He’d known that Stephan would eventually come after Lauren himself, but he hadn’t known when, where or exactly how. And when he’d stumbled onto Stephan in the act of transforming, he’d thought he had a chance to rid the world of the man—the creature—forever.
But Stephan had no intention of dying. True, Mark had managed to take him by surprise with the holy water, but Stephan was going to be harder to kill than that. And like any cult leader, Stephan had minions ready to die in service to him. Mark knew he was lucky that, so far, those who had been summoned to do battle with him while Stephan disappeared were, for the most part, inexperienced. Old enough to know how to do some hunting, foolish enough to be rash. None of them had been around long—not even the cavalier this afternoon. That guy must have come from some costume party.
But then, that was always the way it was in any war. Send out the expendable forces first.
He gritted his teeth in anger, curious that Stephan had begun to bother keeping his population in check at all. He thought about the poor murdered girls whose decapitated corpses had been tossed into the river. It was possible but unlikely that some of his newer minions were perpetrating the crimes. He had a feeling that Stephan was doing this himself.
Stephan liked to create an aura of fear.
He liked it when the authorities thought they were going after a heinous—but human—madman.
Of course, he hadn’t planned on a man like Sean Canady.
In all honesty, Mark hadn’t imagined encountering such a situation himself. It wasn’t just the cop who knew that vampires existed. There was an alliance of people in New Orleans who knew and made it their business to do something about the dangerous ones. Unfortunately, most of them were out of the country at the moment.
According to Sean’s wife, Maggie, most of the real horrors were occurring in third world countries where people had nothing, no money and no hope, and government coups were constant, where AIDS was prevalent, and there was so much hardship and sadness that the vampires could rule their fiefdoms with little distraction.
But Sean was still here, as were a few others, though Sean hadn’t named them as yet. Mark knew he still had to tread carefully with the other if he wanted to earn his trust. Maggie was more open. She had listened gravely to everything he had to say, then told him a few stories about some of their friends.
It had been an absurd conversation—or would have been, if he weren’t who he was and the situation weren’t so dire.
And now Stephan had shown himself.
Most of all, Lauren finally believed him about the existence of vampires. More, he prayed, he thought she was actually beginning to believe in him.
As he got out of the shower, he decided it was important to get over to the hospital.
As he towel dried his hair, another towel around his hips, he heard a quiet tapping at his door. He hesitated, not quite ready for visitors.
“Yeah?” he said.
“It’s me. Lauren.”
He paused again.
Then he walked to the door and opened it.
Her eyes seemed to be even more brilliantly green than he had remembered. Her hair shimmered with an ever greater touch of fire. She was pale, but she appeared strong and wary.
And she was standing in his doorway.
“May I come in?” she asked.
“Um…sure.” He moved outside, sweeping out a hand.
She walked in and perched at the foot of his bed. If she noticed his state of undress, she gave no sign.
She smelled erotically of shampoo, soap and perfume. She had chosen a plain black knit dress, and it hugged her curves in a way he couldn’t help but notice.
“Did that really—I mean, really, happen?” she inquired.
“Yes,” he said simply.
“It’s impossible,” she murmured, staring at him. He could tell that she wanted him to somehow deny the reality of it.
He strode over to the bed, taking a seat at her side, meeting her eyes but not touching her. “What’s impossible?” he whispered. “There’s all kind of evil in the world. Mostly it comes in human form. Today it came in vampire form, that’s all. Stephan is real, and his little army of would-be assassins is real. I tried to tell you what was going on. And I blame myself for what happened to Deanna. At first I thought you would be the only one in real danger. But he’s getting to you by going through Deanna.”
“Will she get better?”
“There’s definitely hope,” he told her.
She stood and walked restlessly to the balcony doors. She pulled back the drape and looked out at the night.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said. There was a strange and poignant longing in her voice.
“It is,” he agreed.
To his amazement, she let go of the drape and walked straight over to him.
“I should cut to the chase,” she said softly. “There are things I have to do tonight.”
“You mean, you want to go back to the hospital.”
“Yes, that, and…”
She let her voice trail off, her eyes still on his. She was so close that he was practically breathing her in, and it was painful. Because she wasn’t Katie.
She wasn’t Katie at all.
It had been the familiarity that had first drawn him to her, but her deep russet hair was all her own, as were the ever-changing emerald and gold of her eyes. And her seductive smile…that, too, was hers and hers alone.
“Yes?” he asked softly. “And…?”
She slipped her arms around his neck and drew close. Her lips found his, while her body pressed tightly against his flesh. The kind of tight that caused the curves and hollows of their bodies to meet in perfect alignment. He was painfully aware of the fullness of her breasts, could feel the pressure of his instant erection and knew she could feel it, too.
She wasn’t Katie, he reminded himself.
She was Lauren, and she was in shock. As strong as she might be normally, she was vulnerable right now. If he had any decency at all, he would step away and…
Who the hell could be that damned decent?
There was no hesitation in her lips. They molded to his, and her mouth was sweet, with a hint of mint, the sweep of her tongue an inducement and a tease, a hint of sheer enticement.
A voice spoke in his head.
Step away.
But he couldn’t do it. Her fingers played across his chest, and her touch was electrifying. He was locked in a kiss that seemed to grow deeper and more passionate by the moment. Amazed that she had come to him, he cupped her face, needing more of her lips. His fingers threaded through her hair. Silk and velvet, a form of seduction all its own, it fell over his hands.
She stepped away from him then and, meeting his eyes, lifted the hem of her skirt and pulled her dress over her head. Then she stood before him wearing nothing except for strappy high-heeled sandals.
“You go out that way often?” he couldn’t help but ask, his voice husky.
She smiled. “Only here,” she assured him. And she moved back into his arms.
He didn’t have to shed his towel. It managed to disappear on its own.
After that there was nothing between them, nothing at all, and he was touching her completely, savoring the feel of her flesh, trying not to give in to sheer insanity.
He had hungered for her, watched her, been awakened by her, and through it all, he had somehow kept his sanity, kept a clear head….
Until now.
His mouth lifted from hers, nuzzled against her earlobe, caressed the smooth flesh of her throat. She arched against him, fingertips running down his back. Along his spine. Over his buttocks. He felt his muscles flex and tighten.
Dear God.
Her lips pressed against his throat.
Her tongue teased his flesh, traced a searing line along his jugular.
He picked her up and made his way to the bed. They fell on it together, limbs already entwined before they even touched the mattress. His eyes met her
, and she smiled slightly; then she sought his lips again, and their kiss that was wet and searing and overpowered every. At last his mouth left her lips and traveled down to her collar bone, where it taunted and explored. He drew his hand up from her thigh to her hip, moved her midriff, then caressed her breast before he laved and teased with his tongue.
As he tasted her, he felt her fingertips, erotic, light, sensual, moving down his spine.
Around to his ribs.
Between them.
To his erection.
He groaned against her flesh, kissed his way along her skin, urgency racing through him. He wanted her right then; he wanted her forever. He wanted this to go on, and he felt he would lose his sanity if it did.
He moved lower.
Lower.
Teasing, tasting, the silken, fiery feel of her flesh creating a searing thunder in his mind, in his blood. She arched against him, whispered in longing and in protest, and moved with a subtle and sinuous grace that aroused his every muscle, every cell. His excitement was raw, carnal, soaring. Somehow he held on to his tenuous control As he teased and caressed her from the rise of her breasts to her abdomen, inner thighs, between. He heard her cries, felt the tremors of release shudder through her body, and felt her fingers dance across his flesh as she strove to drive him to an equal madness.
But he had been maddened from her first whisper.
From the first sight of her.
She moved against him, rising, finding his lips again, her body sliding against his. Their fingers entwined, and then she was on top him, still moving, and her hair was a spill of red twilight and magic, enveloping them both in silk. He moved inside her in a reflex of motion and fury, and then his arms were around her and she was beneath him, and the world was filled with heat and the meshing of their bodies. When he felt her surge and shudder, he felt the explosion of his own climax rip through him like thunder, and he drew her to him again, savoring every shock and tremor that followed. The ragged pulse of his heart and lungs made a strange and staccato music in the night, and the pulse of her heart raged against his own, then eased slowly.
Lying at her side, he breathed in the scent of her, and when he turned, at last, meeting her eyes, her gaze was on him.
She smiled slowly. “I might have been a bit aggressive,” she said, blushing.
“Please…feel free to be aggressive any time,” he offered.
She reached out, moving a damp lock of hair from his forehead. “You are sane,” she murmured.
“Thank you. Not the compliment I might have expected or hoped for at the moment, but thank you.”
Her smiled deepened, but then she sobered, staring into his eyes. “There are vampires.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any idea how incomprehensible that is to me?”
“Yes.” He nodded, and stroked her cheek. “You’re incredible.”
She trembled slightly, her lashes veiling her eyes. “So are you. Is that the compliment you were looking for?” she asked, meeting his eyes again, a slight teasing note in her voice.
He smiled. “Evening is here,” he said.
She nodded, rising up on one elbow. “I…I have to get to the hospital,” she told him, fingering the cross around her neck. “Will this protect me?”
“To an extent. Stephan has ways of seeing that they’re removed, but…don’t go anywhere without a water pistol.”
She started to laugh, and there were tears in her eyes. He sat up, sweeping his arms around her, holding her very tightly, cradling her.
“Hey,” he murmured awkwardly.
“I’m sorry…it’s just…a water pistol. It’s holy water, right?”
“Yes.”
She pulled away, staring at him. “If…the holy water kills so easily, how is that Stephan is still…not dead?”
He let out a sigh. “So far, the second he’s been injured, he’s managed to disappear before my weapons can do their work. Because he has so many of his lackeys with him, they’ve kept me busy while he makes his escape.” There was so much he still had to explain. And considering everything she’d had to accept so far, she was doing very well. He had to be careful, though, just how much information to impart and how fast.
She needed enough to keep herself safe, but not too much. Information overload could be a very dangerous thing.
“Young vampires are rash, impetuous, and not very powerful. They think they’re invincible, and they’re not. But they are killers, and they kill easily, because most people are unaware of their existence. Because people tend to be trusting. Because vampires can…seduce.”
She frowned. “Deanna kept telling me there were two men. She insisted that Jonas was good and that there was someone else. Someone who was evil.”
“She might have been right.”
“But you said Jonas was a vampire.”
He hesitated. “Yes,” he finally said.
“So he’s evil.”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t understand.”
He lowered his head, wincing. How much could he expect her to believe?
“You know, of course, that terrible things have happened throughout history. The Spanish Inquisition was one of the worst instances of man’s inhumanity to man, but it didn’t make all churchmen evil. Stalin carried out a blood bath, but all Russians weren’t evil. Hitler was a maniac, but that didn’t make all Germans bad. Terrorists kill in the name of Allah, but most Muslims are kind and compassionate and humane, as Mohammed taught.”
She was once again staring at him as if he had lost his mind.
“What the hell are you saying?” she asked.
He lifted his hands. “That there are good vampires.”
“Good vampires?”
He answered very slowly and carefully. “Vampires who want to coexist with humans in peace, who have retained the essence of humanity themselves. The woman who owns this house is actually a very wise…” He paused. “And good vampire.”
She leapt out of bed, staring at him. He’d gone too far. Her eyes accused him of the absolute depths of madness.
“You—you know all this?” she said, her tone skeptical, her eyes enormous. And yet…he almost smiled at his own unconscious response to her. She was naked, staring at him, hair wild and beautiful, and his heart was pounding again. Of course, given what he’d just told her, she was undoubtedly thinking that she would never let him anywhere near her again.
“Lauren, there’s so much…”
“I have to get to the hospital,” she said curtly.
“I’ll take you. I have a car,” he told her.
Her features were tense. But she nodded, grabbing her dress, throwing it over her head. “Ten minutes. I need to shower and change. For the night.”
He wasn’t sure what that meant, but she was gone. He winced, then rose and headed back for the shower himself. He quickly rinsed off and dressed.
At least she was here, at Montresse House. At least she had agreed to let him drive her to the hospital. At least…
He had touched her. Made love to her.
At least now she had an idea of the mortal danger she was facing.
He wanted to think they could have a future.
He didn’t dare.
There were a number of tourists wandering the Square. That was good, Susan thought. It was almost like old times. There was a caricaturist just a few feet away, sketching a young couple who were obviously in love. A young woman in a gypsy skirt and turban had set up on the other side of the artist.
She sat quietly at her own table for a moment, closing her eyes, her hands lying on the tarot card before her. She didn’t turn over the cards; she just closed her eyes and listened.
She could hear the rumble of the mule drawn carriages.
A sax playing to her left.
There was chatter.
Someone who was already a few sheets to the wind stumbled on the sidewalk and was helped by a more sober companion.
She co
ncentrated harder.
Her full name was Susan Beauvais, and her family had been in the area for centuries. One ancestor had fled the bloody revolution that erupted in Haiti in 1791. Over the hundreds of years since, she’d accumulated all sorts different ancestors. Someone had been white. At least one had been an Indian. But it had been her mother, a Creole, who had told her about the magic that went untapped by most people throughout their lives. Reading tarot cards, palms and the crystal ball made for a decent living, but there was so much more a person could learn.
She didn’t always feel comfortable with her power. Sometimes people were better off when they didn’t know what lay ahead.
But there were other times when it was necessary for people to know what they were about to face. And this was such a time.
She’d sensed troubles like these before, but never so strong, so frightening.
She concentrated more fully, and at last it came to her.
A soft sound, a rustling on the wind.
Yes…she could hear it. The flapping of wings.
She looked up at the sky. Bats. There were often bats here. They rested high up in the eaves of the taller buildings.
She removed her hands from her cards, asked the artist to watch her table, then stood and hurried over to the church, looking around nervously as she went.
The great doors remained open, though they would be closed very soon.
Inside, she knelt down in the aisle and pulled the huge cross she always wore from beneath the cotton fabric of her shirt, then she held it tightly as she murmured her prayer.
Though she didn’t look up, she sensed it when someone slid into the pew beside her. She shook her head. “You should not be here.”
“It’s my home,” he said.
“There is a very fine line between good and evil,” she said, turning to looked up at the handsome young man in the pew. “You may get caught in the crossfire.”
“There are very bad times coming,” he said.
Susan bowed her head again. “Yes, I know.”
“I have to be here.”
“I will pray for you,” Susan said.
“You must help,” he said.
“And how can I do that?”
“You see things.”
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