Night's Mistress (Children of The Night 5)

“Well, this boy is beautiful,” Kyle said proudly.

Mara smiled weakly, then groaned softly as Kathy pressed on her stomach to expel the afterbirth.

After that, everything passed in a blur until Savanah said, “Here’s your son,” and placed a tiny, blanket-wrapped bundle in Mara’s waiting arms.

Mara looked up into a sea of smiling faces. “Thank you,” she murmured. “All of you.”

Amid a chorus of good wishes, Rane’s family filed out of the room so that Kyle and Mara could be alone.

Mara looked at Kyle. “He is beautiful, isn’t he?”

Kyle nodded, his expression tender as he glanced from Mara to their son and back again. “I love you.”

She was supposed to say the words back to him. She knew it, but she couldn’t seem to force them past her lips. And then she looked at the baby sleeping in her arms, and the words came easier. “I love you, too. Thank you . . . for this.”

Mara brushed a kiss across the baby’s cheek and then, her eyelids fluttering down, she fell asleep.

Kyle blew out a sigh as he gazed at Mara and his son. Life was very nearly perfect, he mused. Would, in fact, be perfect, if he could just silence the little voice in the back of his mind that wouldn’t let him forget that his beautiful, perfect, newborn son could very well be a vampire.

Chapter Twenty-seven

“You promised me a baby, Tom. Where is it? Where’s my baby?” Janis Ramsden stood in front of the fireplace, her hands fisted on her hips. A single blood-tinged tear slid down one cheek. She was a pretty woman, tall, with russet-colored hair, skin as pale as alabaster, and heavily lashed, light brown eyes. Even after a century of life as one of the Undead, Janis maintained an air of youthful innocence that was both endearing and annoying.

“Dammit, Janis, it’s not my fault Mara took off,” Ramsden replied heatedly. “How was I supposed to know she’d do such a stupid thing?”

“You must have done something, said something . . .”

“I didn’t.”

“You promised me a baby. My arms are empty, Tom. So empty.”

The pleading note in Janis’s voice stoked his anger. He had brought her across after he’d found her lying in the road, a victim of a hit-and-run. Even at the point of death, she’d had a fragile beauty that he had been unable to resist. He hadn’t asked her permission. He had taken her blood and given it back to her, then carried her home. He had been by her side when she succumbed to mortal death, been at her side when the change took place and she had awakened to a new world. She had been like a child, untouched, innocent, and he had been there to teach her, to guide her, to help her find her way in her new life.

For a time, knowing that Janis needed him, that she couldn’t survive without him, had been an incredible high. Her presence in his life had added an element of freshness, an excitement that had been sorely lacking for over a century.

But in the last few years, Janis had taken it into her head that they needed a child to make their lives complete. Tom had been less than enthusiastic about the idea of adopting a baby until Mara came along. Mara, who had regained her humanity and lost her preternatural powers. The mystery of it had revitalized him.

Janis’s sobs drew him back to the present. For a moment, he regretted having brought her across, but what was done was done. He had made her and he was responsible for her for as long as she lived . . .

Shaking off a sudden, unwelcome thought, Ramsden closed the distance between them and drew her into his arms. If . . . when . . . he found Mara’s child, he would need Janis to look after it.

A baby! Ramsden swore softly. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? If Janis was this desperate for a child of her own, there were probably others of their kind who yearned to experience parenthood. A cure for vampirism would undoubtedly make him rich, but finding a way for vampires to reproduce would make him richer still.

And Mara held the secret to both possibilities. Excitement spiraled through him. She could make him rich. Famous beyond his wildest dreams.

“I’ll find her,” he said. Even now, he had his people looking. Now that she had lost her preternatural powers, she couldn’t hide from him forever.

And then he frowned. Perhaps it wasn’t Mara who held the secret at all, but the human male who had planted his seed within her.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Mara stirred, frowning as the insistent cry of a baby reached her ears. For a moment, she thought it must be Rane’s daughter. Grimacing, she flopped over onto her stomach and dragged a pillow over her head, only to come fully awake a few moments later. It wasn’t Abbey Marie making that perfectly awful racket. It was her own beautiful baby boy.

Being careful not to wake Kyle, Mara eased out of bed, then padded barefoot across the floor to the cradle that Savanah had thoughtfully provided.

“Hush, now, my sweet angel,” Mara crooned as she picked up her son and kissed his baby-smooth cheek. “You’re much too tiny to make such a dreadful noise. If you’re not careful, you’ll wake everyone in the house.”

Mara shook her head, bemused by the wave of motherly affection she felt for the infant in her arms. Did all new mothers feel this way? Had Eve been awed by the miracle of birth when she held Abel in her arms, amazed that she and Adam had created something so tiny, so perfect? Were all new mothers as terrified by the prospect of being wholly responsible for something so small and helpless? Had her own mother ever felt this wave of tender devotion? Probably not, Mara decided, or else her mother would not have abandoned her and left her to die.

Mara remembered that time in her life as clearly as if it had happened only days ago. She had been terrified when she woke up, alone in the dark. She had prayed to Bet, the protector of children, for help, but none had been forthcoming. She had cried for her mother, but no one had answered her cries. Frightened and hungry, she had wandered through the city, begging for food, stealing when necessary, afraid to close her eyes at night for fear someone would find her and sell her into slavery or worse. At a time when she should have been learning how to sew, cook, and keep house, she had been struggling to learn how to survive on the streets. Her dress, made of linen, soon grew dirty from sleeping on the ground. She’d had no shoes, but then most people had gone barefooted back then, although they had worn sandals on rare, special occasions. And then one night, one of Pharaoh’s slaves had found her huddled beneath a tree. Mara had fought him as best she could, but her childish fists were no match for a man full-grown. Tucking her under one arm, he had taken her home to Pharaoh’s house. She had spent the next ten years as a slave in the king’s household. She hadn’t liked being a slave. Even as a child, she had disliked taking orders, but she had been grateful to have a roof over her head, food to eat, clean clothes to wear.