Night's Mistress (Children of the Night)

by Ashley, Amanda

  “I know.” She sniffed back her tears. Maybe Logan was right. Maybe she was just behaving this way because she was pregnant. Once the baby was born . . . She blew out a sigh of resignation. Once the baby was born, she would still be mortal. But Logan could fix that. Or could he? It was Ramsden’s opinion that she couldn’t be turned a second time.

  No. She refused to believe that. It was just his best guess. She had to hold fast to the hope that Logan could bring her across once she got rid of the child. Even with the Dark Gift restored, she probably wouldn’t be the same as she had been before. She had been the most powerful vampire in the world, but she hadn’t gained her incomparable power overnight. No, it had taken centuries before she could walk in the sun’s light, centuries to gain the strength and abilities she had once possessed.

  What would it be like, to be a fledgling again? To be under her master’s control? At least Logan loved her. He wouldn’t be cruel or condescending. He would treat her as an equal. Soon the baby would be born and she could put an end to this wretched existence. She just needed to be patient and all this would be over. If being a vampire had taught her anything, she thought as she rested her forehead against Logan’s chest, it was patience.

  “You were thinking about me this morning,” Logan said, stroking her hair.

  Startled, she looked up, her gaze searching his.

  “Weren’t you?” He ran his knuckles over her cheek, his touch tender, sensual.

  “Yes.” The word was little more than a whisper. She had been disturbed by her dream about Logan. Did he also know there were nights when she dreamed of Kyle? She felt discomfited, as though her mind had been violated. Had mortals felt this way, when she divined their thoughts? She wanted to be angry with him, but she couldn’t, not when he was stroking her hair, not when his gaze rested on her face.

  “I’m here now,” he said quietly, and kissed her brow.

  “Logan . . .” Why couldn’t she love him instead of Kyle?

  “I’m here,” he murmured. “I’ll always be here.” And cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her gently.

  She moaned softly as she leaned into him. His mouth was as warm and firm as she remembered. Why did she continue to think about a man who had scorned her? To wonder if things would have turned out differently if she had kept the truth to herself? Logan was worth a dozen Kyle Bowdens. So why did thoughts of Kyle continue to plague her? Maybe it was normal, all things considered. After all, she was carrying his child.

  Logan’s arms tightened around her as his hands skimmed up and down her back, pressing her body closer to his. “Is this what you want?”

  “Yes. No. Oh! I don’t know what I want anymore!”

  “No?” He lifted one brow. “It’s what you wanted last night.”

  She didn’t deny it. It was what she wanted now, too, but how could that be when she was in love with Kyle? Wasn’t she?

  Logan brushed a kiss across her lips. “Past or present, it doesn’t matter. We were always good together.”

  She stroked his cheek. “Yes, but . . .”

  He took a step backward, his expression hardening. “You don’t want to get too involved.”

  Mara folded her hands over her stomach. “It’s not that.”

  “It won’t hurt the baby.”

  Last night, swept up in a firestorm of passion, she hadn’t been thinking about the baby. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

  “I told you, I’ve been reading about pregnancy, what to expect, what to do, and what not to do.”

  She found it endearing, knowing he cared enough to read about her condition. She closed the short distance between them. Why not make love to Logan? He was here. He wanted her. And if she was going to be honest with herself, she definitely wanted him. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Very sure. I don’t have any diseases, and you’re already pregnant. What else is there to worry about?”

  Kyle’s image flashed through her mind, and with it the memory of the last time they had made love. He had been so tender, so gentle. He had given her a bouquet of red roses, spread a furry blanket on the floor in front of the fire. He had undressed her, his gaze filled with adoration, his hands sure as they aroused her. Had their child been conceived that night?

  Logan blew out a sigh. He didn’t have to read Mara’s mind to know she was thinking of someone else. “Why don’t you get some rest?” he suggested, reining in his jealousy. “I need to go out for a while.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t go with you.”

  “So am I. It’s been a long time since we hunted together.” He kissed her cheek. “I won’t be gone long.”

  After leaving the house, Logan fed quickly, then strolled down Hollywood Boulevard along what was known as the Walk of Fame, which stretched from Gower Street to La Brea Avenue. From time to time he glanced down at one of the pink five-pointed stars rimmed in bronze that were embedded in the sidewalk. He had read somewhere that the Walk of Fame had been created in 1958. The first honoree had been Joanne Woodward back in 1960. Now, there were stars honoring over two thousand artists of radio, television, theater, and the recording industry. So many names—Houdini, Greta Garbo, Boris Karloff, Bob Hope, Elvis Presley, and Johnny Cash shared space with Walt Disney, Mickey Mouse and Snow White. There was even a star for Lassie.

  He paused at the forecourt of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, where famous celebrity handprints were preserved in cement. He wondered idly what it would be like, to be famous, to know that people would come to this place long after you were gone and stare at your handprints. He had outlived most of these famous folks, yet only a few people knew his name. Ah, well, fame, like life, was fleeting. The stars on Hollywood Boulevard, the handprints at Grauman’s, served to remind those in the present of those who had gone before. So many famous people, now mostly gone, and yet he remained, unchanged for centuries.

  Moving on, his thoughts returned to Mara. He pictured her, resting back at his house. She had certainly changed. How was it possible that the world’s oldest vampire had metamorphosed back into a human? In time, would it happen to him, as well?

  The thought was not a pleasant one. He enjoyed being a vampire, enjoyed the strength and power that came with being Nosferatu. He loved the night, the taste of warm, living blood on his tongue, the enhanced senses that made the world around him more vibrant and alive.

  His thoughts returned to Mara. She had apologized for not being able to hunt with him. She was finding it harder to stay awake after midnight, she who had once prowled the shadows long after most mortals had gone to bed.

  She was vulnerable now, needy. He had never known her to be anything but invincible. She had always been the bold one, the strong one. But no more. For the first time in their relationship, she needed him. But she didn’t want him. The thought burned like sunlight on preternatural flesh. She wanted the man who had used her. From thoughts he’d read in her mind, it was apparent that the man, Kyle, had turned away in revulsion when he discovered her true nature.

  Anger erupted through Logan. With a savage cry, he slammed his hand against a brick wall. It crumbled beneath his fist.

  Muttering an oath, he found himself thinking of the baby she carried. Would it be human, or vampire, or some bizarre combination of the two? He couldn’t imagine Mara with a child. Couldn’t imagine having a baby in his house.

  A baby. Young. Innocent. With blood that was pure as only the blood of the very young could be. His tongue brushed his fangs at the thought. He had never killed a child though he had, on one occasion, dined on one. It had happened shortly after Mara left him. Angry and confused, wanting to hurt her, he had decided to end his existence. If she didn’t want him, then he had no reason to endure. And so, on a night in early spring, he had gone outside to wait for the rising of the sun. That sunrise was forever imprinted in his mind—the beauty of the sky as it lightened from indigo to gray to blue, the brilliant slashes of crimson and ocher that had streaked
the heavens. The pain—he would never forget the pain as the sun’s bright golden light scorched his preternatural flesh. With an anguished cry, he had burrowed into the blessedly cool arms of the earth, deep into the welcome darkness, where he had slept the healing sleep of the Undead. When he rose the following night, he had found a young family on their way to the city. The man and the woman had been his dinner, the infant his dessert. It was his first taste of innocent blood; it was a taste he had coveted ever since. Ah, the warm, sweet nectar, now but a distant memory. He had avoided infants ever since, afraid he might succumb to the temptation, afraid that the next time, he wouldn’t be able to stop at a taste.

  How could he have a child constantly underfoot, constantly tempting him? Once again his thoughts turned to Mara. She needed him now, but for how long? Would she stay here, with him, once the child was born? Or would she leave him again? Could he bear to let her go?

  He had known many women in the course of his existence, more than he could count, more than he could recall. But Mara . . . He had never forgotten her. He remembered every moment they had spent together, every word she had spoken, every look, every gesture, every touch. Dammit, he couldn’t lose her again, he thought bleakly.

  And then he smiled. He didn’t have to. If she wouldn’t stay with him of her own free will, well, there were ways to make her stay, ways to make her believe staying was her own idea.

  Whistling softly, he headed for home and the woman he loved.

  Mara sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace, a book of baby names open in her lap. Of course, before she made a decision, she would need to know if her baby was a boy or a girl. And then she wondered why she was even worrying about it. There was no room for a baby in her life. She knew nothing of being a mother. A baby, she thought. A boy, with Kyle’s eyes . . .

  She glanced at the book again. So many names to choose from—common names, like John and Mary, exotic names like Kamenwati and Cleopatra. She sighed as she thought of Egypt’s ancient queen. She had been with Cleopatra in the throne room when Octavian came to tell the queen what her fate would be. Later, Cleopatra’s ladies-in-waiting had hovered around their queen, their expressions anxious. That had been the night Mara had offered to work the Dark Trick on the queen of Egypt, but Cleopatra had refused.

  “Antony is dead,” the queen had murmured. “My son is dead. Why would I want to live forever?”

  Mara hadn’t pressed the issue. Cleopatra had set her face toward death and she had accomplished it with the same flair she had exhibited in life. In dying, she had robbed Octavian of his prize. It was her last victory over a hated enemy.

  Ah, Cleopatra, one of the few women Mara had considered her equal. If her child was a girl, she would name her after the Queen of the Nile. And if it was a boy . . . ? She turned to the section listing boys’ names again and thumbed through the pages. Aaron, Benjamin, Clyde, Daniel, Ezekiel. She shook her head. Nicholas, Obadiah, Parker, Quennel.

  “Quennel?” she muttered. No way. If it was a boy, she should probably just name him after his father.

  Blowing out a sigh, she rested her head on the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. She wasn’t fit to be a mother. She had never been around children, or wanted any. She supposed she took after her own mother, who had given birth to Mara and abandoned her five years later. If one of Pharaoh’s servants hadn’t found Mara scavenging in the marketplace, she probably wouldn’t have survived. She had been strong once, indomitable, always in control. Now she felt helpless, awash with doubts. Not for the first time, she asked herself how she could take care of a child when she couldn’t take care of herself. She was just now learning to cook, and not doing a very good job of it.

  She couldn’t even drive a car, but then, she had never felt the need to learn. As a vampire, she had been able to move faster than any motorized vehicle. But those days were gone. Perhaps, when she felt better, she would ask Logan to teach her. How hard could it be, anyway? After all, she couldn’t expect him to drive her everywhere, nor did she like being dependent on him, or anyone else. As a vampire, she had done as she pleased, when she pleased. She had been self-sufficient then; it was time she regained her independence. Being able to drive would be a step in the right direction. Everyone did it, from pimply-faced teenagers to white-haired octogenarians. And she was going to be a mother now. Mothers drove their kids to the doctor, to school, to soccer games. She shied away from those images. She wasn’t planning on keeping the baby, but she definitely needed to learn to drive. But not today.

  Lost in an abyss of self-pity, she wasn’t aware that Logan had returned until he sat down beside her. That, too, was scary for someone who had once been able to sense another’s presence before they appeared.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “You look like you’re about to cry.”

  The word again hung, unspoken, in the air between them.

  “I am.”

  “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  “No, I’m just . . .” She shrugged. “Just hopelessly helpless.”

  “You’re not hopeless. As for helpless . . . Honey, you just need to learn how to be human again.” He lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender when she glowered at him. “I know, I know, you don’t want to be human, but you’d better get used to the idea, at least for the time being. Are you taking your vitamins like a good girl and drinking lots of milk?”

  “Yes,” she replied sullenly.

  Logan laughed. She sounded more like a petulant child than a woman who had lived for thousands of years, and then he sobered. Even though she had lived for centuries, she had been turned while she was still a young woman. Now that her powers were gone, she was that young woman again. Wiser than most, to be sure, but with the loss of her powers, she had also lost her arrogance. She was human now, with all the female ailments and foibles that Mara the vampire had shed years ago.

  With a thoughtful sigh, he gathered her into his arms. Stroking her hair, he couldn’t help missing the spoiled, strong-willed woman he had fallen in love with so many centuries ago.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lou was waiting outside Ramsden’s office building when Cindy got off work. Lou gave her sister a quick hug, and then they walked across the street to Cindy’s favorite steakhouse.

  “How was the drive?” Cindy asked after they had been seated.

  “A breeze. How’s Dwayne?”

  “Working late, as always. I think I saw him more before we got married.” Cindy’s husband was a detective for the local police department. He had no idea that his fair-haired, diminutive wife was a vampire hunter, or that her employer was a vampire.

  “Sorry, sis. So, what’s the low-down on Mara? Is she really knocked-up, or were you just pulling my chain?”

  “No, she’s definitely pregnant,” Cindy said. “About five months along by now. Amazing, isn’t it? Ramsden’s so excited, he’s almost bouncing off the walls.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “He’s fixing up a room in the basement. At first I thought it was a nursery, but now I think it’s a delivery room. He hasn’t confided in me, but I caught a few bits and pieces of a conversation he had with Susan before I left tonight. I think he’s planning to keep the child for himself, if it lives.”

  “That doesn’t bode well for the mother, does it?”

  “No. I can’t be sure . . .” Cindy fell silent as a waitress came to take their order. When she left, Cindy leaned forward. “As I was saying, I can’t be sure, since I’m not privy to Ramsden’s private files, but something’s not right with Mara. I’m not sure what it is.”

  “What do you mean, not right? Is she sick?”

  “I don’t know. But something’s out of whack, or she wouldn’t be pregnant, would she?”

  Lou nodded. That was true enough.

  The waitress arrived with a basket of warm bread and their drink orders. “Your steaks will be right up.”

  Lou nodded her thanks as she buttered a slice of bread. “I could make a meal ou
t of this.”

  “You and me both. So,” Cindy said, reaching into the basket, “who do you think the father is? It can’t be another vampire, can it?”

  “I doubt it. It’s got to be a mortal, and I think I know who he is.”

  “Who?”

  “His name is Kyle Bowden. He hired me to find Mara. Just find her. Not stake her.”

  “You didn’t agree to that, did you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did . . .”

  “Lou, what were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that once I reunite him with Mara, the job is over and it’s open season on Mara. It would be quite a coup, to take her head. And if it turns out that Bowden really is the father, then I’m thinking he’ll have to be taken out of the picture, too.”

  “Of course,” Cindy said. “But, well, what about the baby? You don’t mean to kill it, too?”

  Lou squared her shoulders. “A vampire is a vampire.”

  “But, Lou, a baby . . . I don’t think . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s the old ‘would you have killed Hitler when he was a baby’ argument. I don’t have an answer to that one, either.” Lou blew out a breath. “I’ve got to find Mara first . . .”

  “Lou, I know how you hate vampires. I do, too. But you can’t kill an innocent child. It might not even be a vampire . . .”

  “All right, all right!” Lou threw up her hands in surrender. “I won’t do anything until the brat’s born. But I’m not promising anything after that.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mara sat on the sofa, watching a cooking show on the satellite screen. The chef was a plump, middle-aged woman with poufy brown hair and a strong New York accent. Judging from the woman’s behavior, one would think that her every thought was about food and food preparation. In the last month, Mara had watched a number of cooking programs and home decorating shows in an effort to learn how to behave like a mortal woman. The truth was, as much as she enjoyed mortal food, she hated cooking, probably because she wasn’t very good at it. So far, practically everything she had tried to prepare either came out woefully undercooked or burnt to a crisp. She didn’t think she would ever get the hang of baking or frying or broiling. Of course, some of the directions and ingredients remained a mystery to her, reminding her that she needed to download a cookbook.