Closing his eyes, he drank, eager to take it all—her hopes, her dreams, her memories. Her heartbeat slowed, and in that instant, he imagined Savanah was there, watching him, her eyes filled with sorrow as he surrendered to the darkness within him.

With a cry of despair, he put the redhead away from him. After taking several deep breaths, he commanded her to sit down and rest her head on her knees and then, with more force than necessary, he grabbed hold of the brunette and yanked her to her feet.

He drank quickly, his enjoyment gone as guilt rose up in its place. He drank as much as he dared, then escorted both women back into the nightclub. At the bar, he ordered them each a large glass of orange juice and bid them drink it, and then he spoke to their minds, telling them to go home and get something to eat, preferably a steak. When he was certain they understood, he stalked out of the club and into the night.

Outside, his hands clenched against his sides, he drew in a deep breath. Eager for a fight, needing an outlet for his anger, he turned into the wind, hoping to catch the scent of a Werewolf or some other predator, animal or human, even though it was doubtful that, in his current condition, he would survive such an encounter. But the air carried only the smells of earth and pine, and although he knew it was little more than wishful thinking on his part, he imagined he detected the warm womanly fragrance that was Savanah’s.

She was sitting in front of the hearth when he returned to Mara’s place. She didn’t move, didn’t say a word, but the question was there, unspoken, in the air between them.

It stoked the fires of his anger.

He held her gaze for several taut moments before he said, “Dammit, stop looking at me like that! I didn’t kill anyone.”

Her relief was patently obvious and only served to make him angrier. Muttering an oath, he stalked out of the room and took refuge in Mara’s lair.

With a sigh, he sank down on the edge of the bed. In spite of the blood he had taken, he was still weak, his wounds still painful.

Easing down on the mattress, he closed his eyes and in a rare moment of weakness, let himself dream of home.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Clive punched in Roc’s cell number for the second time, cursing softly when all he received was a recorded message. Roc had called earlier that afternoon, reporting that he had nothing to report. Clive had instructed him to stay near the house and to call in every hour, sooner if there was any change in the situation. That had been nine hours ago. Since then, nothing.

After throwing the cell phone across the room, he began to pace the floor. Four possibilities occurred to him: Roc had lost contact with the woman and was afraid to report it; he had managed to get into the house, but hadn’t been able to find the books; he had found the books and had decided to either keep them or demand some kind of a reward; or he was dead.

For Roc’s sake, Clive hoped it was the latter. Those who betrayed him lived to regret it, but not for very long.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Savanah stared out the window, her elbows resting on the sill as she watched the windblown rain slash through the trees. Lightning speared the lowering gray clouds; thunder rumbled in the distance.

She was going stir-crazy. It had taken her hours to fall asleep last night, and when sleep finally came, her dreams had been populated with Vampires and Werewolves that chased her through a long dark tunnel. She ran until she couldn’t run anymore and then, suddenly, in the way of dreams, the scene changed and she was alone in a theater, watching a handsome magician clad in a long black cape. She knew a moment of relief and then, with a wave of his hand, the magician disappeared and a huge black wolf stood in his place. With a low growl, the wolf sprang from the stage, landing only inches from her face, so close she could feel its hot breath on her cheeks, see its fangs. Just when she thought it was going to rip her throat out, the wolf changed again, and now it was Rane bending over her, his eyes blood red, his fangs dripping blood.

She had stared up at him. “You told me you didn’t kill anyone,” she had said, her voice shaking.

“I haven’t,” he had replied with a feral grin. “Yet.”

Once again, the sound of her own cries had awakened her.

How much longer did he expect her to stay imprisoned in this house? If she didn’t get out soon, she would go insane.

She tapped her fingertips on the sill as she considered her options. Her life was in danger, there was no doubt of that. She could either stay here, hiding away like some coward, or she could go home and face her fears. Her mother and father hadn’t run away from danger. They had both hunted Vampires.

Yes, a little voice murmured in the back of her mind, and they had both been killed by Vampires.

Rane thought she should stay here, but what was the point? The Werewolf’s appearance proved that her whereabouts were no longer a secret. What made Rane think that staying here was any safer than going home? Another Werewolf could show up here tomorrow. Mara could return at any time. Just because Rane said it was all right for them to be here didn’t make it so. Mara might have other ideas about an uninvited mortal staying in her lair. Savanah knew good and well that she was no match for a Vampire like Mara.

She wanted to go home, and that was what she was going to do. She would fortify her house as best she could and let the chips fall where they may. She had made her first kill, and while it had sickened her, she had proved she could do it. Her parents hadn’t shunned the fight, and neither would she.

Her decision brought with it a sense of peace. When she saw Rane, she would tell him what she had decided, the consequences be damned.

Humming softly, she went into the kitchen to make a sandwich. Carrying it with her, she went down to the rec room in search of something to read. There was no telling when Rane would wake. Until then, she needed something to occupy her time.

The storm didn’t sound so loud in the playroom. Standing in front of the bookshelf, she scanned the titles. Mara had a vast library, everything from the works of Shakespeare, Dickens, and Milton to Erma Bombeck and Gary Larsen. It would have taken several lifetimes to collect so many books. Had Mara read them all, Savanah wondered, or did she just like to collect them?

Plucking a copy of Wuthering Heights from the shelf, Savanah curled up in one of the chairs and opened the book, only to stare into the distance, thinking about last night. She hadn’t said anything to Rane, but he had known what she was thinking. Big surprise. The man could read her mind. He had told her he hadn’t killed anyone, but the way he said it…Maybe he hadn’t taken a life, but she would have bet everything she owned that he had wanted to.

She nibbled on the sandwich while she tried to imagine what it was like to be constantly at the mercy of such an insidious craving. She was addicted to chocolate; there was no doubt about that. What woman wasn’t? But she could go without it if she had to. And if she went without it long enough, the craving went away. She had gone a week without any chocolate once, just to see if she could do it, and she had survived with no ill effects. But Rane’s insatiable lust for blood never went away. No matter how often he fed, the hunger was still there the next day and the next, and if he didn’t feed, the hunger grew a little worse each day until the pain became excruciating.

Shaking off her gruesome thoughts, she looked down at the book in her lap. Where were her mother’s books? What would she do if Rane refused to give them to her?

She had made her first kill. The thought was exciting and repulsive at the same time. But, having done it, she felt the need to record it. If she only knew the Werewolf’s name, she could enter it in the book. And her name beside it as the hunter who had destroyed it.

Rane woke late in the afternoon. Staring into the darkness, he assessed his injuries. The bites and scratches inflicted by the Werewolf had healed; the flesh burned by the sun pained him only a little less than it had the day before. It would be days, perhaps weeks, before the worst of his injuries were fully healed. He had forgotten how painful the touch of the sun’s light could be, but he would willingly endure that and more to protect Savanah.

A harsh laugh escaped his lips. He hadn’t done such a great job of protecting her. Now that whoever was after the books knew where she was, she wouldn’t be safe here any longer. She was a smart girl. No doubt that fact had already occurred to her.

He took a deep breath, and Mara’s scent filled his nostrils. He had felt the brush of her mind against his briefly last night. No other Vampire he knew of possessed the power to reach across continents and oceans. Truly, Mara was a law unto herself, a creature with Supernatural abilities that bordered on the divine. The inhabitants of the earth could count themselves fortunate that she had no desire to dominate them.

He opened his senses as his thoughts drifted to the other woman in his life. He could hear Savanah moving about in the kitchen upstairs, no doubt preparing something to eat. The thought of food aroused his own hunger. He needed to feed again. It was the only way to ease the pain that burned through him with every breath.

Sitting up, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The movement, slight as it was, made his wounds sing. Hands clenched, he took several slow, deep breaths. Damn, why hadn’t he said yes when Mara offered him her blood? Had he done so, he wouldn’t be hurting so badly now. One thing was for certain, if she made him the same offer again, he wouldn’t refuse.

He grunted softly. Little good that did him now.

Rising, he went into the bathroom and turned on the water in the bathtub. He ran his hands over his face, wincing as his fingers brushed singed flesh. For the first time, he was grateful that he couldn’t see his reflection. Imagining how he must look, he found it rather surprising that Savanah hadn’t run screaming from the sight.

He undressed while the tub filled, his hands exploring the burned flesh on his arms, neck, and back. Only his legs had escaped the sun’s wrath.

With a sigh, he stepped into the tub, sank into the blessedly cool water, and closed his eyes.

Savanah glanced at the clock. It was after four. Rane was usually up by now. Of course, being badly hurt, he probably needed more rest than usual. And more blood, she thought with a shudder. She wondered what he would say when she told him she had decided to go home. Would he agree, try to convince her to stay here, or simply refuse to let her go?