Brenna! Where are you? Dammit, woman, answer me!
Something was wrong. He reached out, his mind searching for her. There was a flicker of life at the gates. Morgana. But no sense of Brenna's presence. He jack-knifed into a sitting position. The gates were open!
Cursing softly, he slid his legs over the edge of the bed, stood, swaying on his feet, wondering if he had the strength to make it up the stairs.
He was panting when he reached the top. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and then, keeping one hand on the wall for support, he made his way down the corridor toward the entry hall, wondering if this was what it felt like to be old.
The front door stood open.
Descending the porch steps, he walked down the driveway to the gates. Morgana was there, pacing back and forth. She looked up at him, meowing loudly, then leaped into his arms.
Startled, Roshan stroked the cat's fur. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll find her."
He carried the cat up to the house and locked her inside, then went to the garage.
He would have preferred traveling through the night with his own preternatural speed, but he was too weak. He needed to save his strength for whatever lay ahead.
He backed out of the garage, down the driveway, and out onto the street. Once again, he sent his senses searching for Brenna. It frightened him that he could not detect her life force.
Certain that Loken was behind her disappearance, he drove toward the warlock's house. Parking the car a short distance away, he exited the vehicle. Several tall trees and shrubs grew alongside the parkway, shielding him from passersby. Drawing on what power he could muster, he summoned Jean to his side.
A moment later, she was walking toward him, clad in a red T-shirt and a pair of cutoff jeans. Taking her by the hand, he pulled her behind a nearby hedge.
Overcome with worry for Brenna, the hunger raging deep within him, he bent his head to the girl's throat, his fangs ravaging her flesh. He drank and drank, his eyes closing in near ecstasy as her life's blood flowed into him, filling him with warmth and heat, easing his pain.
It was only when her heartbeat slowed and her breathing grew labored that he lifted his head. The girl lay unmoving in his arms, her face pale.
Muttering an oath, Roshan bit his wrist and held it to the girl's lips. "Drink," he commanded.
She did as she was told. A few drops of his blood brought the color back to her cheeks. She stared up at him, her eyes widening.
"Who are you?" She struggled against him. "Let me go."
"Jean, there's nothing to fear." He spoke quietly, the sound of his voice soothing her. "We're old friends, Jean, remember? You did me a favor yesterday. I need your help again."
"Help you, yes."
"Good. Let's go."
Obediently, she followed him up the hill, ready to do whatever he required of her.
Brenna closed her eyes when she heard the door open again. Loken was still whistling softly. She heard him moving around the room. Curious, she opened her eyelids a crack and saw him roll Myra 's body in plastic. Fear jolted through Brenna. Was that to be her end, as well? Rolled up in plastic and buried where no one would ever find her?
She closed her eyes as Loken stood and turned toward her.
"So," the warlock said, "how are you doing? You might as well answer me," he said impatiently. "I know you're awake."
She yelped as he grabbed her wounded arm.
Swearing prolifically, he untied her wrist and lifted her arm higher so he could examine it more closely. "It's still bleeding!" he shouted. "What happened? What's wrong? Why isn't it healing?" He walked to the other side of the bed, stared in disbelief at the blood trickling down her side.
"I told you… " She gasped for breath. "Told you… it… would not… work."
A sound from downstairs drew Loken's attention. Moving to the window, he stared down at the street.
Roshan stood to one side of the door as Jean tossed a rock through the window Loken had repaired. Magick certainly came in handy for home repairs, Roshan mused as Jean reached through the jagged hole, unlocked the door, and then opened it.
Roshan frowned as the door swung open. Taking a step forward, he peered down the hallway. He sensed supernatural power within the house, but there was nothing guarding the threshold, nothing to repel him.
Curious now, he moved closer to the threshold. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the warlock's house.
Nothing happened. The wizard's threshold no longer had any power over him.
Turning toward the porch, he spoke to the girl.
"Jean, I don't need you anymore. I want you to go home. When you get there, all you'll remember of this night is that you took a walk, nothing more. Just that you took a walk. I want you to get something to drink, and then go to bed."
"Yes, bed."
"Go now." He watched her until she was out of sight, then turned and walked down the hallway. As he did so, his nostrils filled with the scent of death. That explained why he had been able to enter the warlock's house, Roshan mused as he started up the stairs. The house was no longer a home. Murder had been done here, thereby destroying whatever protection the threshold had provided against supernatural powers.
He shook his head ruefully. Had he not been so weak the last time he was here, he would have realized the warlock's wards had vanished. But there was no point in dwelling on that now.
Brenna was here.
He followed the scent of her blood up the stairs, down a narrow hallway, and into a darkened room. She was lying on the bed.
Anthony Loken stood beside her, the gun in his hand aimed at Brenna's head.
"And so," Loken said, "we come to the last act."
Ignoring the warlock, Roshan's gaze moved over his wife. Blood trickled from a wound in her arm, oozed from her side. Her face was as white as the pillow beneath her head, her eyes were dull, her heartbeat slow and erratic.
Rage uncoiled within Roshan like a snake ready to strike. "You have one chance," he said, his eyes fixed on the warlock's face. "Just one. Put the gun down and I might let you live."
"You have no chances," Loken retorted. "Leave my house or she dies right now."
"The fact that she's still alive is the only reason you're still breathing," Roshan said. "Put the gun down."
Loken shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words were never uttered. Between one heartbeat and the next, Roshan was standing between Brenna and the warlock. In the next instant, Roshan's hand was locked around Loken's neck.
Eyes bulging, the warlock made a mad grab for the vial on the nightstand.
Roshan beat him to it. He held the tube up to the light. "Is this my blood?"
Unable to speak, Loken glowered at him.
Uncapping the vial, Roshan took a sniff. "Is this the magick elixir that was going to give you immortality?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet. "Well, let's see if it works."
Eyes wild, Loken glanced at Brenna, then shook his head.
A slow smile spread over Roshan's face as he captured the warlock's gaze.
"Drink," he commanded, and poured the contents of the vial down Loken's throat. Tossing the man aside, Roshan turned toward Brenna.
Removing the ropes from her hands and feet, he sat on the edge of the bed and gathered her into his arms. "Brenna? Brenna, can you hear me?"
Her eyelids fluttered open and she stared up at him. "You came." She lifted one hand to stroke his cheek. "One kiss," she whispered. "One kiss before I go to sleep."
"You will not die, Brenna Flanagan," he said fiercely. "I will not permit it."
"You cannot stop it."
He held her tighter, his mind in turmoil, all thought of Loken forgotten until the man screamed. The sound reverberated through the room, a wordless cry of madness and gut-wrenching fear.
Gaining his feet, the warlock staggered drunkenly around the room, his face a mask of agony. Arms clasped around his stomach, he dropped to his knees and rocked back and forth. He stared up at Roshan. "Help me!"
Roshan watched him, unmoved, as he remembered what the warlock had done to Jimmy Dugan and others. They had suffered horrible deaths in the warlock's search for immortality.
"No! No!" Loken's voice rose in terror. "This can't be happening, not to me. Not to me!"
Roshan watched impassively. The warlock's skin seemed to be shrinking, making him look like a living skeleton. His body writhed and convulsed on the floor like a spider on a hot rock. His eyes bulged from their sockets. His skin wrinkled, turning an ugly shade of gray, as his body continued to shrivel up, and all the while a wordless, high-pitched whine rose in his throat until, with a last horrified cry, he toppled over onto his side and lay still.
Rising with Brenna nestled against his chest, Roshan left the house.
Brenna was close to death when they reached home. Her lips were turning blue; her skin was cold to the touch. He lit a fire in the hearth. Sitting on the sofa, he cradled her in his arms, one hand gently stroking her cheek. She was cold, so cold.
"Brenna, tell me what to do," he begged, but she was past hearing.
He stared down at her. They had often discussed what it was like to be a vampire. She had asked how he felt about being one, but they had never really talked about how she felt about becoming what he was. It was one of the things he had intended to talk to her about later, after they had spent more time together, after she'd had time to understand more fully what being a vampire entailed. He had foolishly assumed they had years to discuss the subject. She was so young, there was no hurry for her to accept the Dark Gift. Better she should continue to live a normal life for another ten or fifteen years before she gave up the sun.
But she no longer had twenty years. He doubted she had twenty minutes. He could feel her life force slipping away, and he knew, in that moment, that he could not let her go. Fate had brought them together. He could not lose her now.
"Brenna, forgive me," he whispered, and lowered his head to her neck.