“That’s not very comforting,” Saintcrow muttered as he went out the door. “Not very comforting at all.”
~ * ~
Alara materialized in the small, dark room that held her potions, grimoires, herbs and assorted magical implements and charms. She placed the items she had taken from the vampire on the long, scarred table where she concocted her magic. Kincaid had neglected to tell her that he and his friend had previously done business with the New Orleans black witch, Izabela. No matter. Every witch had her own specialties and powers. Izabela was well-known in the community of dark magic, admired by some, feared by others. It irked her to know that Izabela was thought to be the most powerful witch in the country.
Alara regarded the dark red blood inside the bottle. It troubled her that the vampire had known she was lying about her name. How had he known? She had associated with witches, warlocks, elves, necromancers, vampires, sorcerers, and an occasional werewolf. None had ever been able to read her mind. How had this vampire done so? She had felt him inside her mind. A man to be reckoned with, she mused. But that was a problem for another day. No one had ever defeated her. No one ever would.
The vampire was deeply troubled, afraid of losing control of his emotions and his power. She had sensed that supernatural power, felt it moving over her. Unleashed, it would be a force to be reckoned with. Perhaps someone wanted to harness that preternatural strength? But who? And how? And why?
Perhaps what he was experiencing was merely a natural occurrence for vampires who had lived as long as he had. Few vampires survived that long. Hunters accounted for a goodly number. These days, hunters had amazing new ways of finding and destroying the Undead. Some vampires, tired of living, destroyed themselves. Some went to ground for a century or two. Perhaps that would solve Saintcrow’s problem....She would suggest it if she couldn’t find any other solution. And then sheshook her head. She had to find the answer. She would never live it down if the witch of New Orleans cured the vampire. Alara prided herself on being the best. How would she live with herself if another witch succeeded where she failed?
Lifting the bottle that contained the vampire’s blood, Alara inhaled the scent, and frowned. She dipped her finger into the bottle and licked his blood to make sure. Impossible, she thought.
She rarely tested her theories on the living but in this case... A word and a wave of her hand summoned a fat black rat. Grimacing, she picked it up and forced some of the vampire’s blood down its throat. And nodded when it spasmed once and fell dead.
Perhaps it wasn’t impossible, after all. She tapped her forefinger against her chin. She knew the problem, but not yet the cause. And not the cure.
~ * ~
“What do you want to do now?” Jake asked as they left the witch’s house. “Hunt? Take in a late movie? Play some pool?”
“What are you?” Saintcrow muttered. “My nursemaid? You afraid to leave me alone? Go home and make love to Rosa.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Dammit, Kincaid, back off!”
Jake didn’t say anything. Just looked at him, one brow raised.
Saintcrow blew out a sigh. “Sorry. I guess this is getting to me.”
“Why don’t you go home and make love to Kadie?”
Kadie. Her skin soft and warm, her beautiful eyes filled with love and sympathy, her body smooth and sweetly yielding to his possession... Kadie, Kadie. He should leave her before he lost control of his anger, his hunger, his lust. But he couldn’t. Her love was his strength, her faith in him the tether that, so far, at least, had kept him sane.
He scowled at the smug expression on Kincaid’s face. “Thanks, Jake,” he said, and transported himself to his lair. He had thought to find Kadie in bed, but she was pacing the floor in the living room, a blanket wrapped around her. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Candlelight filled the room with a soft, golden glow.
She came to an abrupt halt when he materialized in the room. Smiled a sultry smile. And threw herself into his arms. The blanket fell away.
Saintcrow whistled. Naked, she sank down on the floor in front of the fireplace and patted the place beside her. Jake was right, Saintcrow thought, Kadie was just what he needed. What he had always needed. His clothing disappeared as he gathered her into his arms, his voice husky as he whispered her name, telling her that he loved her, adored her. The fire that blazed between them was hotter than the one crackling in the hearth as he kissed and caressed her until she cried his name, begging him to take her.
The fire had burned down to embers when she fell asleep in his arms. He held her close as night turned to day, his thoughts growing dark, darker, as the sky grew light.
~ * ~
“What was she like?” Kadie asked the next evening. They were sitting in the living room. Rylan was thumbing through a men’s catalog while she went through her latest batch of photos.
“Who?”
“Who do you think? That witch you went to see.”
“Oh. Her. Damn, she might not have been the scariest thing I’ve ever seen, but she was certainly in the top two.”
“What do you mean?”
He tossed the magazine aside. “She was over six-feet tall. Her skin was like ice. I don’t mean just cold. I mean frigid. Shekind of slithered when she walked. And she had a black, forked tongue.”
“You’re kidding!”