"Tomorrow night! I can't possibly get time off from work again so soon." Kari sat up, her fingers drumming on the end table. "That's not near enough time to book a flight or find a hotel, or..."
"That will not be necessary this time."
"Oh," she said, then frowned. "Why not?"
"I can get there under my own power."
"You can? How?"
"Preternatural flight, I suppose you could call it."
"Why didn't you go to Romania that way?" she asked, then shook her head. "Never mind. I think I know the answer. You needed my help in getting Ana Luisa here."
Rourke nodded. "I can never repay you for that."
"It was nothing. I was glad to help."
"It was a very great imposition on your funds and your time. I will never forget your kindness, or your generosity."
Kari blinked back the sudden urge to cry. Was he leaving for good? Was this his way of saying good-bye?
Lifting her from the sofa, he drew her into his arms, one hand cupping her cheek. "Nor can I ever thank you enough for freeing me from that wretched painting."
"Rourke..." She looked up at him, her heart aching, her thoughts torn. There was so much that she wanted to say to him, and yet, if he was leaving, the words in her heart were best left unsaid.
He smiled faintly, and then he lowered his head and kissed her, a gentle kiss that flowed through her like sun-warmed honey, thick and hot and sweet. She moaned softly when he deepened the kiss, his tongue dueling with hers as his arm drew her closer.
Her body responded immediately, every nerve ending sparking to life. She wanted him and now he was leaving. She was sorry they had never made love. For a fleeting moment, she was tempted to surrender her will to his, to let him take whatever he wanted. Even knowing he was leaving and that she might never see him again, she was sorely tempted to beg him to make love to her, though judging from his arousal, she wouldn't have to beg very hard.
"Rourke..."
He looked down at her, his eyes dark with desire. Her skin tingled where his hands touched her. Her lips still felt the heat of his kisses. Her body ached for the fulfillment only he could give, and yet, as much as she wanted him, needed him, she couldn't say the words. It was bad enough that he had her heart. She could already feel it breaking at the thought of never seeing him again. If they made love and he left her, never to return, she knew she would never recover.
"I'll miss you," she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
"Will you?"
She nodded, her eyes swimming with unshed tears.
There was nothing to be gained by prolonging the moment, or by promising that he would return. Though it pained him to leave her, he knew it was for the best, for Karinna and for himself. It was time to remember that he was a vampire and she was prey. Expecting them to have a life together didn't make any more sense than putting a sparrow in a cage with a tiger and expecting them to live happily ever after. It just wasn't going to happen.
"Ah, Karinna."
"Will I ever see you again?" She hadn't meant to speak the words aloud. They made her sound weak, needy, pathetic. She wished she could call them back, but it was too late.
He gazed down at her, and though he didn't speak, she saw the answer in his eyes, tasted it in the tender kiss he brushed across her lips. He murmured her name again and then vanished from her sight.
Kari stared at the place where he had stood only seconds before, thinking he had gone out of her life as quickly as he had come into it.
With a sigh, she went up to bed, only to lie there wondering if things would have turned out differently if she had surrendered to him. If they had made love, would his last kiss have been a promise to return instead of good-bye?
A tear slid down her cheek. She'd never know the answer now.
After leaving Karinna's house, Rourke stalked the dark streets in search of prey. He fed long and often, feeling his power increase with each feeding, whether it was from a homeless man, a slightly intoxicated woman, or a young punk who was out looking for trouble and found more than he could handle.
Rourke drank from them all and sent them on their way. He needed to be strong for his upcoming journey, but, more than that, he drank for the sheer pleasure of it. He hadn't told Karinna how much he had missed the warmth of it, the taste of it, the tantalizing scent of it, or how it filled all the cold, empty places inside him. Remembering how he had longed for nourishment when it had been denied him, Rourke drank until he was replete.
He had spent three hundred years in that accursed painting, and not a night had gone by that he hadn't berated himself for being a fool, not only for going to Ana Luisa's house, but for letting the taste of her blood, her virgin blood, cloud his senses. Only when he had felt the sting of her blood on his tongue had he realized she was not only a witch, but a virgin, but by then, it had been too late. Weakened by the taste of her blood, he had been helpless to protect himself when Vilnius had stormed into the room.
But he would meet the wizard again, and soon. Vilnius would not find him such an easy mark this time!
Hours later, his hunger satiated at last, he made his way to the shed in Karinna's backyard. As he sank into the darkness of oblivion, his last conscious thought was that once he had retrieved his father's sword he would have to find a new lair.
Kari woke early after a long and restless night. She had dreamed of Rourke again, dreamed that he was back inside the painting, and that she was trapped there with him. In her dream, the castle had been warm and cozy instead of cold and forbidding. The walls had been painted a cheery blue, Oriental carpets had covered the stone floors, velvet draperies had hung at the windows. The kitchen had contained the latest state-of-the-art appliances. She had enjoyed wandering through the forest, sailing in the boat, and riding the horse, but most of all, she had enjoyed spending her nights in Rourke's arms. Instead of being frightened or eager to escape the painted world they inhabited, she had been perfectly content to remain there with him.
Now, lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, she wondered if the dream held some deeper meaning, though she had no idea what it might be. Nor did she have time to worry about it. She didn't have the luxury of lying about analyzing her dreams. She had a busy day at work ahead of her.
Throwing off the covers, she headed for the bathroom and a hot shower.
It wasn't until she turned off the water and stepped out of the stall that she realized she was crying.
Chapter 27
Standing in the moonlight, Rourke gathered his power, felt it flowing into him and through him, spreading through every fiber and cell until it hummed through his body. He focused his energy, felt himself rise into the air as if he had wings.
It was exhilarating feeling the rush of the wind against his face as he picked up speed and left the earth behind.
He reached his destination just before dawn. Drifting down, he landed in a fallow field behind the wizard's chateau, then quickly went to ground to await the night.
He rose with the setting sun. As always, he was somewhat bemused by the fact that none of the dirt or debris clung to him or his clothing when he emerged from the bosom of the earth.
The first order of business was to ease his thirst, which he did quickly and efficiently. With his hunger satisfied, he made his way to the chateau.
Set amid a copse of trees and surrounded by a high, white rail fence, it was a lovely old place with weathered gray walls, a blue tile roof, and tall, leaded windows. A faint breeze carried the scent of damp grass and vegetation. Somewhere in the distance, Rourke heard the rush of water flowing over stones.
He frowned as he drew closer to the chateau. The house was closed and shuttered. No lights shone in the windows. No smoke rose from the red brick chimney.
"So, Vilnius," Rourke mused aloud. "Where have you gone?"
He paused briefly at the front door. Under other circumstances, he would have needed an invitation, but not now. Three hundred years ago, Ana Luisa had invited him into her home. No one had ever rescinded that invitation.
At a wave of his hand, the heavy oak door swung open, and he stepped inside.
The interior of the living room was cold and dark, the furnishings rich but austere, from the dark brown leather sofa and matching chair to the wrought-iron lamps and glass-topped mahogany tables. Expensive paintings lined the walls, an Oriental carpet covered the floor. There were few decorations in the room: a graceful Chinese vase, a carved box made of onyx, a large jade elephant.
Rourke moved unerringly through the dark room and down a hallway until he came to the back parlor. This room was also richly furnished. Looking around, Rourke could see that this was the room where the wizard spent most of his time. A big-screen TV took up most of one wall. There were a comfortable-looking overstuffed chair and a couple of side tables. A tall bookcase held a wide variety of books, everything from dictionaries and comic books to the works of William Faulkner, Thomas Aquinas, Tolkien, and Voltaire. But it was his father's sword, hanging above the marble fireplace, that held Rourke's attention.
For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at the elegant lines of the ancient weapon as he remembered the man who had been his father. Thomas Rourke had been a stern and forbidding man, unbending in his beliefs, fiercely loyal to his king and his friends, merciless to his enemies. But he had also been a loving husband and father, one who had always found time to spend with his wife and children.
With a feeling of reverence, Rourke lifted the sword from its place over the mantel. Was it only his imagination, or did the hilt of the sword seem to warm to his touch? He turned the blade this way and that, marveling at the stark beauty of it, the way it fit into his hand as if it had been made for him and no other. Power shimmered along the blade, and with it he heard the deep bass of his father's voice assuring him that he could do anything he desired.
Holding the sword in front of him with both hands, he touched his forehead to the slender blade, silently renewing his vow to avenge himself on Josef Vilnius.
And then he settled down to await the wizard's return.
Ana Luisa ran through the night, reveling in the sting of the wind against her face, the way she flew over the pavement, her feet scarcely touching the ground. She loved being a vampire, loved the sense of power and exhilaration that filled her body upon waking from the Dark Sleep. She thrilled at the hunt. It was such an amazing feeling calling mortals to her, bending their will to hers, knowing she held the power of life and death in her hands.