Chapter Twenty-Five

The full moon cast long silver shadows across the countryside. Clive lifted his head, basking in the glow of the moon’s light, feeling it swell within him, growing, expanding, calling forth the wolf that lurked just under the surface. It was a glorious sensation. Usually, he enjoyed running with the pack, but not tonight. Tonight, he didn’t want to share the hunt with anyone else, didn’t want to share his kill. As the alpha male, it was his right to hunt alone.

Eager to shift, he kicked off his shoes, excitement rising within him as he caught the scent of prey on the wind.

He was unbuckling his belt when his cell phone rang. He considered letting it ring; then, with a growl of annoyance, he reached for the phone. “What?”

“Clive? It’s Roc.”

“Did you find the books?”

“No, I couldn’t get into the house. There’s some kind of protective barrier around the doors and the windows.”

Clive swore. “Is the woman still there?”

“Yeah.”

“And Cordova?”

“He’s with her. What do you want me to do?”

“Keep an eye on the house, follow them if they leave.”

“And if I get a chance to grab her?”

“Take it, but don’t kill her unless you have to. I’ll get up there as soon as I take care of a few things here.”

“Anything wrong?”

“Some pack trouble.”

Roc grunted. That usually meant one or more of the wolves needed disciplining, or worse.

“Keep in touch,” Clive said, and ended the call.

After dropping the phone inside one of his shoes, Clive removed his shirt and his trousers. He would take care of his business here, and then he’d call his lieutenant and they would pay a visit to the Gentry woman. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t willingly give him the books, but that was all right.

Clive grinned inwardly as he threw back his head and surrendered to the beast within. He was sure he could persuade her.

Chapter Twenty-Six

She was dreaming, and she knew she was dreaming.

Lost and alone, she wandered through an unfamiliar landscape, searching, always searching—for her father’s killer, for her mother’s books, for a sense of peace and security. For Rane.

A dark mist surrounded her on every side. The air was thick, so thick she could scarcely breathe, barely see where she was going. A light shone in the distance, but she couldn’t tell what it was. Sunlight? Candlelight? A will-o’-the-wisp?

She slogged on through the mist, her feet moving as if through heavy quicksand. Bottles of holy water clinked together in the pocket of her jacket; she carried a sharp wooden stake in one hand, a heavy wooden mallet in the other.

She felt a prickle of unease as she moved deeper into the gray haze. Someone was following her, she was sure of it. She spun around, her gaze trying to penetrate the thick vapor, but she couldn’t see anything through the mist. Moving on, she walked faster and faster, until she was running blindly through the haze. Heart pounding, side aching, she ran on and on, her gaze fixed on the light, but it never seemed to grow any closer.

Her terror multiplied when she heard footsteps behind her, footsteps that grew ever louder, ever nearer.

And then, to her horror, she felt a hand grip her shoulder. With a cry, she flung herself around, raised the stake in her hand, and plunged it into her pursuer’s chest, only to realize, too late, that it was Rane.

She cried his name as dark red blood fountained from his chest and then, to her horror, his body turned to ash. She screamed in anguish as a gust of wind stirred the ashes until nothing remained to show that he had ever existed….

Savanah bolted upright, her cheeks wet with tears, her last agonized cry ringing in her ears.

Frantic, she glanced around the room, blew out a sigh of relief when she saw Rane lying beside her.

“Bad dreams?” Sitting up, he drew her into the shelter of his arms.

“Yes. It was awful. I dreamed I…that I…” She couldn’t say the words.

“Let me guess. You killed your first Vampire?”

She nodded.

“Was it the Vampire who killed your father?”

“No.” She looked up at him, her eyes haunted. “It was you.”

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It was just a dream.”

“What if it was a—a premonition?”

“Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know. I knew I was dreaming, but it seemed so real.” She shuddered at the memory. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a Vampire hunter.”

“I guess only time will tell. Do you want a light on?”

She did, but she didn’t want him to think her a coward, so she shook her head. “I’ll be all right.”

Scooting under the blankets again, she turned onto her side. Rane slid his arm around her waist, pulling her close, so that her backside was nestled against his front. Spooning, she thought with a faint grin. Wasn’t that what they called it?

With a sigh, she closed her eyes. Rane was holding her. There was nothing to be afraid of.

It was late afternoon when she awoke. In the light of day, her nightmare didn’t seem as frightening or as real. She told herself it was only natural to dream about killing Vampires; she was supposed to be a hunter, after all. A hunter without a kill, she thought glumly.

Rising, she slipped on a robe and padded into the kitchen, surprised to find Rane sitting at the kitchen table.

His arm snagged her waist as she headed for the coffee-maker. “Good afternoon, sleepyhead.”

“Hi.”

He drew her down and kissed her, driving every other thought from her mind but the heat of his mouth on hers. How could there be such magic in one kiss? she thought, and then grinned. He was a magician, after all.

She sat on his lap, her arms twining around his neck, her tongue mating with his. She shuddered with pleasure as one of his hands cupped her breast while the other slid up her neck into her hair, holding her head in place as he deepened the kiss, his hungry mouth devouring hers.

She moaned softly, her hands clutching his shoulders. “Let’s go back to bed,” she murmured breathlessly.

“A wonderful idea,” he said, his mouth trailing fire along the side of her neck. “But we have company.”

“Company?” she asked, frowning. How could they have company? No one was supposed to know where they were. “Who can it be?” And where were they? No one had knocked at the door.

“Mr. Leon Webb. He’s on the porch.”

The words had scarcely left Rane’s mouth when the doorbell rang.

“Who’s Mr. Webb?”

“An acquaintance,” Rane said. Lifting Savanah from his lap, he took her by the hand and went to admit their visitor.

Webb was tall and muscular, with short-cropped iron-gray hair and eyes so pale a blue they were almost colorless. Clad in a pair of well-worn camouflage pants, a dark green T-shirt, and scuffed combat boots, Savanah thought he looked like a walking ad for Gangs-R-Us. He carried a leather-bound case in one hand.

Rane invited Webb inside, then closed and locked the door behind their guest. “Savanah, this is Leon Webb. Webb, this is Savanah.”

Savanah drew her robe more tightly around her. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, though she wasn’t sure she was pleased at all.

Webb gave her a perfunctory nod, then placed the leather case on the coffee table. He opened it with a flourish, revealing half a dozen handguns.

Savanah looked at Rane askance. What use did he have for a gun?

“I wasn’t sure exactly what you wanted,” Webb said, “so I brought the best of what I have.”

“And ammunition?”

“Of course. The gun’s no good without it.” Webb lifted a nasty looking weapon from the case and handed it to Rane. “I think that’s the best choice. It’s lightweight, good for close-up work. It should take down anything she comes across.”

She? Savanah sat on the sofa, a cold knot of suspicion forming in the back of her mind. “What does he mean, ‘she’?”

“It’s for you,” Rane said.

“Me? Why do I need a gun?” As far as she knew, Vampires were impervious to bullets. She looked at Rane, willing him to read her mind since she couldn’t ask him outright, not with Mr. Webb standing there, listening.

“I want you to have some protection against Werewolves.”

Savanah frowned at Rane. What was he thinking, to mention such a thing in front of this man?

“That should do the trick,” Webb said, apparently not bothered or shocked by Rane’s mention of Werewolves.

After checking to make certain the weapon wasn’t loaded, Rane offered it to Savanah.

She stared up at him. She had never held a gun in her life, much less fired one.

“Go on,” Rane said. “Take it.”

Reluctantly, she did as he asked. The gun nestled in her palm as if it had been made for her. From the look of it, she had expected it to be heavier than it was.

“We’ll take it,” Rane said. “And all the ammunition you’ve got with you.”

Webb nodded. “Anything else I can get you?”

“No, that should do it.”

“I’ve got a couple of paper targets out in the trunk.”

“All right, we’ll take those, too.”

“What about gloves?”

Rane shrugged. “All right. Black. Leather.”

Webb nodded again. “I think I’ve got just what you want.” With a curt nod at Savanah, Webb headed for the door.

Rane followed him, but didn’t go outside.

Savanah stared at the gun still clutched in her hand. Could she actually pull the trigger on a living creature? Would she be willing to take a life to save her own?

Rane returned, alone, a few minutes later.

“Where’s Mr. Webb?”

“Gone.” Rane dropped a large brown paper sack on the coffee table. “There’s ammo inside, a couple of paper targets, and a pair of gloves. We’ll see what kind of marksman you are after the sun sets.”