He walked through the darkness for hours, savoring his freedom. He fed again, and yet again, until he could hold no more, until every fiber and particle of his being was replete. Sated, he made his way back to the woman's house.
The woman. Karinna. What was he going to do about the woman?
He stood in the shadows outside her house for a moment, enjoying the quiet of a night that would soon be over.
He was still undecided about her fate when he went inside. Standing in front of the sofa, he gazed down at her. She was quite lovely, with hair the color of ebony and skin kissed by the sun. Her scent drifted to him, reminding him again that he had not had a woman in three hundred years. An eternity to a man who was sensual by nature, one who had the power to seduce a woman with a look, a word, a touch.
He should destroy her. No mortal lived who knew what he was. He could do it now, quickly and cleanly, while she slept. Yet even as he contemplated ending her life, he knew he would not. She had broken the wizard's enchantment, and for that reason alone, he would allow her to live.
And yet it wasn't the only reason. How could he think of destroying such a lovely creature? He had known queens and highborn ladies, trollops and scullery maids, but he had never known a woman who was lovelier, or more tempting. Her skin was smooth, warm when he stroked her cheek. Her lips were soft, like the petals of a blood rose. Her figure was slender, petite and perfect. Her hair fell over her shoulders like a waterfall of rich black silk. Unable to resist, he ran his fingers through the thick strands.
"Karinna." He murmured her name, thinking it suited her perfectly. "Ah, Karinna, what am I to do with you?"
He couldn't bring himself to kill her.
He had no desire to leave her.
And no time to worry about it, not now, when he needed to find a place to hide from the sun.
He glanced at the painting visible beneath shards of broken glass. There was one thing he needed to do before he sought his rest.
It was with a great deal of satisfaction that he ripped the hated canvas to shreds.
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Chapter 6
The wizard's head jerked up, his eyes narrowing in disbelief.
Jason Rourke had attained his freedom! It was impossible, unthinkable, and yet, he felt the truth of it explode through him with undeniable certainty.
He stared at the vessel in his hand, and then, muttering an oath, he threw it across the room, where it hit the wall and shattered most satisfactorily. Why had he let Ana Luisa persuade him to add an escape clause when he cursed the vampire?
He laughed softly, mirthlessly. Perhaps he had acceded to her wishes because she was his only child and he loved her as much as he was able, in spite of the fact that she was female and therefore weak and of little use. Perhaps it was time to call her forth from her prison. Time had no meaning for him; he was surprised to realize that three hundred years had passed since the night he caught her in Jason Rourke's arms. Ah, Rourke. It would not be safe to free Ana now, he thought, not when the vampire Rourke again walked the earth. She had no resistance to the creature's charm. Should Ana Luisa meet him again, she would no doubt succumb to his supernatural enchantment once more. He would rather see her dead than prey to the vampire's unholy lust.
Rourke. Where was he now? Vilnius closed his eyes and opened his wizard's Sight. In moments, the vampire's image rose in his mind, and with it, the knowledge that the creature was somewhere in America.
Perhaps, with half the world between Rourke and Ana Luisa, there was nothing to worry about. Then again, it was always better to be safe than sorry.
With a wave of his hand, Vilnius repaired the broken vessel and returned to the spell at hand.
Trapped in a painting located in a museum in Bucharest, the wizard's daughter sensed a shift in the supernatural world.
It took her a moment to realize what it was, and then she knew. Jason had broken her father's curse! A single tear slipped down Ana Luisa's cheek. Did Jason still hate her after all these years? Would her father ever forgive her for what she had done and release her from this horrid captivity? Alive and yet not alive, she had spent the last three hundred years trapped in a painting behind a wall of glass, doomed to remain frozen in time until someone called her forth. She had long ago lost any hope of that happening. Save for Jason, no one now living even knew her name. How had Jason managed to escape? Of course, he was a powerful vampire, while she was just a young witch with abilities she was helpless to use.
Three hundred years, and she had been unable to move in all that time. The painting that imprisoned her had changed hands many times in three centuries. It had adorned the wall of a citadel in Spain, a tavern in London, a palace in France. Once, she had languished in a cellar for over a century, with rats, mice, and spiders her only companions.
These days, the painting hung in a small museum near the outskirts of the city. She stared at the night watchman, who was sitting in a wine-colored wing chair, his head bent over a book. He had been a young man when the painting had first come here. Now his body was stooped with age, his face lined by the years, his hair as white as winter snow. Years ago, she had hoped he might be the one to call her forth from her prison, but he rarely looked at her anymore.
She was doomed, she thought, doomed to spend the rest of her miserable existence sitting on the back of a unicorn.
Discouragement settled over her like a shroud.
For her, there was no hope of escape, no chance of reprieve.
Chapter 7
Kari woke with a low groan. Opening her eyes, she glanced at her surroundings. Funny, she didn't remember falling asleep on the sofa. Sitting up, she stretched her arms, back, and shoulders, then ran a hand through her hair. She'd had the strangest dream.... She shook her head, recalling how she had dreamed of Rourke standing in her living room in front of the hearth.
It was then that she saw the broken glass. The tiny fragments sparkled on the rug like bits of ice on a winter day. Where on earth had all that glass come from? She looked up at the blank space above the hearth.
The painting! Of course. She remembered now. The Vilnius had fallen off the wall last night. The frame had broken and the glass had shattered into a million pieces.
Rising, she picked up what was left of the canvas. It was ruined beyond repair. She shook her head. She could understand the glass breaking. She could even see how the canvas might get ripped in a few places. But this? The canvas looked like it had been run through a paper shredder. Remarkably, the notes he had written were unscathed. She stared at them a moment, then slipped them into her pocket.
So much for the fortune she had hoped to make from selling the Vilnius on eBay, she thought, and then shrugged. Who was she kidding? She would never have sold it.