by Raven Hart
“Renee, look at me.”
The child of my heart turned her eyes up to me, and I began to concentrate my glamour on making her forget what happened after her kidnapping. After a moment, she frowned, reached up with a slender brown hand so like her mother’s, and gently put her palm and fingers across my eyes.
“Don’t,” she said. “But you can tell Mom you did.”
“Why?” I asked. I dropped the glamour, took her hand in mine, and kissed her fingertips.
“Because I need to remember. It’s Mom who needs to forget. Understand?”
I looked down into the deep, dark eyes of a mystical old soul in a child’s body, and I realized she carried the wisdom of a thousand years of wise women in her blood. Every bit of knowledge, no matter how unpleasant, added to that wisdom. Ultimately, that wisdom would help her to survive.
“Yes,” I said. “I understand.”
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, leaving Renee to her books. I would be glad to get back home, but it would never seem the same without Eleanor. Now that Renee was safe and sound I let the grief of my loss wash over me.
I was still unable to reach anyone on the phone at the house, and Jack’s cell wasn’t even going to voicemail. In the back of my mind I considered the possibility that something was wrong, but—despite my better judgement—I refused to entertain the notion that anything bad could spoil the victorious arrival of Renee.
Under cover of darkness we made our way home from the airport in my chauffeured limo. My butler and occasional driver, Chandler, assured me that the staff at the plantation house was fine and there was nothing amiss at the house on Houghton Square that he was aware of.
When Chandler dropped us off curbside, I stood for a moment and looked at my home as Renee scampered toward the front door. So much had changed in the few scant days since I’d left. My once-beloved Eleanor, who was to have been the lady of this house, was dead by my own hand. I was about to find out if my faithful companion for years, yet lived. Normally, Deylaud would have eagerly anticipated my arrival home, whether from a day at the warehouse office or a lengthy spell abroad. Where was he now?
Renee squealed as two slender faces appeared in the panes of glass on either side of the front door. One was Reyha, the other her darling brother Deylaud. I began to laugh, holding my arms out wide. The front door burst open and Melaphia ran out in her nightgown and slippers. She scooped Renee up in her arms and spun her in a circle, covering her giggling face with kisses. Melaphia seemed barely to notice the bandages on Renee’s arms. For now, she was just happy to have her baby back, though I knew I would eventually have to tell Melaphia of her dear child’s trials.
Reyha and Deylaud ran to me. Reyha had only a slight limp, and Deylaud, though thin and pale, looked nearly healed. They leapt upon me and kissed my cheeks. I embraced them, bringing their heads together against my chest. “Is Renee all right?” Deylaud asked, peering around at the little girl.
“She is perfectly well,” I assured him, anticipating with dread what his next question would be. He locked eyes with me and asked it silently. It’s remarkable how creatures with whom we live for generations can communicate with us even without words.
I looked at Deylaud and stroked his silken hair. His love for Eleanor in his way had been as great as mine. He had been almost as devoted to her as he was to me. I shook my head solemnly. “I’m so very sorry,” I said. “Eleanor isn’t coming back.”
He nodded, buried his face in my chest, and sobbed. Reyha let go of me and took him in her arms, comforting him as only a littermate, someone with whom she had shared the closeness of a womb, could.
“I bought you some welcome-home presents,” a laughing Melaphia was telling Renee. “Go into the parlor and see what you can find.” Renee gave her mother another kiss and ran up the steps and into the house. I could imagine the mound of presents Mel would have lined up for her, as a testament of her faith in my ability to bring Renee home safely. They would probably take hours to unwrap and examine.
“She’ll be spoiled rotten,” I said. I hugged Melaphia and kissed the top of her head.
“And I’ll enjoy every minute of it,” Mel said. “Thank you. I knew you’d get my baby back for me.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Your faith in me was invaluable.”
The twins joined us, and we walked up the steps and shut the door against the cold. Once in the foyer, I handed my suitcase and overcoat to Deylaud. “Reyha,” I said. “Why don’t you call Jack at the garage and tell him to come home. We want him to join the celebration.”
This time it was Reyha who broke down in tears. Her brother, looking grave, peered downward at the hardwood floor. Melaphia’s demeanor changed so dramatically that I took a step backward. Her smile disappeared and her eyes took on a remoteness that I’d never seen before.
“Come with me, Captain,” she said. It was the name by which her grandmother’s grandmother had called me and it dated back to the Civil War, when I wore the uniform of a Confederate cavalry officer in order to ease my passage across moonlit battlefields in search of fresh blood.
She looked at Reyha and Deylaud. “Go into the parlor and stay with Renee. Don’t let her come downstairs.”
A frisson of fear rippled through me as the twins hurried to join Renee. I turned to demand that Melaphia tell me what was going on, but she was already halfway to the stairs, and I could do nothing but follow.
All the candles were lit in the little recessed altars on either side of the stairway. She touched the hidden electronic button that opened the way to the vault, a kind of steel-reinforced safe room.
I was totally unprepared for the sight that greeted me at the bottom of the stairs. Horror rose like bile in my throat as I fought not to scream.
The lifeless bodies of Jack and Consuela Jones lay side by side on the floor, surrounded by lighted candles and strewn with herbs. As peaceful and still as the grave, they looked for all the world like that most famous of star-crossed lovers, Romeo and Juliet, in their final repose.
“My son…” I heard myself whisper. “What did this to you?”
Stunned, I turned to Melaphia and saw in her eyes something I’d missed before. She was quite mad. Her mind, which I had been convinced would heal once she saw her darling daughter again, remained broken. The gods only knew what had happened here.
As if reading my mind, she sought to reassure me. She reached out, took my hand, and said, “Everything is fine, Captain. I have much to tell you.”
Twenty
A Final Word from the Council
The demons sat in a circle around a cauldron of fire. “Ulrich has failed us again,” said one.
“So have half measures,” said another.
“We need a new champion,” said a third as he drank from a goblet of fresh blood and passed it to the fiend on his right. “Especially now. The end time of five years has begun, and the Slayer is among us. So it has been prophesied.”
There was a general murmur of agreement amongst the dozen or so blood drinkers, all so ancient that their leathery flesh had turned oily and baked to a reddish hue.
“I believe we have an applicant,” said a serving vampire from where he cowered against one earthen wall.
“Show that vampire in, and be quick,” said an old lord covered with sores as he idly scratched his scaly chin.
The minion backed toward the opening to the cavern and grasped the sleeve of the long, hooded cape of the young vampire who was waiting outside. The young one shook him off and the servant resumed his place in the shadows.
“What have you there—an offering?” asked the first demon. “Bring it forward.”
The hooded vampire tossed the unconscious body of a young woman toward the circle. A tattoo on her shoulder read SID V. FOREVER.
“Very well then,” said the second old lord. “We’ve heard of your exploits. But in your own words, tell us why you should be the one to further our cause.”
The cloaked vampire lowered
the hood and began to speak.
An ocean away, a weathered vampire, driven mad by his isolation and trapped in a granite sarcophagus beneath Savannah, began to laugh.
Praise for
The Vampire’s Seduction
“Suspenseful…and sexy…This foray into fangoria is atmospheric and occasionally funny.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A real treat…an excellent read!”
—Freshfiction
“An exotic, exciting thriller.”
—Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine
“One can almost feel the heat rising from the pages…. A stimulating read.”
—Curledup
“Dark, seductive, disturbingly erotic, Raven Hart drives a stake in this masterful tale.”
—L. A. BANKS, author of the Vampire Huntress Legend series
By Raven Hart
THE SAVANNAH VAMPIRE CHRONICLES
THE VAMPIRE’S SEDUCTION
THE VAMPIRE’S SECRET
THE VAMPIRE’S KISS
The Vampire’s Kiss is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Ballantine Books Mass Market Original
Copyright © 2007 by Raven Hart
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-345-50224-7
www.ballantinebooks.com
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