Night's Pleasure (11 page)

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.

Of course, even though he couldn't force his way into her house, he could always hypnotize her and call her to him. With his preternatural power, he could compel her to do anything he wished, but there was damned little pleasure in that, he thought irritably. Might as well make love to a robot.

Muttering an oath, he began to pace back and forth in front of her house. He was a Vampire, the most powerful creature on the face of the earth, kept from what he wanted by a stubborn woman and a slab of wood.

But not for long.

Savanah couldn't sleep. She had taken a long, hot bath, hoping it would relax her, slipped into her favorite comfy PJs and a fluffy white robe, then drank a cup of herbal tea laced with honey and a touch of brandy, but sleep wouldn't come.

Rising, she went into her father's bedroom and curled up in the easy chair next to the window. Sitting there, with her legs folded beneath her and one hand clasped around her mother's silver crucifix, she made a mental list of everyone her father had known. It was possible that a complete stranger had killed him, but highly unlikely. Murders were usually committed by a family member or a friend of the victim. Since Savanah hadn't done it, the only family left was her father's brother, Arthur, who lived in New York City, and his cousin, Frank, who was somewhere in the jungles of Brazil. As for acquaintances, there were too many to name.

Who would have wanted her father dead? And why? If only she knew what her father had been working on, it might have given her a clue, but she had no idea what story he had been pursuing, no way of knowing if there was any connection between his job and his death.

She reread the letter he had left for her. Maybe it hadn't been an acquaintance or anyone connected with the story he had been working on. Maybe he had been killed by a Vampire. But there hadn't been any telltale bites on his neck….

Savanah frowned. One of the books had mentioned that Vampires didn't always bite their victims in the neck.

Suddenly wide-awake, she ran into her office and turned on the light. Being a reporter, she had friends in some strange places, and one of them worked nights in the morgue.

Vance Rutherford answered on the first ring. “Rutherford, County Morgue.”

“Hi, Vance, it's me, Savanah.”

“Hey, girl, you're up late. I've been meaning to call you, but, well…”

“Thanks, Vance. Listen, I need a favor.” Savanah took a deep breath. “Do you have my…my father's records there?”

“Sure. Listen, I'm really sorry about what happened….”

“I know. Could you see if there's any mention in the report about bite marks?”

“Bite marks?” She heard the frown in his voice. “What kind of bite marks?”

“Like from a Vampire.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line before Vance said, “Sure. Hang on.”

Savanah prayed she was wrong, but it was the only answer that made any sense. There had been no signs of a struggle, no bloodstains on the floor, no knife wound, no gunshot wound. Thus far, the coroner hadn't determined the cause of death.

“You there?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Is there…?”

“The coroner's report said there was very little blood left in the body. The only injuries he found were a shallow cut on the back of the deceased's…” Vance cleared his throat. “On the back of your father's head, and two small puncture wounds on the inside of his left arm, just below his elbow.” Vance muttered an oath. “You don't think the Supernaturals are at it again, do you?”

“I don't know. I hope not.”

“Me, too. I was just a teenager back then, but I remember those days. My old lady wouldn't let me out of the house after dark. Sure put a cramp in my love life.” He cleared his throat, as though realizing that levity was out of line at the moment. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“No. Thanks, Vance, you've been a big help.”

“Don't mention it.”

She paused a moment before asking, “Have there been any other suspicious deaths in the last month or so?”

“I don't know. I've been on vacation. I just got back to work a couple of days ago. Hang on and I'll check.”

Savanah heard the faint tap of computer keys, then a low whistle.

“Damn! We've had five deaths similar to your father's in the last three weeks, and two cases where the victims were mutilated.”

Savanah frowned. Seven suspicious deaths in the last three weeks and she hadn't heard about them? Why had their deaths been kept from the public?

“Can you hang on a minute, Vance?”

“Sure, quiet as a tomb here. Oh, sorry.”

Savanah carried the phone to her computer. It took only a few minutes to call up the newspaper's files. “Vance, there were only three deaths listed in the obits during that time—Cecilia Roger's husband, who died of old age, Bart Matthews, who died in a car accident, and Marlynn Steffner, who passed away after a heart attack. There's no mention of any suspicious deaths.”

“Maybe because they were all strangers in town.”

“All of them?”

“Yeah.” She heard Vance typing furiously. “Four of them were college kids from back East. Their bodies were sent home after a preliminary investigation. Two were vagrants with no ID. One was an antique dealer from River's Edge.”

“Thanks, Vance.”

Savanah hung up, then sat there, feeling numb. Her father had been killed by a Vampire. Why? The war between the Vampires and the Werewolves had ended years ago. She had been a child then, hardly aware of what was going on in the world beyond her home and school. She knew now that her parents had shielded her from the worst of it. They hadn't watched the news when she was in the room, they had stopped taking the daily paper, thereby sparing her from seeing any pictures or headlines that might have upset her, or prompted questions they didn't want to answer. When the war ended, the Supernatural creatures had all just sort of faded into the woodwork. Savanah had no idea which side, if any, had won the battle for supremacy, or why the war had abruptly ended. Life had returned to normal and now, eighteen years later, it had been mostly forgotten.

She blew out a sigh. Even if a Vampire had killed her father, why now, after all this time? According to the information in the books, the last time a Vampire had been destroyed in Kelton had been shortly before the war between the Vampires and the Werewolves ended. The hunter credited with the kill was Barbara Gentry. Her mother had been killed by an unknown Vampire six months later. Since then, hunters had destroyed a few Vampires and Werewolves in other parts of the country, mostly in big cities, but there hadn't been any paranormal activity to speak of in Kelton.

Until Rane came to town.

And now her father was dead.

“No.” She refused to believe that Rane had had anything to do with her father's death. Rane might be a Vampire, a killer, but surely he wouldn't have murdered her father. But what about the other seven deaths? Was he responsible for those?

Shutting down her computer, she went into the kitchen and made another cup of tea, then went into the living room and turned on the satellite screen. She surfed through the channels until she found an old movie, but she couldn't concentrate on the images in front of her, couldn't forget that her father was dead and that Rane might have killed him.

She was dozing when the doorbell rang. Startled, she jerked upright and glanced at the clock. It was after midnight. Who would be coming to call at such an hour?

Thinking it was probably just some of the local high school kids playing ding-dong ditch, she gathered her robe around her and went to the door where she peered through the peephole.

“Rane.” His name whispered past her lips. What on earth was he doing here?

“Open up, Savanah, I know you're in there.”

How could he possibly know that? Folding her arms under her breasts, she backed away from the door, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

“Dammit, Savanah, open the door.”

She stood there, determined not to answer. There was no way he could know she was home. Even with a light on and her car in the driveway, that didn't mean she was home. She could have left a lamp burning and gone out on a date…even she didn't believe that, but it was still possible.

“Savanah, I know you're there. I can hear you breathing.”

“Go away, Rane. Please, just go away.”

“You're in danger.”

“I wouldn't be if you would just go away!”

“Not from me,” he said, his voice edged with impatience. “Dammit, I'm not going to hurt you.”

“Right,” Savanah muttered. “Everyone who believes that, raise your hand.”

“Have I ever hurt you?”

“No, but I didn't know what you were before.” Even though she was pretty sure he couldn't enter the house, she wished suddenly that she had a wooden stake close at hand.

“I haven't changed.” He didn't raise his voice, but she heard him clearly. For a moment, she was tempted to open the door, but only for a moment. Her mother and father had both met violent ends. She didn't intend to join them, not until she had destroyed the Vampire who had killed her father. And if that Vampire was Rane Cordova…then so be it.

She just wished that the sound of his voice didn't warm her soul, or spark memories of his long, lean body melding with hers. She recalled all too clearly the touch of his hands on her skin, the way his body had quivered when he rose over her, the rock-hard feel of his biceps beneath her questing fingertips.

She shook the memories away. Vampire. Vampire. Vampire! He was a monster, a creature of the night. Undead. She had to remember that and nothing else.

The Vampire has the ability to take on a pleasing shape…
She had read that in one of the books. For all she knew, Rane Cordova's appearance was a sham. In reality, he could be ugly, hairy, and misshapen, like the pitiful creature in the movie
Nosferatu.

“Savanah, I'm not leaving until you open the door.”

His stubbornness made her mad, and then she smiled. “It'll be daylight soon,” she said smugly, “and you'll have to leave.”

She jumped as something—his fist, no doubt—slammed against the door frame. “Nothing to be afraid of, huh?”

“What can I say to convince you that I'm not going to hurt you?”

“I can't think of a thing.”

“Fine, have it your way, but I'm not leaving here until the sun comes up. Your life's in danger, Savanah, but not from me. Someone is killing hunters. They killed your father.” Having checked the morgue, he knew that for a fact. “They might have killed your mother, as well. What makes you think you won't be next?”

“I don't believe you. If someone was hunting the hunters, it would be in one of the books.”

“Books?” Rane said sharply. “You mean there's more than one?”

“Yes,” she replied absently. She hadn't finished reading the black book yet. Did it hold the key to the mystery of who was killing the hunters?

Pivoting on her heel, she hurried into the living room, plucked the black book off the end table and turned to the last few pages. And there, in her father's bold handwriting, she found a list of deceased Vampire hunters. There was a period of fifteen years or so after the war ended where there were no violent deaths recorded. A few hunters had passed away from natural causes, one had been killed in a car accident, one had drowned. And then, starting about three years ago, there were reports of hunters being killed. At first, there had been only a couple deaths a year, not enough to cause alarm or suspicion. Then three or four. In the last year, eight hunters had been killed. Five were confirmed dead from Vampire attacks, three had died under suspicious circumstances, although there was no hard evidence linking their deaths to the Vampire community.

Was Rane right? Was she next on the list? Had he come to help her? Or was he the executioner? And how was she to know?

Stunned by what she had read, Savanah dropped the book on the sofa, then glanced at the front door, wondering again if Rane was to be her savior or her executioner. She couldn't avoid him forever unless she locked herself in the house every evening before the sun went down. Did she want to live as a prisoner in her own home for the rest of her life?

Did she want to die tonight? Or worse, become what he was?

She stood there a moment, wondering what she should do, and then she heard Rane's voice in her mind. Unable to resist his command, compelled by an irresistible power she didn't understand, she picked up both of the books, opened the front door, and crossed the threshold.