Night Thief (9 page)

“Marguerite has no idea of the power that comes with the blood. Once she is turned, she will love me for the dark gift.”

Kane laughed, taking another step toward Rita. “Is that what the vampires are calling it now? A gift?” His mouth twisted in disgust. “Only a mortal would consider eternity a gift.” He narrowed his gaze at Antoine. “It is a responsibility, a burden…never a gift.” He gestured toward the women. “You should be protecting them, not feeding off them like cattle.”

Rita met his eyes and glanced toward the girl tied to the chair. She wanted him to save her cousin first. There wouldn’t be time to grab them both. And nothing in this world could make him leave Rita with Antoine.

He needed to kill him.

Antoine ran his tongue along his teeth. “You think you are so much better than me, but I know the scent of their blood calls to you. It tempts you right now. You want to taste them, to feel the warmth and power of their blood spreading through your limbs.”

Rita stared up at him, and his gut clenched. He did hunger for her. But not like this.

Kane glared at the vampire, his eyes glowing crimson. Antoine smashed a chair, snatching up the jagged leg and rushed toward him. Kane dodged the blow and moved to Rita’s side. “Run. Now.”

He added a mental push to his words, but even in her weakened state, her stubborn will remained at full strength. “I will not leave my cousin with him.”

“I will take care of him. Go.”

Antoine swung the chair leg like a machete, tearing through the sleeve of Kane’s shirt and slicing his bicep below his shoulder.

Kane caught the weapon on the next swing and jerked it free from Antoine’s grasp. The vampire wasted no time snatching up another chair leg, brandishing it like a sword. Kane dropped the leg and pursued Antoine.

…

Marguerite rallied her strength and resolve to get out of the chair. Her legs felt weak, and her body ached, but she made it over to Callia and knelt beside her. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched the immortals circling one another. Kane’s wound bled through the fabric of his shirt, but it didn’t seem to weaken him.

Callia pulled her dress up to cover herself, and tried to help Marguerite with the knots on her other wrist. Antoine launched another chair. A chair leg caught the chandelier, and it crashed to the floor, cracking the oil lamp in the center. Fire erupted, feeding on the spilled oil and igniting the rug with an inhuman roar. Smoke and flames filled the center of the large room, a barrier between the north and south doorways.

Antoine screeched, drawing Marguerite’s attention from the knot. Kane glanced her way, meeting her eyes. His deep voice filled her mind.

Hurry, before the smoke poisons you
.

Her eyes stung, and she nodded in answer. Marguerite scrambled to help her cousin free her other hand. Antoine rushed through the black smoke and speared Kane’s chest with the sharp end of the chair. Marguerite screamed, jumping to her feet. In spite of the smoke and her light-headedness, she stumbled toward Kane.

Blood spilled down the front of his shirt, and his legs buckled. Kane winced, falling forward, and Marguerite caught him. Clutching him under his arms, she tried to drag him away from Antoine. The wet stake poked her abdomen through her thin nightgown until she had to bite back the bile rising in her throat.

Kane whispered against her shoulder. “I thought I told you to run.”

Her eyes widened, and she released her hold on him, coughing when the smoke assaulted her lungs. “You are alive.”

The sight of his crooked smile made her heart flip in spite of hell itself raging around them. “It takes more than a wooden stake to stop a Night Walker.”

…

Antoine stumbled forward while Kane turned to face him. The vampire frowned, and his mouth opened repeatedly like a fish out of water. “This is impossible.” His gaze moved from the stake to meet Kane’s eyes. “What are you?”

Kane gripped the end of the chair leg and yanked it free of his chest. His eyes burned until he knew they blazed crimson with rage. Blood oozed from the wound and pain blossomed through his chest. His body rushed to heal while he took a step toward his adversary, slapping the bloody chair leg against his other palm.

Antoine took a step back, away from Kane and the fire. He shook his head. “Impossible. You should be dead.”

“You will be.” Kane grimaced, straightening to ease the ache in his chest. “Very soon.”

Before Kane could thrust the stake through his chest, Antoine bolted with preternatural speed to Callia’s chair and pulled a dagger from his belt. Callia gasped, pulling the thick smoke deep into her lungs.

“Come any closer, and I will kill her.” He pressed his blade to Callia’s throat.

The girl’s eyes were red and weepy, her chest heaving for oxygen. The heat of the fire burned Kane’s skin, but he would recover. If he did not get the women away from the fire soon, the smoke would suffocate them. Marguerite crawled toward the door with part of her gown covering her mouth and nose, staying close to the ground.

Kane had to keep the vampire distracted until Marguerite was safely out of the room. His chest throbbed while his body continued to heal the gaping wound.

Speed would not be on his side at the moment.

“You disappoint me, vampire. Hiding behind a mortal shield? What a pathetic display for an immortal who claims to wield such power.”

The fire licked its way up through the ceiling. Lumber creaked, whining over the roar of the hungry flames. Ash rained on them like snow, settling in Kane’s hair and eyelashes.

“Let the girl go.” Kane infused his words with a strong compulsion, his eyes narrowing.

Antoine’s hand trembled against the girl’s throat, fear flickering in his eyes. Suddenly, Callia’s eyes rolled back and her head lulled forward onto the sharpened blade. Kane rushed toward her and Antoine dropped the dagger, then ran.

Kane ached to pursue the vampire, but he had to get the women away from the fire.

He used the dagger to cut the ropes free from the chair. Scooping the wounded girl into one arm, he rushed to Marguerite, sliding his arm around her waist. Carefully, he maneuvered around the fallen logs that once braced the roof, avoiding the flames and smoldering embers until he had the women out of the burning house. Once they were a safe distance away, he released Marguerite and laid her cousin on the ground outside the stable.

Marguerite fell to her knees. “Please. You have to do something. Heal her like you did for me. Please Kane.”

Kane bit into his own wrist, allowing his blood to drip onto her cousin’s neck wound, hoping it would heal. He feared she had already lost too much blood. While his blood worked to heal the cut, he used his finger to cover every puncture left behind by Antoine’s fangs.

Even if she didn’t survive her injuries, the authorities would not find the wounds on her body.

Marguerite coughed, cradling her cousin’s head on her lap and smoothing back her blood-soaked hair. “It is over now, Callia. Antoine cannot hurt us anymore. Stay with me.”

She bent to kiss the girl’s forehead, and Kane knelt beside her, inspecting the deep wound across Callia’s neck. The skin had healed, but time would tell if her internal injuries would mend. He’d done all he could without transforming her.

Marguerite looked up at him, her cheeks streaked with tears, and her mouth and nostrils lined with soot. “She is healed? You saved her?”

“Her wounds are healed. The rest is up to her.” He moved in closer, lowering his voice. “You saved her. You kept Antoine’s attention on you.”

She pressed her lips together and glanced down at her cousin. “I want to kill him. I should feel guilt for even considering taking a life, but I feel no remorse or regret.” Her blue eyes were full of tears when she glanced up at him. “He has poisoned me even without his blood in my veins.”

Kane reached to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin. “You are a warrior, Rita. A warrior does what must be done. There is no time for remorse or regret.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered, “Let me heal your wounds.”

She trembled, tilting her head slightly. His lips brushed along her throat, and her heart raced. Her body tensed beside him.

“You are safe. I will never harm you.” He pressed a soft kiss to her skin just above the wounds Antoine left behind. Slicing his tongue across his fangs, Kane pressed his mouth to her neck, tenderly allowing his blood to heal her, kissing away all traces of injury.

He wished he could do the same for her mental wounds.

Kane drew back, relieved to see her skin unblemished. Rita kept her eyes downcast, staring at her cousin’s face. “Merci.”

He didn’t press for more.

Her cousin’s heart still beat, weak and too quickly, but she lived.

He could hear shouts from the house staff over the roar of the fire as they passed buckets of water to douse the fire. They couldn’t stay. Rita trembled beside him. Kane removed his shirt, intent on offering it to her, but seeing the holes and the blood stains, he reconsidered and tucked it in the back of his pants. “We need to get you both home.”

“Take Callia first.” She glanced up at him. “You can move faster than the wind.”

He shook his head. “Antoine escaped.” He pulled Rita close and cradled her cousin in his other arm. “Until I find him, you will not be alone at night.”

Rita didn’t argue. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he kissed her hair, grateful to know she was safe. Without a word, he clutched both women tightly and, faster than any human could see, he was gone.

Chapter Ten

Marguerite hadn’t left Callia’s side in a week. Since the fire, her cousin experienced only brief periods of lucidity. Gerard and Marie brought Callia broth, and Kane purchased the most expensive Ipecacuanha Wine and opium elixir to quiet her coughing.

But every day, her cousin grew weaker.

Sponging Callia’s forehead, Marguerite smiled when the girl looked up at her. Her green eyes had finally cleared of the red brought on by the smoke.

Now her lungs needed to do the same.

“Bonjour, Cousin.” Callia sounded hoarse. Her lips cracked into a weak smile.

“Bonjour.” Marguerite kissed Callia’s forehead, grateful to hear her voice. “Are you hungry? Marie has broth warming for you.”

Callia shook her head. “My throat hurts too much to swallow soup. I want to talk to you.”

“All right.” Marguerite returned the washcloth to the porcelain basin. “But you should be resting.”

“Where is he?”

“He?” A wrinkle marred Marguerite’s brow. “Gerard?”

“No.” Callia coughed, struggling for breath. “Monsieur Bordeaux.”

“Kane?” Marguerite glanced at the lengthening afternoon shadows through the window. “He will be here soon.”

“Not until sundown.”

Marguerite swallowed and nodded. How much did Callia remember of that night?

“Antoine buried a wooden stake in his chest, and he did not die.”

“You should rest, Callia.” Marguerite reached for the basin, hoping to change the subject. She’d hardly seen Kane except to take the medicines and elixirs he brought for her cousin. He busied himself patrolling the city for Antoine.

Callia winced, struggling to clear her throat. “He is not a man, but he is not a vampire like Antoine.”

Marguerite sighed, glancing over her shoulder to be certain they were alone. “He is a Night Walker. He avoids daylight and lives on blood, just like Antoine did. But apparently, cannot be killed like a vampire.”

Callia pulled her hand from under the blankets, placing it in Marguerite’s, her gaze intent and coherent. “He saved my life.”

Marguerite kissed her forehead. “He did.”

“Then he is nothing like Antoine.” She let her eyes drift closed. “Do you love him?”

Marguerite coughed with surprise. “Rest now. When your lungs are clear, we will start our new life across the ocean.”

Her lashes fluttered, and Callia squeezed her hand. “We do not need to hide anymore. Monsieur Bordeaux will keep us safe from Antoine.”

Marguerite’s eyes felt hot, welling with tears. “I cannot stay here, Callia. Every night I wonder who has died so that Kane lives.” Her voice hitched. “Every man I have ever cared for turned into a monster. First my father, then Antoine. I will not stay to watch Kane become someone I fear.”

Callia coughed, holding her chest before opening her eyes again. “I see the way he looks at you. He cares for you. He saved my life.” She swallowed and drew in a shallow breath. “You may be older than me, but I know your heart, Cousin. You should listen to what it tells you.”

Her breathing slowed into a restful sleep, and Marguerite withdrew her hand, wiping away a tear. She rested her arms on the edge of the bed and sighed. Her heart had betrayed her so many times before.

Why should she trust it now?

The door creaked open, and Marguerite’s head popped up. Had she fallen asleep? Candlelight danced on the walls, and Kane entered with a silver serving tray. Placing it on the table, he closed the door and returned to her side.

“I brought soup and fresh croissants.” He sat down across from her. “You are so busy caring for Callia. You forget to care for yourself.”

“Merci.” She lifted a spoonful of the creamy soup to her mouth, blowing gently to cool it. “It smells delicious.” She took a bite, moaning as she swallowed. “It tastes even better.”

Kane smiled, and her pulse jumped. She’d almost forgotten how glorious it looked on him.

“I cannot take credit. I only delivered Marie’s creation.”

“Please give her my gratitude.”

He nodded and glanced at Callia. “Is she improving?”

Marguerite broke off a piece of the croissant and nodded. “I believe so. The doctor said as long as no fever sets in, she should recover.”

“I wish I could do more to help her.” He paused, his voice low. “And you.”

His gaze caught hers and, for a moment, it felt as though he could see straight into her soul. “Thank you for all your help. Callia would be gone if not for you.”

He reached across the table and took her hand, his touch sparking fire through her veins. “I will always be here to help you.”

She withdrew her hand, her heart already aching at the lost contact. “Antoine saved me once.” She stared at her sleeping cousin. “My father took to the bottle after my mother died giving birth to my brother. The baby died within a week. As I got older, he said I looked like her. So, he beat me. Often.

“Antoine bought a horse my father trained. He noticed my bruised face and…” She sighed and glanced his way. “I am telling you this because Antoine was not always the monster he became. I cannot bear seeing another man I care for transformed into a hideous shadow of himself. I couldn’t bear to find myself living with a monster again.”

“Is that why you hide yourself away in this room?” Kane stood up, frowning. “Those men were weak. I am not your father, and I am
not
Antoine.” He walked to the door and stopped without turning back. “I have been called many things throughout the centuries, but until I met you, no one dared to call me a monster.”

“I would give you the world if I could.” He opened the door and glanced back over his shoulder. “But I was created a Night Walker. I will never be a mortal man. Not even for you.”

…

A war raged inside Kane, and the jaguar roared with frustration. He still hadn’t located the vampire. Every night, he hunted for him, searching the dark alleys for places the vampire might feed, opening his mind to mortal thoughts, for any sign of a blood drinker.

Antoine’s home had burned to the ground. All of Paris assumed he’d perished in the fire. Only he and Rita knew the truth.

Until he killed the vampire, he couldn’t be certain of Rita’s safety.

He stood outside Kukulkan’s stall, scratching the stallion’s neck and staring at the one lit window of the
maison
. Callia’s room. He should accept Rita’s retreat from his life. Seeing her bleeding and victimized by the vampire that night had reawakened his past failures to protect people who looked to him for their defense. She could have died.

The knowledge brought true fear into his world.

He rubbed at the scar on his chest. The slick, raised skin stood as an eternal reminder of his inability to save his people. It remained the only blemish on his immortal flesh.

When the demon had crossed into the world of man and slaughtered the Mayan people, Kane hadn’t been able to find a way to stop her. Instead, he attacked her, knowing he couldn’t win the battle.

But he’d needed to do
something
.

Finding himself unable to protect his people from the demon’s appetite introduced him to his first taste of real fear. It mutated into bitter frustration and raw anger until he allowed his emotions to make his decisions for him.

Even wrestling against an unbeatable foe felt better than doing nothing.

In the end, his efforts landed him on a boat, traveling across the ocean to France. After that night, the Great Separation, the four immortal brothers had scattered to the far corners of the world. He never saw his brothers again.

The moment he’d witnessed Rita in peril, all his past failures reared up to remind him that nothing would save her. In the end, death would still steal her from him no matter how well he protected her.

It was enough to drive him mad.

His flawed heart apparently welcomed madness. His heart wanted to spend every moment of the time she had left in this world with her, to share every smile, to love her.

Love.

He’d tried to deny it and respect the distance she placed between them while she cared for her cousin. Loving a mortal, knowing he would eventually lose her, hurt him in ways his immortal blood could never heal.

But denying himself her touch, the scent of her hair, her stubborn will… It would hurt more not to love her while he had the chance. How could he let her go now that he knew how she felt in his arms, the sight of her blissful smile after they made love? One night would never be enough.

Kane paced in the center of the barn. Kukulkan followed his movements, his large black head swaying back and forth with his ears pricked attentively toward his master.

“If I let her go now, regret will taunt me for eternity, but if I succumb to my feelings for her, watching her grow old and knowing she will die…” He shook his head and walked toward his horse. “She will go on to a world where I cannot follow.” The words constricted his throat as he stroked Kukulkan’s face. His horse nuzzled into his chest. “I do not know if I am strong enough for love, my friend.”

He stroked his hand down the Friesian’s thick neck. “Not that she wants my love.” Bitterness crept into his voice, and he welcomed it. Anything to keep the ache at bay. “She judges me a monster. How far has the God of the East fallen to allow a mortal to pass judgment over me? I am a Night Walker. I uphold the mortal world, protect it.”

Kane rubbed under Kukulkan’s jaw until his stallion’s upper lip quivered in pleasure. “Perhaps that is what captivates me. Rita is a puzzle of contradictions. She would give up her life to save her cousin, and yet she has no regrets when she steals a man’s coin purse. Or his watch.”

The memory of that night brought a smile. “She worried that worthless vampire might hurt me.” He leaned against the stall door. The horse nickered, encouraging Kane as if he understood every word. “No one, other than my immortal brothers, ever showed concern for my welfare.”

The stallion nudged him with his muzzle.

“You are a good listener, my friend.”

Kukulkan answered by sneezing on him. Kane laughed in spite of himself, grateful for the respite from his thoughts.

Tomorrow he would try to talk with Rita. Hopefully, she would listen as well as his horse. The corner of his mouth curved slightly. She would do no such thing.

That strong will was part of the reason he loved her.

…

Marguerite woke up stiff and disoriented in her chair. Stretching, she frowned and looked around the room. Callia’s room. It was still dark outside, but it sounded like a teapot boiled, blowing steam.

She turned toward her cousin, and her heart sank. In the faint glow of the oil lamp, her skin gleamed with perspiration. Marguerite moved to her bedside and pressed her hand to her cousin’s forehead.

Fever.

Turning up the light on the lamp, she stared at Callia’s gaunt face, and her eyes welled with tears. Callia’s eyelids and lips were discolored, a gray-blue, far from the color of healthy flesh. Marguerite reached for the basin and quietly left the room. In the kitchen, she emptied the basin and filled it with fresh water. She stoked the fire in the stove, begging the flames to heat the water quickly.

Gerard tottered in, wearing his robe. “Can I help?”

Marguerite nodded, fighting back tears. “Callia has a fever, and her breath wheezes from her lungs like a tea kettle.”

“I will fetch the doctor.” He hustled away, no longer dazed by sleep.

“Merci, Gerard.”

Marguerite wrapped kitchen rags around her hands to keep from burning herself on the basin, and hurried back to Callia’s side. She dipped a rag into the water and cleaned the fevered sweat from her cousin’s brow.

“Please, Callia. Stay with me.” The noise from dipping the rag in the basin and wringing the excess water became a comfort. It kept her from hearing the labor in each of Callia’s breaths. “Gerard is fetching the doctor. He will be here soon with an elixir to help you breathe.”

Callia started to shiver, her teeth chattering together. Marguerite rushed to the fireplace, stoking the embers until angry flames leapt up the flue. She added another log to the fire, watching the sparks fly.

Heat radiated into the room. Marguerite replaced the poker against the fireplace and returned to her vigil at Callia’s side, finding her cousin’s eyes open.

“Cousin?”

Marguerite leaned in close to hear her soft, raspy whisper.

“I am here, Callia.”

She clasped Marguerite’s hands. Her skin felt clammy. “Angels are coming for me.”

“No.” Marguerite blinked back tears. “You are strong. The doctor will heal you.”

She shook her head. “I cannot catch my breath.” Her chest heaved in short breaths like a panting housedog. “My chest hurts. I do not wish to live in pain.”

A tear rolled down Marguerite’s cheek. “The doctor will ease the pain.”

She pressed her blue lips together, and opened them again, gasping for more small sips of air. Her green eyes wandered up until she met her gaze. “Have you ever wondered what it must be like?”