to the sky. "'Tis a gorgeous night."



"It is that," Roshan agreed, squeezing her hand.



They were strolling along the outskirts of town, on their way home from their nightly hunt. He was a lucky man, he thought. The last five months had been just about perfect. Best of all, after the first night, Brenna had accepted her new life wholeheartedly and never looked back, never expressed any regret or castigated him for his decision.



She had brightened his life, and his home. She had repainted all the unused bedrooms in the house, choosing light, airy colors, and when that was done, she had bought new carpets and drapes and then picked out a unique style of furniture for each room. He had put up with the mess and the clutter and foolishly assumed she was done when she turned her attention to their lair, declaring it was cold and dreary looking. Since it was true, there was no way to argue with her. She had painted three of the walls and the ceiling a restful shade of sky blue; on the fourth wall she had drawn a mural that depicted a large window looking out on a sunlit garden. She had hung lacy white curtains around the window and covered the floor with dark green carpeting "because it looks like grass."



They were approaching a dead-end street when Brenna put her hand on Roshan's arm. "What is that?" she asked, cocking her head to one side. "Do you hear it? It sounds like an animal in pain."



Roshan grunted softly. "It's not an animal."



"What is it, then?"



He didn't answer. Instead, he turned down a dark alley that ran behind a three-story warehouse. The noise grew louder as they approached a Dumpster.



He'd been right. It wasn't a cat. It was a teenage girl in the throes of childbirth. Deep in a contraction, the girl was unaware of their presence.



"We must help her," Brenna whispered.



Roshan looked at his wife, one brow raised. "What do you suggest we do?"



"Whatever we can."



The girl let out a deep breath, her eyes widening when she realized she was no longer alone. She recoiled when Brenna took a step toward her.



"Do not be afraid," Brenna said quietly. "I am not going to hurt you."



The girl inched backward. "Go away," she said, then cried out as another contraction took her unawares.



"We just want to help," Brenna said. "What is your name?"



"That's none of your business," the girl said curtly. "Get the hell away from me." She cried out, her hands clutching her stomach, as a second contraction came hard on the heels of the first.



Brenna looked up at Roshan. "I think the baby is coming now."



Muttering an oath, Roshan removed his cloak and spread it under the girl. She was too far gone in pain to object. The contractions came harder, faster. Brenna knelt beside the girl, gently stroking her brow, urging her to push, while Roshan kept watch.



Brenna looked up at Roshan. "I see the head!"



Moments later, a harsh cry erupted from the girl's throat.



Brenna murmured, "Oh, my," as the baby slipped into her waiting hands amid a rush of water and blood.



Roshan turned, his eyes narrowing at the covetous look in Brenna's eyes.



"We need something to cut the cord," she said.



"Here." Reaching into her pocket, the girl withdrew a wicked-looking knife.



Using the girl's shoelaces, Roshan tied them tightly around the cord in two places; then, taking the knife from the girl's hand, he cut the cord between the laces.



Brenna removed her cloak and wrapped it around the baby. "You have a beautiful little girl."



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



Brenna looked up at Roshan, 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."



"But— "



"Don't try to stop me," the girl said. "You look like a nice lady. You keep her."



Rising, Brenna cradled the infant against her breast. "She will be well cared for, I promise. Do you have somewhere to go?"



With a nod, the girl turned and staggered toward the sidewalk.



Brenna watched until the girl was out of sight, then smiled at the baby in her arms. "Hello, precious."



"Brenna, you know we can't keep it."



"Yes, we can."



He swore softly. "Do you want to tell me how? What are you going to do when she wakes up wet and hungry in the morning?"



"We will find a nanny," Brenna said calmly.



"And what are you going to do until then? What are you going to do when she wakes up hungry and wet tomorrow?"



Brenna frowned. "I do not know."