Night's Pleasure

Page 18

“Savanah…”
“You lied to me.”
“Did I?”
“You know you did! Withholding the truth is the same as lying.”
“Is it?”
“Stop that! I want you to go. Now. And never come back.” She blinked back her tears, her hand closing over the crucifix at her throat. It was unfair to lose her father and Rane within days of each other.
She stared up at him, hurt and anger warring within her. “Why did you pretend you cared for me? How could you let me care for you and not tell me the truth?”
“I wasn’t pretending,” he said quietly. “Don’t ever think that.”
“Right! As if Vampires were capable of…of…” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand, unable to say the word aloud.
“Love?” He grunted softly. “My parents have been together for well over a hundred years. Are you going to tell me that they aren’t in love?”
Savanah shook her head in disbelief. A hundred years was longer than most people lived. But it didn’t change anything. He was still a Vampire. He had still lied to her. For all she knew, he could be the one who had killed her father…and maybe her mother, as well.
She took a step backward, intending to slam the door in his face, but he forestalled her by putting his foot in the way.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “Move your foot!”
“No. I’m not leaving until we settle this.”
“There’s nothing to settle. You’re a Vampire, and I hate you!”
“Why? I’ve done nothing to you.”
Savanah stared at him. “Why? You dare to ask me why?” Her voice rose with her anger. “You stole my virginity!”
He lifted one brow.
Savanah’s cheeks grew hot under his gaze. He hadn’t stolen anything. She had practically begged him to take it.
“And…and that’s not all. A Vampire killed my mother.”
“It wasn’t me.” It occurred to him that Mara might very well know who had killed Savanah’s parents.
“My mother was a Vampire hunter,” Savanah said. “Did you know that?”
“Yes.”
Savanah blinked at him. “You did?”
He nodded. “I saved her life one night, and she returned the favor by letting me live.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He shrugged. “It’s true nonetheless.”
She lifted her chin defiantly, her hands clenched at her sides. “Did you know that I’m a Vampire hunter, too?”
Rane’s laughter cut across the stillness of the night.
The sound of it stiffened Savanah’s spine and spiked her anger. How dare he laugh at her! Her mother was dead, killed by one of his kind. She would soon be burying her father who, for all she knew, had also been the victim of a Vampire attack. And Rane dared to laugh at her! It was too much.
Slipping her hand into her pocket, Savanah flipped the top from the bottle of holy water and threw the contents in his face. “Laugh at that!”
With an oath, Rane darted to the side. He avoided most of the bottle’s contents, but not all. Drops of holy water sprayed across his left cheek and down the side of his neck, leaving pinpricks of fire in their wake.
Savanah stared at him, horrified by what she had done. She had never raised a hand in violence against anyone or anything in her life. A strange state of affairs for a future Vampire hunter, she thought with wry amusement. But there was no time to think about that now, not when she was face-to-face with an angry Vampire.
“Dammit!” He hissed the word through clenched teeth. “Why the hell’d you do that?”
His anger frightened her, but she refused to let him know it, refused to back down. Barbara Gentry had killed Vampires, and when she died, William Gentry had taken his wife’s place. Now it was up to Savanah to carry on in their stead.
“You’re lucky I didn’t drive a stake into your heart,” she said, her words underscored by a bravado she was far from feeling.
Rane drew in a deep breath. It had been years since anyone had tried to destroy him. He had forgotten how painful even a few drops of holy water on preternatural flesh could be. Never taking his eyes from Savanah, he drew another breath, and then another.
Guilt warred with the anger in Savanah’s heart as she watched Rane’s skin redden and blister. “Are you all right?”
Rane regarded her warily for a moment. He could tell by the tone of her voice that it hadn’t been an easy question for her to ask. “I will be, but if it makes you feel any better, it hurts like hell.”
She didn’t say she was sorry, and he didn’t expect it.
Savanah Gentry was a pretty woman, and he would miss her, but there was little chance that they could have a future together now, not when her mother had been killed by one of his kind, not when she was deluding herself into thinking she could become a hunter. It wasn’t an occupation a man or a woman decided to pursue on a whim. It took years of training, a strong heart, and a stronger stomach.
And yet, looking at her now, at the fire in her eyes and the determined tilt of her chin, he thought she might become the most dangerous hunter of them all.
Savanah kept her hands tightly clenched to hide their trembling. In his Vampire form, Rane couldn’t cross the threshold, so she was safe. But what if he transformed into the wolf? Was he still bound by the same rules?
“I’m sorry it’s come to this,” Rane said quietly, “but it’s probably for the best for both of us. Good-bye, Savanah.”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond. By the time she realized what he was saying, he was gone and she was alone, more alone than she had ever been in her life.
Savanah stood there a moment, unsure of how to feel, or what to think. Rane was a monster, inhuman, a killer, and she had wanted him gone from her life, so why did she suddenly feel so bereft? She told herself that the heaviness in her heart had nothing to do with Rane’s departure, that it was grief over her father’s death, shock from learning that her mother hadn’t died from an illness, as she had long believed. But she couldn’t shake the fear that she had just lost a part of herself, a vital part she could never get back.
Closing the door, she went into the living room and curled up in a corner of the sofa. She glanced at the two books lying on the table. The volumes listed the known Vampires and Vampire hunters, and obligingly listed the ways to find and destroy the creatures of the night. The only thing the books didn’t explain was how one gained the courage to take stake and mallet in hand and get started.
Rane stood in the shadows outside Savanah’s house, his fists shoved deep into his pants’ pockets as he stared at her silhouette in the window. So, she thought she was a Vampire hunter, did she? The very idea was ludicrous and yet he couldn’t forget the stubborn set of her jaw or the determined look in her eyes. Did she actually mean to take up stake and mallet and go hunting the Undead? To do so would be suicide. Surely she knew that? She had no training, no one to teach her, no one to guide her. If she was foolish enough to go up against a Vampire who had been turned for more than a year or so, she would be way out of her league. Vampires might not be able to abide the sun, but once they had a few years under their belt, many of the stronger ones were able to defend themselves even if they were attacked while at rest. With her inexperience, Savanah would be no match for any but the weakest fledgling.
He frowned as another thought occurred to him. Even though he had stayed out of the war between the Vampires and the Werewolves, there were secret, out-of-the way places in every big city where the Undead gathered. He had kept up-to-date with the war news, listened to the rumors, heard the names of those who had been killed on both sides. When the war ended, there had been a period of relative peace as the Supernatural community withdrew to lick their wounds. After six months or so, the Vampire hunters had gone into retirement. For a time, all had been quiet but then, after a few years, Rane began to hear rumors that another war was being waged. If what he heard was right, this war was being carried out by an unknown assailant who was quietly and methodically killing Vampire hunters. Was it a Vampire? The same one who had killed Savanah’s father? Did that make Savanah the next victim? And was it hunters the killer was after, or the book Savanah had mentioned?
Rane told himself it wasn’t his problem. Savanah was over twenty-one, old enough to know her own mind and make her own decisions. He swore softly. Maybe that was true, in mortal matters, but in Supernatural affairs, Savanah was in way over her head. One way or another, he needed to get his hands on that book before it was too late.
He told himself again it wasn’t his problem, but to no avail. He wasn’t sure how or when it had happened, but he had fallen into the same trap as his grandfather, his father, and his brother. He was in love with a mortal woman, one whose life might be in danger even now.
So, what was he going to do about it? Protect her, or just turn his back on her and walk away as he had on so many things in his life?
Protecting Savanah could be dangerous, he mused, lifting a hand to his face. His cheek and neck still hurt like hell, ample proof that she wasn’t afraid to strike out, given enough provocation. Considering the way she felt right now, she was just as likely to drive a stake into his heart as not. In spite of what he’d said earlier, letting her go was out of the question. He wanted her, and not just her blood. He wanted all of her—her laughter, her smiles, and yes, even her hatred. He wanted her, and he meant to have her.
If he was a mortal man, he could go back and kick in the door, if necessary. However, since he was Nosferatu, breaking down the door would be little more than an empty gesture since he couldn’t go inside unless she invited him, and she wasn’t likely to do that in her present state of mind. He had no explanation for the odd effect thresholds had on the Undead, but he knew from experience that they effectively repelled his kind. Logical or not, thresholds possessed a Supernatural power of their own.