by Lisa Kessler
Betty nodded with a smile of utter disbelief. “Exactly. I’m sorry, I had no idea you were paying attention. You looked preoccupied.” She paused, glancing over at him before shifting her gaze back to the highway. “You were out of town longer than usual this time. Is everything all right?”
“Yes.” He looked out the window again.
“You don’t look all right. You look pale. Maybe you’re coming down with the flu.” She reached over to touch his hand. “Are you feeling all—” Betty gasped, her brow creased with worry. “Calisto, your hands are freezing.”
He’d forgotten to feed. Betty’s warm skin tempted him. He cursed his carelessness and slid his hand from under hers.
“Forgive me, Bettina, but you are right. I did not wish to delay our meeting, but I cannot think clearly when I am ill. Perhaps you should take me home.”
Betty nodded, already maneuvering through traffic to turn around. “Have you seen a doctor?”
“Yes,” he lied. “He told me to rest and drink more fluids, which I intend to do as soon as I get home.”
“You’d better. I’d hate to see you get worse.” She glanced at him before the light changed, and she accelerated well beyond the speed limit.
“I will be fine.” He looked out his window again. He clenched his fist, reining in his emotions. Picturing his future without Kate in it was agony. But he would endure. He had no choice.
Betty pulled into his driveway and shut off the engine. He turned to get out, but she placed her hand on his sleeve. The overwhelming warmth of her touch burned his cool flesh with a dangerous temptation as his thirst clawed its way to the surface.
“Do you need anything? I could come in and make you some tea.”
“No,” he blurted out with more urgency than he intended.
Pulling away from her, he sought to calm the hunger growing inside him with each beat of her heart. Her blood pulsed through her veins, calling to him.
Calisto shook his head slowly. “Thank you for your offer, but I would not want you to become ill too. I can take care of myself.”
“Well, call me if you get any worse, okay? You look really pale.”
He got out of the car, unable to bear the intoxicating scent of her blood any longer. Leaning down to the passenger window he managed a weak smile.
“Thank you for your concern. Drive carefully, Bettina.”
She smiled, looking up at him from under her perfectly darkened lashes. “I will. And I’ll check in with you soon, all right? Now, go rest.”
He nodded and stepped back as she drove away. His entire body ached for blood. His flight home from Reno drained him, and he had been too overwhelmed with thoughts of Kate to consider how strongly being trapped in a confined space with Betty would affect him.
At times like this, the strength of his thirst terrified him. It was carnal, primal, and when it screamed for satisfaction, he worried that one day he might not be able to control it.
If that day ever came, he feared for all the mortals around him.
The scent of blood drifted in on the cool sea breeze, distracting him from his thoughts and teasing him with its fragrant promise. Calisto walked down the beach toward a bonfire in the distance.
Pieces of flaming ash floated into the dark night sky from the large fire. Calisto instinctively stayed in the shadows of the firelight, watching the teens drink. The scent of their blood flooded his senses until his eyes burned with hunger. He fought to keep the inhuman crimson from glowing in his gaze, but his bloodlust would not remain hidden much longer. His precarious hold over his thirst weakened with each passing minute.
The college students laughed. They were kissing, caught up in each other. They had no idea a predator watched them from the shadows.
But they were not his prey.
Instead, Calisto turned toward the sound of muffled cries by the cliffs. He moved silently across the sand until he found a man with his hand pressed over a young woman’s mouth. She struggled, pinned against the sandy cliff, while her attacker fumbled with her shorts.
Calisto burned with rage, but he couldn’t kill the man in front of the girl.
Using his silent voice, he reached into the attacker’s mind and demanded his attention. Usually he took his time, using gentle mental suggestions, but his fury over the attack increased his urgency to feed. He called to him, hypnotizing him to his own will.
The attacker stopped grasping at her clothes and looked around. Calisto gave him a harder mental push, and he released the girl, his hands flying up to clasp his head. The woman scrambled away. Calisto coaxed his prey closer.
Come to me.
The tall, gangly man stumbled across the sand toward him. Tears shone on his cheeks as he smacked at his ears, straining to break free of the enthrallment. Calisto smiled in the darkness. He already heard the man’s heartbeat, the sound like primal music. He ached for satisfaction, but he fought to hold his ground and wait. His victim finally stopped in front of him, his eyes full of fear.
Just like the woman’s eyes had been.
Veiled in the dark shadows, Calisto buried his fangs deep into the man’s throat. Justice.
When the would-be rapist had nothing left to give, Calisto carried the body farther down the beach into the darkness. He rolled his shoulders back, his body warming as his strength returned and his heart pumped the new blood through his veins.
He hurried down the dark pier and, using all his strength, threw the body into the ocean, beyond the tidal waters, letting the waves claim it. With his thirst appeased and his strength once again restored, Calisto focused his energy. Reaching out, he united his mind and spirit with the raven he bound to himself back in Reno.
A Night Walker shared a unique bond with his spirit animal. This was one of the first lessons the Old One taught him years ago. Piercing his fingertip and allowing the raven to taste his blood tied the creature to him mentally, enabling Calisto to see the world through the raven’s eyes, and hear through its ears across great distances.
The raven circled and finally landed outside of Kate’s apartment complex. Calisto now used the raven’s eyes and ears to watch over her without interfering in her life. He told himself this was for her benefit, but he knew he actually didn’t have the strength to walk away without the promise of seeing her each night, even if from a distance.
With his link to the raven, he coaxed the bird closer to Kate’s window. Calisto’s gut twisted when he finally saw her face through the bird’s eyes. She stood alone in her kitchen with tear-stained cheeks, holding the Romneya.
Calisto broke the connection. He couldn’t stand to see her cry.
Chapter Twelve
Kate threw herself into her work until she barely had time to breathe. Her substitute teacher did a marvelous job keeping her choir in shape, and the winter concert went off without a hitch. Even the difficult three-part a cappella piece sounded glorious. Their young voices soared like angels on the pure vowels of the Latin text.
But even though she’d settled back into her regular routine of work, it wasn’t getting any easier.
No matter how busy she kept herself, thoughts of Calisto crept into her mind. Something in her nightmare was connected to him. As crazy as it sounded, she couldn’t shake the idea. That night in the coffee shop, she thought she recognized his ring. Now she knew why.
In her dream, the man dancing in the water wore a ring just like Calisto’s. She’d seen it more than once now. The puzzle pieces still didn’t quite fit, but he had to be part of it.
She picked up the dried Romneya flower, holding it in her fingertips as she lifted the phone to her ear, but she set it back on the cradle before she dialed.
She didn’t have Calisto’s number. Even if she did, what would she say?
Kate sighed and looked out the window. Winter break started next week. She’d have three weeks to figure out this mess of emotions and dreams.
She set the flower back on the counter, wondering if Calisto thought about her too.
Groaning, she shook her head. She was the one who told him she never wanted to see him again. He honored her wish. She hadn’t seen him since she stormed out of the casino that night.
During her winter concert, she caught a glimpse of him, but when she followed the crowd outside he was gone. Why would he think about her at all except to consider what a horrible mistake it had been to run into her in Reno?
She could apologize. For what? She didn’t ask him to meddle in her relationship with Tom. She didn’t invite him to visit her in Reno in the first place.
Okay, so an apology was out.
But she still needed to see him again. Somehow. She had to follow her heart. She had distanced herself emotionally from Tom long before he cheated on her. She had run away from Tom to avoid facing complications. Then she did the same thing with Calisto when she came back to Reno. She’d spent her life distancing herself from everyone when life got messy, and where had it gotten her? How could she pursue the life she wanted when she was so busy running from the scary parts?
She could go back, try to start fresh with Calisto.
Kate looked at the calendar. Winter break.
If she did run into Calisto, would he even speak to her? And how exactly would she run into him? It wasn’t like they would shop at the same grocery store. He lived in La Jolla and she lived over a half hour away in Point Loma. She didn’t even know his phone number.
But it didn’t matter. She’d take it one step at a time and wait to see what fate had in store. It had already thrown them together in the most unlikely places. Maybe it would give them one more chance.
She was going back to San Diego.
…
He didn’t stay at the mission.
Father Mentigo hated people looking over his shoulder and constantly pummeling him with their insignificant questions. Unlike the late Father Tomas De Cardina, he would do what must be done to control the Night Walker.
But his methods would not be well received by the Fraternidad, and he decided it would be best to have a private apartment. Father Mentigo would not make the same mistakes that his predecessor made. He had no intention of ending up dead on the mission steps.
In fact, what he planned would have an entirely opposite ending.
He smirked as he removed the photos from the printer. Hurrying to the warped dining room table, he slid the photos into a parchment envelope and lit a candle. Slowly turning the red wax over the flame, it dripped onto the back of the envelope flap. He pressed his signet ring into the hot wax, then blew out the candle and slid the ring back onto his finger.
Only the inner circle of the Fraternidad Del Fuego Santo received the ancient rings. Only the chosen monks of the Fraternidad knew of the Night Walker and his immortal race. But where the other monks had failed, he would succeed because he would battle the demon for the ultimate prize.
Until that moment came, he needed to be patient and cautious.
He drove to the beachfront home of Calisto Terana, safely hidden from the Night Walker by the noonday sun. At the back of the house, Father Mentigo made his way up the steps and smiled when he found the French doors. Easy to open, even with a deadbolt. He peered through the glass to be sure the house was empty before he picked the lock and slipped inside.
The light, spacious interior surprised him. He expected the Night Walker to dwell in a dark, gothic castle, not this clean, almost stark hacienda surrounded by the sound of the ocean. Father Mentigo continued down the hall until he found the office. He stopped in the doorway, his gaze moving over every detail. This was the first room that gave any hint to the personality of its owner, the first clue to understanding his adversary.
Father Mentigo stepped inside, staring up at the oak bookshelves that covered two walls from floor to ceiling. The titles on one wall ranged from A Tale of Two Cities, to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Most of the shelves held classic literary works with bindings that appeared creased and worn.
Apparently, the Night Walker was well-read.
He turned to gaze at the shelves on the other wall and found books on classical music composers, artists, poets, and architecture. Biographies, histories of music, and art styles lined the shelves, and Father Mentigo paused.
Why would an immortal care for such inane drivel as art? The Night Walker exuded power. Father Mentigo witnessed the immortal’s strength the previous evening on the beach. The Night Walker controlled a mortal man’s mind until he walked willingly into the arms of death without a single whimper or scream.
Death couldn’t touch him, and instead of ruling the world, forcing people to bow down in worship to him, he sat in his office reading Shakespeare and philosophical texts.
A pathetic waste.
Shaking his head, Father Mentigo went to the desk and sat in the tall-backed leather chair. He ran his fingers over the leather arms, imagining that only hours before, the Night Walker touched this very surface. He closed his eyes, drinking in the image of supremacy. Most men couldn’t conceive of the battle he faced.
And he had every intention of winning.
It will end with me, Night Walker.
The desk clock chimed with the passing hour, pulling Father Mentigo out of his reverie. He shook his head in silent reprimand. It was too soon to sit back and envision his future victory. He must remain focused.
After removing his tiny camera, he snapped photos of the papers he found on the desk, looking for any phone numbers that might be useful later. Satisfied he had gathered enough information, he laid the sealed envelope on the desktop and hurried out to his car.
But he had one more stop to make before returning to his studio apartment. He would have to stay inside tonight. When Calisto discovered the envelope, he would come looking for him, and Father Mentigo had no intention of being found.
He drove down the interstate, shifting himself inside his pants. His arousal came as no surprise. Knowing he manipulated an immortal, toying with inhuman power, created the ultimate aphrodisiac, exciting him far more than any woman. He was born to meet this challenge. He knew that now. And so far he enjoyed it.
Perhaps more than he should.
…
After the sun dipped below the horizon, Calisto made his way upstairs from his hidden quarters beneath his home. Something felt different tonight upon his waking, but he couldn’t place what it might be. Buttoning his dark blue shirt, he made his way down the hall to his office. What he saw lying on the center of his desk made him grind his teeth with rage.
Another envelope with the Fraternidad’s seal.
A heartbeat later he sat in his chair, breaking the wax. This time there wasn’t a note. Instead, he removed two photos. Calisto stared at them in disbelief, his eyes moving from one to the other.
He was looking at images of himself.
Someone else had been on the beach, watching him while he fed the previous evening. His heart quickened. The pictures could easily be written off as computer enhanced, doctored. The real danger was the face of the pale man in his arms.
If someone had reported the man missing, these photos would lead the police right to his door.
Calisto shredded them. Had he been careless? He hadn’t sensed anyone else on the beach, but his thirst had overwhelmed him by then.
Maybe he had been so desperate for blood that he missed sensing the presence of another.
He stood up with such violence, his chair banged into the wall behind the desk. Growling with fury, he stormed into the night. Not only had someone watched him, but now they had proof that would link him to a missing man. For centuries he had been so confident of his own anonymity, too confident.
Calisto hunted for the monk who left the pictures behind for him to find. He had underestimated his opponent for the last time. He would not make the same mistake again.
And he would not be blackmailed, not by anyone.
Chapter Thirteen
Kate woke up in her Dad’s old easy chair in a cold sweat, crying in fear. Her
nightmares were getting worse, and the vivid details came into focus more every night. Tonight, she saw the shadow of a man leap from his horse, knocking the woman to the ground. She saw them struggle, and she couldn’t wake up. She was forced to watch the man press a knife to the woman’s throat. She heard the woman’s cries, and even though her screams weren’t English, somehow Kate understood. The woman was begging for her unborn child’s life.
Lurching up, Kate raced for the bathroom and threw up. She winced as her stomach cramped, and she retched again and again. Her body ached. When the nausea finally passed, she sat in the corner of the bathroom, pulled her knees into her chest and wept. The emptiness inside threatened to swallow her.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat, curled up on the bathroom floor. She’d never felt so alone, but dwelling on it wasn’t going to make it any better. She needed to get out of the house. Time to dust herself off and move on.
Within an hour, she drove the bug with the top down toward Seaport Village and a day of retail therapy with Edie and Lori. She took a long, slow breath, trying to pull the sunshine into her lungs. Another gorgeous San Diego day. Where else could you drive around with the top down at the beginning of December?
The wind whipped her hair around her face, and she finally smiled. Getting out was exactly what she needed. Maybe today would be a good day after all.
…
Father Mentigo couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She wore a dark green t-shirt that clung to the round curves of her breasts, hypnotizing him until he had to force his gaze elsewhere. Her dark blue denim shorts were no better, teasing him as she leaned over the front of her car. She stretched up to reach the top, and he held his breath, watching the sunlight shine on her dark hair. The way she struggled to lower the worn roof on her faded yellow VW enticed him to watch her shapely legs. He shifted in his seat. Oh, he enjoyed this battle more with each day.