Night's Mistress (Children of The Night 5)

“Sure looks that way.”

“Okay by me,” Rogen said, cracking his knuckles. “First you, then her.”

Logan snorted softly. “You think you can take me?”

“Damn right!”

Mara glanced from one man to the other. Rogen had always been quick with his fists. In the old days, he’d had quite a reputation as a bare-knuckles boxer. He was perhaps two inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than Logan, but it wasn’t size that made the difference when vampires fought. It was age. Vampires grew stronger and more powerful as they grew older. Rogen had been a vampire for a hundred and fifty years; Logan had seven hundred and fifty years on him.

“Let’s take it outside,” Logan said, jerking his chin toward the door. “I don’t want to have to clean up the mess.”

Rogen made a derogatory sound deep in his throat. “When I get finished with you, there won’t be anything left to clean up.”

Mara laid her hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Logan . . .” “You’d better kiss your pretty boy good-bye,” Rogen said, “’cause after tonight, you’ll never see him again.” His gaze moved over her. “After I settle this, you and me are gonna have a little talk.”

Rogen’s gaze swung to Logan. “I’ll be waiting out back,” he said, and vanished in a cloud of dark gray motes.

Logan drew Mara into his arms, his hands sliding up and down her bare back. “I won’t be gone long.” He kissed her once, hard and quick, and then he, too, vanished from sight.

Mara pressed a hand to her heart. Logan was older, stronger. There was nothing to worry about. So why was she suddenly so afraid?

Chapter Seventeen

Logan faced Rogen across six feet of barren ground on the outskirts of the city. He couldn’t remember the last time he had battled another of the Undead.

Logan circled Rogen warily, all his senses alert. His tongue brushed his fangs. He wasn’t afraid for his own life. He wasn’t afraid of whatever fate awaited him on the other side of eternity. He had lived a good long life, and lived it on his own terms. He had no regrets. But this was a fight he had to win, not for his own sake, but for Mara’s, and for the sake of the baby she carried. He had no doubt that if Rogen were victorious, he would go back to the hotel and kill Mara without a qualm, and her child with her.

And with that thought in mind, Logan summoned his power, lowered his head, and attacked.

Fangs bared, nails like claws, Rogen met him head on. The coppery scent of fresh blood rose on the night wind as they slashed at each other.

It was a quiet and bloody battle, one Logan knew could last well into the night unless one of them suffered a killing wound. Rogen’s minor injuries healed almost immediately, as did Logan’s.

Despite his size, Rogen was light on his feet. And he was eager for battle, certain of victory.

Logan danced sideways as Rogen darted toward him, his fangs bared. Spinning around, Logan grabbed Rogen by the back of his shirt and gave a good, hard yank. Rogen stumbled backward, momentarily off balance. Moving swiftly, Logan kicked out, sweeping Rogen’s feet out from under him. With a startled cry, Rogen fell backward and hit the ground, hard.

Logan was relishing an imminent victory when he sensed the approach of others. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark swirling mist moving rapidly toward him. A low growl rose in his throat as the mist got thicker, darker, taking on shape and substance, until four men materialized in its place.

Vampires all. Their combined power charged the air like the electrical energy that preceded a storm.

Rogen scrambled to his feet, a smug expression on his face.

Logan glared at him. “Afraid to fight me on your own?” he asked, his voice laced with contempt.

“I came to win.” Rogen wiped the blood from his face and licked it off his hands.

Logan swore under his breath. One on one, he could whip any vampire who came against him, but five to one?

He backed away as the five Nosferatu stalked toward him. It was like a scene from some bad horror movie: five fanged, red-eyed monsters advancing toward the hero. Logan grunted softly. In a movie, someone would have come to the hero’s aid. In his case, no help would be forthcoming.

He could have vanished from their sight, but he stood his ground. Leaving now might save him for the moment, but he knew that, sooner or later, there would be another confrontation. Now that Rogen knew Mara had lost her powers, he wouldn’t rest until he had avenged himself on her, or he was dead.

Deciding to carry the battle to the enemy, Logan bared his fangs and charged. It startled Rogen and the others, but only for a moment.

Logan’s last thought before they surrounded him was for Mara, and then there was no time for thought as they tore into him, literally and figuratively.

Logan summoned every ounce of strength he possessed but it wasn’t enough. Would never be enough. The five vampires circled him, growling like rabid wolves. Singly and in pairs, they darted in to bite and slash, and while he defended himself against those in front, others attacked from his rear, gradually wearing him down. One of them, a vampire wearing a bright red shirt, came in low and fast, his fangs opening a long wicked gash down Logan’s left side. Blood gushed from the wound, running down Logan’s thigh, staining the earth at his feet. Red Shirt’s fangs were still embedded in Logan’s flesh when a fair-haired vamp rushed Logan from the other side, his fangs scraping along Logan’s throat.

Weak from the blood he had lost, Logan dropped to his knees, snarling defiantly as four of the vampires fell on him, pinning him to the ground.

Rogen stood over him, a sinister smile on his swarthy face. He lifted one hand, bloody claws extended. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

Logan glared up at him, his whole body tense as he waited for Rogen to rip his heart from his chest. He wasn’t afraid of dying, only of never seeing Mara again.

Rogen took a step forward and then, with a strangled cry, he stared in disbelief at the stake protruding, point first, from his chest, before he toppled to the ground.

Logan grinned faintly when he saw Vince Cordova standing in the moonlight, flanked by his two sons.

The cavalry had arrived, just in the nick of time.

The remaining four vampires closed ranks and stood behind Rogen’s body.

The tallest of the four gestured at the dead vampire. “It’s over as far as I’m concerned,” he muttered, and vanished from sight.

“What about the rest of you?” Vince asked. “You three up for a little one on one?”