Black Magic Rose (10 page)

And with those words he turned to the woods, leaving Sofia to stare after him, but hard as she tried, she couldn’t find him. She glanced up at the moon, then closed her eyes, and
it
happened. She sensed him. He wasn’t more than fifty yards away. When she opened her eyes she caught a glimpse of him, barely lit by rays of moonlight filtering through the naked branches.
 

He turned his head, glancing over his shoulder and their eyes locked. Something mischievous showed in his gaze, daring and dangerous, and his lips tugged up exposing sharp pointed fangs. He stopped walking and turned to face her, his head in a slight downward tilt, hair falling in his face. But nothing, not darkness, nor his hair could hide his eyes. He stared at her like a hunter planning his attack. If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn he was coming back, coming for her.
 

She gasped and raced for the house.
 

Once inside, she ran through the steps of her security system, locking everything and hanging crucifixes in windows. She didn’t bother to turn on a light on the first floor. There was no need. Between the moonlight and her newly awakened night vision she could see perfectly clearly.
 

This intrigued her. Everything appeared in crisp detail from the laundry basket full of undergarments and light-colored clothes to the items written on the grocery list stuck on the fridge to the half-naked vampire standing in the woods watching her house. How could this be? And did he know what she could see?
 

She stood in front of the sliding glass door leading out to the deck and watched him. He paced the woods occasionally glancing toward the house.
 

At one point her gaze locked on his and his right eyebrow shot up. He didn’t look away. Neither did she. Instead, Sofia’s vision zoomed in closer, studying him. She noted the slight squint to his left eye, the even pulsing of his left cheek, and the pinpoint fangs resting above his full bottom lip. His tongue slid between them, leaving his lips moist, glistening in the moonlight.
 

All at once her little training session caught up with her. She was short of breath and flush. Beads of sweat trickled down her chest, pooling in her bra between her breasts.
 

She yanked off her sweatshirt. When she glanced back at the woods, he was gone. She didn’t bother to try to find him, well aware he hadn’t gone far. He couldn’t. He was on duty.
 

She headed upstairs to shower. Her unleashed senses worried her. She’d never felt so strong, so alive. But how? She wasn’t a vampire. Why should she be able to see at night or register their movements so easily? These damn vampires were causing her more worries than she’d even considered possible.
 

She swallowed hard. What was wrong with her? And why had Dragomir been able to bring whatever it was out?
 

Chapter Nine

Damn Jankin
. He must have known for years, probably from the moment she was born. He’d probably been aware of this little secret from her very first breath.
 

Dragomir gritted his teeth. He’d suspected Jankin of withholding information, the truth. He’d seen it in Jankin’s eyes all those years ago. But he hadn’t pushed, hadn’t challenged the man he trusted.
Instead, he’d nodded and pledged his allegiance to The Alliance, to Jankin.
 

Now centuries later, the truth was rearing her lovely head. Jankin, the vampire, had conceived a child.
 

Dragomir and most everyone close to Jankin knew of his love for his descendants, though everyone believed the bloodline to have died out a couple hundred years ago. And no one had thought they were anything but the family he conceived when he was human, when most men were capable of conceiving a child.
 

Dragomir checked the back door. Locked.
Good.
Then he checked each window and found all but two were locked. The one in her bedroom where the rosary beads still hung and the bathroom window out of which steam from the running shower poured.

Dragomir smirked. “Bruises do form on butt cheeks,” she’d said. He’d have liked to check, though he was absolutely certain any bruises she had were formed from her falls back at Cader as he had been very careful about lowering her onto her backside tonight.

He dropped to the ground and moved back into the woods.
 

Jankin was right. Sofia was very valuable. She possessed qualities far surpassing any other woman, traits that rivaled a vampire’s, abilities she had no idea how to control.
 

Dragomir stalked the woods, rounding the property as he did a sweep to ensure no one breached the perimeter. Easily enough he sent out his presence and sensed that not another being, human or otherwise, moved anywhere near the house, but he made the walk around just to be sure. He wouldn’t have bothered with the extra steps if he hadn’t been startled by Osgar last night. He grunted at the foolish fact.

If the Alliance gossip machine was correct, Sofia was born twenty-eight years ago at Cader, prematurely, an untimely birth that brought her terrified parents to the nearest hospital instead of making the trek fifty-five minutes north to the state’s primary obstetrical hospital.
 

Rumor had it Sofia arrived a full six weeks earlier than expected. She spent those first six weeks under the watchful eye of Jankin, whose love of humans was well known.
 

Dragomir always believed this admiration came from Jankin’s continual monitoring of the MacDuff bloodline. He had seen the master through many losses of descendants and knew each one affected Jankin more than the previous one.

For nine centuries Jankin watched his children and grandchildren grow up, have children, and die. As far as Dragomir knew Jankin never intervened, never once changed any of them, didn’t offer a drop of vampire blood to save one. He’d managed to resist what had to be a nearly all-consuming urge. But if any vampire could, it was Jankin. He, above all others, would not violate vampire law for his own selfish pursuits.
 

At least not until Sofia arrived. How else could a premature baby survive in a hospital ill equipped to care for her? If she was part vampire, she might have survived.
 

Dragomir leaned back against a tree watching lights flick on and off as Sofia moved through her house.
 

Vampire offspring had long been a desire of many a master. Even weaker vampires had dreamt of the feat. Dragomir never had. He’d lost three children as a human and had no desire to worry for another child, whether human or vampire, ever again.
 

Even though vampires weren’t supposed to conceive children, there had always been talk of one vampire who’d been able to conceive. There’d been the question of why it had happened, of who had been able to do it. Was it a gift from God? A curse?
 

The indelible pain of his losses flared. His mouth went dry. Eight centuries had passed since his babies fell sick. Eight hundred years and still the cracks in his heart had not healed.
 

A curse, most definitely
.
 

A curse that had not only put Sofia’s life on the line, but would force Jankin to admit what he’d done in order to keep much more than his own offspring safe from the claws of Bas Dubh.
 

Dragomir believed Kiernan’s desire to conceive a vampire child was more the reason for this dreaded war than anything else. Bas Dubh could easily live a worthwhile existence without the ability to conceive. Their production team effortlessly created fledglings whenever they were needed. But Kiernan believed a “natural” vampire would be more powerful, nearly God-like. And, certainly, the master of such a vampire would be able to rule all.
 

Somehow Kiernan must have figured out Jankin’s secret. He must have known about Sofia. The idea of this perplexed Dragomir. How could Jankin have kept this secret guarded from him for so many centuries and yet their sworn enemy was able to uncover the truth?
 

Dragomir circled the house, considering this fact and coming back to the same conclusion. He’d been blinded by his friendship with Jankin, too blind to see the dangerous truth.
 

When Dragomir stopped to think about Jankin’s actions over the years, he knew full and well it had been a curse. Jankin had given up so much to keep guard over his lineage. He watched as his male offspring died young, leaving the women to try to manage alone.
 

The men never lived beyond their mid-thirties, and the ones who lasted that long were rare. Though, Sofia’s father lived into his fifties. Dragomir paced along the forest, mulling the idea. Or rather, the fact. It wasn’t an idea. It was a fact. The MacDuff males all died early. Natural deaths, though young. However, Brian Engle lived twice as long as most.
 

What had Jankin been up to? Had he sired Sofia? Or had he crossed a more treacherous line? Had Jankin allowed Brian Engle to drink vampire blood?
 

The very idea of Jankin breaking such a sacred code was beyond comprehension. Why after centuries of restraining himself would he go against this decree?
 

Dragomir picked up an acorn and rolled it between his fingers, up and down as he paced. He glanced toward the house at the sound of metal rings sliding along the curtain rod. Steam poured from the bathroom window, and Sofia mumbled something about landing on her ass so many times.
 

He grinned in spite of himself. She had a nice ass, and he’d have liked to put her on it for reasons that had nothing to do with training.
 

She was a smart one. That he had to admit. In five hours’ time she’d learned to scent and track him. His experience with training was quite extensive, and he could recall only one other who’d mastered the skill as quickly. But Daria had been a vampire, not a human.
 

He sighed, then threw the acorn deeper into the forest, aiming it at a giant oak. It hit the tree with such force it sounded as though a firecracker
exploded in the distance.

“What was that?” Sofia’s startled voice came from her window. The light blinked off, and Dragomir saw her silhouetted in the distance, holding a towel to her chest and dripping from the shower. Her wet hair draped over her shoulders and she craned her neck toward the sound. Water droplets rolled down her skin and soaked into the towel she pressed tight against her breasts. Her sweet scent swirled in the steam pouring from the window.
 

Dragomir stood motionless. If only she’d drop that towel. He swallowed.

Her tongue darted across her lips then she bit the bottom one between her teeth and leaned to the right. She squinted as though she were staring hard into the trees, searching for the cause of the noise. Even beneath those thick lashes he could see the sparkling green of her narrowly focused eyes. She shook her head and huffed before turning back to the running water of the shower.

Her long dark hair dripped water down her backside. The droplets rolled down the curve of her back onto her nice, bare, unbruised ass.
 

He licked his lips and felt something in his gut clench. His own heart picked up a beat. He curled his hands into fists, digging his fingers into his palm.
 

He’d risen too late this evening. He would head to town and feed as soon as Osgar arrived. Then he’d rise early tomorrow evening and feed again before training her.
 

It was hunger, no thirst, just thirst that made him hunger. It wasn’t desire. He simply needed nourishment. He turned from the house and tried to recall his previous thoughts, the ones he was thinking before she came to the window, naked, save for a towel covering her front side, a towel he’d have liked to tug from her hands.
 

His mind wouldn’t focus on whatever it was he’d been thinking. Instead, he imagined his hands cupping her bare ass as he held her naked body against his and she wrapped her long legs around him. He thought about the way her soft breasts would feel pressed to his chest, the way her lips would taste, the sting of her nails on his back as he made love to her.
 

“What am I doing?” He growled at himself. “How can I even consider coveting Jankin’s friend or granddaughter or whatever the hell she is?”
 

He raked his fingers through his hair, then tied the wild mess back from his face. He rolled his shoulders and neck, working to shrug off his indecent thoughts. When that didn’t work, he pulled out his bowie knife and lopped a branch from a nearby tree.
 

A little woodworking could keep him busy. He whittled aimlessly at the wood. Every time his thoughts wandered back to Sofia, he growled and forced himself to think of Bas Dubh and the many battles he’d fought to defeat them. He focused on the ravages of war instead of lovemaking, the bloody fights and death. By 0500 he’d carved an entire tree down to form dozens of stakes.
 

He held his most recent work in his hand, studying its weight and length. He even took a couple practice stabs at the air.

“Nice stake. Planning to use it on anyone in particular?” Osgar’s voice carried from the distance.