Night Novellas: Night Thief & Night Angel

by Lisa Kessler

Callia’s muffled weeping caught his attention. “No need to cry, little one. This will be over soon, and you will live on in art. You should be grateful to me for giving your worthless life some value.”

  “Antoine, please.” Marguerite buried her revulsion and attempted to settle back into her role as his servant, tucking a curl of his auburn hair behind his ear. “Callia is innocent.

  Let her go.”

  He spun on her, releasing her wrist and grabbing a handful of her hair. “Why should I listen to you? You whored yourself all over Paris!” His features twisted with fury. “You told me you couldn’t love me because my immortality came at too high a price, but now you hide under another vampire’s roof?”

  “He is a Night Walker. He offered me sanctuary instead of servitude.”

  He threw his head back, his laughter bordered on madness. Releasing her hair, he ran his cool fingers down her cheek. “Why do you always force me to hurt you? I can save you from death and love you for lifetimes.”

  Marguerite lifted her chin and did her best to hide her fear. “I am not afraid to grow old.”

  She never saw him move. Pain stabbed into her the moment he sank his fangs into the muscle at the base of her neck. Sucking at her skin, he bit again and again, until the fabric of her shift molded to her body, wet with her blood.

  Her vision wavered, heart racing, and he finally raised his head. Her blood stained his lips and chin, as if he were a wild animal feasting.

  She was the prey.

  Her legs wobbled, and he swept her up into his arms.

  Antoine shifted her until he held her in one arm. Marguerite tried to lift her head, but it felt heavy, too heavy, and lolled back. The tip of his paintbrush felt cool, stinging her as he dipped it into the gaping wound in her shoulder.

  “I think I will call this one Family in Blood.”

  Callia struggled in her chair. Marguerite wanted to tell her to be silent and not draw his attention, but exhaustion and blood loss stole her voice.

  Antoine peered at Callia, licking some of the blood from the corner of his mouth. Pulling another chair over, he placed Marguerite in it, facing her cousin. Deep inside, her instincts screamed to run. Get up and run.

  Even if she had the strength to flee, she wouldn’t leave Callia.

  The monster approached her cousin. Callia shrieked behind her gag.

  “Do you have something to say?” He stepped behind her chair and loosened the gag, pulling it away from her mouth.

  Callia coughed, her breath hitching. “Please. Let us go.

  We will leave Paris. No one will ever know about you.”

  “Your life depends on your cousin over there.” He pointed to Marguerite. “How much does she love you?”

  Marguerite managed a whisper. “Antoine. Punish me.

  She is innocent.”

  He pushed Callia’s head to the side, brushing her hair back from her throat. His gaze remained fixed on Marguerite.

  “How much is her life worth to you?”

  Kane galloped through the streets of Paris toward the jail.

  His pulse thundered in his ears like a ticking clock. If the police hurt Rita, he would kill them. No one threatened mortals under his protection. Not since the Night Demon.

  And never again.

  There would be ramifications if he slaughtered the corrupt officers, but he would deal with them once Rita was safe.

  As long as she was in peril, rational thought resided far beyond his reach.

  With the building in sight, he rocked back in the saddle, pulling the reins until Kukulkan slowed, prancing in place.

  Kane vaulted from the horse to the ground without a sound, his inner jaguar aching for freedom…for her. He didn’t bother to tie his horse. The stallion would wait for him to return.

  Kane shoved the door open, knocking an officer inside to the ground. The uniformed man behind the desk pushed his chair back and stood when Kane approached.

  “Halt, Monsieur!” He came around the desk, his hand on the hilt of his saber. “What is your business here?”

  Kane stared at the man, allowing his eye contact to draw in the weak-minded guard. “I am here to retrieve Marguerite Rousseau.”

  “She is not here.” The officer remained mesmerized by Kane’s gaze.

  “My staff informed me she was arrested today.” He frowned. He heard the other man’s thoughts. He told the truth.

  “The Commissionnaire took a few men to the Bordeaux Maison, but they did not find her there.”

  Kane wanted to tear the office apart in frustration, but that would not help him locate Rita any sooner. “Where is he now?”

  “He is on patrol, Monsieur.”

  Kane broke the connection with the man and wiped his visit from the officer’s memory before turning to leave.

  Kukulkan bobbed his head up and down, eager to stretch his legs again. Raising his boot up into the stirrup, Kane climbed into the saddle and nudged the stallion’s sides.

  Hoof beats echoed through the alleyways. Kane’s chest tightened. Had the Commissionnaire dealt with her himself?

  He’d been adamant about capturing Le Voleur D’or, angry that she’d evaded him. Could he have taken Rita and gotten even without bothering with a trial?

  He ground his teeth together, pushing the thought from his mind. His rage wouldn’t be so simple to contain. Pulling Kukulkan to the right, he raced toward the busy square around the Arc de Triomphe, opening his mind to the mortal thoughts that filled the night around him.

  Lowering his mental shields in such a public place assaulted him with a myriad of strange voices in his head.

  Some were in love, some grieving, and others were hoping for money for bread. So far, none had thought about a stunning blond woman who could smile while she pilfered your wallet.

  He winced, slowing his horse to a trot. Being an ancient, his powers in this world had increased to the point he could hear the thoughts of people far from the square. Miles away.

  Kane stopped Kukulkan. Turning the stallion around, his brow furrowed. Somewhere in the mass of sound, of mortal thoughts, he caught a weak whisper.

  She wasn’t far.

  Kukulkan launched into a gallop away from the Arc.

  Rita. Where are you?

  Almost instantly, the whisper slipped into his mind.

  Antoine.

  The connection vanished. She might have lost consciousness, or…

  He couldn’t even consider the other option.

  And he had no idea where Antoine lived.

  “Merde!” He pulled his horse around toward his home.

  Gerard had delivered his message to invite Rita to show him her master’s art. He would know where to find Antoine.

  Kane hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

  “What do you want from me, Antoine?”

  Her question drew his attention away from Callia. She’d heard Kane’s voice in her mind again, like the night at the lake, but had he heard her answer? She couldn’t rely on him.

  Her future and the future of her younger cousin were on the line. If life had taught her nothing else, it taught her the only person she could count on was herself.

  Antoine knelt at her chair and took her hands. She wouldn’t waste the remains of her strength pulling them away.

  “I want the life we should have had together.” His gaze searched her face. “Promise me that, and I will let her go.”

  “You threw away the life we could have had.” She glanced at her cousin, pleased to see her twisting her hands, trying to loosen the bindings.

  His lip twitched. “You have no right to judge me. You never loved me. I painted for you, pined for you. I took you away from your miserable father and gave you a home, jewels, and dresses, and it was never enough.”

  “I never wanted those things.” She pulled her hands away from his. “You made me into a prized possession, nothing more. You drank too much wine, lost your position at the university, and took me to your bed against my will.

>   Becoming a vampire has not changed any of that.”

  He snatched her wrist again, rage filling his voice.

  “Enough! I was weak, a man, nothing more. But now, I have true power. I can offer you forever.”

  “You offer me a cursed existence without end.”

  Marguerite kept talking, keeping his attention, while Callia quietly slid one wrist free and started working at the bindings on her other hand. “Surely there are ladies in Paris who would give all the jewels they owned to stay young forever.

  I am not one of them.”

  “But you are the one I want.” He spun around faster than her eye could see, stopping behind Callia’s chair. One hand fisted in the back of her hair, pulling her head back.

  “The choice is yours, ma petite. Stay here with me and share eternity, or your cousin will be my meal.”

  Kane dismounted his horse in front of the artist’s maison, relieved when voices carried from inside. With the silence of a jungle cat, he made his way around the perimeter and entered through the open kitchen. He stalked through the interior of the house, finding empty rooms until he finally found Rita. Hot rage twisted in his gut at the sight of her ravaged, bloody throat. He ground his teeth together, forcing himself to think.

  “Leave her alone.” Marguerite’s tone was weak, but her will seemed strong. “I will stay with you. Do not hurt her.”

  Kane stepped into the room. “Would you really place immortality on an unwilling person? Can you imagine facing centuries with someone who loathes your existence?”

  The leech released the bleeding girl and strutted toward Kane with a smug smile, brazenly showing his bloodstained fangs.

  “Marguerite has no idea of the power that comes with the blood. Once she is turned, she will love me for the dark gift.”

  Kane laughed, taking another step toward Rita. “Is that what the vampires are calling it now? A gift?” His mouth twisted in disgust. “Only a mortal would consider eternity a gift.” He narrowed his gaze at Antoine. “It is a responsibility, a burden…never a gift.” He gestured toward the women.

  “You should be protecting them, not feeding off them like cattle.”

  Rita met his eyes and glanced toward the girl tied to the chair. She wanted him to save her cousin first. There wouldn’t be time to grab them both. And nothing in this world could make him leave Rita with Antoine.

  He needed to kill him.

  Antoine ran his tongue along his teeth. “You think you are so much better than me, but I know the scent of their blood calls to you. It tempts you right now. You want to taste them, to feel the warmth and power of their blood spreading through your limbs.”

  Rita stared up at him, and his gut clenched. He did hunger for her. But not like this.

  Kane glared at the vampire, his eyes glowing crimson.

  Antoine smashed a chair, snatching up the jagged leg and rushed toward him. Kane dodged the blow and moved to Rita’s side. “Run. Now.”

  He added a mental push to his words, but even in her weakened state, her stubborn will remained at full strength.

  “I will not leave my cousin with him.”

  “I will take care of him. Go.”

  Antoine swung the chair leg like a machete, tearing through the sleeve of Kane’s shirt and slicing his bicep below his shoulder.

  Kane caught the weapon on the next swing and jerked it free from Antoine’s grasp. The vampire wasted no time snatching up another chair leg, brandishing it like a sword.

  Kane dropped the leg and pursued Antoine.

  Marguerite rallied her strength and resolve to get out of the chair. Her legs felt weak, and her body ached, but she made it over to Callia and knelt beside her. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched the immortals circling one another.

  Kane’s wound bled through the fabric of his shirt, but it didn’t seem to weaken him.

  Callia pulled her dress up to cover herself, and tried to help Marguerite with the knots on her other wrist. Antoine launched another chair. A chair leg caught the chandelier, and it crashed to the floor, cracking the oil lamp in the center. Fire erupted, feeding on the spilled oil and igniting the rug with an inhuman roar. Smoke and flames filled the center of the large room, a barrier between the north and south doorways.

  Antoine screeched, drawing Marguerite’s attention from the knot. Kane glanced her way, meeting her eyes. His deep voice filled her mind.

  Hurry, before the smoke poisons you.

  Her eyes stung, and she nodded in answer. Marguerite scrambled to help her cousin free her other hand. Antoine rushed through the black smoke and speared Kane’s chest with the sharp end of the chair. Marguerite screamed, jumping to her feet. In spite of the smoke and her lightheadedness, she stumbled toward Kane.

  Blood spilled down the front of his shirt, and his legs buckled. Kane winced, falling forward, and Marguerite caught him. Clutching him under his arms, she tried to drag him away from Antoine. The wet stake poked her abdomen through her thin nightgown until she had to bite back the bile rising in her throat.

  Kane whispered against her shoulder. “I thought I told you to run.”

  Her eyes widened, and she released her hold on him, coughing when the smoke assaulted her lungs. “You are alive.”

  The sight of his crooked smile made her heart flip in spite of hell itself raging around them. “It takes more than a wooden stake to stop a Night Walker.”

  Antoine stumbled forward while Kane turned to face him.

  The vampire frowned, and his mouth opened repeatedly like a fish out of water. “This is impossible.” His gaze moved from the stake to meet Kane’s eyes. “What are you?”

  Kane gripped the end of the chair leg and yanked it free of his chest. His eyes burned until he knew they blazed crimson with rage. Blood oozed from the wound and pain blossomed through his chest. His body rushed to heal while he took a step toward his adversary, slapping the bloody chair leg against his other palm.

  Antoine took a step back, away from Kane and the fire.

  He shook his head. “Impossible. You should be dead.”

  “You will be.” Kane grimaced, straightening to ease the ache in his chest. “Very soon.”

  Before Kane could thrust the stake through his chest, Antoine bolted with preternatural speed to Callia’s chair and pulled a dagger from his belt. Callia gasped, pulling the thick smoke deep into her lungs.

  “Come any closer, and I will kill her.” He pressed his blade to Callia’s throat.

  The girl’s eyes were red and weepy, her chest heaving for oxygen. The heat of the fire burned Kane’s skin, but he would recover. If he did not get the women away from the fire soon, the smoke would suffocate them. Marguerite crawled toward the door with part of her gown covering her mouth and nose, staying close to the ground.

  Kane had to keep the vampire distracted until Marguerite was safely out of the room. His chest throbbed while his body continued to heal the gaping wound.

  Speed would not be on his side at the moment.

  “You disappoint me, vampire. Hiding behind a mortal shield? What a pathetic display for an immortal who claims to wield such power.”

  The fire licked its way up through the ceiling. Lumber creaked, whining over the roar of the hungry flames. Ash rained on them like snow, settling in Kane’s hair and eyelashes.

  “Let the girl go.” Kane infused his words with a strong compulsion, his eyes narrowing.

  Antoine’s hand trembled against the girl’s throat, fear flickering in his eyes. Suddenly, Callia’s eyes rolled back and her head lulled forward onto the sharpened blade. Kane rushed toward her and Antoine dropped the dagger, then ran.

  Kane ached to pursue the vampire, but he had to get the women away from the fire.

  He used the dagger to cut the ropes free from the chair. Scooping the wounded girl into one arm, he rushed to Marguerite, sliding his arm around her waist. Carefully, he maneuvered around the fallen logs that once braced the roof, avoiding the flames and smoldering embers u
ntil he had the women out of the burning house. Once they were a safe distance away, he released Marguerite and laid her cousin on the ground outside the stable.

  Marguerite fell to her knees. “Please. You have to do something. Heal her like you did for me. Please Kane.”

  Kane bit into his own wrist, allowing his blood to drip onto her cousin’s neck wound, hoping it would heal. He feared she had already lost too much blood. While his blood worked to heal the cut, he used his finger to cover every puncture left behind by Antoine’s fangs.

  Even if she didn’t survive her injuries, the authorities would not find the wounds on her body.

  Marguerite coughed, cradling her cousin’s head on her lap and smoothing back her blood-soaked hair. “It is over now, Callia. Antoine cannot hurt us anymore. Stay with me.”

  She bent to kiss the girl’s forehead, and Kane knelt beside her, inspecting the deep wound across Callia’s neck. The skin had healed, but time would tell if her internal injuries would mend. He’d done all he could without transforming her.

  Marguerite looked up at him, her cheeks streaked with tears, and her mouth and nostrils lined with soot. “She is healed? You saved her?”

  “Her wounds are healed. The rest is up to her.” He moved in closer, lowering his voice. “You saved her. You kept Antoine’s attention on you.”

  She pressed her lips together and glanced down at her cousin. “I want to kill him. I should feel guilt for even considering taking a life, but I feel no remorse or regret.”

  Her blue eyes were full of tears when she glanced up at him.

  “He has poisoned me even without his blood in my veins.”

  Kane reached to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin. “You are a warrior, Rita. A warrior does what must be done. There is no time for remorse or regret.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered, “Let me heal your wounds.”

  She trembled, tilting her head slightly. His lips brushed along her throat, and her heart raced. Her body tensed beside him.

  “You are safe. I will never harm you.” He pressed a soft kiss to her skin just above the wounds Antoine left behind.

  Slicing his tongue across his fangs, Kane pressed his mouth to her neck, tenderly allowing his blood to heal her, kissing away all traces of injury.