Night's Surrender

by Amanda Ashley

  “Maybe she’s a reporter,” Abbey suggested, though she had no idea why a reporter would be interested in her father after all this time . . . unless, as Nick suggested, the stranger was also a hunter.

  “Did you get the woman’s name?” Nick asked.

  “No. But whoever she is, I don’t like it.” Rane stroked his jaw thoughtfully. “What really disturbs me is that the articles she showed Cal were written by Savanah.”

  Nick whistled softly. “What do you plan to do about it?”

  “I haven’t decided. I’m not sure whether I should try to find out what she’s up to, or just let it go.”

  “If she’s still in town, it should be easy enough to track her down and find out what she’s after.”

  “Yeah. I just came down here to tell the two of you to be careful. You, especially, Abbey. I know I used to tell you this when you were a little girl, but it’s still good advice—don’t talk to strangers.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Well, then, I’ll say good night, you two.”

  Abbey followed her father to the door and gave him a hug. “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you, too.” He glanced toward the living room where Nick waited. Then, looking back at her, he asked quietly, “Are you all right?”

  “Of course.” Abbey smiled. “He’s courting me. He brought me all those roses. And candy, too.”

  Rane nodded. “Be careful, Abbey. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

  “Stop worrying. I know what I’m doing.”

  “I hope so. Good night, honey.”

  Returning to the living room, Abbey resumed her place on the sofa. “Good thing I don’t always listen to my dad,” she mused, poking Nick in the ribs, “or we never would have met.”

  “I would have found you, one way or another.”

  She snuggled against him. “Like lovers fated to be together?” she teased.

  He nodded. He had told Mara that Abbey was meant to be his. He believed it now more than ever.

  “Do you really think whoever’s asking questions about my parents is a hunter?”

  “That would be my guess. It’s the only thing that makes any sense, but I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure your dad can take care of you and your mother.” Nick gave her a reassuring squeeze. “And if he can’t, I sure as hell can.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Savanah climbed the stairs to the attic. Turning on the overhead light, she glanced at the remnants of her past. Her mortal past. A small gray velvet box lined in satin held the silver rings, chains, and bracelets she could no longer wear but couldn’t bear to part with, like the beautiful silver chain and crucifix her mother had bequeathed her. Funny, she hadn’t thought about these things until now. I should have given the chain to Abbey years ago, she mused. But soon after becoming a vampire, Savanah had boxed up her past and put it out of her mind—a neat amputation of memories.

  Moving deeper into the attic, she knelt before a dusty old, iron-bound trunk, took a deep breath, and lifted the lid. Memories, like butterflies, took wing from inside.

  There was an old theater playbill advertising Santoro the Magnificent, and another touting the wonders of The Remarkable Renaldo. She smiled faintly, remembering how incredibly handsome he had looked on stage. Clad in a pair of tight black trousers, a white muscle shirt that clung to his upper body like a second skin, and a pair of knee-high black leather boots, he had been—and still was—the most handsome man Savanah had ever seen.

  The white lace dress Abbey had been blessed in was wrapped in tissue paper, along with her first pair of shoes, a pink Easter bonnet, her favorite stuffed teddy bear.

  Beneath that, neatly folded in a garment bag, was Savanah’s wedding dress and veil.

  A small wooden box held a few of her father’s personal belongings—his favorite books, an antique letter opener, several awards he had won as a reporter, his wedding ring, and that of her mother. And there, sealed in a plastic bag, was the letter that had turned Savanah’s life upside down.

  She removed it from the bag and carefully unfolded it.

  My darling Savanah ~ I had hoped never to have to tell you these things but after what happened last month, I feel the need to write them down, that you may know the truth.

  There are many things about your mother that I never told you—things she could have explained so much better than I.

  Your mother’s maiden name was not Johnston, but Van Helsing. Yes, she is a direct descendent of the well-known vampire hunter, Abraham Van Helsing. And like her predecessors, she, too, was a vampire hunter.

  Her passing was not from some mysterious disease, as I told you. It was a vampire who was responsible for her death.

  You may remember that I left you with your Aunt Ramona shortly after your mother passed away. I spent the time hunting for information, trying to track down the monster responsible for your mother’s demise, but to no avail. I’m sorry to say that I’m not the hunter your mother was. As my grief ebbed, I realized that my daughter needed a father more than I needed to avenge your mother’s death, and so I came home.

  Your mother told me that vampire hunting is in your blood, that the day may come when you will feel the need to take up where she left off. Whether you choose to accept the call will, of course, be up to you. I hope you do not follow in your mother’s footsteps. It is a nasty business, but the decision, ultimately, must be yours.

  Under the tree to the right of where we buried your bunny, you will find a box. Inside is a silver crucifix on a silver chain. It belonged to your mother. Wear it always. You will also find several wooden stakes and a number of other implements used for destroying the Undead, together with two books. One contains a list of known vampires; the other is a book of instructions written by your mother.

  The house and everything in it is yours. All the legalities have already been taken care of. Always remember that I love you and, according to my faith in the Almighty, I know that I will see you again, just as I know that I am now in paradise with your mother.

  God bless you, my darling daughter. Always your loving father, Will.

  After carefully refolding the letter and replacing it in the bag, Savanah removed a large, square metal box from the bottom of the trunk. She stared at the lid for several moments, her fingertips tracing the initials inscribed on the top: BG. Barbara Gentry.

  Taking a deep breath, Savanah lifted the lid. Inside were several sharp wooden stakes, a mallet, a long, heavy-bladed knife in a leather sheath, several bottles filled with holy water. A wooden box, its lid carved with ancient runes and symbols, held two leather-bound books, one black, one brown.

  She picked up the brown book and thumbed through the pages, remembering how stunned she had been the first time she read it. It was a primer of vampire facts written in her mother’s precise hand. The pages contained a wealth of information on how to identify a vampire, what supernatural powers they possessed, and listed the various ways—none of them pretty—to destroy the Undead.

  She had learned that vampires were remarkable creatures. They could change shape or cross great distances in the blink of an eye. Turn into mist. Scale the side of a building like a spider. Hypnotize a person with a look. They had the ability to confuse or control a person’s thoughts. Control the weather. If not fatal, their wounds healed overnight. The touch of the sun’s light turned all but the very oldest to dust.

  Toward the back of the book was a list of vampire hunters. Savanah skimmed over the names, though she knew them well—Abraham Van Helsing, Pearl Jackson, Travis Jackson, Rick McGee, Edna Mae Turner, Edward Ramsey, Tommy Li, Barbara Van Helsing Gentry. On the next page, written years ago in Savanah’s own hand, were the names Louise and Cynthia McDonald.

  A small section in the back of the book dealt with werewolves.

  Putting the brown book aside, she picked up the black one. It was far older than the other book. The ink was faded, the pages yellow with age. The flyleaf read: I take pen in hand that
my heirs might finish the work I have begun. It was signed Abraham Van Helsing.

  The pages of this book contained a record of all known vampires up to the time Savanah had given up hunting. Columns listed the date each vampire had been turned and, if applicable, the date it had been destroyed. There was also a place to note who had sired the vampire, if known, as well as a place to include the name of the hunter who had destroyed it. The first name on the list of vampires was Mara.

  Savanah frowned. How had Niccola Desanto managed to stay under the radar all these years?

  She sat back on her heels, remembering the first time she had perused these pages, and how what she had learned had changed her life. It had been while searching these pages of known vampires that she had found Rane’s name.

  Savanah could still remember her shock, her disbelief, at learning what he was.

  With a sigh, she returned the brown book to the box; then, deciding she should update the black one, she carried it downstairs.

  Throughout the ages, vampires and hunters alike had sought the whereabouts of these books.

  She was suddenly certain that the stranger asking questions in town was one or the other. But was she a vampire, Savanah wondered, or a hunter?

  Rane swore under his breath as he paced the living room floor. He had buried Savanah’s books deep in the hillside behind Mara’s home in Northern California over a quarter of a century ago and forgotten all about the damn things. Then, about a month ago, Savanah had insisted on digging them up and bringing them here. She had never given him any explanation. To this day, he still didn’t know why she hadn’t left them where they were.

  Dropping onto the sofa next to Savanah, he took her hand in his. “I think you’re right. Whoever that woman is who’s been asking about us is probably looking for these books. Although I can’t help wondering what she’s searching for. The War’s been over for years. Why the sudden interest in those old books now?”

  “I don’t know.” Savanah worried her lower lip a moment. “I was thinking I should bring them up to date.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “I’ve been dreaming about my mother. I’m not sure why. Maybe she’s reminding me from beyond the grave that it’s my responsibility to keep them updated. Something I’ve neglected for a lot of years.”

  “You do whatever you think is right,” he said. “But I think you should get rid of them.”

  Savanah started to protest, but after a moment’s thought, she changed her mind. The books had been handed down from hunter to hunter for generations, but Abbey wasn’t a hunter and never would be. She had no fighting skills, no way to protect the precious volumes. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll just update them and give them back to Mara. They’ll be safer with her and Logan than with either one of us.” She paused a moment before saying, “Nick’s name isn’t listed in the book of vampires. Why do you suppose that is?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “It seems odd, though, doesn’t it?”

  Rane grunted softly. Odd didn’t begin to describe it. “Maybe you should go stay with Rafe and Kathy until we find out why that woman’s looking for us.”

  “Excuse me, but why would I do that?”

  “Because I don’t want you in harm’s way.”

  “Rane Cordova, in case you’ve forgotten, I used to be a vampire hunter. And a darn good one. I think I can still take care of myself.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, sweetheart. It’s in my nature to protect my mate.”

  She punched him in the shoulder, hard. “And mine, too.”

  “All right, I admit it. I’m just an old-fashioned chauvinist pig.”

  Savanah laughed softly. Whatever happened, they would face it together, just like always.

  While Rane went to look in on Abbey, Savanah opened the black book. Pen in hand, she read over the names of known vampires. And suddenly it seemed wrong to add Derek’s name, or Sheree’s. Or Nick’s, for that matter. If they were off the radar, so to speak, why not leave it that way? By the same token, why identify the vampires who had killed the McDonald sisters?

  And what would be gained by adding Kyle Bowden’s name to the list of werewolves? Kyle, who had once been married to Mara.

  Savanah shook her head. She wasn’t a hunter with an agenda anymore. She was a vampire with a family.

  She turned the pages slowly, her finger tracing the names of people she knew and loved—Rane’s brother, Rafe, and his wife, Kathy. Rane’s parents, Vince and Cara Cordova. And Cara’s parents, Roshan and Brenna DeLongpre.

  Suddenly the mere idea of bringing her mother’s books up to date felt like a betrayal of the worst kind.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mara glanced around Rane’s living room. She couldn’t hide her surprise at finding Nick there, seated apart from the others.

  “It’s late,” she remarked, taking a place on the sofa. “Even for vampires. I trust you have a good reason for summoning us?”

  “I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important,” Rane said. “Logan, good to see you.”

  Nodding, Logan sat beside his wife. “What’s up?”

  “Some woman’s been asking questions about me and Savanah,” Rane answered. “Savanah thinks it has to do with her mother’s books, and I think she might be right.”

  “Books?” Nick asked. “What books?”

  “Savanah comes from a long line of vampire hunters,” Rane explained. “Her family kept two books. One contains a list of all known vampires, the other contains information about our kind—how to identify us, how to destroy us—things of that nature.”

  Nick leaned forward. “Where are these books?”

  “In our bedroom, for now,” Savanah said.

  Rane regarded Nick thoughtfully a moment. “We were wondering why your name isn’t listed.”

  “Maybe no one bothered to write it down.”

  “So, they kept a record of everyone but you?” Rane looked skeptical. “That seems unlikely, don’t you think?”

  Nick shrugged.

  Logan studied Nick a moment before turning his attention to Rane. “What do you want us to do?”

  “Savanah thinks we should return the books to Mara. She’s the oldest and strongest of our kind. If anyone can protect them, she can.”

  “Why not just destroy the damn things?” Nick suggested.

  “I thought of that,” Savanah said. “But I just can’t do it. They’ve been in my family for generations. They’re part of my mother’s legacy. A part of who I am. The information in those volumes can’t be found anywhere else . . . it just doesn’t seem right to burn them up like they were trash.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to see the one that lists the vampires,” Nick said.

  Savanah and Rane exchanged glances; then Savanah shrugged. “I guess it would be all right.”

  Rane left the room. He returned a short time later carrying a large black book.

  He started to give it to Nick, then hesitated. “You’re not to take it out of this room, or out of this house.”

  “He won’t,” Mara said, a note of warning obvious in her tone.

  “I’ll have your word, Desanto,” Rane said.

  “You’ve got it.”

  With a nod, Rane passed the book to Nick.

  He opened it carefully. He had known such a book existed, but he had never expected to see it. He quickly scanned the names. Some, like Mara’s, had been written so long ago they were almost illegible. Most were familiar to him—Joaquin Santiago, Roshan DeLongpre and his witch wife, Brenna. Alexi Kristov, Grigori Chiavari, Jason Rourke, Antonio Battista. Dominic St. John. Nick grunted softly. St. John was reputed to have killed quite a few of his own kind.

  Nick read through the rest of the names, then closed the volume and returned it to Rane.

  “I’ll take the books home with me,” Mara said. “I know a place where no one will ever find them.”

  Rane nodded. “Thanks. I knew we could count on you.”<
br />
  “Even without the books here in the house, your lives could still be in danger,” Logan remarked. “Whoever’s hunting you isn’t likely to take your word for it when you say you don’t have them.”

  “I thought about that. I’m not worried about myself or Savanah.”

  “Just Abbey,” Mara said.

  “Right.”

  “The solution seems simple enough,” Nick said. “Find the hunter and take her out. Problem solved.”

  “I’d like to avoid that, if possible,” Rane said dryly. “Besides, we don’t know if she’s a hunter, or a vampire.”

  “Makes no difference,” Nick said. “One’s as easy to get rid of as the other.”

  Rane shook his head. “Killing isn’t always the answer. In my experience, it only leads to more killing.”

  “Sometimes it’s necessary.”

  “I have a better idea. I’m going into town tomorrow. If this woman’s looking for me, I’ll make it easy for her to find me.”

  “And then what?” Logan asked.

  “That’ll be up to her.”

  “Sounds simple enough,” Logan said sardonically. “As long as she doesn’t drive a stake through your heart.”

  “I’m not afraid of her,” Rane retorted.

  “No?” Nick sent a searing glance in Mara’s direction. “You should be. In my experience, the female is always deadlier than the male.”

  Chapter Twenty

  After taking his leave from the Cordova home, Nick went to the cottage to look in on Abbey. She was lying on her side, sleeping soundly. Rane had called his little meeting well after his daughter had gone to bed.

  After making sure all the windows were closed and the cottage was locked up tight, Nick decided to go to Auburn and see if he could learn anything about the mysterious woman. Nick was certain she was a hunter. Either that, or a vampire old enough to walk in the sun.

  Shielding his presence from mortal eyes, he went from hotel to hotel, checking the records for guests who had arrived in the last few days.