Amanda Ashley - [Children of the Night 02]

by Night's Touch

  Draining the contents of his glass, he went to the bar for a refill.

  Cara threaded her way through the crowd toward the bar, conscious of Di Giorgio entering behind her. Sometimes she wished he would just disappear, although in a place like this, she was glad he was there.

  She glanced around the room but she didn’t see Anton. Maybe he had changed his mind, and maybe the fact that she felt relief instead of regret answered the question of how she felt about him. It was probably just as well that he hadn’t shown up, she thought, since she was certain he had a lot more experience with women than she did with men. Still, she couldn’t help glancing toward the door every now and then.

  Upon seeing an empty bar stool, she sat down and ordered her usual, a virgin pineapple daiquiri. Her friends at work teased her because she didn’t drink alcohol, but it was a taste she had never acquired. Maybe it was because her parents didn’t drink, either.

  Sitting there, she ran her finger around the rim of the glass while she watched the couples on the dance floor. She really was out of her league here, she thought. As soon as she finished her drink, she’d go home. No more walking on the wild side for her.

  “You get stood up?”

  Cara looked at the man who had taken the seat to her left. He wore a black T-shirt, tight black jeans, and a pair of black leather boots, and he was far and away the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. Thick black hair brushed his broad shoulders. His eyes were dark brown under straight black brows; his nose was thin and sharp. His lips were full and sensuous. She had the strongest urge to run her fingertips over them to see if they were as warm and soft as they looked.

  “Are you talking to me?” she asked coolly.

  “I asked if you’d been stood up. You keep looking toward the door.”

  “No, I haven’t, not that it’s any of your business.”

  He shrugged. “Sorry. Just trying to make conversation.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “No problem.” He gestured at her empty glass. “Can I buy you another drink?”

  “I guess so.”

  “What are you drinking?” She hesitated a moment, reluctant, for some reason, to let him know she didn’t indulge. She was over twenty-one, after all. It wouldn’t hurt her to have one drink.

  He was watching her, waiting for her answer.

  “A pineapple daiquiri.”

  Vince gave the bartender her order and asked for a glass of red wine for himself. It was not his usual drink of choice; ordinarily, he ordered a Bloody Mariah.

  “I’m Vince.”

  “Cara.”

  “Nice to meet you, Cara.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You don’t seem like the type to frequent this joint.”

  “Why not?”

  “Look around, honey. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you don’t fit the profile.”

  She wanted to be offended, but how could she when he was right? She was the only one in the place who didn’t look like they had just stepped out of a cheap horror flick.

  “I just sort of stumbled into the place,” she admitted. “Until last night, I never knew The Nocturne existed.”

  He nodded. “You met someone here, didn’t you? And you came back hoping to see him again.”

  “How did you know that?”

  He shrugged. “I used to do the bar scene a lot.”

  “Used to?” She smiled at the bartender when he placed her drink in front of her. He winked at her, then moved on down the bar. She wondered what the wink was for until she tasted her drink. He had thoughtfully left out the rum.

  “I’ve been a little off my game the last year or so,” Vince said. “Been spending a lot of time by myself.”

  “Were you sick?”

  “In a way.”

  She found it hard to believe he had ever been ill. He looked the picture of health, strong and fit. His T-shirt stretched over a broad chest; his arms were long and well muscled. He reminded her of a bodybuilder except that he wasn’t bulky. He looked solid, though.

  He jerked his chin at the dance floor. “Care to take a whirl?”

  Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of being in his arms. Nodding, she followed him onto the dance floor, felt her cheeks grow hot as he took her hand in his and slipped his arm around her waist.

  Dancing with Vince was far different from dancing with Anton. Vince moved with a kind of fluid grace that made her wonder if he was a professional dancer. Her skin tingled where his hand rested on her waist, her whole body throbbed with an unfamiliar longing when she looked into his eyes. He didn’t hold her too close, didn’t say or do anything the least bit suggestive, and yet she was aware of him with every fiber of her being.

  She hated to hear the song end, felt bereft when his hand fell away from her waist. No other man had ever made her feel the way he did. A smile, a touch, and she felt beautiful, desirable. When she looked into his eyes…it was like looking into the far reaches of eternity. For a moment, she forgot where they were, forgot that they weren’t alone.

  For a moment, she wished he would kiss her.

  A wistful smile curved his lips, as if he knew what she was thinking. When he spoke, she wondered if he was reading her mind.

  “I know,” he said quietly. “I feel it, too.”

  Taking her hand in his, he led her back to the bar.

  A man was sitting on her stool.

  “Hi, sweet cakes,” Anton said, smiling. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Cara glanced from Anton to Vince and back again. “Hi. I…I didn’t think you were coming.”

  “Hey,” Anton said, looking offended, “would I let a pretty girl down?”

  Cara had never been in a situation like this before and she didn’t know what to do. She had sort of a date with Anton, but it was Vince she wanted to be with.

  Her upbringing made the decision for her. With an apologetic smile, she looked at Vince and said, “Thank you for the dance.”

  “Anytime.” Dropping her hand, he picked up his drink and walked away.

  “Who was that?” Anton asked.

  “I don’t know. Just a guy who asked me to dance.” Cara didn’t like the look in Anton’s eyes as he watched Vince settle into a booth in the far corner of the room.

  “How about a late movie?” Anton asked. He checked his watch. “If we leave now, we can just make the ten o’clock show.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “You’re angry because I was late.”

  “Oh, no,” she said quickly. Quite the opposite, she thought. If he had been on time, she wouldn’t have met Vince. She wondered if he came here often. Sitting on the stool next to Anton’s, she sipped her drink, wishing she could think of a way to find out if Vince was a frequent patron.

  With a sigh, she looked at Anton. “You never told me what you do for a living,” she remarked.

  “I’m part owner of a bookstore. That’s why I was late. Something came up and I had to take care of it.”

  “A bookstore!” she exclaimed. “Sounds heavenly.”

  “I knew we had a lot in common when you told me you were a librarian,” Anton said, grinning. “Who’s your favorite author?”

  “Oh, gosh, I have so many, I wouldn’t know where to begin, but Tolkien is right up near the top.”

  “Lord of the Rings, eh? Got a thing for wizards and elves, do you?”

  “Well, I have a thing for Legolas,” she admitted with a grin. “And Aragorn, of course.”

  Anton smiled, wondering what she would think if she knew she was talking to a practicing warlock. His powers had come to him late, but his abilities were growing stronger and more proficient each day. Given time, he knew his magick would be as powerful as his father’s had been, perhaps more so.

  For a while, they talked about books. She liked fantasy, he liked science fiction; she liked humor, he liked murder mysteries. Somehow, it didn’t surprise her that their tastes were s
o divergent, but no matter what they were discussing, Cara was always aware of Vince sitting in the back of the room. Even when he was just sitting still, there was something about him that drew her gaze again and again. Now and then, she caught him watching her. Each time that happened, a pleasurable tingle of awareness skittered down her spine.

  She was acutely aware of Vince’s gaze when Anton asked her to dance. Once again, she found herself comparing the two men and her reaction to them. Dancing with Vince was a sensual experience that had made her very much aware of the fact that she was a woman and he was a man. Dancing with Anton was just…dancing.

  “Would you like another drink?” Anton asked when they returned to their seats.

  “No, thank you. I’ve got to go. I’m a working girl, you know.” She didn’t start work until three in the afternoon, but he didn’t know that, and it made for a good excuse.

  “Come on,” he said, “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  She didn’t want him to, but she couldn’t think of any plausible reason to refuse.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Vince lift his glass in a farewell salute as she made her way toward the door.

  Cara went up the outside entrance to her room when she got home. She felt a little guilty for not going in to tell her folks she was home and kiss them good night, but she wasn’t in the mood to answer a lot of questions about where she’d been and what she’d done. Besides, Di Giorgio would give them a full report and let them know that she was home safe and sound before he retired for the night.

  She often wondered about Frank Di Giorgio. Being her bodyguard didn’t give him much time for a life of his own. He lived in a house out back. To her knowledge, he never had any visitors, he never took a vacation, and he rarely had a night off.

  After undressing, she slipped into a pink T-shirt and a pair of comfy pajama bottoms, then opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. It was one of her favorite places. During the day, she had a view of the backyard and the mountains beyond. Taking a seat in one of the two wicker chairs, she stared up at the sky. It was a beautiful night, warm and clear. Stars twinkled brightly overhead. Moonlight bathed the leaves of the trees with a pale silver sheen.

  The night. There was something mesmerizing about it. Her parents loved it. They went out for a walk together every evening; sometimes they were only gone for a short time, sometimes for hours. At home, they frequently sat outside in the gazebo, holding hands. Sometimes, her mother and father seemed so wrapped up in each other, Cara felt like an outsider in her own home. It was more than the fact that she was adopted. Sometimes, it seemed like they were communicating silently, sharing secrets she would never know. She told herself it was just a part of their being married, but she knew it was more than that. She just didn’t know what.

  Sighing, she was about to go inside and go to bed when she had the oddest sensation that she was being watched. She glanced over her shoulder, thinking maybe her father had come upstairs to say good night, but there was no one there.

  Rising, she looked over the balcony railing, then thought how foolish that was. Even if there was someone down there, it was too dark to see anything lurking in the shadows. Frowning, she leaned forward. What was that? Was she imagining things, or was that a pair of eyes—a pair of glowing red eyes—staring back at her? She might have thought it was a cat, but she’d never seen a cat with eyes that color!

  Spooked, she turned on her heel and sprinted into her bedroom. She locked the door behind her and closed the curtains over the windows, then she stood there, breathing hard, one hand pressed to her heart.

  That was how her father found her when he knocked on her door a moment later.

  “Cara, may I come in?”

  “Yes!”

  Stepping into the room, he took one look at her face and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She gestured toward the balcony. “I…I thought I saw…I don’t know what it was.”

  He moved toward the French doors, opened them, and stepped outside. “Think, Cara. What did you see?”

  “I’m not sure.” She went to stand beside her father, unafraid now that he was there with her. “It looked…it looked like eyes. Red, glowing eyes.”

  He looked at her sharply. “Red eyes? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, why? Does that mean something to you?”

  He took a breath. “No, of course not.” Putting his arm around her shoulders, he led her back into the bedroom, then closed and locked the doors. “Probably just a cat.”

  “With red eyes?”

  “A trick of the moonlight,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Di Giorgio tells me you went to The Nocturne again.”

  Nodding, she sat on the edge of her bed.

  “Two men spoke to you tonight.”

  She tried to subdue her annoyance at having her every move watched and reported, but it came out in an angry breath. She was twenty-two years old! Was she never to have any privacy?

  “Yes, Dad,” she said irritably, “I saw two men. I danced with two men. They bought me drinks. I came home alone. Is there anything else you want to know?”

  “I don’t care for that tone, young lady.”

  “I’m sorry.” She was instantly contrite, and a little confused by her growing resentment.

  He sat down beside her. “I know having Di Giorgio follow you is wearisome. I know you don’t fully understand or appreciate the necessity of having him there, but it’s for my peace of mind and for…”

  “My own good,” she finished, having heard it all a hundred times before.

  “Cara…”

  “Dad, I’m twenty-two years old! No one’s ever even looked at me sideways. What’s the big deal? What are you really afraid of? I think I have a right to know.”

  “Perhaps it’s time,” he allowed. “I’ll discuss it with your mother.”

  “You promise?”

  “If you think it’s necessary, then you have my word.”

  She smiled at him. “Thanks, Dad.”

  With a nod, Roshan kissed his daughter on the forehead, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Brenna looked up when he entered the living room. “Is everything all right?”

  “She’s starting to chafe at having Di Giorgio trailing after her, and she’s starting to ask questions.” He shook his head, surprised that it had taken her this long.

  “Maybe we’re worrying for nothing. It’s been over twenty years. Surely if the coven meant to take some kind of revenge, they would have done so by now.”

  “Maybe.” Roshan sat beside his wife, his expression grim. “We should have moved years ago.”

  “I know, but I love this house.”

  He was as guilty as she. It was a big old place located on a quiet street in a respectable part of the city. Once, it had been a dark and lonely place, but Brenna had changed all that. She had brought light and color into his home just as she had brought it into his life.

  He blew out a sigh that came from the very depths of his being. “We can’t hide the truth from her forever.”

  “I’m afraid,” Brenna said, clutching his hand. “This isn’t like telling her she was adopted. That’s normal. But what I am…what we are…what if she refuses to accept us? What if we disgust her? I can’t bear the thought of losing her.”

  “I know.” It was a fear he had lived with since the night Cara had wrapped her tiny, dimpled finger around his thumb and captured his heart and soul. He had rehearsed ways to tell her the truth over and over again in his mind, but how did you tell your only child that her mother and father were vampires, and that her mother was a witch? Telling Cara the truth would only lead to more questions, questions with ugly answers. There were parts of his past that he wanted to forget, parts of his existence best left unmentioned. He could lie to her, of course, sugarcoat the truth, leave out the gruesome details, but there was always a chance, however unlikely, that she would learn about it later, and that would be even worse.
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  Vince stood in the deepening shadows across the street from a house big enough and fancy enough to qualify as a mansion. He had followed Cara home, not because of any dark or depraved intentions, but simply because he was bored and she was pretty and he was curious to see where she lived.

  He had been surprised to find that he wasn’t the only one who followed her from The Nocturne.

  A man built like a bull had followed her out of the parking lot in a silver Lexus.

  The jerk from the nightclub had followed her in a gray BMW.

  Vince had brought up the rear in a hopped-up black Mustang convertible.

  The first man had followed her through a wrought-iron gate and up to the house.

  The jerk with the BMW was standing directly across the street from the driveway, studying the upstairs windows.

  Vince stood a little farther down the road, his curiosity growing by the minute.

  Keeping to the shadows, he crossed the street and vaulted over the wall that surrounded the property. Dissolving into mist, he drifted up the driveway to the house. He was about to peer into one of the windows when waves of preternatural power swept over him.

  Apparently he wasn’t the only vampire around.

  He floated up through the air and hovered over a second-story balcony. He sensed Cara in the room beyond. Materializing, he listened at the door. He could hear her moving around inside, perhaps getting ready for bed.

  He was about to leave when Cara opened one of the French doors.

  For a moment, the two of them stood there, staring at each other.

  “You!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  “I followed you home,” he said, thinking quickly. “I noticed two other guys following you out of the club, and…I wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

  “Two guys?” she asked, obviously not believing him. “What two guys?”

  “A really big character and that jerk who stood you up.” Mr. BMW had hung back far enough to keep from being seen by either Cara or the big guy in the Lexus.

  Cara crossed her arms under her breasts. “He didn’t stand me up,” she retorted. “Anyway, I don’t believe he followed me home.”