Night's Kiss

"Did it not frighten you, being a vampire?"

"At first. She didn't bother to tell me what to expect, she just brought me across and then left me. I didn't realize anything had happened until I woke that night and saw the world as I had never seen it before."

"What do you mean? How was it different?"

"Everything looked… " He paused, wondering how to explain it. "Colors were brighter, more vivid. I saw everything in great detail, each thread in my coat, each blade of grass, each leaf on a tree, each drop of water that flowed through the river. But it wasn't only my sight that was changed. I could hear people's thoughts and sounds that I'd never heard before." He licked his lips. "The beating of a thousand hearts calling to me."

He remembered that it had taken him months to learn how to shut out the unwanted noises, the cacophony of voices he did not want to hear.

"Daylight was forever lost to me," he went on, "and I became a creature of darkness, prowling the night." Endlessly searching for prey, the sound of beating hearts a siren call he could neither resist nor ignore. In those early days, he had hunted relentlessly, certain he would never be able to drink enough to quench his awful thirst.

"And you drank… blood to survive?"

He nodded.

A look of revulsion flitted across her face. "How could you? Did it not make you sick?"

He blew out a heavy sigh. "I thought it would. But it didn't." To the contrary, the elixir of life was warm and sweet and rich. In the beginning, every time he drank, he craved it more. Even after he had just drunk his fill, he was already looking forward to the next hunt, the next victim, always afraid that the last taste was truly the last.

"Do you sleep here, in this bed?"

"No."

She shivered, as with a chill, and clutched the blanket closer. "It is true, then, that you sleep in your coffin?"

"I did, in the beginning." He had hated sleeping in that long square box, but he had done it to punish himself to atone for what he had become, for what he had to do to survive. After twenty years or so, he had dragged the damn thing outside and set it on fire, and then he'd bought a king-size bed with a firm mattress, silk sheets, and a feather pillow. If he had to spend the daylight hours sleeping the sleep of the undead, at least he would do so in comfort!

"And now?" she asked curiously.

"I think a bed is far more comfortable."

"But not this bed?" She frowned. "Where do you sleep, then?"

"There is no need for you to know." He had already told her far too much, he thought. Years ago, he had foolishly told a woman where he slept. She had claimed to love him, promised she would never betray him, and though he had not truly loved her, he had been desperate for companionship, so desperate that when she insisted it would prove he loved her in return if he told her where he slept, he had done so. The next day she had come with her father and her two brothers to destroy him, unaware of the fact that he could emerge from the Dark Sleep when his preternatural senses warned him that his life was in danger. He had killed them all and fled the town. Never again had he told another where he took his rest.

"Are you truly immortal?"

"No. Those who are immortal can't be lulled."

He watched her absorb that bit of information, saw the questions rise in her eyes.

"Yes," he said, "vampires can be killed in a number of ways."

"Truly? There are other ways, then, besides a stake through the heart?"

"Several."

She shuddered and drew the covers up to her chin. "I do not want to know what they are."

"I wasn't going to tell you," he said with a wry grin.

"So," she said, nettled by his admission, "now it is you who do not trust me."

He smiled and she smiled back. Warmth flowed between them, the first flowering of friendship mixed with a wave of unmistakable attraction and desire.

He recalled the night he had first seen her, dancing naked in the moonlight. He had wanted her then; he wanted her now. But he would have to go slow. She was young and innocent, and there was no need to hurry.

Her cheeks turned pink with awareness and her gaze slid away from his.

He settled back, resting his shoulder against one of the bedposts. "How did you come to be a witch?"

She shrugged. "All the women in my family are witches."

"So," he said with a grin, "are you a good witch or a bad witch?"

"A good one, of course." She fixed him with a steady look. "And you?" she asked. "Are you a good vampire or a bad one?"

He considered her question for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm not sure there are any good ones."

That was not the answer she had been hoping for. A shadow of doubt rose in her eyes and she stirred restlessly on the bed, her gaze darting toward the door, and the hope of freedom.

"I will not hurt you, Brenna."

"But you won't let me go."

"No. The world is greatly changed from the one you knew. You are safer here than out there, believe me."

She plucked at a fold in the covers. "I tried two spells on your gate," she remarked candidly. "Neither one of them worked. I fear my magick is of little use here."

"There's nothing wrong with your magick. There are already a couple of… I guess you could call them spells of a sort, on the lock," he said. "You would have had to reverse the first and remove the second to open the gates."

"Are you a witch then, as well as a vampire?" she asked.

"No, but I have certain supernatural powers. There are wards on my house, and on the lock on the gate."

"To keep me in?" she asked with a touch of bitterness.

"No, darlin', to keep trespassers out."

"Oh. Because you're vulnerable when you sleep."

"Yes." Being cautious had become an ingrained habit over the years. There were few people these days who believed in vampires, but there were still a few determined hunters out there, men like Edward Ramsey and Tom Duncan, who had spent the best part of their adult lives pursuing and destroying the undead throughout the world. Roshan had come in contact with one or two vampire hunters in his time. They were a breed apart, dedicated to the hunt and little else.

"Are there other vampires here?" Brenna asked.

"A few."

"Are they friends of yours?"

He snorted softly. "No."

She tilted her head to one side in a gesture he was coming to recognize. "Why not? I should think you would seek each other out."

"Vampires are territorial predators, not social creatures."

"Oh."

Silence fell between them. It occurred to Roshan that Brenna might wish to bathe in the morning, and that she would no doubt need to use the bathroom facilities long before he rose again the next night.

"Come," he said. "There are a few things I need to show you."

She looked at him suspiciously. "What kinds of things?"

With a sigh of exasperation, he took her by the hand and pulled her, gently, off the bed. She followed him hesitantly as he led her into the bathroom.

She glanced at her surroundings, frowning at what appeared to be a large trough across from the door. Surely he didn't keep a horse in the house!

"This is the bathroom," Roshan said. "This is a sink." He showed her how to turn the faucet on and off, how to use the stopper, how to adjust the temperature.

Brenna stared at the running water for several seconds, her eyes widening as the water grew steamy. Was it a pump of some kind? She had never seen a pump inside the house, or heard of one that spewed hot water. Wonder of wonders, she realized that this room was similar to one she had seen downstairs. What luxury, to have two such rooms that dispensed hot running water.

"Where does it go?" she asked, watching the water disappear down a small hole in the bottom of the sink.

"Down a drainpipe and out to the ocean. This is a tub, for bathing." Again, he showed her how to turn the water on and off and how to adjust the temperature, as well as how to turn the shower on and off.

"You can deny it all you wish," she muttered, "but I still think you are a sorcerer, and a powerful one at that."

"You ain't seen nothing yet," he replied, thinking of all the modern wonders she had yet to see.

"And what is this?" she asked, pointing to an odd-looking contraption that vaguely resembled a chair.

He lifted the lid, revealing a bowl of clear water. "It's a toilet."

"Toi-let? What does it do?"

To his amusement, she blushed when he explained, as delicately as he could, what a toilet was used for and the function of toilet paper.

He pointed out the towels and the soap, showed her where he kept his shampoo.

She nodded, then yawned behind her hand.

"It's late," he said. "You should get some sleep."

"Will I wake up again?"

He shook his head in exasperation as he walked her back to the bedroom. She watched him warily as she slipped under the covers, her trepidation evident in every taut line of her body, the wary expression in her eyes.

"Go to sleep, Brenna." He spoke quietly, his gaze holding hers, his voice winding around her like silken threads, stealing her will.

With a soft sigh, her body went limp, her head falling back on the pillow. Moments later, she was sleeping soundly.

"Forgive me, Brenna," he murmured. "But you need the rest."

He stared down at her. How like his Atiyana she was, with her long red hair and deep green eyes. She possessed an innocence that had nothing to do with her age and everything to do with the purity of her heart and her soul. Impulsively, he smoothed a lock of hair from her brow, then bent down and brushed his lips across her cheek. Her skin was warm and smooth. His gaze moved to her throat.

Muttering an oath, he dragged his gaze away and left the room. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">