Night's Mistress (Children of The Night 5)

“Wait,” Mara said. “Promise me something?”

“Whatever you want.”

“If I don’t survive, promise me you’ll keep looking for Derek and Kyle, and that you’ll protect them as long as they live.”

Logan stared at her. “Do you know what you’re asking?”

“I know. Promise me?”

“All right, dammit, I promise.”

She smiled at him. “Let’s do it, then.”

He took a deep breath in an effort to steady his nerves. Though he had never turned anyone, he knew how it was done. His only fear was that he would get caught up in the moment, lose himself in her sweetness, and take too much. If Mara died in his arms, his own life would no longer be worth living.

Tension coiled deep within Mara’s belly as Logan drew her into his embrace. It had been centuries since Dendar had brought her across. All she remembered from that encounter was her mind-numbing fear of the unknown as she stared into his hell-red eyes, the unrelenting pain that had twisted through her being as her mortal life was slowly drained away.

She wasn’t afraid with Logan. If his vampire nature took over and he drank too much, so be it. At least she would die in the arms of a man who loved her.

Logan caressed her cheek, kissed her lightly, and then, murmuring, “Forgive me,” he sank his fangs into the soft, warm skin beneath her ear.

Her blood, bitter before she had turned completely human, was now hot and sweet as it flowed over his tongue. Would she hate him for what he had done once her son had been found? Would she regret the loss of her humanity? Most troubling of all was the fear that, when she was Nosferatu again and no longer needed him, she would go back to Kyle.

Her heart was beating in rhythm with his now, her memories were his, and then, as he continued to drink, her heartbeat grew slower, heavier, weaker.

When her heartbeat was no more than a whisper, when she lay across his lap like a pale rag doll, he bit into his wrist and held the bleeding wound to her lips. The rest was up to her.

“Drink, Mara,” he murmured, his tears falling like crimson rain onto her ashen cheeks. “Drink and live.”

For a moment, he feared he had taken too much, but then, after a few drops of his blood had dripped onto her tongue, her mouth fastened onto the wound. Logan closed his eyes in ecstasy as his blood revived her. Her heartbeat grew stronger, steadier.

Looking down at her, he saw that the dark shadows had faded from beneath her eyes, color bloomed in her cheeks.

Murmuring, “Enough,” he tried to draw his arm away, but she held on tightly, greedily. “Enough, Mara!” he said, and wrenched his arm from her grasp. In her present condition, she would drain him dry if given the chance.

After sealing the wounds in her neck, he carried her upstairs to his bedroom, held her in his arms through the last dark hours before dawn as her body sloughed off its humanity.

As she writhed in pain, it reminded him all too clearly of his own mortal death, something he hadn’t thought of in centuries. Mara had stayed at his side, talking him through the worst of it, assuring him that it was normal, that it would pass, that there was nothing to fear.

And so he held her now, murmuring to her in his native tongue, telling her that he loved her. Whether she heard him or not, he didn’t know. Had he taken too much? Perhaps he hadn’t given her enough of his blood to sustain life.

Just before dawn, she surrendered to the Dark Sleep. As gently as he could, he removed her clothing and put her to bed. After stripping off his own attire, he slipped under the covers and gathered her into his arms. All he could do now was wait.

Would she rise as a newly made vampire with the setting of the sun, or would death steal her away from him forever?

Chapter Forty-one

Ramsden examined his wife a second time, a vile oath escaping his lips as he turned away from the bed and stalked out of the room. She wasn’t pregnant. Why hadn’t it worked? Bowden had impregnated Mara. Why had his sperm failed to impregnate Janis? It had to be because Mara had been reverting to humanity when she became pregnant. It was the only answer that made sense. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner?

Maybe it was time to give up. Bowden was growing weaker, but that was to be expected, what with the amount of blood Ramsden had been taking from him. In addition to what he took for experimental purposes, Edna and Pearl had fed from the man a few times, as had Janis. Bowden no longer objected; no longer demanded to know where his son was, no longer paced for hours on end. He just sat in a corner of his cage, his face gaunt, his expression blank, a beaten man on the brink of death.

Aside from that, Edna and Pearl hadn’t had any success in learning why Bowden carried the werewolf gene but didn’t transform during the full moon. Few werewolves were born; most were infected by the bite of another. Either way, they were compelled to change when the moon was full, but the lunar cycle had no effect on Bowden.

Then there was the baby. The child should have been growing; instead, it grew weaker and more listless with every passing day. And now Janis was harassing Tom again, accusing him of bringing her an inferior baby, nagging him to find her another child, one that was older, stronger. Ramsden wasn’t sure, but he thought the cause of the baby’s declining health was because Janis was feeding off the baby. She had denied it, of course.

Going into the lab, he closed and locked the door. In spite of all the tests, he hadn’t been able to determine if the child carried the werewolf gene, nor had he been able to detect any indication that it was likely to become a vampire. As far as he could tell, the baby was just a normal male. Given the brat’s heritage, that didn’t make any sense at all.

Filled with frustration, he hurled a tray of empty test tubes against the wall. “All for nothing,” he muttered. “All that time wasted, and for what?”

He was fed up with Janis, sick and tired of Edna and Pearl and their infernal chatter, weary of being cooped up with a crying baby and a half-dead mortal. He hadn’t survived this long by being stupid. It was time to admit defeat and call it quits.

Tomorrow night, he would get rid of his shrew of a wife, then drain the man and the child. As for Pearl and Edna . . . He grunted softly. He doubted they would cause him any trouble in the future, but it was better to make sure now, while he had the chance. When all the loose ends were tied up, he would leave here and reinvent himself in a new city. Rome, perhaps, or Cairo, or maybe Rio. He would sever all his ties in the States, sell his property, buy a new wardrobe, pick a new name, obtain the necessary documents, and leave the country for a century or two.