One With the Night (42 page)

Jane turned to Callan, who looked just as surprised as she felt. “He … he let us go?”

“Apparently sa,” Callan muttered.

The wind off the loch took her hair and blew it about her face. She turned into the wind. The crisp cold air felt clean. The moon had risen until it was a tiny silver coin flashing a beacon of glittering light across the water. Around the loch, hills furred with trees rose protectively. It was beautiful in its own sere way. She had always known that. She had suppressed the pleasure it gave her, because to be moved by natural beauty seemed a violation of the discipline of science she aspired to embody. Tonight, that didn’t seem so important. She was alive and the world held wonders that might never be entirely explained. Oh, someday people would know what kind of creatures lived at the bottom of Loch Ness. They would be catalogued and categorized. Someday science would know perhaps even how the creature that shared her body metabolized the blood she drank, or why she could blink out of space using its power.

But for now, those mysteries weren’t important. She was alive, and the world was beautiful. Even Scotland, so poor and so sere, had beauty.

Far away to her left, lights flickered in the cottages of Drumnadrochit. The villagers would be gathered, telling and retelling the tales of the beasts that rose from the sea. This night would live in their stories, growing and changing until it became a myth, perhaps unrecognizable to any who knew what actually happened here.

In times to come, of course, no one would know. Everyone would be dead.

Except her. Except Callan.

Life stretched ahead in an unbroken sweep of years. There was time enough for everything. Frightening … exhilarating. What would she do with all that lay in front of her? That was a more important mystery. Sorrow lay ahead, perhaps jaded disinterest. A tiny hope of ecstasy. Who could know?

She felt Callan moving in to stand behind her. The pull of his body on hers was like the pull of the moon on the ocean; a tide rising deep inside her, irresistible. And that was the mystery she found more compelling than any. They had unfinished business. When Elyta had called his name, she thought he had been about to … to embrace what he felt. She wanted that. She would fight for it. Why else had she been transformed?

*   *   *

He wanted to touch her. He wanted to touch her so much his heart was slamming against his rib cage and his mouth was dry.

But he didn’t. She was free now. She had eternity ahead of her. She was resourceful, intelligent, strong-willed, beautiful. And good. Jane was intrinsically good. She’d find new ways to help people, women and their babies first, but then, who knew where it would end? She believed in goodness because she was good herself, and gave herself unstintingly. His own doubts seemed a reflection of the defects in his character.

He cleared his throat and licked his lips. The wind blew her hair back against his shoulder. “I’ll … I’ll see ye ta Fort Augustus, or Glasgow if ye like. I dinnae think we should trust ta Inverness. It’s likely she’ll ha’ gone that way.”

She turned shocked eyes on him.

“I … I ha’ plenty o’ money. I’ll see ye’re well off, and there’s whatever yer father left ye.” The words tumbled out. “Ye can set up a clinic for birthin’. Maybe in th’ New World. They will no’ bother ye there.”

Her face closed down. She looked away, toward the village. Then she looked around, at the loch, at the moon, then down at the stones of the parapet. Her silence was a rasp raking his flesh. She pulled her cloak around her. A distant smile curved her lips. Why didn’t she speak?

“You were right about me, Callan,” she said at last. To any who did not have the gift of vampire hearing, her words would have been lost in the wind. “I’ve spent my life denying who I am. I lived to please my father. I carved myself into who I thought I should be. I don’t know exactly who I am, but I want to find out.” She turned to confront him. “Now, who are you?”

“I told ye that,” he said. His throat was full. She’d ripped it out of him in the tower.

“You only told me what happened to you. Are you Scots? Irish? Catholic? Atheist? Idealist, cynic?” she prodded. Her voice sank. “Who?”

“I’m a monster, Jane,” he said. He made his voice as hard as he could.

“You said that we were monsters not by virtue of our condition, but by the condition of our souls.” Her eyes blazed now.

“Aye,” he barked. “And I told ye the condition of my soul.”

“You told me you’d suffered. That you’d been compelled to do horrible things.”

He turned away. He couldn’t stand the intensity of her gaze.

“Let me tell you what I see in you, Callan.” She stepped in closer. “I see a man who came back to sanity from treatment that would have broken any other. I see a man so courageous he took on England and vampire society in order to carve out a haven for lost souls, a man who believed in the intrinsic goodness of men so much he tried to create utopia.”

“I was a fool,” he rasped.

“And then, I see a man who, with no thought of reward, tried to use his powers to help those weaker than himself. You called them small acts. Were they? Not to those you helped. You never lost your ideals or your honor, in spite of all that’s happened to you. I call that courageous. More than that, I call it good.” She took him by the shoulders and tried to shake him, though the principal effect it had was to send the shooting fire of attraction careening through his body.

“Jane,” he said, restraining himself with the last ounce of his will from taking her in his arms. “You want me ta be worth your … attentions, but it’s all th’ power of our Companions usin’ us, willing us ta acts that affirm th’ cycle o’ life. Dinnae mistake lust for anythin’ more.”

Anger glinted in her violet eyes. She slapped him, hard. His head snapped to the side. “How dare you belittle what I feel for you! I
love
you, you prideful idiot! And don’t tell me you didn’t feel what I felt down there a few hours ago. I saw your tears. And that’s not just lust. I think it requires love to reach that … transcendence.” Her voice had sunk to a whisper. She looked frightened.

His cheek stung, but he hardly noticed. Loved him? Was that possible? “Ye’ve known me about two weeks, lass. That is no’ love.”

Her eyes got big and even more uncertain. “So … you don’t … don’t feel … it?”

He couldn’t let her doubt herself like that. “Of course I love ye,” he whispered. “I think I loved ye from th’ first days.”

They stood, looking at each other, wondering what came next.

A wicked grin struggled to reveal itself in her expression. “Sa,” she mocked his accent. “I canno’ ha’ th’ same feelin’s ye take for granted in yerself?”

When she put it that way … He cocked his head, trying to decipher her expression as though it was writ in hieroglyphics. Uncertainty, covered by mock courage. Her mockery was her defense against the fear.

He stretched out one hand to her. It was the hardest thing he had ever done, or the easiest. She pushed herself into his arms and hugged him, fiercely. He ran his hands over her back, and kissed the sweet abandon of her hair. But he had to tell her. He couldn’t let her make the mistake without warning her. “Jane,” he murmured. “Jane. We are sa different.”

“And more alike than either of us care to admit,” she said, raising her head to look up at him.

“Ye’re talking about th’ evil part?”

“I was thinking more of the stubborn, prideful part.”

“And what about th’ qualities we dinnae share? Generous, giving?”

“I think we may share those, too.”

“I dinnae yield on that point.”

“I’ll have to convince you.”

His heart began to lighten, almost of its own accord. “It might take a while.”

“Well, I think we have forever,” she said reasonably. “That seems rather nice.”

“Nice? I never thought o’ it that way.” But suddenly living long did not seem a trial.

“Maybe that’s the wrong word.” She paused, thinking. “But don’t you think, all in all, we get a fair exchange? You said you wanted to be vampire again. And I think you want to believe that you were only trying to convince me to make you. But I think you were telling the truth. The feeling of being alive, whole, the strength, the energy inside us … I think we get the better end of the bargain, and I think you think so, too.”

“How about th’ need for blood?”

“You said we could make a fair trade for those who give to us by leaving happy memories and feelings of self-worth.” She glanced up, reproachful. “You might do at least as much for yourself.”

“You’re a strong person, Jane. Stronger than I am.”

Her brows furrowed. “You
chose
to give yourself to Elyta in one of the most courageous acts I’ve ever seen. You chose to be vampire again. You had the resolution to escape Elyta. You had the plan. You called the loch’s monsters. You aren’t a victim, not anymore, not of the Companion, not even of your own nature. I’ve never met a man so strong of character.”

Deluded girl! She believed in him in spite of all evidence to the contrary. He
had
chosen. But she was wrong about what he had chosen. He didn’t choose any of what she said. He chose her. And everything else followed.

“I’ll never be th’ charming rogue I was before that time in th’ desert,” he warned her.

“I’m glad I didn’t know you then. I couldn’t have loved that man the way I love you.”

He bent and brushed his lips against hers. His Companion surged up along his veins as he deepened the kiss. Out on the water of the loch, a surge of flesh broke the water.

Jane gurgled a laugh into his mouth. “I think we’d better go collect our horses and leave these poor creatures alone. They couldn’t stand us disturbing them constantly.”

“Ye’re right,” he agreed, grinning. The way her eyes lighted when he grinned was a revelation. He resolved to do more of it. But right now he wanted to get somewhere where he could do this moment of decision justice. Jane’s room at Muir Farm would do nicely. He wanted to make love to Jane in the twilight and at midnight, in the long slow ebb of night toward morning, in darkened rooms before they slept, in moonlight. His insides felt like some of Jane’s aspic. Could it be that she wanted to be with him? He had to warn her. “Forever is a long time, Jane. Who knows…?”

“Who knows, indeed?” She stretched up for another kiss. “We must take our chances.”

A flare of hope shot through him, mingled with the electric charge of her touch. “I warn ye,” he said slowly, pulling away from her mouth. “I am verra lucky at games o’ chance.”

She smiled. That expression in her eyes—he’d seen it before in recent days. Could it be … could it be love? The flare of hope leaped into a burning flame.

“I warn ye. I’m going ta buy ye dresses, Jane Blundell. Red and violet like yer eyes.”

She nodded, tears filling her eyes. “I’d like that.”

“If ye dinnae mind, I’d like ta settle in Edinburgh, at least for a while.”

She raised her brows, not doubting, just curious.

He took a breath. “I’m a Scot. Edinburgh might actually be home.”

Her smile kindled something inside him, in his heart, in his loins … “Edinburgh it is.” She swallowed, and he knew what she would say next came hard for her. “Do you think it’s possible … that we could have a child?”

Of course she wanted a child. She’d been a barren spectator in the world’s cycle of fecundity for too long. “I dinnae know.” He moved a strand of hair from her lips and tucked it behind her ear. Jane should have lots of children rather than just birthing other women’s babies. “Anythin’ seems possible.” He grinned at her. “It’ll take lots o’ effort, of course.”

He saw the gleam of mischief in her eyes. How she would torment him in the coming years with that dear mockery! “I think we should get started right away.” She took his hand.

“Back ta th’ farm then, first, before anythin’ else.” He smiled. He was going to show her the other things he could do with his mouth besides grin, this time at a long, leisurely pace.

They drew their power, together.

Praise for
New York Times
Bestselling Author

Susan Squires

THE BURNING

“A terrific tale … the story line is action-packed.”

—Midwest Book Review

“Blazingly hot and erotic.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Marvelously rich, emotionally charged, imaginative, and beautifully written.”

—BookLoons

“A fantastic erotic vampire thriller.”

—Fresh Fiction

THE COMPANION

“A darkly compelling vampire romance … the plot keeps the reader turning the pages long into the night.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“Bestseller Squires charts a new direction with this exotic, extremely erotic, and darkly dangerous Regency-set paranormal tale. With her ability to create powerful and tormented characters, Squires has developed a novel that is graphic, gripping, and unforgettable.”

—Romantic Times
(4½ starred review)

“Travel through Egypt’s deserts and London’s society with two of the most intriguing characters you will ever read about. You will encounter a dark world that is intense, scary, and sexy, and a love that will brighten it … powerful and passionate … captivating … Squires has a wonderful ability to keep her readers glued to the edge of their seats.”

—Romance Junkies

“A vibrant, riveting, and sometimes just plain scary novel that should satisfy anyone—including the man in your life—who enjoys paranormal tales … Squires’s saga is off to an intriguing start.”

—All About Romance

“Squires does a fantastic job of taking an old tale of vampirism, and spinning it into a new and fresh tale with characters who intrigue and captivate.”

—Fallen Angel Reviews