"Brenna Flanagan DeLongpre," he intoned with a wave of his wand, "come to me. As I command, so mote it be."
Brenna had just checked the lock on the side door and was about to go back upstairs when something drew her toward the front door. She was reaching for the handle when Morgana leaped into the air and scratched her cheek.
With a jerk of her head, Brenna reeled backward.
Morgana let out a long low warning hiss, her yellow eyes glowing, her tail twitching furiously.
Brenna stared at the cat, then at the door, surprised to find herself in the foyer.
Yet even as she tried to turn and go back to the staircase, she found herself opening the door, stepping out onto the porch, descending the steps.
Morgana trailed at her heels, meowing loudly.
Moving woodenly, Brenna walked down the driveway toward the gates, unable to resist. She knew, in the back of her mind, that she was under a spell, but try as she might, she couldn't shake it off.
She tried to call for Morgana, hoping her familiar could help her counter the spell, but words failed her.
And then she was at the gates, walking through them toward the three witches who waited for her on the sidewalk. She stared at Anthony Loken, wishing she could slap the smug smile from his face.
Moments later, she was in the backseat of his car. Glancing out the window, she saw Morgana pacing back and forth in front of the gates.
Brenna stared out the window, unable to move. All too soon, Loken pulled up in front of his house. At his command, she followed the warlock into his home.
A cold chill slithered down her spine as he shut the door behind her.
"So," Myra said, "show me the results."
Still smiling smugly, the warlock pulled a small knife from his pocket.
Brenna stared from one to the other. Loken had sent Serafina home, leaving Brenna at the mercy of the witch and the warlock who now stood on either side of her. Once again, she was bound hand and foot to the bed in Anthony Loken's house.
She glanced out the window. It was still hours until sunset, hours before Roshan would know she was missing. With a start, she remembered him telling her that he might not rise this night, that he might linger in the Dark Sleep to heal his wounds. There was a very real possibility that he would not rise until tomorrow night.
And by then, it might be too late.
She jerked as Loken made a shallow gash down the length of her left arm. She stared at the blood welling from the wound, felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rise in her throat as she watched the crimson drops fall onto the towel that Loken had spread beneath her arm so as not to stain his sheets. Too bad Roshan wasn't here, she thought morbidly. It was a shame to let all that blood go to waste.
Loken looked at Myra. "Watch now," he said, and taking a damp cloth he wiped the blood from Brenna's arm.
Both witches leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the shallow gash that, even now, was starting to close.
"Amazing!" Myra exclaimed as the wound knit together. "Simply amazing."
She looked at Loken. "You're sure the elixir is safe?"
"Yes, but only for witches," Loken said. "I've tried it on half a dozen mortals. They all died rather quickly."
"I never thought you'd actually do it," Myra said. "Forgive me for doubting you."
"Think of it," Loken said, his voice rising with excitement "Immortality will be ours. We'll never grow old, never be sick! Imagine what other powers it might impart!"
"Perhaps," Myra said. "But how do you know the effects last? What if they wear off after a time?"
Loken shrugged. "I know the exact ratio of vampire blood to dead blood." He patted his pocket. "I have enough left for one injection."
"Just one?" Myra's eyes narrowed. "And who will be the one to make use of it?"
"Patience, woman," Loken said. "Just hear me out. The sun is high in the sky. The vampire is trapped in sleep. I'll go to his lair and drain him dry, and then I'll destroy him. We'll have enough blood to make a hundred vials, perhaps a thousand."
"Do you plan to share this with the coven?" Myra asked.
Loken's gaze slid away from Myra's. "That, of course, is up to you."
Brenna's gaze darted from Loken to Myra and back again. She had to warn Roshan, but how? Were the wards set on the entrance to his lair stronger than the ones on the gates? If not, he would be easy prey for Loken and Myra.
"Cut her again," Myra said. "Deeper this time."
Staring at the other woman, Brenna shook her head vigorously from side to side, unable to believe her ears. She had thought Myra was her friend. How could she have been so wrong?
Myra returned Brenna's gaze. "Have you something you wish to say to me?" She made a freeing gesture with her hand. "Speak then."
"How can you do this?" Brenna asked.
"I'm sorry, my dear, truly."
Brenna bit down on her lower lip to keep from crying out as Loken made a deep gash in her right arm from her elbow to her wrist. She wanted to be strong. She wanted to be brave. But the pain was too great. She sobbed with pain and fear, her stomach churning as a river of bright red blood ran from the wound. What if it didn't heal this time? What if it did? How much blood could she safely lose? Already, the towel beneath her arm was soaked through.
Again, Loken wiped the blood away. "There! See!" he cried exultantly. "The wound is already starting to heal! Even without the promise of immortality, the elixir is worth its weight in gold. If it heals wounds, it will doubtless provide immunity to diseases, increase one's life span."
"But not yours."
Loken froze, all the color draining from his face as he stared at the gun that had appeared in Myra's hand.
"What are you doing?" he asked hoarsely.
"You're too ambitious, Tony. There's no room in the coven for both of us any longer."
Loken held out one hand, his lips pulled back in a mockery of a smile. "Myra, what the hell are you talking about? We're in this together, remember. You and me."
"I've felt you breathing down my neck for months now. I know how badly you want to be the leader of our coven. I know how it galls you to take orders from a woman. I'm sure my future would be measured in days instead of years if this elixir of yours really works."
Loken shook his head. "No, Myra, you're wrong…"
She smiled. It was a look like death. "I'm never wrong, Tony. You should know that by now. Give me the vial in your pocket."
He took a step backward. "Myra, it doesn't have to be like this."
"Yes, I'm afraid it does." She held out her hand, then eased back the hammer on the gun. "The vial, please."
Brenna glanced from Myra to Loken, her stomach knotting.
With a shake of his head, Loken took another step backward. "If you want it, come and get it."
Myra laughed. "What do you hope to gain by stalling? A few more minutes of life? You fool! I can take it off your body if I have to."
"All right, all right" Conceding defeat, Loken reached into his coat pocket.
"Slowly!" Myra admonished.
Eyes glittering with hatred, Loken's hand delved into his pocket.
And then, in a blur of motion almost too quick to follow, he raised both hands. One held the vial, the other held the knife he had used on Brenna. A single drop of blood glistened on the tip of the blade.
With a shout, he flung the knife at Myra.
Myra let out a shriek. She reeled back as the blade buried itself to the hilt in her chest. Her arm dropped, her finger convulsively squeezing the trigger.
Brenna screamed as white-hot pain exploded through her side.
Myra hit the wall. She stared at the knife protruding from her heart, her eyes wide with disbelief, and then, as her strength began to wane, she slid slowly to the floor, the pistol still dangling from her hand.
"The elixir…" she said, gasping for breath. "Give it… to…"
Her body went slack, her head lolling forward.
"You were right, Myr
a," Loken said. "The coven isn't big enough for both of us." He laughed as he held the vial up to the light. "I'm invincible now!" he crowed. "I'll be the most powerful warlock the world has ever seen!"
Blowing out a deep breath, Loken put the vial on the table beside the bed.
All he had to do now was coax the location of the vampire's resting place from the girl, and then he would dispose of her body and Myra's. He'd have to come up with a good story to tell the witches at the coven, he thought, staring at the vial, something to explain Myra's abrupt absence from the city, but he would worry about that later.
He glanced at Brenna. She seemed to be asleep. She was a pretty little thing. Too bad she had to die. With a grimace, he looked at Myra. There was nothing pretty about death, he mused. The sooner he got her out of his bedroom, the better. He couldn't just drag her through the house, not without getting blood on the carpets. He thought a moment, then left the room, bound for the garage. He had some large plastic sheeting there. He'd roll her into the plastic and put her in the basement while he searched his spell book for an invocation that would make a body disappear without a trace. Where Myra was concerned, he didn't want any evidence of her death, not even ashes.
Brenna opened her eyes a crack when she heard the door close. Loken was gone, but for how long? She glanced at the dead witch. Myra lay sprawled against the wall like a pile of dirty laundry. Brenna shivered. How long would Loken leave Myra's body lying there? The witch's evil lingered in the room, a dark miasma that was almost tangible. Brenna imagined Myra's spirit hovering over her in a vain effort to steal the last of her life's breath, her ghostly fingers clawing at her arms and legs as Myra tried to veil her spirit in flesh once more.
Brenna looked out the window, willing the sun to set, the night to come quickly. She felt herself growing weaker with each breath. And then she looked at her arm. Blood still oozed from the wound. It wasn't healing. She could feel more blood dripping from the gunshot wound in her side. Roshan had been right. The effects were only temporary.
Please. She sent a silent prayer toward heaven. Please let me see him one more time…
How could she die without hearing his voice, seeing his face? Please, one last kiss to warm me through eternity.
"Roshan, come to me…"
* * *
CHAPTER 26
As he had every evening for the past two hundred and eighty-six years, Roshan woke with the setting of the sun. But on this night, he didn't rise immediately. Instead, he lay still, taking inventory of his injuries. He felt only marginally better than he had the night before. He hoped Brenna would forgive him for rising just long enough to feed. Though he yearned to see her, be with her, he knew that on this night, he needed blood. And rest. In that order. He would make it up to her tomorrow night.
Closing his eyes, he let his preternatural senses search the house. She wasn't preparing her dinner in the kitchen, she wasn't curled up in a chair in the living room, reading, nor was she anywhere upstairs. He expanded his senses to search the grounds. She was not walking in the gardens, or sitting on the stone bench. Where was she?
A shiver of alarm slid down his spine. Surely, she hadn't been foolish enough to leave the house?
Brenna! Where are you? Dammit, woman, answer me!
Something was wrong. He reached out, his mind searching for her. There was a flicker of life at the gates. Morgana. But no sense of Brenna's presence. He jack-knifed into a sitting position. The gates were open!
Cursing softly, he slid his legs over the edge of the bed, stood, swaying on his feet, wondering if he had the strength to make it up the stairs.
He was panting when he reached the top. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and then, keeping one hand on the wall for support, he made his way down the corridor toward the entry hall, wondering if this was what it felt like to be old.
The front door stood open.
Descending the porch steps, he walked down the driveway to the gates. Morgana was there, pacing back and forth. She looked up at him, meowing loudly, then leaped into his arms.
Startled, Roshan stroked the cat's fur. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll find her."
He carried the cat up to the house and locked her inside, then went to the garage.
He would have preferred traveling through the night with his own preternatural speed, but he was too weak. He needed to save his strength for whatever lay ahead.
He backed out of the garage, down the driveway, and out onto the street. Once again, he sent his senses searching for Brenna. It frightened him that he could not detect her life force.
Certain that Loken was behind her disappearance, he drove toward the warlock's house. Parking the car a short distance away, he exited the vehicle. Several tall trees and shrubs grew alongside the parkway, shielding him from passersby. Drawing on what power he could muster, he summoned Jean to his side.
A moment later, she was walking toward him, clad in a red T-shirt and a pair of cutoff jeans. Taking her by the hand, he pulled her behind a nearby hedge.
Overcome with worry for Brenna, the hunger raging deep within him, he bent his head to the girl's throat, his fangs ravaging her flesh. He drank and drank, his eyes closing in near ecstasy as her life's blood flowed into him, filling him with warmth and heat, easing his pain.
It was only when her heartbeat slowed and her breathing grew labored that he lifted his head. The girl lay unmoving in his arms, her face pale.
Muttering an oath, Roshan bit his wrist and held it to the girl's lips. "Drink," he commanded.
She did as she was told. A few drops of his blood brought the color back to her cheeks. She stared up at him, her eyes widening.
"Who are you?" She struggled against him. "Let me go."
"Jean, there's nothing to fear." He spoke quietly, the sound of his voice soothing her. "We're old friends, Jean, remember? You did me a favor yesterday. I need your help again."
"Help you, yes."
"Good. Let's go."
Obediently, she followed him up the hill, ready to do whatever he required of her.
Brenna closed her eyes when she heard the door open again. Loken was still whistling softly. She heard him moving around the room. Curious, she opened her eyelids a crack and saw him roll Myra's body in plastic. Fear jolted through Brenna. Was that to be her end, as well? Rolled up in plastic and buried where no one would ever find her?
She closed her eyes as Loken stood and turned toward her.
"So," the warlock said, "how are you doing? You might as well answer me," he said impatiently. "I know you're awake."
She yelped as he grabbed her wounded arm.
Swearing prolifically, he untied her wrist and lifted her arm higher so he could examine it more closely. "It's still bleeding!" he shouted. "What happened? What's wrong? Why isn't it healing?" He walked to the other side of the bed, stared in disbelief at the blood trickling down her side.
"I told you…" She gasped for breath. "Told you… it… would not… work."
A sound from downstairs drew Loken's attention. Moving to the window, he stared down at the street.
Roshan stood to one side of the door as Jean tossed a rock through the window Loken had repaired. Magick certainly came in handy for home repairs, Roshan mused as Jean reached through the jagged hole, unlocked the door, and then opened it.
Roshan frowned as the door swung open. Taking a step forward, he peered down the hallway. He sensed supernatural power within the house, but there was nothing guarding the threshold, nothing to repel him.
Curious now, he moved closer to the threshold. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the warlock's house.
Nothing happened. The wizard's threshold no longer had any power over him.
Turning toward the porch, he spoke to the girl.
"Jean, I don't need you anymore. I want you to go home. When you get there, all you'll remember of this night is that you took a walk, nothing more. Just that you took a walk. I want you to get something to drink, and then g
o to bed."
"Yes, bed."
"Go now." He watched her until she was out of sight, then turned and walked down the hallway. As he did so, his nostrils filled with the scent of death. That explained why he had been able to enter the warlock's house, Roshan mused as he started up the stairs. The house was no longer a home. Murder had been done here, thereby destroying whatever protection the threshold had provided against supernatural powers.
He shook his head ruefully. Had he not been so weak the last time he was here, he would have realized the warlock's wards had vanished. But there was no point in dwelling on that now.
Brenna was here.
He followed the scent of her blood up the stairs, down a narrow hallway, and into a darkened room. She was lying on the bed.
Anthony Loken stood beside her, the gun in his hand aimed at Brenna's head.
"And so," Loken said, "we come to the last act."
Ignoring the warlock, Roshan's gaze moved over his wife. Blood trickled from a wound in her arm, oozed from her side. Her face was as white as the pillow beneath her head, her eyes were dull, her heartbeat slow and erratic.
Rage uncoiled within Roshan like a snake ready to strike. "You have one chance," he said, his eyes fixed on the warlock's face. "Just one. Put the gun down and I might let you live."
"You have no chances," Loken retorted. "Leave my house or she dies right now."
"The fact that she's still alive is the only reason you're still breathing," Roshan said. "Put the gun down."
Loken shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words were never uttered. Between one heartbeat and the next, Roshan was standing between Brenna and the warlock. In the next instant, Roshan's hand was locked around Loken's neck.
Eyes bulging, the warlock made a mad grab for the vial on the nightstand.
Roshan beat him to it. He held the tube up to the light. "Is this my blood?"
Unable to speak, Loken glowered at him.
Uncapping the vial, Roshan took a sniff. "Is this the magick elixir that was going to give you immortality?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet. "Well, let's see if it works."
Night's Kiss Page 24