Night's Mistress

  “It’s not all for me, silly. I bought a few things for the baby.”

  “A few!” he exclaimed as he stowed her bags in the trunk of the car. “Looks like you’ve got enough junk here for a dozen kids.”

  “I couldn’t help it. Everything was so cute and”—she shrugged—“I never did have any willpower when it came to shopping.”

  “I found a place for us in Nevada,” Logan informed her on the way home. “It’s in a little town called Tyler, about ten minutes from Ramsden’s office. It’s not as big as my place, but it’ll do for a few months. We can move in anytime you’re ready.”

  They moved into the house in Nevada the first week in September. Located at the end of a quiet, tree-lined street, it was probably the last place anyone would think to look for her. Not that there was anything wrong with the house. It was just so ordinary, from the bland beige walls and carpets to the unremarkable furnishings, but these days she didn’t take much interest in her surroundings. Logan had offered to redecorate the place, but she lacked both the desire and the energy.

  Logan had been the soul of patience since they had moved. He put up with her moods and her bad temper, rubbed her aching back and her feet, held her when she cried, and assured her that everything would be all right.

  One Friday night in late September he decided she needed to get out of the house. Turning a deaf ear to her protests, he gathered her close to his side and transported them to Reno. The arch over Virginia Street proclaimed Reno to be “the biggest little city in the world.”

  Mara frowned at him as they materialized at the end of the town. “What are we doing here?”

  “I thought we could both use a change of scene. Come on.” Taking her by the hand, he led her down the street.

  Reno, which was named for Union officer Major Jesse L. Reno, had started life as a mining community back in the 1800s. Mara recalled spending a few days in the town back in the 1930s. At that time, the city had been famous for its liberal divorce laws and legalized gambling, both of which had helped to create its economic boom. At one time, it had been the gambling capital of the country, but that had changed with the growth of Las Vegas and casinos owned by Native American tribes. Still, it was an exciting place.

  The city had certainly changed since the last time she had seen it. The casinos she had once visited, like the Nevada Club, Harold’s Club, and the Palace were gone; the Comstock, the Sundowner, and the Virginian, were closed. Some had been turned into condos. Now, there were newer, larger, grander hotel/casinos like the Atlantis and the Peppermill. Even without her preternatural senses, she could hear the excited cries of gamblers hitting the jackpot as she passed by one of the smaller casinos.

  “Care to try your luck?” Logan asked.

  Mara shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  They decided on the El Dorado Casino, simply because Mara liked the name. Hand in hand, they walked through the casino, trying to decide which game to play.

  Logan’s hand tightened on hers as they passed a blackjack table. She looked up at him and then, following his narrowed-eyed gaze, felt a shock of recognition when she locked gazes with the dealer. Ed Rogen. She hadn’t seen him in over a hundred and fifty years, but there was no mistaking him for anyone else.

  Rogen recognized her, as well. Hatred flared in the depths of his pale blue eyes. Leaning forward, he whispered something to a voluptuous red-haired woman sitting at the end of the table. The woman glanced over her shoulder, looked Mara up and down, and then said something to Rogen.

  “Is he someone you know?” Logan asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “Not a friend, I take it.”

  “No.” She tugged on Logan’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  Out on the sidewalk, her heart pounding, Mara took several deep breaths. Ed Rogen. The last thing he had ever said to her was that, one day, he would destroy her. Judging by the ominous glint in his eyes, he hadn’t changed his mind.

  “What the hell did you do to him?” Logan asked, and then answered his own question. “You turned him against his will, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” Looking back, she realized how thoughtlessly cruel and heartless she had been. She had never asked any of her fledglings if they wanted the Dark Gift. She had bestowed it upon those she cared for and when she tired of them, she had severed her connection to them and moved on. How many of them still existed? As a vampire, facing her enemies hadn’t been a matter of concern. Confident and uncaring, she could have easily destroyed them all. It hadn’t mattered how many were left; now, stripped of her powers, she had no way of knowing which ones still existed. In the way of vampires, they would have changed their names through the centuries. She was the only one, of all the vampires she had known, who had stubbornly and arrogantly refused to change her name. She had been Mara, Queen of the Vampires. Back then, it had been a name to be reckoned with. Now, for the first time, she wondered if she should take on a new identity.

  “You’re trembling,” Logan said. “Are you cold?”

  “No.” Not cold, she thought, only afraid. Not for her own life, but for that of her unborn child.

  “Come on,” Logan said, “let’s go get a room.”

  After registering at the Peppermill, Logan settled Mara into a hot bath, hoping it would relax her. He had been a fool to bring her here. This close to the baby’s birth, he should have known better. She tired easily these days. He could have just taken her to a movie, but no, he had wanted to take her out and show her off. Pregnant or not, she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and he was proud to be seen with her. One thing he had never expected was to run into one of her fledglings. He had seen the hatred in the other vampire’s eyes, smelled it on his skin.

  Logan swore softly. He could understand the other vampire’s hostility. It was a terrible thing, to be turned against one’s will, to lose everything you knew, everything you loved, to a woman’s whim. He, himself, might have hated Mara if the circumstances had been different, if he’d had a decent life, a home, a family. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it wasn’t true. It wouldn’t have mattered. Even knowing how quickly she would tire of him, he would gladly have given up anything, everything, to be with Mara. It had been true then; it was true now.

  He would order her something to eat and then take her home, where she belonged.

  Mara reclined in the tub, her eyes closed. She didn’t think she would ever get over the shock of seeing Rogen, or forget the hatred smoldering in the depths of his eyes. The last time she had seen him, he had been mining for gold in Virginia City. Back then, Reno had been nothing but a small community that had grown up alongside a toll bridge that connected Virginia City and the California Trail. The bridge had been built by Charles Fuller in 1859. Two years later, Fuller sold the bridge to Myron Lake, who added a kiln, a grist mill, and a livery stable. When he wasn’t mining for gold, Rogen had worked at the stable.

  Mara recalled deciding to take a moonlight ride late one summer night. She had cajoled Ed into lending her a horse, and then invited him to come along. She’d had her eye on him for weeks, admiring the flex of his muscles as he curried the horses or mucked the stalls, wondering what it would be like to feel his strong, work-roughened hands moving over her flesh.

  Like all men, he had been powerless to resist her once she had decided she wanted him.

  They had ridden out under the stars. Later, they had stopped alongside the river and there, in the lush grass in the light of a full moon, she had let him seduce her. He had been boyish and charming and completely smitten with her, totally unaware that it was she who was doing the seducing.

  One night, when she was bored and hungry, she had brought him across. When he rose the next night, he had been confused by what had happened, and then furious. Overcome with rage and a hunger he couldn’t control, he had vented his anger on the town, leaving Mara to clean up the mess he left in his wake. When his temper was again under control, she had tried to appease him and when he refu
sed to listen, she had turned her back on him, as she had so many others.

  Thinking of it now filled her with guilt. How could she have been so callous? With a sigh, she stepped out of the tub and reached for a towel. Would he listen to her now? Would he accept her apology? Recalling the animosity she had seen in his eyes, she thought it unlikely.

  She was drying off when Rogen materialized between her and the bathroom door. With a startled gasp, Mara hugged the towel to her chest.

  “I see you remember me,” Rogen said, his pale eyes glinting malevolently.

  “Of course.” She glanced past him to the door, wishing her mind was still linked to Logan’s. If she called for him, could he make it into the bathroom before Rogen killed her?

  Rogen took a step forward. “I knew if I survived long enough, one day I’d find you again.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he clapped his hand over it, forestalling her.

  “Shut up!” he hissed. “I don’t want to hear anything you’ve got to say. You took my life, and now I’m going to take yours.” Frowning, he leaned closer, his nostrils flaring, his eyes filled with confusion. “Mara?”

  She felt a rush of hope. Since she no longer smelled like a vampire, he wasn’t sure of her identity. She thought of lying, of telling him that he had the wrong woman, but her pride wouldn’t let her. Instead, she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, wishing, as she did so, that she was wearing something more dignified than a towel.

  Dropping his hand from her mouth, Rogen took a deep breath. “What’s happened to you?”

  “Nothing,” she replied imperiously. “Get out of my way.”

  “What are you gonna do if I don’t?” Rogen asked with a sneer.

  “Maybe you should ask what I’m going to do.” Rogen tensed visibly at the sound of Logan’s voice coming from behind him. Hands clenched at his sides, Rogen slowly turned around. “Are you the poor fool who’s fighting her battles now?”

  “Sure looks that way.”

  “Okay by me,” Rogen said, cracking his knuckles. “First you, then her.”

  Logan snorted softly. “You think you can take me?”

  “Damn right!”

  Mara glanced from one man to the other. Rogen had always been quick with his fists. In the old days, he’d had quite a reputation as a bare-knuckles boxer. He was perhaps two inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than Logan, but it wasn’t size that made the difference when vampires fought. It was age. Vampires grew stronger and more powerful as they grew older. Rogen had been a vampire for a hundred and fifty years; Logan had seven hundred and fifty years on him.

  “Let’s take it outside,” Logan said, jerking his chin toward the door. “I don’t want to have to clean up the mess.”

  Rogen made a derogatory sound deep in his throat. “When I get finished with you, there won’t be anything left to clean up.”

  Mara laid her hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Logan . . .” “You’d better kiss your pretty boy good-bye,” Rogen said, “’cause after tonight, you’ll never see him again.” His gaze moved over her. “After I settle this, you and me are gonna have a little talk.”

  Rogen’s gaze swung to Logan. “I’ll be waiting out back,” he said, and vanished in a cloud of dark gray motes.

  Logan drew Mara into his arms, his hands sliding up and down her bare back. “I won’t be gone long.” He kissed her once, hard and quick, and then he, too, vanished from sight.

  Mara pressed a hand to her heart. Logan was older, stronger. There was nothing to worry about. So why was she suddenly so afraid?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Logan faced Rogen across six feet of barren ground on the outskirts of the city. He couldn’t remember the last time he had battled another of the Undead.

  Logan circled Rogen warily, all his senses alert. His tongue brushed his fangs. He wasn’t afraid for his own life. He wasn’t afraid of whatever fate awaited him on the other side of eternity. He had lived a good long life, and lived it on his own terms. He had no regrets. But this was a fight he had to win, not for his own sake, but for Mara’s, and for the sake of the baby she carried. He had no doubt that if Rogen were victorious, he would go back to the hotel and kill Mara without a qualm, and her child with her.

  And with that thought in mind, Logan summoned his power, lowered his head, and attacked.

  Fangs bared, nails like claws, Rogen met him head on. The coppery scent of fresh blood rose on the night wind as they slashed at each other.

  It was a quiet and bloody battle, one Logan knew could last well into the night unless one of them suffered a killing wound. Rogen’s minor injuries healed almost immediately, as did Logan’s.

  Despite his size, Rogen was light on his feet. And he was eager for battle, certain of victory.

  Logan danced sideways as Rogen darted toward him, his fangs bared. Spinning around, Logan grabbed Rogen by the back of his shirt and gave a good, hard yank. Rogen stumbled backward, momentarily off balance. Moving swiftly, Logan kicked out, sweeping Rogen’s feet out from under him. With a startled cry, Rogen fell backward and hit the ground, hard.

  Logan was relishing an imminent victory when he sensed the approach of others. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark swirling mist moving rapidly toward him. A low growl rose in his throat as the mist got thicker, darker, taking on shape and substance, until four men materialized in its place.

  Vampires all. Their combined power charged the air like the electrical energy that preceded a storm.

  Rogen scrambled to his feet, a smug expression on his face.

  Logan glared at him. “Afraid to fight me on your own?” he asked, his voice laced with contempt.

  “I came to win.” Rogen wiped the blood from his face and licked it off his hands.

  Logan swore under his breath. One on one, he could whip any vampire who came against him, but five to one?

  He backed away as the five Nosferatu stalked toward him. It was like a scene from some bad horror movie: five fanged, red-eyed monsters advancing toward the hero. Logan grunted softly. In a movie, someone would have come to the hero’s aid. In his case, no help would be forthcoming.

  He could have vanished from their sight, but he stood his ground. Leaving now might save him for the moment, but he knew that, sooner or later, there would be another confrontation. Now that Rogen knew Mara had lost her powers, he wouldn’t rest until he had avenged himself on her, or he was dead.

  Deciding to carry the battle to the enemy, Logan bared his fangs and charged. It startled Rogen and the others, but only for a moment.

  Logan’s last thought before they surrounded him was for Mara, and then there was no time for thought as they tore into him, literally and figuratively.

  Logan summoned every ounce of strength he possessed but it wasn’t enough. Would never be enough. The five vampires circled him, growling like rabid wolves. Singly and in pairs, they darted in to bite and slash, and while he defended himself against those in front, others attacked from his rear, gradually wearing him down. One of them, a vampire wearing a bright red shirt, came in low and fast, his fangs opening a long wicked gash down Logan’s left side. Blood gushed from the wound, running down Logan’s thigh, staining the earth at his feet. Red Shirt’s fangs were still embedded in Logan’s flesh when a fair-haired vamp rushed Logan from the other side, his fangs scraping along Logan’s throat.

  Weak from the blood he had lost, Logan dropped to his knees, snarling defiantly as four of the vampires fell on him, pinning him to the ground.

  Rogen stood over him, a sinister smile on his swarthy face. He lifted one hand, bloody claws extended. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

  Logan glared up at him, his whole body tense as he waited for Rogen to rip his heart from his chest. He wasn’t afraid of dying, only of never seeing Mara again.

  Rogen took a step forward and then, with a strangled cry, he stared in disbelief at the stake protruding, point first, from his chest, before he toppled to the ground.


  Logan grinned faintly when he saw Vince Cordova standing in the moonlight, flanked by his two sons.

  The cavalry had arrived, just in the nick of time.

  The remaining four vampires closed ranks and stood behind Rogen’s body.

  The tallest of the four gestured at the dead vampire. “It’s over as far as I’m concerned,” he muttered, and vanished from sight.

  “What about the rest of you?” Vince asked. “You three up for a little one on one?”

  Red Shirt and the other two vampires exchanged glances.

  Rane took a step forward. “Come on,” he said, motioning them closer. “Let’s do it.”

  “I’m right behind you, brother,” Rafe said, baring his fangs. “It’s been a long time since we fought side by side.”

  “Hey, now, hold on a minute,” the fair-haired vampire said. “We’ve got no quarrel with any of you. As for him . . .” He gestured at Logan, and then shrugged. “Rogen’s past caring if your friend lives or dies. And I sure as hell don’t care.”

  Vince looked at the other two vampires. “You boys feel the same way?”

  “Like Murray said, we’ve got no quarrel with you,” Red Shirt muttered, and one by one, the three vanished from sight.

  Logan blew out a shaky breath. “How’d you guys know I was in trouble?”

  “Mara called us,” Vince said.

  “On the phone,” Rane added. “You look like hell.”

  “That’s about how I feel.” Logan pressed a hand to his injured side. Blood leaked between his fingers. “I can’t believe she didn’t think I could take Rogen.”

  Rafe shrugged as he grabbed hold of Logan’s forearm and pulled him to his feet. “She said she had a premonition that you were in danger. I would say she was right.”

  “Can you make it back to the hotel on your own?” Vince asked. “Or do you need some help?”

  “I can get there under my own power,” Logan said gruffly. He ran a tentative hand over his face, wondering if his nose was broken. “I guess I owe you guys a favor, big time.”