Desire the Night (3 page)

“Do you believe everything you hear?” Wanda asked.

“Not everything,” Kay admitted, but there were more strange things in heaven and on Earth than Wanda knew.

“Come on,” Wanda said impatiently. “Let’s at least check it out. It’ll do you good to get out of the house. You’ve been moping around here long enough.”

She had good reason to mope, Kay thought glumly. In just a few months, her father was going to announce her engagement to Victor Rinaldi, a man who was, in Kay’s opinion, an arrogant ass.

Wanda tapped her fingers on the arm of the sofa. “If you don’t like the club, we’ll leave and go to the movies.”

“You promise?” Kay asked, her resolve weakening.

“Yes, now hurry up and change and let’s go.”

Tired of arguing, Kay hurried into her bedroom. Shrugging out of her jeans and sweater, she pulled on a long-sleeved white silk shirt, a short black skirt, black leggings, and a pair of knee-high black boots that had cost her a month’s pay and were worth every penny.

Wanda grinned when Kay returned to the living room. “You’ll knock ’em dead.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Cheer up, girlfriend. Maybe a little firewater will put a sparkle in your eye and a spring in your step.”

Kay rolled her eyes at the firewater reference. Wanda didn’t do it often, but every now and then she couldn’t resist making a remark about Kay’s Lakota heritage.

Wanda moved toward the door, then paused and glanced over her shoulder. “You coming or not?”

“All right, paleface,” Kay said with an exaggerated air of resignation. “Let’s get it over with.”

Wanda was right, Kay thought as they climbed into Wanda’s red Jetta and drove to the club. She might as well go out and have a good time while she could.

It was Friday night and The Roan Horse was rockin’. Located within driving distance of several small towns, it was a magnet for singles—mostly young Lakota and Cheyenne males. Kay shook her head as she crossed the threshold. It was too crowded, too noisy, and after one glance at the occupants, she knew coming here had been a mistake.

She tugged on Wanda’s sleeve. “All right, I’m ready to go.”

“Are you kidding me? We just got here. We haven’t even had a drink yet. Any chance I can talk you into something stronger than a virgin piña colada tonight?”

Kay shook her head. She’d gotten drunk only once, on a single martini, and once was enough. She didn’t know if it was her werewolf blood, her Lakota blood, or a combination of the two, but she had no tolerance for liquor.

“I’ll see if I can find us a table,” she said, thinking that what she really needed to find was another friend, someone who liked country music and old movies. Wanda was always into the next new thing, no matter what it was.

Trevor stood at the bar, his gaze drifting over the crowd. He didn’t know what he was doing here tonight. Friday night was date night, even at The Roan Horse, a bad time for what he had in mind. He was thinking of calling it a lost cause and going home when two females entered the club. The blonde with the spiked hair had a worldly air about her that would likely make her hard to charm. But the black-haired one … she looked perfect. Innocent. Gullible.

When the blonde headed for the bar, Trevor made his move. Pasting a benign smile on his face, he walked past the dark-haired one, accidentally bumping her arm. “Excuse me,” he said, flashing an easy grin.

“No problem,” she said with a friendly smile. “There’s quite a crowd here tonight.”

He nodded. “My name’s Trevor Clark.”

“Kay Alissano.”

“I don’t suppose you’d care to dance?”

“Of course she would,” the blonde said, coming up behind them, a drink in each hand. “Go on, girlfriend, have a little fun for a change.”

The girl, Kay, glared at her friend, but allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.

All too easy,
he thought. He asked her about herself, her family, and when the dance was over, he urged her to have a drink with him.

Kay glanced at Wanda, who was out on the dance floor, practically glued to her partner. No help there. She regarded Trevor thoughtfully. He was tall and good-looking, with a winning smile, short brown hair and brown eyes.

“One drink,” she agreed, taking a place at an empty table. After all, what could it hurt? “A virgin piña colada, please.”

Trevor smiled as he made his way to the bar. One drink was all it would take.

Returning to the table, he handed a glass to Kay, then lifted his own. “A toast,” he said. “To new beginnings.”

It was the last thing Kay remembered until she woke up in hell.

Hell smelled like urine. And even though Kay knew it was only her imagination running wild, it also smelled like blood. And death.

She didn’t open her eyes. If she kept them closed, she could pretend she was trapped in a remarkably vivid nightmare. She could pretend she was sleeping in her own bed even though she knew she was lying on something hard and cold and damp, like cement.

She could pretend that she was alone, when she knew she wasn’t.

Warily, she opened her eyelids a crack. And found herself staring at a man with shaggy black hair, skin so pale it was almost translucent, and dark gray eyes that burned into hers like hot coals.

Kay shuddered. Maybe she really was in hell. Because the creature hunkered down across from her was either the devil incarnate. Or a vampire.

Either way, she was as good as dead.

Gideon’s nostrils twitched as he inhaled the female’s scent. She smelled of perfume and fear and something he knew instinctively was a drug of some kind, which explained how she had come to be here. But it was another scent that lay beneath the rest that had him frowning. She smelled … feral.

The enticing scent of her blood, the rapid beating of her heart, overshadowed everything else. It had been over a month since his last kill. The woman’s nearness freshened his hunger and he reached for her, his gaze drawn to the pulse throbbing in the hollow of her throat.

She scrabbled backward, but there was nowhere for her to go. In a move too swift for human eyes to follow, he grabbed her ankle and drew her slowly, inexorably, toward him.

She lashed out at him, her eyes wild with fear, her nails leaving long, bloody furrows down his arm and across his cheek.

His hand tightened on her ankle, his predatory instincts sharpened by her struggles.

As though realizing that, she went suddenly still.

“There’s no escape for you.” His voice was deep, quiet, and edged with regret. “I can kill you now, quickly, or drain you a little at a time.”

“You won’t like the way I taste,” she warned. “I can promise you that.”

“I’m past caring.”

“How long have you been here?” If she could just keep him talking, she might be able to make him think about something besides killing her.

“How long?” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

It couldn’t be very long, she thought, since he didn’t have a beard and his hair wasn’t overly long.

“My beard doesn’t grow,” he said. “Neither does my hair.”

“Why not?” She stared at him, suddenly realizing she hadn’t spoken the thought aloud. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

He pressed his forefinger to his temple. “Vampire.”

It was disconcerting, knowing he could read her mind, but before she could think overly much about it, he began to stroke her ankle, his thumb moving lazily back and forth, back and forth. Even through her leggings, his touch sent a shiver down her spine. It took her a moment to realize her boots were gone. Why would someone take her boots? And why was she worrying about that when a monster had hold of her leg?

He cocked his head. “What year is it?”

“Two thousand and twelve.”

“Has it only been three years, then?” he muttered. “It seems longer.”

Monster or not, Kay couldn’t help feeling sorry for him as she glanced around the cell. There was no bed, no blanket, nothing but a cold stone floor, iron bars, and damp cement walls. A small table stood just out of reach on the other side of the bars. She shuddered. How had he endured being locked up in this place for three years without going mad? But that was the least of her concerns. Right now, she wondered if she was going to survive until sunrise.

With the speed of a striking snake, his hand curled around her forearm and he dragged her closer.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice gruff.

“Please, don’t.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. If he hadn’t been a vampire, she might have thought he was praying. More likely, he was saying grace, she thought with morbid humor.

She glanced around the cell again, looking for something she could use as a weapon, but there was nothing save for a dim lightbulb that hung from a knotted cord outside the cell.

And then he was looking at her through those hellish red eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and folding her into his embrace, he pulled her shirt collar aside and bent his head to her neck.

Kay shuddered when she felt the sharp prick of his fangs against her skin. It was useless to fight, she knew. He was larger, stronger, deadly, but her instinct for survival quickly took over. She pulled his hair and scratched his face. Her nails left bloody furrows down his pale cheeks. She sank her teeth into his arm, and lashed out with her feet. All to no avail. It was like trying to punch her way through a brick wall.

Winded from her struggles, growing weak from the loss of blood, she closed her eyes and waited for death. And then a strange thing happened. As soon as she stopped fighting him, her fear slipped away. There was no pain as he drank from her, only a sense of pleasure that was oddly sensual.

It was her last thought before she drifted away into oblivion.

Gideon gazed at the woman in his arms. She was lovely. Her hair, Indian straight and black, fell past her shoulders, her inky lashes were thick and long. Her complexion was pale now, but her cheeks had been rosy before he drank from her, her skin the color of pale copper. Her eyes were a warm golden brown. She had been right about one thing: He hadn’t liked the taste of her blood. It was strong, bitter. Had he not needed nourishment so badly, he would have spit it out after the first swallow. Had it not been for the sour taste, he would have drained her dry; instead, he had taken only enough to take the edge off his hunger.

He eased her down onto the floor, oddly reluctant to let her go.

Standing, he paced the narrow cell from one end to the other. He had been a vampire for three hundred and sixty years. Wasted years, he thought, looking back through the corridors of time. True, he had traveled the world many times over, seen countries and kings rise and fall, but what had he ever accomplished? Nothing. Lisiana had bequeathed him a long life, but she had robbed him of the chance to have a home and a family. Tied to no one, he had lived like a vagabond, always on the move, drifting through the centuries, leaving no mark of his passing.

Of course, he’d had little incentive. In the beginning, hunger overrode every other desire, every other need. For a time, he had indulged his every whim. He had taken what he wanted, heedless of the consequences to others. He wasn’t particularly proud of his behavior back then, but being a vampire had put him outside the law. Clothing and carriages, horses and homes, gold and wine and women. He had used his preternatural power to take them all, and blamed Lisiana. She had stolen much more than that from him. Didn’t he deserve to get even?

Eventually, he grew weary of such a life. Without realizing it, he had accumulated a good amount of money, which had enabled him to buy lairs in London and Paris, in Madrid and Portugal.

And then he had come to the New World. And ended up here, in what was, for all intents and purposes, a prison. Considering how he had spent his existence, perhaps it was where he belonged.

Swearing under his breath, he shook off his maudlin thoughts.

He paced back and forth, never tiring, until he sensed the sun’s rising, and then he stretched out on the floor and closed his eyes.

Once, he had dreaded the beginning of each new day, hated the darkness that dragged him down into nothingness. But that was before Verah had trapped him. Where he had once dreaded the darkness, he now welcomed it as his only escape from reality.

Chapter 5

Verah stood outside the cell, her brow furrowing as she stared at the captives sleeping on the floor. The vampire had one arm around the girl’s waist, almost as if he was trying to protect her.

The girl had been here for the last two days and nights. Verah tapped her fingertips against her lips. She had thought to find the female dead by now, since Gideon had not fed in quite some time.

Verah glanced at the goblet in her hand. She rarely bled the vampire during the day, mainly because he was trapped in sleep and therefore immune to the pain and humiliation. Where was the fun in that? But she had just received a rush order from an old friend.

A wave of her hand unlocked the cell and she stepped inside, her skirts rustling over the cement. She never entered the cell at night. Weak or not, shackled or not, he was still a vampire. Only a fool would underestimate him. And she was not a fool.

Since he wore only enough to cover his loins, it was easy to find a place to bleed him. Chanting softly, she made a quick incision in his thigh. Dark red blood flowed from the cut into the goblet.

She stood when the goblet was full. There was no need to bandage the wound. Vampires healed quickly from all but the most severe wounds. Even in his weakened condition, the cut in his thigh was already little more than a faint pink line. It would be gone before she left the basement.

It wasn’t until she started toward the door that she noticed the female was awake and watching her, a look of horror on her face.

“Do not bother to ask for your freedom,” Verah said before the girl could speak. “You will never see daylight again.”

With that, Verah stepped out of the cell, locked the door behind her, and left the basement.

Kay stared after the fair-haired woman who had so casually sliced into the vampire’s leg and drained his blood. What did she do with it? Surely she didn’t drink it. The mere idea made Kay gag. Perhaps she used it in casting spells.