Night's Mistress (Children of the Night) (26 page)

When her heartbeat was no more than a whisper, when she lay across his lap like a pale rag doll, he bit into his wrist and held the bleeding wound to her lips. The rest was up to her.

“Drink, Mara,” he murmured, his tears falling like crimson rain onto her ashen cheeks. “Drink and live.”

For a moment, he feared he had taken too much, but then, after a few drops of his blood had dripped onto her tongue, her mouth fastened onto the wound. Logan closed his eyes in ecstasy as his blood revived her. Her heartbeat grew stronger, steadier.

Looking down at her, he saw that the dark shadows had faded from beneath her eyes, color bloomed in her cheeks.

Murmuring, “Enough,” he tried to draw his arm away, but she held on tightly, greedily. “Enough, Mara!” he said, and wrenched his arm from her grasp. In her present condition, she would drain him dry if given the chance.

After sealing the wounds in her neck, he carried her upstairs to his bedroom, held her in his arms through the last dark hours before dawn as her body sloughed off its humanity.

As she writhed in pain, it reminded him all too clearly of his own mortal death, something he hadn’t thought of in centuries. Mara had stayed at his side, talking him through the worst of it, assuring him that it was normal, that it would pass, that there was nothing to fear.

And so he held her now, murmuring to her in his native tongue, telling her that he loved her. Whether she heard him or not, he didn’t know. Had he taken too much? Perhaps he hadn’t given her enough of his blood to sustain life.

Just before dawn, she surrendered to the Dark Sleep. As gently as he could, he removed her clothing and put her to bed. After stripping off his own attire, he slipped under the covers and gathered her into his arms. All he could do now was wait.

Would she rise as a newly made vampire with the setting of the sun, or would death steal her away from him forever?

 

Ramsden examined his wife a second time, a vile oath escaping his lips as he turned away from the bed and stalked out of the room. She wasn’t pregnant. Why hadn’t it worked? Bowden had impregnated Mara. Why had his sperm failed to impregnate Janis? It had to be because Mara had been reverting to humanity when she became pregnant. It was the only answer that made sense. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner?

Maybe it was time to give up. Bowden was growing weaker, but that was to be expected, what with the amount of blood Ramsden had been taking from him. In addition to what he took for experimental purposes, Edna and Pearl had fed from the man a few times, as had Janis. Bowden no longer objected; no longer demanded to know where his son was, no longer paced for hours on end. He just sat in a corner of his cage, his face gaunt, his expression blank, a beaten man on the brink of death.

Aside from that, Edna and Pearl hadn’t had any success in learning why Bowden carried the werewolf gene but didn’t transform during the full moon. Few werewolves were born; most were infected by the bite of another. Either way, they were compelled to change when the moon was full, but the lunar cycle had no effect on Bowden.

Then there was the baby. The child should have been growing; instead, it grew weaker and more listless with every passing day. And now Janis was harassing Tom again, accusing him of bringing her an inferior baby, nagging him to find her another child, one that was older, stronger. Ramsden wasn’t sure, but he thought the cause of the baby’s declining health was because Janis was feeding off the baby. She had denied it, of course.

Going into the lab, he closed and locked the door. In spite of all the tests, he hadn’t been able to determine if the child carried the werewolf gene, nor had he been able to detect any indication that it was likely to become a vampire. As far as he could tell, the baby was just a normal male. Given the brat’s heritage, that didn’t make any sense at all.

Filled with frustration, he hurled a tray of empty test tubes against the wall. “All for nothing,” he muttered. “All that time wasted, and for what?”

He was fed up with Janis, sick and tired of Edna and Pearl and their infernal chatter, weary of being cooped up with a crying baby and a half-dead mortal. He hadn’t survived this long by being stupid. It was time to admit defeat and call it quits.

Tomorrow night, he would get rid of his shrew of a wife, then drain the man and the child. As for Pearl and Edna . . . He grunted softly. He doubted they would cause him any trouble in the future, but it was better to make sure now, while he had the chance. When all the loose ends were tied up, he would leave here and reinvent himself in a new city. Rome, perhaps, or Cairo, or maybe Rio. He would sever all his ties in the States, sell his property, buy a new wardrobe, pick a new name, obtain the necessary documents, and leave the country for a century or two.

The thought cheered him. He had been tied to one woman and one identity for too long. Why had he wasted his time and energy trying to find a way to impregnate female vampires? What did he care if there were female vampires who felt unfulfilled because they couldn’t bear children? Or if there were vampires who wished to regain their humanity? True, had he accomplished those goals, he could have amassed a great deal of wealth, but he didn’t need the money. He was already rich. Nor had he conducted his experiments for any altruistic reasons, but simply out of sheer boredom with Janis and his current way of life. Tomorrow night he would put it all behind him.

Whistling softly, he left the lab and went out in search of prey, something warm and fresh and overflowing with the elixir of youth.

A new life awaited him. It was time to celebrate.

 

Mara woke feeling sluggish. For a time, she lay there, wondering what was wrong. Was she sick? Had she come down with a bad case of the flu? She felt strange, almost as if she was in someone else’s body.

Sitting up, she glanced around. She was in Logan’s room, in his bed. Naked. She frowned. Had they made love? Surely she would have remembered if they had.

She blinked, suddenly realizing that she saw everything clearly even though the room was pitch black. And then she remembered. Logan had brought her across last night.

Flinging the covers aside, she threw back her head and let her senses expand. Laughter bubbled up inside her. She was Nosferatu!

The colors in the room were crystal clear and bright. She could hear the tick-tick of the mantel clock downstairs, the low hum of Logan’s computer, the drip of a faucet in the bathroom. She took a deep breath and her nostrils filled with a myriad of scents—the soap used to wash the sheets, the faint fragrance of Logan’s cologne, the promise of rain in the air, and overall, the rich, musky scent of Logan himself.

Leaping from the bed, she twirled around, her arms outstretched, her body humming with preternatural power. Oh, how she had missed it! She felt alive again, strong again. Lighter than air, now that she had shed the weight of mortality. But, most of all, she felt like Mara again. And how hungry she was. Not for bacon and eggs, but for the warm, rich blood of life itself.

She dressed quickly, then hurried downstairs.

She found Logan in the living room, staring out the window at the gathering storm.

He turned as soon as she entered the room, his gaze moving over her, his expression one of relief.

She smiled at him, a brilliant smile filled with happiness, and a hint of fang. “You did it!” she said exuberantly, and throwing herself into his arms, she kissed him soundly. “Thank you!”

“You don’t hate me then?”

“Hate you? Why would I hate you?”

He shrugged. “In spite of what you said to the contrary, you seemed to like being human, eating, drinking . . .” His gaze searched hers. “No regrets?”

“No.” She lifted her arms over her head. “I feel like me again! And I need to hunt!”

Anticipation rose up within her at the thought. She remembered how it had been when she had been turned the first time. The hunger had been insatiable, uncontrollable. With no one to teach her, no one to guide her, she’d had no way of knowing that she could feed without killing. She had hunted among rich and poor alike, untroubled by guilt. She was a vampire. Humans were her natural prey. It was only later that she had discovered she could satisfy her hunger by feeding from many instead of killing one; only later that she had learned she didn’t have to hunt them down at all. No, it was far more pleasant to seduce them, to give them pleasure and find a deeper pleasure in return. But tonight, ah, tonight she wasn’t interested in seducing her prey; she wanted to experience the excitement of the hunt, feel her prey’s fear as she closed in, hear the frantic beating of a human heart, and feed. Feed until she was sated.

She glanced at Logan then, a smile of anticipation on her lips as she left the house, certain he would follow.

Logan trailed after her, hanging back as she prowled the dark alleys of the city, and it was as if she had never been human, never been anything but the Queen of the Vampires. She stalked her first victim, trapped him in the web of her stare, and took what she wanted. Logan feared she would drain the man dry, but she took only a little, and moved on.

She called the second man to her, quick and confident, took what she needed, and moved on.

Logan couldn’t stop watching her—the glow in her eyes, the way she moved, like liquid silver. The sound of her laughter warmed his heart and yet he waited on tenterhooks, waited for her to say she was leaving him. She made no mention of the baby or Kyle. Had she forgotten them completely, or only for the moment?

She fed and fed again, until she was drunk on the taste of the crimson nectar. With her hunger satisfied, she left the city and returned to her home in the hills of Hollywood.

And Logan followed her, as he had always followed her.

Mara stood in the front yard, her gaze searching the darkness, jubilation filling her as she reveled in her restored powers. It was dark, but nothing was hidden from her. She saw and heard everything clearly, the delicate veins in the leaf of a tree, the rustle of feathers as a bird stirred in a nest overhead. A deep breath filled her nostrils with the scent of earth and foliage and the stink of an animal long dead.

A thought, and she transformed herself into swirling mist. She floated over Logan for a moment before resuming her own form, laughter again bubbling from her throat as her feet touched the ground.

Logan’s laughter joined hers. Bound by blood, he knew what she was feeling, thinking. Like a proud parent, he watched her test her powers. She changed into a beautiful black wolf with startling green eyes. Resuming her own form once again, she held her arms out at her sides, palms up, and rose into the air. She hovered there a moment, then drifted slowly to the ground, her eyes glowing with delight.

“Oh, how I’ve missed this!” She twirled around, arms outstretched, spinning faster and faster, until she would have been a blur to any eyes but his.

She was like a woman reborn, he thought. Venus rising from the sea. Eternally young, eternally beautiful.

She lifted her face toward the heavens, her eyes closed as she communed with the darkness, as she became one with the night. He could feel her summoning her power, drawing it around her like an invisible cloak. It lifted the hair along his nape.

Thick black clouds gathered overhead. Bolts of jagged yellow lightning slashed through the darkened skies. Thunder rolled across the heavens and shook the earth.

Logan watched in awe. She was a newly made vampire. Most were weak, uncertain. But not Mara. He knew he was responsible for her strength, at least in part, because he had never bequeathed the Dark Gift to another. Never weakened his power by sharing it. He was an old vampire, and his blood was ancient and powerful. Had anyone else turned her, she wouldn’t be as strong as she was, but his blood was her blood, older than any other.

She continued to draw on her power, reveling in it. It hummed through the air, vibrant and alive, a physical force manifested in the elements. The wind whipped around them, seeming to gather its strength from her presence.

She looked like an ancient goddess standing there, her long black hair blowing in the wind, her skin translucent, her arms lifted over her head.

He yearned to go to her, to pull her into his arms and make love to her, there in the grass, with the storm raging all around them. But his honor forbade it. Undead or mortal, she still had a husband, even though she seemed to have forgotten both Kyle and the child, at least for the moment.

He didn’t know how long they stood there. An hour, a year. Time lost its meaning as he stared at her, his mind replaying every night, every moment, they had shared. He had known, from the instant she had turned him, that he would never love anyone else. He had made love to women, countless women, beautiful women, but he had loved none of them. Only Mara. Always Mara.

Slowly, she lowered her arms to her sides. When she opened her eyes, the thunder grew quiet, the lightning ceased, the wind stilled.

“I know where they are.” Her voice was like smooth velvet over steel, her eyes as deep and cold as the grave. “We have to hurry.”

 

“Why, Tom?” Eyes wide and scared, Janis Ramsden backed away from her husband. “Why are you doing this?”

She bolted for the door as he came after her, murder in his eyes, but he was too quick for her. She screamed as his hand closed around her arm, his grip like iron.

Like any wild animal, she fought viciously for her life. Crying with despair, she used every ounce of strength and power she possessed, but she was no match for her husband. He wrestled her down to the floor, his eyes blazing with an unholy light as he straddled her hips, one of his hands grasping both of hers.

She rolled her head back and forth, sobbing, “Tom, please don’t do this!” as he pulled a wooden stake from under his coat. “No! No!” She screamed as he drove the stake deep into her heart, murmured, “Why, Tom?” as the light slowly went out of her eyes.

Ramsden left her body where it lay. He felt no regret for what he had done, no remorse at her death. He had made her; now that he was tired of her, it was his right to destroy her.

Taking a deep breath, Ramsden glanced at the child asleep in the crib. Some near-forgotten hint of compassion refused to let him leave the child in the same room with a dead woman. Dragging a blanket from the bed, Ramsden wrapped it around his wife’s body, then carried it outside and dumped it by the back door where it would disintegrate in the morning.

The two old women were next on his list. One thing he had always been careful to do was tie up all the loose ends from his old life when he was about to embark on a new one.

A quick search of their rooms and he knew Edna and Pearl had packed up and gone. How had they known? He smiled faintly. They might be old women and relatively new vampires, but they were smarter than they looked. They must have sensed that something was in the air. Deciding to err on the side of caution, they had fled without a word. Smart, he thought. Last night, he hadn’t quite made up his mind about whether or not to destroy them. Had he found them now, when his bloodlust was running hot, they wouldn’t have stood a chance. Smart, he thought again. Having gained his admiration, he decided to let them live, at least for the time being.

As soon as he disposed of the man and the child, he would be on his way. Although he had not yet decided on a destination, he was leaning toward Italy. It had been too long since he had walked among the ruins of the Colosseum, or viewed the beauty of the Pantheon, a remarkable building the Romans had built to honor the gods. Yes, he mused, far too long since he had ridden a gondola through the canals, admired the frescoes in the Sistine Chapel, made love to a hot-blooded Italian woman. Yes, Italy, he decided, suddenly anxious to see Rome.

But first he had to get rid of the man and the child.

Walking down the corridor toward the lab, he smiled faintly. Nothing like a good meal before bedtime.