I closed and locked the door, unaware that I was crying until I felt the tears dripping down my cheeks.
Chapter Ten
After leaving Kathy's house, Rafe returned to the woods. The smell of blood and violent death hung heavy in the air.
He stared at the Werewolf's body. Whoever had attacked the Were had caught him in the midst of the change, when he was the most vulnerable. They had attacked him and drained him until there was little blood left in his veins, then ripped out his liver and his intestines, condemning him to die a slow, painful death. Had he been in Werewolf form, he would have survived, but caught in the middle of the change, there had been no hope for him.
Rafe blew out a sigh. He felt no remorse for taking the Were's life. The creature had begged him to do it. It had been the humane thing to do, something he would have done anyway. Still, it was an awesome thing to take a life, even when that life was on the brink of extinction, to drink a man dry, to take his life and his memories and leave only a dry husk behind. There had been little blood remaining in the Were, yet in taking the last of it, Raphael had not only taken the Werewolf's life and his memories, but the power that came from taking that life, as well. No matter that the Were had been nearly dead, his life force nearly gone, his Supernatural power had flowed into Rafe. He could still taste the last of the Were's blood on his tongue.
Draping the body over his shoulder, Rafe carried it deeper into the woods; then, using his bare hands, he quickly dug a grave and buried the luckless creature.
He couldn't prove it, of course, but he was certain that the Werewolf had been killed in retaliation for Cristophe's death. He was equally certain that a young hothead known only as Dawson was the Vampire who was responsible.
Raphael went suddenly still, all his senses on alert, and then, smiling, he turned around. “Hello, Godmother.”
Mara smiled. “I never could sneak up on you.”
He had always been in awe of the Vampire who was his godmother. She was a beautiful woman, timeless, ageless. Her thick black hair fell to her slim hips in long, rippling waves, her eyes were as green as the waters of the Nile. It was said she had been alive in the days when Antony stood at Cleopatra's side, that the blood of the Pharaohs ran in her veins. He didn't know whether that was true or not, but her powers were unmatched by any Vampire in existence. It wasn't her vast age that fascinated him so much as her ability to walk in the sun's light, an ability that she had passed to his father and, to a lesser degree, to his grandfather. She looked sexy as hell in a pair of white jeans, white high-heeled boots, and a slinky black silk shirt that revealed a good deal of creamy cleavage. She wore a heart-shaped ruby necklace at her throat that Rafe knew was worth a small fortune.
She moved closer to the grave, her nostrils flaring, and then she looked at Raphael, her eyes narrowing in anger. “Explain yourself! Did I not declare a truce? And yet you have defied me by taking this Were's life.”
Rafe shook his head. “I killed him at his request, but I'm not the one who attacked him.”
She regarded him a moment, her gaze burning into his, and then she turned her attention to the grave once more. “Dawson,” she murmured, her eyes narrowing. “He dares much!”
Rafe nodded. Mara had declared a truce. To go against her wishes was a foolhardy thing to do. Dawson's future could now be measured in minutes instead of centuries.
Mara turned her attention to Raphael once again. “The woman in the log house, she means a great deal to you.”
It wasn't a question, and Rafe saw no reason to confirm or deny it.
“You are very much like your father,” she mused.
“Am I?”
“Indeed. A love for mortal females seems to plague the men in your family.”
Rafe couldn't argue with that. His maternal grandfather, Roshan DeLongpre, had traveled back in time to find the woman whose photograph had obsessed him. Brenna Flannagan had not only been mortal at the time, but a practicing witch, as well. Roshan had saved her from a fiery death at the stake, brought her forward in time, and married her. His own father, Vince, had fallen in love with Roshan's adopted daughter, Cara Aideen. His parents seemed perfectly suited to one another, and happier than any couple he knew.
“I've not seen Vince in quite some time,” Mara remarked. “How is he? And your mother?”
“Well enough, the last time I heard from them.”
“Have you heard from Rane?”
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.