Filled with shame, he turned away.
“Rylan?”
“I’m all right. Are you?”
“I’m fine. Just a little light-headed,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Did it help?”
“For now,” he muttered, sorely afraid that if he let himself drink from her again, he might not have the willpower to stop before it was too late.
~ * ~
They walked beside a quiet pool in the midst of a verdant valley. A bright moon hovered in the heavens surrounded by millions of brilliant stars. Murmuring Kadie’s name, he drew her into his arms and sank down on a blanket of grass. He pulled her close, his hands caressing a body he knew as well as he knew his own. He rained kisses on her brow, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, ran his tongue over the warm, sweet curve of her throat. The scent of her blood rose in his nostrils, stirring his hunger, awakening his need to feed. He knew his eyes had gone red. His fangs extended, the tip of one drawing blood from her lower lip when he kissed her.
Kadie let out a cry of alarm, her hands pushing against his chest. He sensed her fear when he rose over her, his hands folding over her shoulders, holding her down while he kissed her again and again. Her struggles ignited his need to hunt, to conquer. Too late, she realized her mistake. Eternally too late. With a low growl, he buried his fangs in the soft, tender flesh of her neck....
Saintcrow woke with a start, a harsh cry rising from his throat. Jackknifing to a sitting position, he stared at Kadie, sleeping peacefully beside him, felt a rush of relief when he realized it had only been a bad dream. So real, he thought, his breathing coming in harsh gasps. Too real.
He had to get away from here. Away from Kadie, before he did something that couldn’t be undone. Izabela, he thought. Perhaps the witchcouldhelp.
~ * ~
Izabela was waiting for him when Saintcrow arrived at her house in New Orleans. She opened the door before he knocked, one brow raised.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Four a.m.”
“What’s troubling you at this hour of the morning?”
“Are you going to let me in or make me stand out here on the porch all night?”
“Do you mean me any harm?”
It was the same question she asked every damn time. “You know I don’t! Now let me in!”
Lifting a warning brow, she unlocked the screen door and stepped back to allow him entrance.
A swift glance around the cluttered living room showed him little had changed since he’d last seen her. The living room was still crammed with heavy wooden furniture. Tall bookcases held an assortment of volumes, ivory figurines, and assorted knick-knacks. A dozen colorful throw pillows were scattered across the high-backed sofa. The old dark-green carpet had been replaced by a plush gray. A large, black cat lay curled up on a pink pillow beside the fireplace. A one-legged crow sat on a perch, watching him through black, beady eyes.
Izabela gestured toward the sofa. When he sat down, she settled herself in a large rocking chair covered by a brightly colored, fringed throw. As soon as she was seated, the cat jumped on her lap and went to sleep.
Izabela was a tiny thing, with a wealth of golden hair streaked with silver. Her eyes were an unusual shade of brown with yellow flecks. The image he saw now was the one she showed to the world. She usually wore a long-sleeved shirt over a colorful, ankle-length skirt. But at this time of the night, she wore a blue cotton robe over a long, white nightgown. Her feet were bare.She was a black witch, rumored to be the most powerful in the country.
Her gaze met his. “I have been expecting you, Rylan Saintcrow.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded. “I have felt your distress these past weeks. What is it that worries you after so many centuries?”
“I don’t know how to explain it.” Rising, he paced the floor. “I’m on edge all the time. I’m feeling the same sense of being out of control that I felt when I was first turned. It’s taking all the self-control I have to keep from killing my prey. I’m afraid–”
“You? Afraid?” Izabela scoffed. “I do not believe it.”
“Not for myself, dammit! For Kadie. For those I hunt. I have an almost overwhelming urge to rip out someone’s throat and drink until I’m sated with their blood.” He paused, his gaze going to the pulse throbbing in the witch’s throat.
“Do not even think about it.”
A bark of laughter filled the room. “You’re safe.” No vampire willingly drank the blood of a witch. It was bitter beyond belief.