Yes, life was good. He had returned to the stage, performing his acts of magic and sleight of hand under the name of Iago, the Illusionist. In the last month, he had done a dozen shows in the surrounding cities. Of course, what he did wasn’t magic at all, merely an overt display of his preternatural powers. Savanah had taken a job as a columnist for the local newspaper. Occasionally, she played the part of his assistant on stage. A beautiful woman was always a welcome distraction.
Pushing away from the tree, he strolled around the yard. Even now, three months after the fact, he found it hard to believe that he was a father. Of course, the child sleeping peacefully in the nursery on the second floor wasn’t his. Vampires couldn’t create life, so Savanah had gone to a doctor who specialized in artificial insemination. Rane hadn’t been sure how he would react to being a father, or how he would feel about a child not of his own flesh and blood, but one look into Abbey Marie’s angelic face and all his doubts had fled. Savanah had given birth to the child, and that was all that mattered.
Rane shook his head. It was easy to care for an infant, but what kind of father would he be when his daughter was five, ten, a teenager? Knowing it was impossible for him to have a child, fatherhood was something he had never contemplated.
They owned the right kind of a house for raising children, though. They had bought it soon after Savanah learned she was pregnant. It was a quaint-looking, two-story blue-gray house with bright white shutters, and a backyard he was already picturing with a puppy and a swing.
He grinned into the darkness. Becoming a father had been quite a shock to his own sire. Vince Cordova had been a vampire only a short time when he’d met Cara DeLongpre. After a rather torrid and dangerous courtship, the two had married. Rane and his twin brother, Rafe, had arrived shortly thereafter. To Rane’s knowledge, his father was the only vampire who had ever fathered children.
With a sigh, Rane turned and walked back toward the house. He had almost reached the back door when Savanah stepped outside. It still amazed him that she was his. His gaze moved over her as she walked toward him. Her hair was the color of liquid moonlight, her eyes as clear and blue as a mid-summer sky. He felt a familiar warmth envelop him as she went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked.
“Just enjoying the night. What are you doing up at this hour?”
“I woke up and you weren’t beside me.”
“You should be sleeping.” Taking her by the hand, he led her to the wrought-iron bench situated under a flowering peach tree. Sitting beside her, he slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Abbey will be waking in an hour or so. You should rest while you can.”
“I know, but it’s lonely in that big old bed without you.”
“Is something troubling you?”
“No.”
He looked at her, one brow arched. “Finding me gone in the middle of the night is nothing new for you. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing. I’m just being silly, but you’ve been a little distant lately and . . . well, you’re not sorry about the baby, are you?”
“Of course not. Why would you think that?”
“Well, I know you weren’t thrilled about the idea at first.”
“Savanah, you asked if I was against it. I said no. I meant no. You didn’t ask me if I liked the idea, but none of that matters now. I couldn’t love our Abbey more if she was my own flesh and blood. I love you both, and right now I can’t imagine my life without either of you. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Rane drew her closer. “This whole parent thing takes some getting used to, you know? I never expected to be a father. I’m not sure I’ll be any good at it.”
“Well, I’ve never been a mother, either,” Savanah said with a rueful smile. “I’m not sure I’ll be any good at parenting, either.”
“One of us had better be good at it,” Rane said, kissing her lightly. “We can’t send her back now.” He gazed into the distance. “Do you think it will upset her when she’s old enough to be told what I am?”
“No. By then, she’ll know what a good man you are. Look at your mother. She was upset when she first learned her parents were vampires, but only because they had kept it a secret for so long.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Little girls always love their daddy best of all,” Savanah said, thinking of her own father. “I know I did.”
Rane squeezed her shoulder. “I know you still miss him.” Savanah’s father had been killed by a vampire almost two years ago.
With a sigh, Savanah rested her head against his shoulder. They sat there for several minutes, enjoying the quiet of the night, before Rane said, “Your daughter is calling you.”
Savanah pressed a hand to her breast as it filled with milk. “Right on time,” she said, rising. “Are you coming in?”
Rane was about to say yes when he sensed a familiar presence lurking in the shadows. Brushing a kiss across Savanah’s cheek, he said, “I’ll be along in a few minutes. Warm up my side of the bed, will you?”
With a little “humph,” Savanah hurried into the house.
As soon as the door closed behind Savanah, Rane turned to face the woman who stepped out of the shadows. She wore a long, hooded black cloak over a pair of black jeans and a bloodred sweater. Though he was happily married, Rane couldn’t help but admire his visitor. There was no one else like her in all the world. He doubted any male over the age of twelve could look at her and not want her.
“Good evening,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Mara, when have you ever been an intrusion?” he chided softly. “We don’t see you nearly enough, although I am surprised to see you here. I thought you were going back to Egypt.”
She lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “I changed my mind.”
“Always a woman’s prerogative,” he replied, noting her sober expression. “Is anything wrong?”
Mara paced a few steps away from him, then turned and paced back. “Yes, very wrong, but I don’t know what it is, or how to explain it.” She glanced around the yard, as if to make sure they were alone. “I’m changing,” she said, her voice low, as though she feared someone might overhear, “and it scares me.”
“Changing?” His gaze moved over her. She looked as young and beautiful as ever. Her hair, as black as ink, fell in waves over her shoulders. Her skin was like alabaster, her eyes as green as new grass. Save for Savanah, he had never known a more beautiful, vibrant woman. “Changing how?”
“I’ve been getting tired at night and I’m having trouble sleeping during the day. The last time I fed, it made me sick. I’ve been craving mortal food. My powers are weakening. I’m afraid I’m losing them.”
“I’ve never heard of anything like that happening before. What do you think is causing it?”
“I don’t know!”
She looked up at him. For the first time that Rane could remember, he saw fear in the depths of her eyes. “Have you talked to Roshan?”
She shook her head. Roshan had been a vampire for over three centuries. Years ago, Mara had given him her blood, increasing his preternatural power, and allowing him to walk in the sun’s light. He was Rane’s grandfather and the head of the Cordova family. “No, I haven’t told anyone else.”
Rane swore softly. “Maybe you should talk to him. He’s been a vampire a lot longer than I have.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m . . . I’m too vulnerable.”
“What the hell does that mean? You don’t think he’d . . .” Rane shook his head. “You don’t honestly think he would try to destroy you?”
“No, but . . .” She crossed her arms over her breasts. “Like you said, he’s been a vampire a long time. We’re all predators at heart, Rane, and predators prey on the weak, even among their own kind.”
“I don’t believe this! Dammit, Mara, you’re my godmother, and Abbey’s, too.
We’re family. If you’re in trouble, you need help. I can’t give it to you, but maybe Roshan can.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” She stared past him into the darkness. “When I was first turned, I heard an ancient legend that said if a vampire survived for a hundred years, he would be restored to mortality. I didn’t believe it, of course, and when I turned one hundred, nothing happened, but”—she lifted her troubled gaze to his—“what if it’s happening now?”
“Is that what you think is going on?”
“I don’t know!” She made a vague gesture with her hand. “What other explanation can there be?”
Rane shook his head. “Beats me.”
Seeing the fear in her eyes, he drew her into his arms. How could this be happening? Mara was the oldest, the strongest, of their kind. Was it possible she was reverting to mortality or, worse, dying? And if so, what had caused it? And what did it mean for the rest of them? Everyone knew vampires were virtually immortal. But what if they were wrong? If something like this could happen to Mara, it could happen to any of them.
Mara took a deep, calming breath. “I should go. Savanah is waiting for you.”
Rane glanced up at the house. Savanah stood at the bedroom window with Abbey Marie cradled in her arms. Even from a distance, he could see the curiosity in his wife’s eyes.
“We haven’t solved anything,” Rane said. “Maybe you should stay with us for a few days.”
Mara shook her head. “No.”
“Dammit . . .”
She cupped his cheek in her palm. “I’ll be all right.”
“You’ll keep in touch? Promise?”
“Of course. Don’t worry about me.”
Rane grunted softly. “If you didn’t want me to worry, you shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention this to anyone else, and that includes Savanah.”
“Mara . . .”
“Take care of yourself, Rane.”
“Yeah, you, too.”
She nodded; then, with a graceful wave of her hand, she was gone.
Rane stared into the darkness. What would it be like, to not only consume mortal food again, but to crave it? How would he feel if he lost the urge to hunt? Would he miss it? What would it be like to keep the same hours as the rest of the world? It was obvious that Mara wasn’t happy about the prospect of being mortal again. He couldn’t blame her. He didn’t think he would be too keen on the idea, either, but then, being a vampire had been in his blood since birth; he couldn’t imagine any other way of life.
With a shake of his head and a hope that Mara would be all right, Rane went into the house.
Savanah was waiting for him in the kitchen. “Was that Mara? What’s going on?”
“She asked me not to talk about it.”
“About what? Is something wrong?”
“Savanah . . .”
“Oh, that’s not fair! She comes here in the middle of the night to tell you something, and you won’t share it. Was it bad news? At least tell me that.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, slipping his arm around her shoulders. “It was bad.”
Chapter Five
Logan Blackwood stood on the corner of Sunset and Vine, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the late-night crowd drift by. The world had changed considerably in nine hundred years and yet, in many ways, it remained the same. Much like himself, he mused. He’d had many personas in the last nine centuries, but none suited him quite so well as the role he played now—that of an eccentric millionaire who liked to dabble in financing movies and hanging out with the slick Hollywood crowd.
He got quite a kick out of being around movie people, with all their odd little quirks and their need to forever be in the spotlight. It made hunting ever so much easier, especially among starlets who were willing and eager to do anything to get a foot in the door. It wasn’t really hunting, he thought with a grin. More like shooting fish in a barrel. All he had to do was mention that he knew famed director Sterling Price and a bevy of beauties surrounded him, each one anxious to do whatever he asked in hopes of an introduction to Price. In one instance, Logan had actually had a hand in paving the way for a talented young actress to make her film debut. Years later, she had won an Academy Award. Logan had been immensely pleased, and more than a little surprised, when she mentioned him by name during her acceptance speech.
He was about to call it a night when a woman clad in a pair of black stretch pants, a white silk shirt, and high-heeled black boots stepped out of a late-night boutique. Logan stared at her. It couldn’t be, he thought, but it was. Mara, the vampire who had turned him over nine hundred years ago. Though he had not seen her in centuries, he recognized her instantly. But that was understandable. Having once seen her, no man on earth, living or Undead, would ever forget her. She looked just as she had that fateful night centuries ago, slender with lush curves in all the right places, her hair like a waterfall of gleaming black silk, her eyes as bright and green as emeralds. Mara.
She turned his way just then and he inclined his head in greeting, wondering if she even remembered him, and then he saw that she was wearing the heart-shaped ruby pendant he had given her so long ago. If she wore the ruby, she hadn’t forgotten him. Had she ever wondered what had become of him after she walked away without a word? Would she acknowledge him now?
She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes widening in recognition, and then, with a toss of her head, she glided toward him, as lithe and beautiful as he remembered.
“Mara.”
“Hektor. This is a surprise.” She experienced a warm rush of excitement at seeing him again, but then, how could she not? He was gorgeous, by far the most handsome man she had ever known, with his thick, wavy black hair and deep brown eyes. A supple black leather jacket caressed his broad shoulders, faded blue jeans encased his long legs. The boots he wore were scuffed but expensive. He looked fit and prosperous and as sexy as the devil on a Saturday night. The dimple in his left cheek winked at her when he smiled.
“I go by the name of Logan now,” he said. “Logan Blackwood.” His gaze swept over her in a long, assessing glance. “So, how have you been?”
“The same as always. You’re looking well.”
“So are you.” And yet, there was something different about her, though what it was, he couldn’t say. But something wasn’t right. He took a deep breath, and then frowned. “Do I smell onions on your breath?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“How is that possible?”
“I’m Mara,” she replied with an enigmatic smile. “Anything is possible.”
Grinning, he said, “Ah, girl, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you.” He hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud. Knowing that she didn’t want entanglements of any kind, he had never confessed his love for her. When she left him, he had told himself that it didn’t matter. In the years that followed, he had convinced himself that he was over her, that he had stopped loving her centuries ago, yet one look and he knew he had been kidding himself. He would love her until the day he ceased to exist.
“Have you?” Her gaze searched his, as if she were trying to decide if he was telling the truth. “Missed me?”
“Every night of my life.”
“You never came looking for me.”
“What was the point?” he asked, unable to keep a note of bitterness from creeping into his voice. “You made it clear that you wanted a clean break.” He would have followed her to Hell and back if he had thought she cared at all. But he had his pride. He had been nothing more to her than a momentary diversion; the fact that she had severed the link between them had proved that.
“It seems fate has decided we should meet again.” She started walking, confident that he would follow. “What have you been doing since we parted?”
Logan fell into step beside her, shortening his naturally long stride to match her much shorter one. “Trying to keep busy,” he said with a shrug. “Always looking for
something I haven’t experienced before.” Which, after nine hundred years, wasn’t easy to find. “How about you?”
“The same.”
“I was on my way home,” he said casually. “Would you care to come along?”
She hesitated a moment, and then nodded. It had been a long time, after all. She was curious to see how and where he lived. There had been many men in her life, but none like Logan. The fire between them had burned brighter than the sun. His power, even when first turned, had been stronger than that of any of her other fledglings. Perhaps it was because he had been arrogant, self-confident, and strong, even as a mortal. It had been those very characteristics that had drawn her to him. He had burrowed deep into her heart. When she found herself caring too much, willing to surrender her will to his, she left him.
Logan’s home proved to be a mansion in the hills not far from her own. The large, two-story white house was set behind a tall wrought-iron fence amid well-tended grounds. Sycamore trees lined the long, winding driveway. A veranda spanned the front of the house; wrought-iron bars covered the windows.
“You’ve done well for yourself, I see,” she remarked as he unlocked the front door.
He shrugged. “Well enough.”
He led the way into the house. A large stone fireplace dominated the living room. The furniture was modern and expensive. Her feet sank into the plush dove-gray carpet.
“Very nice,” she murmured.
“I like it.” He stood inside the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, while she wandered around the room. She paused to browse the titles on the bookshelf, moved on to examine a small marble statue of Venus that sat on a low table next to a ruby sphinx.
Moving to the fireplace, she ran her hand over a gold statue. “An Oscar?” She glanced at him over her shoulder.
“I produced the best picture last year,” he said, a trace of pride in his voice.
“Really? That’s wonderful, but . . . when did you get into the movie business?”
Night's Mistress (Children of the Night) Page 3
