Nights Pleasure

by Amanda Ashley

  “Who is he, Webb? What does he do? How do you know him?”

  “I met him during the war. He’s a handy man to know if you want a gun that can’t be traced.”

  “He’s a criminal?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What exactly?”

  “I guess you could say he walks a fine line. No one who ever crossed him lived to brag about it.”

  “Oh.”

  “Any more questions?” Rane asked, a hint of a smile in his eyes.

  “No.”

  Bending down, Rane kissed her on the forehead. “I’m going to rest for a few hours.”

  “All right.” She placed the gun on the table, then watched him leave the room. He was going to sleep in Mara’s lair. Like a dragon. No doubt about it, Savanah mused. Her life just kept getting more and more bizarre.

  Rane woke shortly after sunset. He remained where he was for a time, his arms folded under his head as his gaze roamed Mara’s lair. The room was a reflection of the woman—ancient and beautiful. The king-size bed was hung with white gauze curtains. Wrought-iron sconces held fat beeswax candles. A thick white carpet covered the floor, expensive paintings adorned the walls, several pieces of rare Egyptian art were scattered around the room. A golden tiara set with precious stones lay in a careless pile amid dozens of other pieces of jewelry on the top of an antique dresser. Each one was likely worth a small fortune. An arched doorway opened onto a large bathroom done in black and gold. The sunken tub and oval sink had gold faucets.

  Mara. She had the grace and bearing of a queen. Looking at her, no one would guess she had existed for thousands of years. What was it like for her to see nations rise and fall while she stayed forever the same? He had been a Vampire for almost a hundred years. Did he have the staying power to endure for centuries? Not many Vampires did. Mortals dreamed of living forever, but he wondered how many would accept it if they knew how long forever could be. It wasn’t easy being a Vampire, watching the world change, watching those you loved age and die. Some Vampires kept to themselves, refusing to mingle with the mortal world, refusing to form attachments, preferring to endure in solitude rather than face the pain of losing those they loved over and over again.

  Muttering an oath, he left Mara’s lair and headed for the upstairs bathroom.

  Savanah looked up from the book she was reading when she heard the shower come on. Rane was awake. Naked. In the shower upstairs. The thought sent a shaft of heat spiraling through her.

  Setting the book on the table, she hurried up the stairs to see if Rane needed someone to wash his back.

  She paused in the doorway a moment, admiring his broad back, the spread of his shoulders, his tight buns and long, long legs. He really was a beautiful creature, she thought, and felt herself blush when said beautiful creature turned around.

  His brows went up when he saw her standing on the other side of the shower door, staring.

  “Hi,” Savanah said. “I just came to see if you, ah, needed someone to wash your back.”

  “Someone as in…you?”

  “I don’t see anyone else standing here, do you?”

  “Not a soul,” he said with a roguish grin, and opened the door.

  Nerves thrumming with anticipation, she undressed quickly.

  “I was hoping for another striptease,” Rane remarked.

  “Maybe next time.” She was about to step into the shower when he shook his head.

  “Get rid of that first.”

  Looking down, Savanah saw the silver cross resting between her breasts. Wearing it had become such a habit, she hardly thought about it anymore.

  “Oh, sorry.” Removing the crucifix, she placed it on the sink top before stepping into the shower, and into Rane’s waiting arms.

  “You can shower with me anytime,” Rane murmured as he drew her closer.

  Warm water sluiced over the two of them. Savanah rubbed her breasts against his chest, wanting to be closer, loving the slick wetness of his skin against her own.

  “We seem to spend a lot of time in water,” Savanah remarked.

  He licked a drop from the tip of her nose. “Are you complaining?”

  “Oh, no, just making an observation.”

  Lowering his head, he dropped kisses along the length of her neck, along the edge of her collarbone, in the hollow of her throat where her pulse beat hot and quick.

  “A taste?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

  “You haven’t fed yet, have you?”

  “No.” His voice was almost a growl now.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He swore under his breath, but didn’t argue. Putting her away from him, he picked up the soap, worked up a lather in his hands, and starting at her shoulders, worked his way down.

  By the time he reached her belly, she was having trouble breathing.

  By the time he reached her thighs, she was a quivering mass of need.

  “A taste, Savanah?”

  “That’s blackmail,” she accused, but at the moment, she didn’t really care. She wanted him, wanted all of him, now, inside her.

  He ran his fingertips over her belly. “I know.”

  “Just one taste?” she asked. “You promise?”

  He nodded.

  She looked up at him, wondering if she could trust him when he was looking at her like that, when his eyes were glowing with hunger.

  His fingertips caressed the outer curve of her breasts.

  “Just do it,” she said, and turned her head to the side.

  His mouth was incredibly hot against her skin, the pleasure beyond words. He backed her up against the glass, then lifted her so that she was straddling his waist, his mouth still at her throat as his body melded with hers, and she didn’t care if he took one taste or twenty.

  Didn’t care if he took it all…

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Savanah? Dammit, Savanah, can you hear me?”

  At the sound of his voice, she opened her eyes and smiled. “I hear you.”

  His breath was warm against her cheek as he muttered a string of curses.

  “Why are you so angry?” she asked. “Wasn’t it good for you?”

  “I thought…Dammit, I was afraid I’d taken too much.”

  Carrying her out of the shower, he quickly dried her off, then carried her into the bedroom and placed her gently on the bed.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, drawing the quilt over her.

  “I feel wonderful.”

  “Of course you do,” he muttered.

  “You’re not supposed to growl at me afterward,” she complained. “You’re supposed to hug me and tell me you love me.”

  With a shake of his head, he pulled her into his arms, quilt and all. “I do love you. That’s the trouble. Next time I promise to take just one taste, don’t believe me.”

  “How much did you take?”

  “I don’t know. More than I should have.” He hadn’t meant to, but one taste had only served to whet his appetite for more. He had been hungry for her, and she was so sweet…for a moment, he had lost himself in the sheer pleasure of feeding. He swore softly. It couldn’t happen again. “Stay here.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get you something to eat.”

  She hadn’t realized she was hungry until he mentioned food. “I can do it.” She started to get up, only to fall back on the bed when the room began to spin.

  “Stay here,” he said again, and left the room.

  Downstairs, he thawed a steak in the microwave and quickly fried it up, his nose wrinkling at the stink of cooking meat. When it was done, he filled a glass with orange juice, plucked a gold-plated knife and fork from the drawer and carried everything upstairs. On the way back to the bedroom, he made a detour into the bathroom. Using the fork, he scooped up Savanah’s crucifix, then went into the bedroom.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he offered her the cross. “Put it on, and don’t take it off again.”
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  With a sigh, she slid the chain over her head. The silver felt cool against her skin.

  Rane’s expression was grim as he cut the steak and fed it to her.

  “It’s too rare,” she protested. “I like it cooked a little more.”

  He tried not to notice the juices that oozed from the meat. “It’s better for you this way.”

  He insisted she eat all of it and drink the orange juice, then he tucked her into bed. “Get some sleep.”

  Hearing the worry in his voice, she said, “I’m all right. Honest.”

  He nodded, though he wasn’t convinced. He had brought her here to protect her but he couldn’t help wondering if she wouldn’t be safer without him.

  He stayed by her side until she fell asleep, then continued to sit there, staring out the window, his thoughts turned toward his brother. Why couldn’t he have been more like Rafe? Things had always come easy for his brother. Rafe had been the popular one in school, easygoing, affable, always at home in a crowd, while Rane had always held back a little.

  He glanced at Savanah, wondering where their relationship would end. It had been an odd twist of fate that had brought a Vampire and a future Vampire hunter together. No matter which way he looked at it, he couldn’t see a happy ending. But even knowing that, he couldn’t let her go. As long as those books existed, her life was in danger.

  He grunted softly. He could destroy the books, but it wouldn’t do much good. He didn’t know who wanted them. Even if he put out the word that the books had been destroyed, he had no guarantee that whoever was looking for them would hear of it, or believe it.

  Curious, he went downstairs and out to his car where he retrieved both volumes. Carrying them inside, he locked the door, then sat down in the living room, opened the black book, and began to read. It gave him a strange feeling, seeing the long list of names of the Undead. Many of them were familiar to him even though he had never met them.

  Putting the black book aside, he picked up the brown one. He wondered how long it had taken Savanah’s mother to compile her facts and if she’d had help. There were numerous books about Vampires, but he had never seen one that was so comprehensive or so accurate. She had it all: how to locate Vampires, how to destroy them, the various Supernatural powers they possessed. There was even a short section on Werewolves.

  Like Vampires, Werewolves seemed to be immune to aging and disease, but they could be killed by any wound that destroyed the heart or the brain. While there was only one way to become a Vampire, there were numerous ways to become a Werewolf, including being bitten, being cursed, or being born to a Werewolf. A person who was turned against his will wasn’t cursed until he tasted human blood, something few Werewolves, or Vampires, for that matter, could resist for long. Most Werewolves were compelled to change at the full moon, though there were some who could change at will.

  As dawn approached, Rane went upstairs to check on Savanah, then walked through the house, making sure all the doors and windows were closed and locked and that the protective wards, meant to keep intruders out, were in place. When that was done, he carried the books downstairs to Mara’s lair and hid them under the mattress.

  Undressing, he stretched out on her bed and closed his eyes. Thinking of Savanah, he cursed his lack of self-control where she was concerned.

  Even now, her taste lingered on his tongue.

  Even now, filled with guilt and remorse, he wanted her again.

  It was early afternoon when Savanah awoke, the nightmare she had just had still vivid in her mind. Rane had been holding her in his arms, his eyes filled with anguish as he told her over and over again how sorry he was for what he had done. At first, she had been confused and then, with crystal clarity, she realized what he had done. He had made her what he was.

  Muttering, “It was just a dream,” she sat up, stretching her arms over her head. It was then that she saw the dishes on the nightstand. Only then that she remembered what had happened the night before. Rane had taken her blood. He had promised to take just a taste, but he had taken more. How much more? Enough that he had been truly concerned. Had her nightmare been a vision of things to come? If he had taken too much, would he have worked the Dark Trick on her?

  The thought sent a shiver of revulsion down her spine. She might be in love with a Vampire, but she had no desire to become one.

  Rising, she showered and dressed, then carried the dirty dishes downstairs, rinsed them off, and put them in the dishwasher.

  Even though it was well past time for lunch, she was in the mood for bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast.

  She was sitting back in her chair, enjoying a cup of coffee, when Rane entered the room, his expression wary as he dropped into the chair across from hers.

  His gaze moved over her, long and assessing. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m all right.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Rane…”

  He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right, you’re fine, but you could have been dead.”

  “I know that. Don’t you think I know that?”

  He dragged a hand through his hair. “Dammit, Savanah, I could have killed you.”

  “But you didn’t. We’ll just have to be more careful in the future.” Seeing his expression, she leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm. “I’m a big girl. I know what I’m doing.”

  He hoped she was right. “I need to rest a while,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

  “All right.” She smiled up at him. “Stop worrying about me.”

  She lifted her face for his kiss, frowned thoughtfully as she watched him leave the room. Did he really need to rest, or was it just his way of avoiding her? If she asked to see where he rested, would he let her? She had never seen a Vampire’s lair. Of course, until she met Rane, she had never seen a Vampire, either.

  Rising, she rinsed her dishes and put them in the dishwasher, then stood at the window, staring longingly at the pool.

  A quick swim was just the ticket. After changing into her suit, she grabbed a book and headed for the door. An odd sensation prickled along her arms and her nape as she stepped over the threshold, almost as if she had passed some kind of invisible barrier.

  Shrugging it off, she dropped the book on the table and dove into the deep end of the pool.

  The water felt wonderful. She swam for ten minutes or so; then, stretching out on a chaise lounge, she read a book in the shade of an umbrella, rising now and then to dive into the cool water when the sun grew too warm. She dozed for a while, then went into the house to fix a sandwich and a glass of iced tea for an early dinner. She missed cooking for her father. He had always praised her culinary efforts, even when they went wrong. Smiling, she recalled the night she had prepared what she hoped would be an epicurean masterpiece; to her chagrin, it had turned out to be an utter disaster, fit only for the garbage disposal.

  Later, sitting in the rec room watching a movie, she found herself continually glancing at the clock, wishing she could make the minutes go faster. The hours passed too slowly, the house seemed too empty, without Rane beside her.

  She felt a thrill of excitement as the sun began to set. He would be with her soon.

  The thought had no sooner crossed her mind than he was there. Just looking at him filled her with the kind of giddy excitement she hadn’t experienced since her first crush on a rock star years ago. Only, what she felt for Rane was far stronger and went far deeper.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Ready? For what?”

  “Your first shooting lesson.”

  “Oh.” She wrinkled her nose with distaste. “I don’t think I could shoot anyone.”

  “It’s less messy than taking a head, or driving a stake through a Vampire heart.”

  She blew out a sigh. “All right, let’s go get it over with.”

  They went outside, where Rane set up three targets on the east side of the house. He handed her the gloves, loaded the gun whil
e she pulled them on.

  “All right,” he said, moving to stand behind her. “There’s nothing to it.” He put the gun in her hand and showed her how to hold it in a two-handed grip. “Don’t jerk the trigger. Just squeeze it gently.”

  Taking a deep breath, Savanah aimed at the first target and squeezed the trigger.

  “Not bad,” Rane said.

  “Not good,” she muttered. “I barely hit the thing.”

  “But you did hit it,” he said, giving her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Try again, and this time, keep both eyes open.”

  To Savanah’s amazement, her aim quickly improved. By the time she had moved on to the third target, her shots were hitting the bull’s-eye nine times out of ten.

  “You’re a natural,” Rane muttered. “Maybe it’s in your blood.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re a born hunter,” he said with a shrug.

  “Maybe I am,” Savanah mused, remembering the letter her father had left her. “Did you know my mother was related to Abraham Van Helsing?”

  “No, but it doesn’t surprise me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Not a thing, except that nothing much surprises me anymore, especially where you’re concerned.”

  For the next thirty minutes, he had her practice shooting while she was kneeling, while she was flat on her back, and then while lying on her stomach. Next, he had her try her hand at shooting while she was walking, and then at a run.

  “After all,” he explained, “you won’t always have the luxury or the time to stand still and take aim.”

  By the time they quit two and a half hours later, Savanah felt like the revolver had become a part of her.

  “Keep it nearby from now on,” Rane said, opening the back door for her.

  In the kitchen, Savanah put the gun on the table, then went to the sink and washed her hands.

  “I went by your house late last night,” Rane remarked as she dried her hands.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Furniture’s a little dusty.”

  She made a face at him. “Did you see anyone there?”