"So I can go?"
"Of course." The officer returned his license. "Have a pleasant evening, Mr. DeLongpre."
"Thank you, Officer Miller. Good evening."
With a friendly wave of his hand, the officer returned to his patrol car.
Tossing his license and his wallet on the dashboard, Roshan put the car in gear, checked the rearview mirror, and pulled onto the road.
"I guess you do not get many tickets," Brenna said, disapproval heavy in her voice.
He glanced at her, one brow arched. "Are you speaking to me now?"
"Are you trying to get us killed?" she demanded. "Or should I say trying to get me killed?"
She was right. He was behaving like an empty-headed lout. While he would likely survive any accident save for one that drained him of so much blood he could not recover, Brenna could easily be killed. He forgot, sometimes, how fragile mortals were, how little it took to deprive them of life.
"I'm sorry," he said gruffly.
Her demeanor relaxed ever so slightly at his apology. Afraid to say anything that might set her off again, he remained silent for the remainder of the ride.
At home, he pulled into the garage, switched off the engine, then ran up to the house and opened the door for her. Turning, he saw that she wasn't behind him. Instead, she was standing in the yard in her stocking feet, her arms flung out at her sides, her face lifted toward the heavens as she twirled round and round, like a child at play. Clad all in white, her skirt swirling around her ankles, she looked almost ethereal.
He watched her, enchanted by the sound of her merry laughter and the joy that made her eyes sparkle like emeralds. What a rare and wonderful creature she was! She danced in the rain with the innocence and exuberance that came with youth and a clear conscience.
A hiss told him that Morgana was standing beside him. He glanced down at the cat, who was staring up at him, her back arched.
"There's no love lost between the two of us, is there?" he said to the cat. But they both loved the woman.
His gaze was drawn toward Brenna again. She was standing with her arms lifted toward the heavens, her head thrown back, her lips moving. Was she singing, he wondered, or praying?
Oblivious to the rain that quickly drenched him from head to foot, he descended the porch steps and crossed the yard toward her.
Lightning forked through the clouds. Seconds later, thunder rolled across the lowering skies.
Another clap of thunder rocked the earth as Roshan drew Brenna into his arms. Her gaze met his, her eyes widening, then closing as he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.
It was strangely erotic, kissing her in the midst of a storm. Overhead, thunder rolled and lightning sizzled across the skies, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the woman in his arms. She tasted of the meal she had eaten earlier, of sweet red wine and raindrops. And woman. It was a potent combination.
"You've bewitched me, Brenna Flanagan," he murmured, and kissed her again.
And yet again.
She was like a flame in his arms, her lips like the sweetest nectar, her skin like wet silk. He showered her with kisses as he slowly lowered her to the ground. The grass beneath her was cold; he warmed it with a look.
He kissed her until kissing wasn't enough, until she was mindless, breathless with the same urgent need that drove him. Their clothing disappeared as if by magick, his or hers, it didn't matter.
She looked up at him, a low moan of pleasure rising from deep in her throat as he worshiped her beauty with his eyes and his hands, large hands that caressed her ever so gently, demanding nothing, asking for everything.
There was no hesitation in her now, no hint of maidenly modesty, no murmur of halfhearted protest. In spite of the rain and the cold, her skin was warm, heated by the desire that burned within her. She was a woman, with a woman's needs, and he fanned the embers of her desire until she was ready for him, until she cried his name, her voice thick with passion and a hunger that could no longer be denied.
And he took her, there, upon the wet grass.
Took her innocence, and her blood, and in so doing, he bound her to him for as long as either of them drew breath.
* * *
CHAPTER 14
Brenna slept late the following morning and woke with a smile in her heart. Strange, she thought. Back in her own time, she had always been an early riser. Of course, living with a vampire, one tended to keep late hours.
Turning onto her side, she looked out the window. It was still raining, but she didn't mind. She had always loved the rain. It called to something inside her, something earthy and wild and uninhibited.
She had certainly acted wild and uninhibited last night! She could scarcely believe what a wanton she had been in his arms. What must he think of her? She knew what Granny O'Connell would think! Granny would be shocked and horrified at her granddaughter's lascivious behavior.
Brenna let out a sigh. The only good thing was that there was no possibility of conceiving a child out of wedlock. The thought didn't comfort her as it should. Instead, she spent several minutes thinking how wonderful it would be to have Roshan's child—a little boy with thick black hair and deep blue eyes.
"Roshan." She whispered his name. Excitement hummed deep within her, bubbling up until it escaped in a happy sigh. Was this what it was like to be in love, this sense of wonder and discovery?
Morgana stirred at the foot of the bed. Meowing loudly, she yawned and stretched, then approached her mistress and patted Brenna's cheek with her paw.
"I know, you want to go out," Brenna said. Rising, she pulled on her bathrobe and went downstairs. Morgana kept pace at her side, meowing plaintively all the while.
Brenna opened the back door, then stood there a moment, watching the rain. Morgana sniffed the air, laid back her ears, then streaked down the steps and disappeared around the corner of the house. Brenna grinned. Morgana hated the rain as much as her mistress loved it.
Leaving the door open a crack for the cat's return, Brenna filled a kettle with water and put it on the stove. She pulled her favorite mug from the shelf, dropped a tea bag inside, then sat down to wait for the water to boil.
When the water was hot, she filled the cup, then sat there, her chin cupped in her hands, while the tea steeped.
When it was done, she added a spoonful of honey, then carried the cup into the living room. After opening the drapes, she sat on the sofa and watched the rain drizzle down the window, remembering yet again what it had been like to be in Roshan's arms last night. She had never realized that making love could be so explosive, or so satisfying, physically and emotionally, even spiritually. Roshan had tapped a well of passion she had never known she possessed, taken her to heights she had never dreamed existed. Made her hunger for his touch…
She lifted her fingertips to her lips, remembering the heat of his kisses, the way his hands had moved over her, as if he wanted to memorize every curve. Sometimes his touch had been gentle, sometimes bold. He had explored every inch of her body. She felt her cheeks grow hot as she recalled that she had done the same to him.
It had been a magical night. In spite of the cold and the rain, the grass beneath her had been warm and dry. Overhead, the thunder and the lightning had combined to play her a symphony; the lyrics had been the love words and endearments Roshan whispered in her ear. She had seen rainbows in the clouds. Truly, a magical night, she thought again, and over much too soon.
Just thinking of him and of the night past made her yearn for the sun to set quickly. Her heart beat faster just thinking of him. Liquid heat pooled in the deepest part of her. She stirred restlessly, wondering how she could endure the hours without him. Never in her life had she felt like this, aroused and anxious at the same time.
And then, like a bolt out of the blue, she realized that he must have used his preternatural powers to entrance her. It was the only explanation for the way she was feeling now, and for her wanton behavior the night before. She had been angry with him when t
hey left the Nocturne, annoyed at the high-handed way he had forbidden her to see Anthony Loken again. And yet, less than an hour later, she had gone willingly into Roshan's arms, had shamelessly let him make love to her out in the open.
But how? How had he entranced her? And when?
She frowned. Always before, she had sensed when he tried to use his preternatural powers against her. Sensed it and blocked it. What had he done differently last night?
She sipped her tea, trying to remember everything that had happened after they left the club.
He had watched her dance in the rain. And then he had kissed her. One soul-shattering kiss, and she had stopped fighting her desire for him. One kiss, and she had surrendered her virtue without a qualm, without a thought. Blinded by needs she had resisted for too long, she had returned his kisses with a fervor she had never known she possessed.
His kisses. They were far more potent than any spell or enchantment ever devised. One kiss had burned away all thought of right or wrong.
She licked her lips and then, with a gasp, she lifted a hand to her neck. He had taken her blood. How could she have forgotten that, or the exquisite pleasure that it had given her? And she had tasted his. Quite by accident, she had thought at the time. His fangs had pricked his lower lip and she had tasted his blood in his kisses. Tasted it and yearned for more. Was that the reason Roshan was the only thing she could think of today? The reason she was so anxious for the moon to chase the sun from the sky?
Would she become what he was, now that she had tasted his blood?
Rising, she hurried up to her room. She took a quick shower, pulled on a pair of black pants, a heavy sweater, and a pair of boots. Grabbing her handbag and the keys to the Ferrari, she ran out of the house.
A short time later, she was driving toward the city and the bookstore.
The rain had slowed by the time Brenna reached the city, and stopped altogether by the time she entered the bookstore.
Myra looked up from behind her desk and smiled. "Nasty weather we're having," she remarked. She made a gesture that encompassed the rest of the store. "Bad for business, too. So, what brings you out on a day like this?"
"Do you have any books on vampires?" Brenna asked, shaking raindrops from her hair.
"We carry one or two. They're over there, on the bottom shelf. You'd probably find a better selection at the library."
"Thank you." Brenna grunted softly. What had she been thinking? She didn't need a library. Roshan had hundreds of books, perhaps thousands. But would a vampire have books on vampires?
"Are you looking for anything in particular?" Myra asked, coming around the desk.
"No. I… uh, saw a movie about vampires the other night and I wanted to find out more about them." She laughed self-consciously. "Not that I believe they exist or anything."
"You should talk to Anthony. He's writing a book about them."
"Really? Maybe I will. Thanks, again."
Brenna found three books on vampires, one on werewolves, and one on shape shifters, none of which were very helpful. Waving good-bye to Myra, who was again at her desk, Brenna headed for the door and came face-to-face with Anthony Loken.
"Well, hello," he said.
"Hello."
"Must be my lucky day, finding you here."
"I was just leaving."
"You can't go now," he said with a smile. "I just got here. Come on, let me buy you a cup of coffee to warm you up before you go back out in the rain."
Since she couldn't think of any plausible reason to refuse, and because she really did want another cup of that wonderful coffee, she let him guide her into the coffee shop.
They sat at the same table beside the window.
Anthony ordered two cups of Almond Amaretto, then leaned back in his chair. "So, what are you doing out on a day like this? You should be curled up in front of a fire with a good book."
"Myra says you're writing a book. About vampires."
"Did she? Well, she's right."
"Why are you writing about vampires?"
"Why not? They're fascinating creatures."
"But surely you do not believe they are real?"
"Aren't they?"
"Are they?"
"I believe they are. I believe they hold the key to something man has been searching for since Adam brought death into the world. Eternal life."
He murmured his thanks as the serving girl brought their order. "Can I get you anything else, Mr. Loken?"
"No, thank you, Darlene."
Brenna waited until the girl moved away before asking, "Even if they existed, how would you find one?"
He tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. "Therein lies the problem." He leaned toward her, his gaze intent upon her face. "You don't know where I could find one, do you?"
Every instinct Brenna possessed warned her to tread carefully. "Me? How would I know? I have only just arrived here."
"Yet you were at the Nocturne last night."
"So were you." She picked up her cup and took a sip, then set it aside. Yesterday, the coffee had tasted delicious; today, it tasted flat and bitter, like betrayal.
"Just so," Loken replied. "Tell me more about the man you were with."
"He is just a friend," she replied, careful to keep her voice neutral. "I hardly know him." Her words mocked the memory of what had happened between them in the yard the night before.
"And why did he take you there?"
She shrugged. "He said it was an interesting place, filled with people pretending to be vampires. I thought it might be amusing."
He didn't believe her. She could see it in his eyes.
"And if you found a vampire," she asked, "what would you do?"
"Ask for his cooperation, of course. We would need to do some blood tests, isolate whatever agent it is in the blood that allows a vampire to survive hundreds of years and gives them their remarkable ability to heal themselves of practically any injury. Once we isolate it, we would have to do some extensive testing to see if it could be duplicated. Think of what it would mean to mankind," he said earnestly. "The hundreds, perhaps thousands, of lives we could save."
She listened to his words, the tone of his voice, and knew he was lying. He wasn't interested in helping mankind. He was interested in finding a way for Anthony Loken to live forever. She was certain of it. And yet she found it odd that a warlock would wish for such a tiling. Granny O'Connell had believed that the only way to perfection was for the soul to be reborn again and again, that in each lifetime, the soul was to learn something it needed to know and teach something that needed to be taught, something no other could teach. To live the same life forever would be to stagnate. Brenna wasn't sure she believed in reincarnation, though a part of her hoped it was true, and that someday in the future she would be with her grandmother again, in another life. There were those who believed that souls traveled from life to life in family units, so that in one life Granny O'Connell might be her grandmother, but in another life, Granny might be her daughter or her mother. But reincarnation was a discussion for another day.
"Why do you not just advertise for a vampire in the newspaper?" Brenna asked.
Loken snorted. "Can you imagine the number of idiots who would answer such an ad? Every nutcase in the city would be pounding on my door." He shook his head. "Better to frequent the places they might congregate, like the Nocturne. If they exist, I'll find one."
"Well," Brenna said, "I wish you luck. I really must go now. I… I have an appointment."
"You haven't finished your coffee."
"Oh." Picking up the cup, she gulped it down. "Thank you."
He rose when she did. "Good day, Brenna Flanagan. I hope to see you again soon."
With a nod, she fled the bookstore.
Outside, she took a deep cleansing breath. Roshan had been right. Seeing Anthony Loken again had been a big mistake. Why had she never sensed the negative energy that hovered around the warlock? Had it always been there? How could she hav
e missed such a thing?
Back at home, she went through Roshan's bookshelves, searching for anything she could find on vampires. She finally found what she was looking for in one of the bookcases upstairs. There, on the top shelf, she found a dozen or so books on vampires and other supernatural creatures. Blowing the dust off the tops of the books, she stacked them in a pile beside the chair, then sat down and began to read.
Roshan stood in the doorway, his gaze moving over Brenna. She sat in his chair, one leg curled beneath her, thoroughly engrossed in the book in her lap. He perused the titles scattered on the floor, noting they all had to do with vampire lore. Morgana slept underneath the chair, her tail twitching.
Beautiful Brenna, with her sea green eyes and a wealth of russet-colored hair. She was truly a witch, he mused. He had been completely under her spell since the night he saw her dancing outside her cottage. Did she regret what had happened between them last night? If he crossed the room and swept her into his arms, would she surrender or slap his face?
She looked up just then, her eyes widening when she saw him standing in the doorway. "Roshan! How long have you been there?"
"Not long." He gestured at the books. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"
"Not really, but you cannot blame me for being curious." He looked nothing like the vampires described in the books she had just read. According to those who professed to know, true vampires were skeletal creatures with pallid skin and sunken red eyes. Their nails were long, their breath exceedingly foul, their skin crypt-cold to the touch.
"Indeed? And what is it, exactly, that you're curious about?"
"Everything."
"I would think that living here, under my roof, would give you all the answers you need."
The memory of their lovemaking flickered in her eyes and pinked her cheeks, but she wasn't ready to acknowledge what had happened, let alone discuss it with him, or, he saw to his regret, repeat it.
She shifted in the chair. "You don't look like a vampire."
"No?"
"No. Is how I see you the way you really look?"
Night's Kiss Page 15