Night's Mistress (Children of The Night 5)

“Is that what you think is going on?”

“I don’t know!” She made a vague gesture with her hand. “What other explanation can there be?”

Rane shook his head. “Beats me.”

Seeing the fear in her eyes, he drew her into his arms. How could this be happening? Mara was the oldest, the strongest, of their kind. Was it possible she was reverting to mortality or, worse, dying? And if so, what had caused it? And what did it mean for the rest of them? Everyone knew vampires were virtually immortal. But what if they were wrong? If something like this could happen to Mara, it could happen to any of them.

Mara took a deep, calming breath. “I should go. Savanah is waiting for you.”

Rane glanced up at the house. Savanah stood at the bedroom window with Abbey Marie cradled in her arms. Even from a distance, he could see the curiosity in his wife’s eyes.

“We haven’t solved anything,” Rane said. “Maybe you should stay with us for a few days.”

Mara shook her head. “No.”

“Dammit . . .”

She cupped his cheek in her palm. “I’ll be all right.”

“You’ll keep in touch? Promise?”

“Of course. Don’t worry about me.”

Rane grunted softly. “If you didn’t want me to worry, you shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention this to anyone else, and that includes Savanah.”

“Mara . . .”

“Take care of yourself, Rane.”

“Yeah, you, too.”

She nodded; then, with a graceful wave of her hand, she was gone.

Rane stared into the darkness. What would it be like, to not only consume mortal food again, but to crave it? How would he feel if he lost the urge to hunt? Would he miss it? What would it be like to keep the same hours as the rest of the world? It was obvious that Mara wasn’t happy about the prospect of being mortal again. He couldn’t blame her. He didn’t think he would be too keen on the idea, either, but then, being a vampire had been in his blood since birth; he couldn’t imagine any other way of life.

With a shake of his head and a hope that Mara would be all right, Rane went into the house.

Savanah was waiting for him in the kitchen. “Was that Mara? What’s going on?”

“She asked me not to talk about it.”

“About what? Is something wrong?”

“Savanah . . .”

“Oh, that’s not fair! She comes here in the middle of the night to tell you something, and you won’t share it. Was it bad news? At least tell me that.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, slipping his arm around her shoulders. “It was bad.”

Chapter Five

Logan Blackwood stood on the corner of Sunset and Vine, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the late-night crowd drift by. The world had changed considerably in nine hundred years and yet, in many ways, it remained the same. Much like himself, he mused. He’d had many personas in the last nine centuries, but none suited him quite so well as the role he played now—that of an eccentric millionaire who liked to dabble in financing movies and hanging out with the slick Hollywood crowd.

He got quite a kick out of being around movie people, with all their odd little quirks and their need to forever be in the spotlight. It made hunting ever so much easier, especially among starlets who were willing and eager to do anything to get a foot in the door. It wasn’t really hunting, he thought with a grin. More like shooting fish in a barrel. All he had to do was mention that he knew famed director Sterling Price and a bevy of beauties surrounded him, each one anxious to do whatever he asked in hopes of an introduction to Price. In one instance, Logan had actually had a hand in paving the way for a talented young actress to make her film debut. Years later, she had won an Academy Award. Logan had been immensely pleased, and more than a little surprised, when she mentioned him by name during her acceptance speech.

He was about to call it a night when a woman clad in a pair of black stretch pants, a white silk shirt, and high-heeled black boots stepped out of a late-night boutique. Logan stared at her. It couldn’t be, he thought, but it was. Mara, the vampire who had turned him over nine hundred years ago. Though he had not seen her in centuries, he recognized her instantly. But that was understandable. Having once seen her, no man on earth, living or Undead, would ever forget her. She looked just as she had that fateful night centuries ago, slender with lush curves in all the right places, her hair like a waterfall of gleaming black silk, her eyes as bright and green as emeralds. Mara.

She turned his way just then and he inclined his head in greeting, wondering if she even remembered him, and then he saw that she was wearing the heart-shaped ruby pendant he had given her so long ago. If she wore the ruby, she hadn’t forgotten him. Had she ever wondered what had become of him after she walked away without a word? Would she acknowledge him now?

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes widening in recognition, and then, with a toss of her head, she glided toward him, as lithe and beautiful as he remembered.

“Mara.”

“Hektor. This is a surprise.” She experienced a warm rush of excitement at seeing him again, but then, how could she not? He was gorgeous, by far the most handsome man she had ever known, with his thick, wavy black hair and deep brown eyes. A supple black leather jacket caressed his broad shoulders, faded blue jeans encased his long legs. The boots he wore were scuffed but expensive. He looked fit and prosperous and as sexy as the devil on a Saturday night. The dimple in his left cheek winked at her when he smiled.

“I go by the name of Logan now,” he said. “Logan Blackwood.” His gaze swept over her in a long, assessing glance. “So, how have you been?”

“The same as always. You’re looking well.”

“So are you.” And yet, there was something different about her, though what it was, he couldn’t say. But something wasn’t right. He took a deep breath, and then frowned. “Do I smell onions on your breath?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“How is that possible?”

“I’m Mara,” she replied with an enigmatic smile. “Anything is possible.”

Grinning, he said, “Ah, girl, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you.” He hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud. Knowing that she didn’t want entanglements of any kind, he had never confessed his love for her. When she left him, he had told himself that it didn’t matter. In the years that followed, he had convinced himself that he was over her, that he had stopped loving her centuries ago, yet one look and he knew he had been kidding himself. He would love her until the day he ceased to exist.