Night's Mistress

  “It was like magic.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheeks. “It was magic.”

  She nodded, her breath catching in her throat as his hand slid ever so slowly and seductively down her side to rest on her thigh.

  His free hand captured one of hers and he brought it to his lips. “Let’s go make magic again.”

  Feeling as though she were dreaming, she followed him down the hall.

  His bedroom, with its pale gray walls, black furniture, and red accents, suited him perfectly. Heavy drapes hung at the windows. The bed, covered with a black satin quilt, was fit for a sultan.

  Mara sat on the edge of the mattress. After removing her shoes, she dug her toes into the thick gray carpet. When she looked up, Logan stood at the foot of the bed, watching her, his eyes hooded.

  “My feet hurt,” she remarked with a shrug.

  Logan nodded. Rounding the bed to where she sat, he knelt before her, a willing supplicant before his queen. Lifting her foot to rest on his thigh, he began to rub her instep.

  Mara watched his hands move over her foot. Large hands. Gentle hands that were familiar with every inch of her body. She had never thought of a foot massage as being sexy, she mused as she stared at his bowed head, which just proved that even a three-thousand-year-old vampire could learn something new.

  Her insides curled with pleasure as his hand slid under her skirt. She could feel the latent strength in his fingers as his hand moved up, massaging her ankle, her calf, her thigh, and then moved down to her foot again, easing away the pain.

  Her breath left her lungs in a long shuddering sigh as his hand slid slowly, sensuously, up her leg again, and then, gifting her with a wicked smile, he began to work his magic on her other foot.

  By the time he finished, she was aching with need, trembling with desire.

  Rising, he sat beside her, then drew her into his arms. “Don’t be afraid, love.” His fingers sifted through the heavy fall of her hair. “I don’t know what the devil is going on with you, but whatever it is, I won’t let you face it alone.”

  “Logan . . .”

  “Hush, love. We’ll worry about it tomorrow, but tonight . . .” He stood in a lithe movement. Drawing her to her feet, he turned her around and unzipped her dress. “Tonight is just for us.”

  Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her so she was facing him again, and then he eased the dress off of her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Her bra and panties quickly followed.

  Logan whistled softly. She was as exquisite as he remembered. Standing there wearing nothing but the ruby pendant he had given her and an uncertain smile, she looked like every man’s fantasy come to life. But she was real and, for tonight, she was his.

  Mara couldn’t take her gaze from Logan as he undressed, revealing the same bronzed, hard-muscled body that she had once known so well.

  Swinging her into his arms, Logan drew back the covers and lowered Mara onto the mattress. After sliding under the covers beside her, he gathered her close. The night was beautiful, and so was the woman nestled in his arms. He had dreamed of this moment many times over the years, but he had never believed it would happen, and now she was here. He had never put much stock in fate, but he couldn’t help thinking it was more than coincidence that had brought them together at a time when she desperately needed help. Exactly what kind of help, he wasn’t sure, but he was prepared to do whatever was necessary, up to and including sacrificing his own life for hers.

  “Logan . . .” Her hands moved restlessly up and down his back. “Kiss me,” she murmured. “Kiss me . . .”

  “That’s it, darlin’,” he said, his hand caressing the silky length of her thigh. “Just tell me what you want.”

  She locked her hands behind his nape. “I want you. All of you.” A seductive smile tugged at her lips. “Every inch.”

  His gaze burned into hers, his voice low and husky as he confessed, “I’m yours, Mara. Don’t you know I’ve always been yours?” And lowering his head, he claimed her lips with his own.

  She moaned softly. His kiss, gentle at first, grew deeper, more impassioned. This was what she wanted, what she had always wanted. Why had she denied it for so long? She had flitted from man to man, searching for someone to take Logan’s place when she could have had Logan the whole time. Why hadn’t she realized it sooner?

  The thought gave her pause. She was supposed to be in love with Kyle Bowden, so why did it feel so right to be in Logan’s bed, in Logan’s arms? If she truly loved Kyle, would she even want to be with another man?

  She pushed the thought away as Logan caressed her, his hands strong and sure, his mouth hot on hers. His familiar touch quickly aroused her, taking her back to that first night they had made love, back to a time when she had been sure of herself, in command of her world and everything in it, including the man rising over her.

  She surrendered with a sigh, willing, for this night, to follow where he led, to pretend that nothing had changed.

  Much later, lying side by side, Logan said, “Tell me what you’ve been doing since you left me.”

  “Didn’t we already talk about that?”

  “You never really answered me. How many others have you brought across? How many men have there been in your life since you walked away from me?”

  She gestured at the two of them, lying entwined in each other’s arms, the perspiration still cooling on their flesh. “Do you really think this is the time or the place to discuss that sort of thing?”

  He nibbled her earlobe. “I can’t help it. Not knowing is eating me alive.”

  “I’ve never kept count of the men in my life. As for others I’ve turned”—she shrugged—“I really don’t remember.”

  “I’ve heard it was no more than a handful.”

  Vince Cordova had asked her the same question. She remembered the conversation well. It had taken place shortly after she’d brought him across.

  “Am I the only vampire you’ve made?” he had asked.

  “No. There were five before you.”

  “Are they still alive?”

  She made a vague gesture with her hand. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

  “Then what are you doing here? I mean, if you didn’t give a damn about them . . .”

  She laughed softly. “Why do I care about you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I came.”

  She had asked Vince about his relationship with Cara. He had asked if she had ever been in love . . .

  “Many times,” she had replied. “But it never lasts. Mortals are such fragile creatures, and they live such a short time.”

  “The ones you made, were you in love with them?”

  “No.”

  “Why did you bring them across?”

  She shrugged. “It’s been so long ago, I don’t recall. Curiosity, I suppose. Or maybe boredom.”

  “Is that why you brought me across?” he asked bitterly. “Because you were bored?”

  She remembered laughing as she said yes.

  She hadn’t been completely honest with Vince when he’d asked if she had been in love with those she turned. True, she had been fond of them all in varying degrees, and Vince most of all, but it had been only Hektor, now Logan, that she loved.

  So many years since she had brought anyone across, she thought, and now the power to do so was lost to her.

  She was supposed to be immortal, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling that the existence she had so taken for granted for centuries was rapidly coming to an end.

  She moved closer to Logan. If her days were indeed numbered, then she wanted to spend whatever time she had left here, in Logan’s arms. She had often pondered whether it was better to love or be loved. It was the one question for which she had never found a satisfying answer but, for now, she would gladly take all the love he could give.

  With a sigh, Mara closed her eyes.

  Propped up on one elbow, Logan studied th
e woman resting beside him. Centuries had passed since he had last seen her, and yet being with her now made those lost years unimportant. He had asked her how many men she had been with, how many fledglings she had made. Not surprisingly, she hadn’t answered him. She had professed that she couldn’t remember, but somehow he doubted that. More likely, she just didn’t want him to know. She was a lusty wench. No doubt there had been hundreds of men in her life since they’d parted. If he had his way, he would be the last.

  He brushed a lock of hair from her neck, then bent down and ran his tongue over her skin. Her scent aroused his hunger, but as his tongue brushed his fangs, he had a vivid recollection of drinking from her earlier that night. She had told him she was changing. He hadn’t really believed it until he had tasted her blood. Instead of being sweet and satisfying, it had been sour. He would have thought she was ill, only vampires didn’t get sick. She feared she was dying. Maybe she was right. But how was that possible?

  Mara was the oldest of their kind. Maybe, contrary to vampire mythology, they didn’t live forever. Maybe they were subject to old age and death like every other living creature. Maybe people believed vampires lived forever simply because vampires existed for an incredibly long time, outliving the mortals around them.

  “Logan?” She frowned at him in the darkness and he wondered if, along with her other weakening senses, she had also lost her preternatural vision.

  “Yes, love,” he murmured, and switched on the light.

  “Why are you staring at me?”

  “Because you’re beautiful.” He stroked her cheek. “So damn beautiful.” He took a deep breath. “Why do you think you’re dying?”

  “I told you. I’m changing. And tonight . . . tonight you said my blood tasted like poison.” She placed her hand over her stomach. “There’s something wrong with me, I can feel it inside.”

  “Maybe you need to see a doctor?”

  She looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

  “There are a few vampire doctors,” Logan said with a shrug. “I don’t know if there are any in California, but I can check around.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “What could it hurt? Wouldn’t you rather know what’s happening than spend all your time worrying and wondering?”

  “I guess so.”

  Her indecision, her vulnerability, worried him more than anything else. She had always been strong, decisive, often blunt to the point of rudeness.

  Cupping her face in his hands, he said, “Whatever’s going on, we’ll see it through together.”

  Tears burned her eyes and brought a lump to her throat. “Thank you, Logan.”

  “Hey, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, not now, when I’ve just found you again.”

  Chapter Seven

  Kyle stared at the painting above the mantel. He had painted it in Egypt, during happier times, before he knew what kind of creature Mara was. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. Was she looking back at him? Laughing at him? Damn her! What evil magic had she worked on him that he couldn’t get her out of his mind?

  He should burn the painting, burn her out of his heart and his mind. But he couldn’t. Not that he hadn’t tried. He had lost count of the number of times he had tossed the painting, frame and all, into the fireplace and lit a match, only to watch the tiny flame flicker and go out. Destroying the painting wasn’t the answer. He had to see her again, he thought. It was the only way to get her out of his system.

  And if that didn’t work, what then?

  He swore softly. If he couldn’t forget her, he would have to join her, become a vampire himself. But first, he had to find her. Maybe if he went back and talked to Cordova again, or maybe one of the others . . .

  He snorted softly. Like that would do any good. Since Rane had refused to help him, he wasn’t likely to get any answers out of the rest of the Cordova clan, so what hope did he have? None, he thought bleakly, and then he frowned.

  He was going about this all wrong. Mara was a vampire. Who better to help him find a vampire than a vampire hunter? Of course, that was the answer.

  Moving to the table in the corner, he poured himself a glass of red wine.

  In the room’s dim light, it looked like blood.

  Chapter Eight

  It took some doing, but after numerous inquiries, Logan managed to find a doctor who belonged to the community of the Undead. Logan called and made an appointment and a week later, he drove Mara to a small town in Northern Nevada to meet with Dr. Thomas Ramsden.

  From what Logan had been able to learn about the man, Ramsden had been a doctor with the Union Army during the Civil War. The doctor had been searching the battlefield for wounded late one night when a hungry vampire found him. The vampire had also been a Yankee and rather than kill a compatriot, he had turned the good doctor. Ramsden’s wife had been less than thrilled when she discovered her husband had become a vampire, and from what Logan had ferreted out, had been even less thrilled when the doctor brought her across.

  Thomas Ramsden’s office was located in a three-story red brick building. Logan noted there were no windows on the second and third floors.

  “Are you sure we should be doing this?” Mara asked as they exited the elevator on the second floor and entered the reception area.

  Logan shrugged. “I’m not sure about anything, but we’ve got to start somewhere.”

  In truth, he was more worried than he had let on. For the first time since Mara had brought him across, he had no sense of her as a preternatural being. She no longer smelled like a vampire. Even more unsettling, the two-way blood link that had bound them together for over nine centuries no longer existed. He could still sense her presence when she was near, but the bond that had allowed them to communicate telepathically was gone. He wondered if she had noticed.

  There was no one else in the well-appointed waiting room. A receptionist, whose name tag identified her as Cindy, handed Mara a double-sided form to fill out.

  Mara glanced at the paper. The doctor knew she was a vampire. Why did she have to fill out a form? What the heck, she could play along. Maybe there were humans in his employ who would ask questions.

  She looked at the form again. Last name? She frowned, then wrote the surname Logan was currently using. Date of birth? She felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rise in her throat as she imagined a human doctor’s astonishment if she jotted down her real age.

  Sobering, she did some quick figuring in her head and wrote the year she would have been born if she were a human twenty-year-old. Address? She thought a moment, then made one up. Phone number? She made that up, as well. She didn’t have a Social Security number, so she left it blank. There followed a long list of ailments with instructions to check the boxes that applied: Whooping cough. Measles. Mumps. Chicken pox. Polio. High blood pressure. Syphilis. The list went on and on.

  She left all the boxes blank, then signed and dated the bottom of the form and returned it to the receptionist.

  Tapping her foot nervously, Mara glanced around the room. A number of abstract paintings adorned the walls, a brass pot held a ficus tree, several magazines were scattered across a large square coffee table which was located amidst a grouping of chairs upholstered in a dark blue print. Water bubbled from a fountain in one corner, no doubt meant to soothe the nerves of waiting patients.

  It wasn’t working.

  Moments later, a nurse with curly blond hair and brown eyes called Mara’s name, then led her into an examining room. Was the nurse a vampire? With her weakening powers, Mara couldn’t tell.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” the nurse said with a friendly smile. “I’ll be right back.”

  Mara glanced around the room, noting that the walls were bare save for a painting of a sailboat on a storm-tossed sea. With a sigh, she sat on the foot of the examination table.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she muttered, and wondered why she had let Logan talk her into coming here.

  A
short time later, the nurse returned. A name tag identified her as Susan. She took Mara’s blood pressure, made a notation on a chart, and then handed Mara a paper gown and a covered plastic cup.

  Seeing Mara’s confused expression, the nurse said, “We need a urine sample. The bathroom is the first door on the left at the end of the hall. Just leave the cup on the sink, then come back here and put on the gown.”

  Mara blinked at the woman. Did she seriously expect her to pee in a cup?

  “Is there a problem?” the nurse asked.

  “I don’t have to . . . to . . .” She held up the cup.

  “I’m sure you can, if you try.”

  “I. Don’t. Have. To,” Mara said, speaking each word clearly and distinctly.

  “Oh, well, maybe later. Doctor will be right in,” Susan said, and left the room.

  Muttering, “A really bad feeling about this,” Mara placed the cup on the counter. After undressing, she slipped the flimsy paper gown over her head and sat on the edge of the examining table again. In all her life, she had never been examined by a doctor, and she had no idea what to expect. She jumped when someone knocked on the door.

  “Mrs. Blackwood?”

  “Yes. Come in.”

  The door swung open and a tall man with graying brown hair and brown eyes entered the room, a clipboard in one hand.

  “Mara,” he said, his tone respectful. “I never thought I would have the opportunity, the pleasure, of meeting you.”

  She smiled, unsure of how to respond. She was unsure of so many things these days, she hardly felt like herself anymore.