Night's Pleasure (Children of The Night 4)

Resigned to staying inside until he awoke, she decided to read awhile, only then remembering that she had left her book on the patio table last night. She drummed her fingertips on the window frame. It would only take a moment to run outside and back.

She glanced out the window again. She could see her book lying on the table where she had left it, the pool beyond, and the high wooden fence that surrounded the backyard. There was no one in sight, and no place to hide in the pool area.

Going into the kitchen, Savanah unlocked the door and took a step across the threshold, only to pause when a cold chill skittered down her spine. She was about to dart back inside when a heavy hand clamped over her arm and jerked her out of the kitchen.

A scream erupted from her throat as her attacker dragged her out of the house. Kicking and scratching, she screamed again even though there was no one to hear her.

“Let me go!” She tried to scratch her attacker’s eyes, but he held her away with ease. She renewed her struggles as they neared the side gate, but it was no use. The man was close to seven feet tall, as wide as a barn door, and had a grip like iron.

“The books,” he said, slamming her up against the house. “Where are the books?”

She stared up at him, her insides suddenly as cold as ice. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.” Her head slammed against the wall when he shook her. Black spots danced in front of her eyes. “Where are the books?”

“Please, I don’t know…”

His hand closed around her throat. “Don’t make me ask you again.”

The strength went out of her legs as her vision blurred. She was going to die, she thought dully, and she hadn’t even killed one Vampire. Vampire…Rane…she would never see him again.

And then, unaccountably, her attacker released her.

Savanah slid to the ground, her hand massaging her throat as she fought to drag air into her lungs. A scuffling sound drew her attention. With an effort, she turned her head, squinting against the bright sunlight.

In the scant shelter of the patio, Rane was fighting her attacker. The scent of blood filled the air as they savaged each other. She could see smoke curling from the back of Rane’s T-shirt, smell his burning flesh. How much longer could he endure the sunlight before he went up in flames?

Forcing herself to her feet, she staggered into the house and grabbed her pistol. Standing in the kitchen doorway, she pointed the gun at the intruder’s back and then, taking aim the way Rane had taught her, she gently squeezed the trigger.

An inhuman howl filled the air as her attacker grabbed his right shoulder. Bright red blood oozed between his fingers. Whirling around, he started toward her, his lips drawn back in a feral snarl.

Fear coiled in Savanah’s stomach as she stared at the inhuman creature striding toward her. Hair sprouted from the backs of his hands; long, curved claws emerged from the ends of his fingers.

She waited until he was several steps away from Rane and then, taking aim at the Werewolf’s heart, she fired again, and then again, until the hammer clicked on an empty chamber.

The Werewolf dropped like a felled ox as her last shot pierced his heart, dead before he hit the ground.

Tossing the gun on the kitchen table, Savanah ran out the door. “Rane!”

He had fallen to his hands and knees. Swaying, he looked up at her. The skin on his face was red, blistered where the sun had touched him.

“You’re on fire!” Using her hands, she slapped at the flames eating through the back of his T-shirt and searing the skin beneath. “Come on!” she cried, “we’ve got to get you into the house!”

Grabbing him by one arm, she dragged him inside, then sank down on the floor beside him as all the strength drained from her limbs. For a minute, she just lay there, her body shaking uncontrollably, her nostrils filled with the stink of gunpowder and the awful smell of scorched flesh.

Rane lay facedown on the floor beside her, his eyes closed, his back muscles twitching. His skin was raw and red in some places, burnt black in others.

She continued to stare at him, afraid he would go up in smoke at any minute even as she wondered how he had survived being outside when the sun was up. Fortunately, he had only been in the sun a short time. The Werewolf’s claws had left deep furrows along Rane’s arms, down the side of his neck, and across one cheek. Thick, dark red blood oozed from the wounds.

What to do, what to do? Taking a deep breath, Savanah put her face close to his. “Rane? Rane, can you hear me?”

He mumbled something unintelligible.

She started to touch his shoulder, then jerked her hand away. “Rane, what should I do?”

A long shudder wracked his body, and then he opened his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” It was almost the truth. There was an ugly bruise on her forearm where the Werewolf had grabbed her, a lump the size of an ostrich egg on the back of her head, and a horrible sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had ignored Rane’s warning and almost got both of them killed. How could she have been so stupid?

She looked at him again, the queasy feeling growing stronger. The eyes staring back at her were as red as hellfire.

“Savanah…go down to Mara’s lair…and lock the door.”

She didn’t have to ask why. He was in pain. He needed blood to heal. And she was the only game in town.

“Savanah, go.”

“You need help.”

“You can’t give me what I need,” he said, his eyes blazing. “Get the hell out of here. Now!”

Scrambling to her feet, she ran out of the room and down the stairs to the subbasement as if her life depended on it.

Which she feared it did.

She had never been in Mara’s lair before. She closed the steel-reinforced door and slid the heavy bolt home, then stood there, her heart pounding. What was he doing now? How long did she have to stay down here?

She glanced around as she paced the floor. Staying here wouldn’t be much of a hardship, she thought. She had never seen anything quite like the huge room that surrounded her. Ornate wrought-iron sconces adorned the pale blue walls, along with a number of paintings that looked like originals. Several pieces of artwork she thought might be Egyptian were carelessly scattered around the room. The king-size bed was hung with gauzy white curtains. A thick white carpet covered the floor, muffling her restless footsteps. She paused at an antique dresser to run her fingers over a gold tiara set with what looked like rubies and emeralds. She picked it up and put it on, wishing for a mirror so she could see how she looked, but she wasn’t likely to find one in a Vampire’s lair. She replaced the tiara, then examined the other pieces of jewelry, one by one, certain that each one was probably worth more than her whole house and everything in it.