Looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, she saw the need shining in his own, a need she would never understand, felt his body tense as he waited for her answer. “Rane…”
“Please, love.”
“Just a taste,” she said. “Promise?”
“Just a taste,” he said, and bent his head to her neck.
She waited for the pain of his bite, but there was no pain, only an odd little tingling sensation that was followed by a wave of sensual pleasure that brought her to climax yet again.
Murmuring, “Thank you,” she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, certain that she understood, at least in part, why his mortal mother had married his father.
Chapter Twenty-One
“What are you doing here?” Clive asked. “Shouldn’t you be checking on the Gentry woman?”
“That’s why I’m here,” Tasha said with a shrug. “She’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean, gone? Gone where?”
“I don’t know. Her car is there, but the house is empty.”
“Has Cordova been there?”
“Yes, recently. They may have left together, but it’s hard to tell. There’s been a lot of people coming and going, what with the police hanging around and all.”
A muscle ticked in Clive’s jaw. He wanted results, not supposition. Suddenly sick of the sight of her, he jerked his head toward the door. “Go on, get out of here.”
“I’m doing the best I can,” Tasha said, unable to keep the whine out of her voice.
“Just get out!”
She knew better than to argue.
Clive slammed the door behind her. Dammit! He never should have trusted Tasha. She was a relatively new Vampire, and not too bright, but she had the heart-shaped face of a Madonna and the body of a temptress.
Frowning, he paced the floor. Where would Cordova have taken the woman? The Vampire hadn’t seen his family in decades, so it was doubtful he would show up there with a mortal female in tow. As far as Clive knew, Rane Cordova had no home of his own. Of course, there was always the chance, however slim, that the Vampire had drained the woman and disposed of her body.
He swore again. Only the most trusted of his wolves knew what he was doing; a handful of them were working with him, moving quietly from town to town, sniffing out whatever Vampires and hunters they could find, destroying them when possible. So far, the Vampire community appeared to be oblivious to what was happening. As for the hunters, he had yet to penetrate whatever network they had. But he would. Slow and steady won the race. In time, the Werewolves would not only dominate mankind, but the Vampires, as well.
He was about to call his lieutenant when his cell phone rang.
He flipped it open, his hello more of a growl than a greeting.
“She’s here.”
At the sound of Roc’s voice, Clive went still. “Where are you?”
“The mountains. The Gentry woman and one of the Cordova twins are staying at Mara’s place.”
Clive grunted softly. It was well-known that Mara had strong ties to the Cordova family.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Find those books.” Dispatching the hunters would be like shooting ducks in a barrel if he had a list of names.
“What about the woman?”
“Don’t worry about her. She’s no danger to anyone.”
“And Cordova?”
“Kill him.”
“And if the woman gets in the way?”
“Then kill her, too. But whatever you do, find those books.”
“Will do.”
Clive shoved the phone into his pocket, a howl of excitement rising in his throat.
Soon, he thought. Soon the books and their knowledge would be his.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mara sat atop the head of the Great Sphinx, her presence cloaked from the tourists who scurried around the base of the monument like ants with cameras. For a moment, she considered what it would be like if she suddenly landed in their midst, a wolf among sheep, so to speak. She felt her fangs extend as she contemplated the slaughter, the harsh cries of panic, the rich coppery scent of blood rising in the air and teasing her tongue. It would be easy, she thought, so easy to take them all, to fill herself with their life’s essence until she couldn’t hold any more. Oddly, the notion held little appeal, perhaps because she no longer needed to feed as often as she had in decades past. It was with some surprise that she realized she hadn’t fed in months.
Sitting there, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her back, she thought how good it was to be home again. She had walked in the Valley of the Kings, made her way through the chambers of Nefertari’s tomb in the Valley of the Queens, strolled through what was left of the Karnak Temple with its enormous stone columns. She had wandered along the Avenue of Sphinxes at the Luxor Temple in what had been ancient Thebes, every step resurrecting a memory of days gone by. So much of what she saw and heard was familiar, and yet so much had changed. Little remained of the Egypt she had known so many centuries ago.
Feeling suddenly melancholy, she gazed at the people below, wondering what their last thoughts would be if they knew they were but a heartbeat away from death should she decide to feed.
And then she saw him, a tall man standing at the foot of the Sphinx, a sketch pad in his hand. He was hatless in the sun; his shaggy brown hair was highlighted with streaks of gold. He was tall, with the body of an athlete. His hand was quick and confident as it moved over the paper.
Curious, she floated down to the ground, jarring his shoulder ever so slightly as she materialized beside him with a murmured, “Sorry.”
Kyle Bowden turned toward the woman who had jostled his arm, whatever words he had been about to say forgotten as he gazed into the greenest eyes he had ever seen. Feeling like a fool, he could only stare at the vision before him, his hand itching to get her image on canvas. Would she sit for him if he asked? Did he dare?
He needed to say something, he thought frantically, something witty to make her smile, something mysterious to pique her curiosity, something cool and worldly wise to impress her—but what? He had no gift for small talk. His talent was in his art.
“Good Lord, but you’re beautiful.” The words spilled out of his mouth. Mortified, he bit down on his tongue, but she only laughed, the sound deep and rich like ancient temple bells on a summer day. It reached into his very depths, filling a void he hadn’t known existed.
“I’m Mara,” she said, offering him her hand.
“Kyle.” In spite of the heat of the day, her skin was cool against his.