Muttering an oath, she slammed her palm against the doorjamb, grimacing as the wood cracked beneath her hand.
She would not be human.
She would not be mortal.
It was unthinkable, impossible. It was simply that she had gone too long without feeding, too long since she had taken a life and savored the strength and vitality that flowed into her and through her as her prey’s heartbeat slowed, and then stopped.
Tonight, she would hunt, and heaven help the first healthy, attractive mortal male who crossed her path.
Mara stalked Hollywood Boulevard, bypassing the men dressed as women, the women dressed as men, the prostitutes, the drug addicts, the pimps. There had been a time when she would have taken the first unattached mortal she saw, but not now. She wanted only the best this night, a virile, healthy male in the prime of his life.
She found what she was looking for a short time later—a young man exiting a movie theater. He was tall and tan and beautiful. She followed him to the parking lot across the street, her footsteps making no sound on the pavement, her nerves singing in anticipation.
He was reaching for his keys when he suddenly realized he was no longer alone.
Hands clenched, he whirled around to face her. “Why the hell are you following . . . ?” His voice trailed off when he saw her, the fear and anger in his expression replaced by a sheepish grin when he realized that what he had first perceived as a threat was only a slender young woman clad in tight designer jeans and a hot pink turtleneck sweater. “Sorry about that,” he said politely. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, indeed.” She took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. Young and healthy and strong, she thought, noting his flat stomach and broad shoulders. He didn’t smell of tobacco or drugs or alcohol. No doubt he ate right and worked out every day. Perfect.
“Just name it, honey, and it’s yours.” The words were innocent enough, but there was no mistaking the lustful gleam in his eyes.
“You,” she said with a smile. “I want you.”
“All right by me, babe. Your place or mine?”
“Right here,” she murmured, moving closer. “Right now.”
Before he could reply, her gaze trapped his. “Unlock the door, babe, and get into the backseat.”
Face slack, eyes blank, he did as she asked without hesitation.
Climbing in beside him, she closed the door and then drew him into her arms. She ran her tongue along the strong column of his neck, savoring the taste of salt and fear, the scent of warm, living blood flowing just beneath his skin. Too long since she had fed, she thought, too long since she had filled herself with the crimson elixir of life.
She closed her eyes, letting the anticipation of the pleasure that was to come wash over her—the heat of his skin, the thrill of that first warm coppery taste sliding over her tongue, the sudden rush of power, the almost sensual satisfaction when she had taken her fill.
And on that thought, she sank her fangs into his throat, only to recoil as her mouth filled with his blood. Instead of experiencing a sense of warmth and pleasure, she felt only revulsion.
Overcome with confusion, she pushed him away, then stared, horrified, at the blood that oozed from the two tiny wounds in his neck, trickling down to soak into the collar of his pale blue shirt.
Murmuring, “What’s happening to me?” she released him from her thrall and fled the scene.
She stopped when she reached the outskirts of the city. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
She could feel it deep inside, and it felt like death.
Chapter Four
Rane Cordova stood in the shadows, his back resting against a tall tree as he enjoyed the quiet of the night. Much had changed in his life in the last few months. After years of estrangement from his family, he had finally gone home. His bride, Savanah, was partly responsible for the changes in his life and his attitude. Soon after their wedding, she had sold her father’s house and they had moved to Oregon to be near Rane’s parents and his brother. Although Rane had never voiced his concern aloud to Savanah, he’d had some reservations, not only about how she would fit in with his relatives, but how they would react to her. He knew it couldn’t be easy for Savanah, being the only mortal in a family of vampires, but she was holding up pretty well so far, all things considered. It helped that his family genuinely loved her; hopefully, in time, she would agree to accept the Dark Gift, as had his mother and his sister-in-law.
Yes, life was good. He had returned to the stage, performing his acts of magic and sleight of hand under the name of Iago, the Illusionist. In the last month, he had done a dozen shows in the surrounding cities. Of course, what he did wasn’t magic at all, merely an overt display of his preternatural powers. Savanah had taken a job as a columnist for the local newspaper. Occasionally, she played the part of his assistant on stage. A beautiful woman was always a welcome distraction.
Pushing away from the tree, he strolled around the yard. Even now, three months after the fact, he found it hard to believe that he was a father. Of course, the child sleeping peacefully in the nursery on the second floor wasn’t his. Vampires couldn’t create life, so Savanah had gone to a doctor who specialized in artificial insemination. Rane hadn’t been sure how he would react to being a father, or how he would feel about a child not of his own flesh and blood, but one look into Abbey Marie’s angelic face and all his doubts had fled. Savanah had given birth to the child, and that was all that mattered.
Rane shook his head. It was easy to care for an infant, but what kind of father would he be when his daughter was five, ten, a teenager? Knowing it was impossible for him to have a child, fatherhood was something he had never contemplated.
They owned the right kind of a house for raising children, though. They had bought it soon after Savanah learned she was pregnant. It was a quaint-looking, two-story blue-gray house with bright white shutters, and a backyard he was already picturing with a puppy and a swing.
He grinned into the darkness. Becoming a father had been quite a shock to his own sire. Vince Cordova had been a vampire only a short time when he’d met Cara DeLongpre. After a rather torrid and dangerous courtship, the two had married. Rane and his twin brother, Rafe, had arrived shortly thereafter. To Rane’s knowledge, his father was the only vampire who had ever fathered children.
With a sigh, Rane turned and walked back toward the house. He had almost reached the back door when Savanah stepped outside. It still amazed him that she was his. His gaze moved over her as she walked toward him. Her hair was the color of liquid moonlight, her eyes as clear and blue as a mid-summer sky. He felt a familiar warmth envelop him as she went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.