Night's Kiss (Children of The Night 1)

"No, my sweet Brenna, I have not cursed you with the Dark Trick."

"But you bit me? You took my blood while I slept."

He nodded.

"You promised I would be safe here!"

Upset at the anger in her mistress's voice, Morgana sprang to her feet, hissing.

"And safe you shall be," Roshan said.

She glared at him. "Safe? Hah!"

"Forgive me, Brenna. I took but a small taste, hardly more than a drop."

"You are no more trustworthy than the fox who promised safety to the goose if she would carry him across the lake."

He lifted one brow, waiting for her to explain.

"When the fox reached the safety of the other side, he attacked the goose. As the goose lay dying, she asked him why he had betrayed her. 'It is my nature,' replied the fox.'" She stared at him, her eyes filled with accusation. "Like the fox, sir, I fear you cannot change your nature. Like the goose, I fear I have sorely misplaced my trust."

Roshan grunted softly. "Think what you will, Brenna Flanagan," he said quietly, and vanished from her sight.

She stared after him. She could not stay here. All too clearly, she remembered the dream she'd had before he came to her cottage, the cold certainty she'd had upon waking that she would die by his hand.

Things seemed less ominous in the clear light of day. Rising, Brenna stepped into the shower and closed the curtain. What a marvel, to have hot water anytime one wished without having to heat it on the fire or cast a spell. She stood under the spray, luxuriating in the warmth.

Exiting the bathroom, she noticed the boxes and bags containing the clothing she had chosen the night before sitting on the floor beside the bed. Roshan must have brought the packages up sometime last night, while she was asleep. The thought of him being in the room, watching her while she slept, drinking her blood, sent a shiver down her spine.

She rummaged through the packages for a change of clothing, taking out what she needed for the day, leaving the rest of the items in the bags and boxes since there was no room in the closet or the chest of drawers.

She dressed quickly, ran the brush through her hair, then, her feet bare, she went downstairs to break her fast. Entering the kitchen, she glanced around, trying to remember all the things he had told her, quietly whispering the name of each object— stove, refrigerator, sink, garbage disposal, dishwasher. Such wondrous inventions. Truly, this was a magical age.

She opened the refrigerator, marveling anew that the big box kept food cold with no visible means. Electricity kept it cold, Roshan had told her. Electricity. To Brenna, it was just another name for modern magick. She had learned that it was electricity that powered the television, cooled the house in summer, and caused the lamps to glow with light. How was it possible for the same source to provide both heat and cold, as well as light?

She withdrew two eggs and the bacon from the refrigerator and set them on the counter. She found a frying pan and placed it on the stove. And then she stood there, wondering if she dared turn on the stove. What if she did it wrong? Chiding herself for her fears, she turned on the front burner the way Roshan had showed her. If she was going to live in this century, she needed to learn how to do these things. She cracked the eggs in the pan, added two strips of bacon.

While she waited for the food to cook, she buttered two pieces of bread, noting that each slice in the package was exactly the same size as the other. She turned the eggs and the bacon, jumping a little when grease splattered on her hand. After filling a glass with buttermilk, she poured some into a small bowl for Morgana. Turning off the stove, she dished up the eggs and bacon and sat down at the table.

She glanced out the window while she ate, wondering where Roshan passed the hours of daylight, wondering what vampire sleep was like. Was it truly like death, or did he dream? She had heard that vampires were vulnerable when the sun commanded the sky, that they could be destroyed while taking their rest. Did he sleep somewhere here, in the house?

Closing her eyes, she reached out to him with her mind, but she had no sense of his presence, no inkling that he was anywhere nearby. She was mystified by her overwhelming urge to see him while he slept. Was it the same sort of curiosity that had brought him to her room last night?

After finishing her meal, she put her plate and glass in the dishwasher and closed the door. A wave of her hand and a small incantation quickly washed and dried the frying pan and put it away. She could have washed and dried her dishes in the same manner but she was curious to see how the dishwasher worked.

Leaving the kitchen, she went into the living room and sat down, Morgana at her side. Settling back on the sofa, Brenna turned on the television. For a time, she was content to sit there, occasionally switching the channels. She did not understand everything she saw. Sometimes the screen was filled with horses and cattle and men in big hats, sometimes there were cars and airplanes, sometimes there were dragons and knights. Did all these people and creatures exist in this time and place? If so, how was it possible? She would have to ask Roshan when next she saw him.

Rising, she began a deeper exploration of the house than she had done before. She peeked into closets and cupboards, peered behind doors, checked in the basement and the attic. The basement was empty; the attic held several pieces of furniture and two large trunks, both of which were locked.

Returning to the parlor, she sank down on the sofa, wondering where to look next. She refused to admit that she was searching for his resting place, but she was sorely disappointed that she had failed to find it. And yet, had she found his resting place, what would she have done, assuming she would have been able to get in? And had she gained entrance, would she really want to see him sleeping the sleep of the dead? She grimaced at the thought, though it did little to diminish her curiosity.

With a little huff of irritation, she admitted that she was probably wasting her time. For all she knew, he passed the hours of daylight in some place far from this house.

She sat there for several minutes and then, tired of watching the images on the screen, she went back to the attic.

A simple spell unlocked the first trunk. Smiling with pleasure, she lifted the lid, and then frowned as she pulled out several dresses, petticoats, and three pairs of long wool stockings. Examining the clothes, she noted that they were far more similar to the clothing she was used to than the styles women wore today. Why would Roshan keep a trunk filled with old clothes.? Had they belonged to his mother? A sister? A wife?

Delving further into the trunk, she found a hairbrush and comb, more stockings, a handful of colorful ribbons, a pair of tortoiseshell combs, as well as a little pewter cup. There was an oval mirror wrapped in newspaper, a small glass jar, a dried flower in a box, a small white blanket, a baby-sized sacque, a pair of booties, a tiny white cap, a rag doll.