Night's Master (Children of The Night 3)

Rafe shook his head. “Not a word,” he said, and then, like a bolt from the blue, he realized that Mara knew where Rane was, just as she had always known where they were.

“You know, don't you?” he said, his hands fisted at his sides. “All this time, you've known.”

“Of course,” she replied coolly. “I'm surprised it's taken you this long to figure that out.”

“Where is he?”

“If he wanted you to know, you would have heard from him.” She raised her hand, stilling any further questions. “When he has made peace with himself, he'll come home.”

Rafe blew out an exasperated breath, knowing he wouldn't get any more out of her.

“Back to the matter at hand,” she said, glancing at the grave. “I want this truce to work. I don't know about the Werewolves and Were-tigers, but our people need mortals to survive. I was opposed to going to war with the Werewolves when it began, and I'm still opposed to it. Fighting among ourselves solves nothing. Hopefully, cooler heads will now prevail.”

Rafe nodded. A handful of rebellious Werewolves and Vampires had started the conflict. In weeks, it had spread across the world, until the paranormal creatures from nearly every nation were involved. He had been against the war from the beginning, certain that, sooner or later, the humans would realize that their future was at stake, and when that happened, the Supernatural creatures would not only be fighting each other, but the humans, as well.

Turning away from the grave, Mara walked toward the road.

Rafe fell into step beside her. “What now?”

“I'm going to pay a visit to Dawson, and then I'm going to call on Clive. We need to talk. In the last week, several of his people and a number of ours have disappeared without a trace. He's blaming it on the war, but…” She glanced at Rafe. “Let me know if you hear of any more unrest in this area.”

“You heard about Cristophe?”

“Yes. I was nearby on another matter.”

They walked in silence for a time. Rafe couldn't keep his eyes off the woman at his side. She carried herself like a queen, her every movement one of fluid grace. Moments later, they emerged from the woods onto the street.

“How did you get here so quick?” he asked curiously. “The last I heard, you were somewhere in Bolivia.”

She looked at him as if he were the dullest knife in the drawer.

Rafe muttered, “Oh, right.” With her almost limitless powers, she could think herself anywhere she wished to be.

“Just so,” she said, and then she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Until next time.”

Before he could reply, she was gone.

Rafe stared after her for a moment. What was it like for her, to exist for thousands of years? To be able to walk in the light of the sun? Compared to Mara, he had been a Vampire for a relatively short time, yet he had already forgotten what it was like to feel the sun's warmth on his face, to partake of food and drink in the mortal way. He frowned, wondering if she was able to partake of food and drink again.

With a sigh, he walked back to where he had left his car. He paused on the sidewalk in front of Kathy's house, tempted to knock on her door even though he knew it was a bad idea. As much as he wanted her, hungered for her, they were separated by a gulf that only she could cross.

He stood there for several moments, his arms aching to hold her, and then, muttering a vile oath, he slid behind the wheel and drove home.

Chapter Eleven

I cried for a long while after Raphael left, and then I made myself a cup of hot chocolate topped with lots of marshmallows, hoping it would make me feel better. It didn't. Going to the window, I looked out into the darkness. At first I didn't see anything, and then I saw Raphael standing on the sidewalk. In spite of everything, I hoped he would come back inside, take me in his arms, and hold me close. For a moment, I was tempted to open the door and call his name. I was about to do just that when he looked up at the house. I felt my heart skip a beat when he took a step forward; then, obviously changing his mind, he got into his car and drove away. Perhaps it was just as well.

With a sigh, I turned away from the window, my thoughts and emotions in turmoil. The war between the Werewolves and the Vampires seemed to be escalating. Not only that, but tonight the hostilities had been too close to home for my peace of mind, almost in my backyard. As troubling as all that was, I couldn't stop remembering that Raphael had killed a man. No matter that the man was also a Werewolf and, according to Raphael, on the verge of death. I wasn't sure how I felt about the Werewolves killing Vampires. I mean, except for Raphael, Vampires had already died once. They didn't really die a second time, although their existence came to an end.

Frowning, I went into the bathroom, turned on the taps in the tub, and then added a cap full of lavender-scented bubble bath to the water. How, exactly, did one become a Vampire? All I really knew was that a blood exchange was involved, but how much blood? Did it hurt? What if you changed your mind in the middle? I wasn't exactly sure how one became a Werewolf, either, except that being bitten seemed to be a large part of it.

Turning off the water, I stepped into the tub and sank down into the fragrant bubbles. I had a feeling I'd be spending a lot of time at my computer tomorrow, surfing the Web and looking for whatever information I could find on the Supernatural world and the creatures that inhabited it.

I took a lunch with me to the store the next day, and during my lunch hour, I booted up my computer and surfed the Internet, searching for anything and everything I could find on Werewolves, shape-shifters, and Vampires. I was amazed at the number of Web sites dedicated to Werewolves, and the wealth of information available.

For instance, I learned there was something called lycanthropic disorder, which was in actuality a mental condition wherein a person believed he, or she, was really a Werewolf even though they didn't change shape. It didn't say if these people went running around the countryside killing things.

And then there was the real deal, where a man or a woman physically transformed into a beast. True Werewolves were immune from aging since their bodies were constantly regenerating. The only way to kill a Werewolf was to destroy the heart or the brain or deprive them of oxygen. I assumed the same was true for any Were-creature. I had always thought that a person had to be bitten to become fanged and furry, but one source said that you could become a Werewolf by birth or by being cursed by a witch. In Europe, between 1520 and 1630, some thirty thousand cases of lycanthropy had been reported.

There were legends of Were-cats, which were also shape-shifters, but instead of turning into wolves, they turned into felines. In days of old in Europe, shape-shifters, including Werewolves, had been considered witches. Were-creature folklore was found on all the continents except for Antarctica, with the Were-creatures turning into whatever wild feline was native to the area, such as domestic cats, lions, leopards, tigers, or lynx.