Night Novellas: Night Thief & Night Angel

by Lisa Kessler

  He wished he could do the same for her mental wounds.

  Kane drew back, relieved to see her skin unblemished.

  Rita kept her eyes downcast, staring at her cousin’s face.

  “Merci.”

  He didn’t press for more.

  Her cousin’s heart still beat, weak and too quickly, but she lived.

  He could hear shouts from the house staff over the roar of the fire as they passed buckets of water to douse the fire.

  They couldn’t stay. Rita trembled beside him. Kane removed his shirt, intent on offering it to her, but seeing the holes and the blood stains, he reconsidered and tucked it in the back of his pants. “We need to get you both home.”

  “Take Callia first.” She glanced up at him. “You can move faster than the wind.”

  He shook his head. “Antoine escaped.” He pulled Rita close and cradled her cousin in his other arm. “Until I find him, you will not be alone at night.”

  Rita didn’t argue. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he kissed her hair, grateful to know she was safe.

  Without a word, he clutched both women tightly and, faster than any human could see, he was gone.

  Chapter Ten

  Marguerite hadn’t left Callia’s side in a week. Since the fire, her cousin experienced only brief periods of lucidity. Gerard and Marie brought Callia broth, and Kane purchased the most expensive Ipecacuanha Wine and opium elixir to quiet her coughing.

  But every day, her cousin grew weaker.

  Sponging Callia’s forehead, Marguerite smiled when the girl looked up at her. Her green eyes had finally cleared of the red brought on by the smoke.

  Now her lungs needed to do the same.

  “Bonjour, Cousin.” Callia sounded hoarse. Her lips cracked into a weak smile.

  “Bonjour.” Marguerite kissed Callia’s forehead, grateful to hear her voice. “Are you hungry? Marie has broth warming for you.”

  Callia shook her head. “My throat hurts too much to swallow soup. I want to talk to you.”

  “All right.” Marguerite returned the washcloth to the porcelain basin. “But you should be resting.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He?” A wrinkle marred Marguerite’s brow. “Gerard?”

  “No.” Callia coughed, struggling for breath. “Monsieur Bordeaux.”

  “Kane?” Marguerite glanced at the lengthening afternoon shadows through the window. “He will be here soon.”

  “Not until sundown.”

  Marguerite swallowed and nodded. How much did Callia remember of that night?

  “Antoine buried a wooden stake in his chest, and he did not die.”

  “You should rest, Callia.” Marguerite reached for the basin, hoping to change the subject. She’d hardly seen Kane except to take the medicines and elixirs he brought for her cousin. He busied himself patrolling the city for Antoine.

  Callia winced, struggling to clear her throat. “He is not a man, but he is not a vampire like Antoine.”

  Marguerite sighed, glancing over her shoulder to be certain they were alone. “He is a Night Walker. He avoids daylight and lives on blood, just like Antoine did. But apparently, cannot be killed like a vampire.”

  Callia pulled her hand from under the blankets, placing it in Marguerite’s, her gaze intent and coherent. “He saved my life.”

  Marguerite kissed her forehead. “He did.”

  “Then he is nothing like Antoine.” She let her eyes drift closed. “Do you love him?”

  Marguerite coughed with surprise. “Rest now. When your lungs are clear, we will start our new life across the ocean.”

  Her lashes fluttered, and Callia squeezed her hand. “We do not need to hide anymore. Monsieur Bordeaux will keep us safe from Antoine.”

  Marguerite’s eyes felt hot, welling with tears. “I cannot stay here, Callia. Every night I wonder who has died so that Kane lives.” Her voice hitched. “Every man I have ever cared for turned into a monster. First my father, then Antoine. I will not stay to watch Kane become someone I fear.”

  Callia coughed, holding her chest before opening her eyes again. “I see the way he looks at you. He cares for you.

  He saved my life.” She swallowed and drew in a shallow breath. “You may be older than me, but I know your heart, Cousin. You should listen to what it tells you.”

  Her breathing slowed into a restful sleep, and Marguerite withdrew her hand, wiping away a tear. She rested her arms on the edge of the bed and sighed. Her heart had betrayed her so many times before.

  Why should she trust it now?

  The door creaked open, and Marguerite’s head popped up. Had she fallen asleep? Candlelight danced on the walls, and Kane entered with a silver serving tray. Placing it on the table, he closed the door and returned to her side.

  “I brought soup and fresh croissants.” He sat down across from her. “You are so busy caring for Callia. You forget to care for yourself.”

  “Merci.” She lifted a spoonful of the creamy soup to her mouth, blowing gently to cool it. “It smells delicious.”

  She took a bite, moaning as she swallowed. “It tastes even better.”

  Kane smiled, and her pulse jumped. She’d almost forgotten how glorious it looked on him.

  “I cannot take credit. I only delivered Marie’s creation.”

  “Please give her my gratitude.”

  He nodded and glanced at Callia. “Is she improving?”

  Marguerite broke off a piece of the croissant and nodded. “I believe so. The doctor said as long as no fever sets in, she should recover.”

  “I wish I could do more to help her.” He paused, his voice low. “And you.”

  His gaze caught hers and, for a moment, it felt as though he could see straight into her soul. “Thank you for all your help. Callia would be gone if not for you.”

  He reached across the table and took her hand, his touch sparking fire through her veins. “I will always be here to help you.”

  She withdrew her hand, her heart already aching at the lost contact. “Antoine saved me once.” She stared at her sleeping cousin. “My father took to the bottle after my mother died giving birth to my brother. The baby died within a week. As I got older, he said I looked like her. So, he beat me. Often.

  “Antoine bought a horse my father trained. He noticed my bruised face and…” She sighed and glanced his way.

  “I am telling you this because Antoine was not always the monster he became. I cannot bear seeing another man I care for transformed into a hideous shadow of himself. I couldn’t bear to find myself living with a monster again.”

  “Is that why you hide yourself away in this room?” Kane stood up, frowning. “Those men were weak. I am not your father, and I am not Antoine.” He walked to the door and stopped without turning back. “I have been called many things throughout the centuries, but until I met you, no one dared to call me a monster.”

  “I would give you the world if I could.” He opened the door and glanced back over his shoulder. “But I was created a Night Walker. I will never be a mortal man. Not even for you.”

  A war raged inside Kane, and the jaguar roared with frustration. He still hadn’t located the vampire. Every night, he hunted for him, searching the dark alleys for places the vampire might feed, opening his mind to mortal thoughts, for any sign of a blood drinker.

  Antoine’s home had burned to the ground. All of Paris assumed he’d perished in the fire. Only he and Rita knew the truth.

  Until he killed the vampire, he couldn’t be certain of Rita’s safety.

  He stood outside Kukulkan’s stall, scratching the stallion’s neck and staring at the one lit window of the maison. Callia’s room. He should accept Rita’s retreat from his life. Seeing her bleeding and victimized by the vampire that night had reawakened his past failures to protect people who looked to him for their defense. She could have died.

  The knowledge brought true fear into his world.

  He rubbed at the scar on his ch
est. The slick, raised skin stood as an eternal reminder of his inability to save his people. It remained the only blemish on his immortal flesh.

  When the demon had crossed into the world of man and slaughtered the Mayan people, Kane hadn’t been able to find a way to stop her. Instead, he attacked her, knowing he couldn’t win the battle.

  But he’d needed to do something.

  Finding himself unable to protect his people from the demon’s appetite introduced him to his first taste of real fear. It mutated into bitter frustration and raw anger until he allowed his emotions to make his decisions for him.

  Even wrestling against an unbeatable foe felt better than doing nothing.

  In the end, his efforts landed him on a boat, traveling across the ocean to France. After that night, the Great Separation, the four immortal brothers had scattered to the far corners of the world. He never saw his brothers again.

  The moment he’d witnessed Rita in peril, all his past failures reared up to remind him that nothing would save her. In the end, death would still steal her from him no matter how well he protected her.

  It was enough to drive him mad.

  His flawed heart apparently welcomed madness. His heart wanted to spend every moment of the time she had left in this world with her, to share every smile, to love her.

  Love.

  He’d tried to deny it and respect the distance she placed between them while she cared for her cousin. Loving a mortal, knowing he would eventually lose her, hurt him in ways his immortal blood could never heal.

  But denying himself her touch, the scent of her hair, her stubborn will… It would hurt more not to love her while he had the chance. How could he let her go now that he knew how she felt in his arms, the sight of her blissful smile after they made love? One night would never be enough.

  Kane paced in the center of the barn. Kukulkan followed his movements, his large black head swaying back and forth with his ears pricked attentively toward his master.

  “If I let her go now, regret will taunt me for eternity, but if I succumb to my feelings for her, watching her grow old and knowing she will die…” He shook his head and walked toward his horse. “She will go on to a world where I cannot follow.” The words constricted his throat as he stroked Kukulkan’s face. His horse nuzzled into his chest. “I do not know if I am strong enough for love, my friend.”

  He stroked his hand down the Friesian’s thick neck.

  “Not that she wants my love.” Bitterness crept into his voice, and he welcomed it. Anything to keep the ache at bay. “She judges me a monster. How far has the God of the East fallen to allow a mortal to pass judgment over me? I am a Night Walker. I uphold the mortal world, protect it.”

  Kane rubbed under Kukulkan’s jaw until his stallion’s upper lip quivered in pleasure. “Perhaps that is what captivates me. Rita is a puzzle of contradictions. She would give up her life to save her cousin, and yet she has no regrets when she steals a man’s coin purse. Or his watch.”

  The memory of that night brought a smile. “She worried that worthless vampire might hurt me.” He leaned against the stall door. The horse nickered, encouraging Kane as if he understood every word. “No one, other than my immortal brothers, ever showed concern for my welfare.”

  The stallion nudged him with his muzzle.

  “You are a good listener, my friend.”

  Kukulkan answered by sneezing on him. Kane laughed in spite of himself, grateful for the respite from his thoughts.

  Tomorrow he would try to talk with Rita. Hopefully, she would listen as well as his horse. The corner of his mouth curved slightly. She would do no such thing.

  That strong will was part of the reason he loved her.

  Marguerite woke up stiff and disoriented in her chair.

  Stretching, she frowned and looked around the room.

  Callia’s room. It was still dark outside, but it sounded like a teapot boiled, blowing steam.

  She turned toward her cousin, and her heart sank. In the faint glow of the oil lamp, her skin gleamed with perspiration.

  Marguerite moved to her bedside and pressed her hand to her cousin’s forehead.

  Fever.

  Turning up the light on the lamp, she stared at Callia’s gaunt face, and her eyes welled with tears. Callia’s eyelids and lips were discolored, a gray-blue, far from the color of healthy flesh. Marguerite reached for the basin and quietly left the room. In the kitchen, she emptied the basin and filled it with fresh water. She stoked the fire in the stove, begging the flames to heat the water quickly.

  Gerard tottered in, wearing his robe. “Can I help?”

  Marguerite nodded, fighting back tears. “Callia has a fever, and her breath wheezes from her lungs like a tea kettle.”

  “I will fetch the doctor.” He hustled away, no longer dazed by sleep.

  “Merci, Gerard.”

  Marguerite wrapped kitchen rags around her hands to keep from burning herself on the basin, and hurried back to Callia’s side. She dipped a rag into the water and cleaned the fevered sweat from her cousin’s brow.

  “Please, Callia. Stay with me.” The noise from dipping the rag in the basin and wringing the excess water became a comfort. It kept her from hearing the labor in each of Callia’s breaths. “Gerard is fetching the doctor. He will be here soon with an elixir to help you breathe.”

  Callia started to shiver, her teeth chattering together.

  Marguerite rushed to the fireplace, stoking the embers until angry flames leapt up the flue. She added another log to the fire, watching the sparks fly.

  Heat radiated into the room. Marguerite replaced the poker against the fireplace and returned to her vigil at Callia’s side, finding her cousin’s eyes open.

  “Cousin?”

  Marguerite leaned in close to hear her soft, raspy whisper.

  “I am here, Callia.”

  She clasped Marguerite’s hands. Her skin felt clammy.

  “Angels are coming for me.”

  “No.” Marguerite blinked back tears. “You are strong.

  The doctor will heal you.”

  She shook her head. “I cannot catch my breath.” Her chest heaved in short breaths like a panting housedog. “My chest hurts. I do not wish to live in pain.”

  A tear rolled down Marguerite’s cheek. “The doctor will ease the pain.”

  She pressed her blue lips together, and opened them again, gasping for more small sips of air. Her green eyes wandered up until she met her gaze. “Have you ever wondered what it must be like?”

  “I am not sure what you mean.”

  “To be like Kane? Never sick, never die…”

  Marguerite shrugged. “I have not considered it.” She squeezed her cousin’s hands, aching inside at the thought that this might be their last conversation. “It would probably be lonely.”

  She panted, wheezing before she whispered, “How so?”

  “While you would live, everyone around you would pass away.”

  Callia shook her head slowly. “Unless you had a companion.”

  Marguerite dabbed her forehead. “Kane mentioned his immortal brothers, but he has not seen them in hundreds of years.”

  “You do not understand me.” She almost smiled. “You could love without ever saying goodbye.”

  Marguerite sighed. “God did not intend for us to remain in this world.”

  “How can you…pretend to know…what God intends… for us.” Her eyes drifted closed. “I love you, Cousin.”

  A sob choked Marguerite. She bent to kiss Callia’s forehead. “I love you too, Cousin.”

  Callia gasped for breath, her body struggling and exhausted. Marguerite’s chest ached. Surely, pain and suffering were never God’s intention. Her mind whirled with unanswerable questions. If God created the world of man, could he also have created immortals?

  And where did she fit?

  Chapter Eleven

  The doctor used every treatment in his leather bag, but by midday, Gerard fetched the pr
iest to offer Callia’s last rites.

  With shaky, gnarled fingers, the priest made the sign of the cross over her cousin, chanting his prayers in Latin. Tears slipped down Marguerite’s cheeks while she whispered the Lord’s Prayer.

  The priest offered her some words of comfort and left in silence.

  Marguerite stared at Callia’s face, willing her to keep breathing. “Please, Callia. Do not go.” She bit at her lower lip, struggling to hold back the tears. “Remember when we were girls? We were going to grow up and marry princes and ride fine white horses.” Taking Callia’s cool hand in hers, she whispered, “I miss you already.” She sniffled, her voice cracking. “I am not ready to be alone in this world, Cousin.

  Without your laughter, your smile, the sun will not be as bright.”

  Her cousin’s breathing thinned to faster, smaller puffs of air, and suddenly stopped.

  Marguerite’s heart raced. She squeezed her hand.

  “Callia? Callia… No. Please God, do not take her from me.”

  She embraced her cousin’s frail, lifeless body and wept. “I love you.”

  Hours passed, she wasn’t sure how many. Marie entered the room and wrapped a caring arm around Marguerite’s shoulder. “Vespers are starting soon. Would you like me to light a candle for her?”

  Marguerite accepted the comfort, wiping tears from her face. Since Antoine’s attack, her prayers had been limited to this room. Perhaps being in the sanctuary would bring her some peace. “No. I will go.”

  She got to her feet, surprised at the ache in her body.

  A wave of lightheadedness washed over her, making her reach up to rub her forehead. Seeing Callia motionless on the bed seemed like a bad dream, like she might wake up at any moment. She kissed her cool forehead and whispered, “I am so sorry, Cousin.”

  She turned to go and lost her balance for a moment.

  Dizziness blurred her vision.

  “Are you sure?” Marie frowned, guiding her toward a chair.

  Marguerite waved her off. “Oui. I will go. Callia would want me to pray.”