Night's Pleasure
Page 16

Had one of them also killed her father?
Last night, she wouldn’t have believed it, but now it looked like a very real possibility.
She sat there for a time, unable to come to terms with the fact that her sweet, lovable mother had been a Vampire hunter. It seemed ludicrous to think that a woman who had taught Sunday school, loved to play hide-and-seek, and made the best chocolate-chip cookies on the planet had spent her days hunting the Undead. And yet, as impossible as it was to believe, Savanah knew in her heart that it was true.
“Savanah Gentry, Vampire hunter,” she muttered, then shook her head. Other than bothersome flies and an occasional insect, she had never killed anything in her life. She couldn’t begin to imagine driving a stake into anybody’s heart, dead or Undead. But then she thought of her mother being drained of blood to extend the existence of some creature of the night, and she knew there was one Vampire, at least, that she could kill without a qualm.
Curiosity drove her outside. She found a shovel in the shed out back, then walked down the red brick path that divided the yard. There were fruit trees and tomato plants on one side, grass, a covered swing and a pretty gazebo on the other. As a child, she had pretended the gazebo was a castle and she was a princess. Her dog had been a fire-breathing dragon, and her dad…She blinked back her tears. Her dad had been the white knight who vanquished the dragon, then carried her away to the land of Mile High Cones for ice cream and cookies. Savanah had stopped believing in fairy tales when her mother passed away.
She found the tree she was looking for and started digging. The ground was soft and it wasn’t long before the shovel hit something hard. Kneeling, she reached into the hole and pulled out a large, square metal box inscribed with her mother’s initialsBG. Barbara Gentry.
Savanah set it aside, filled in the hole, brushed the dirt from her knees, and then carried the box into the kitchen. Putting it on the counter, she lifted the lid. Her stomach churned as she looked at the contents: several sharp wooden stakes, a mallet, a long, heavy-bladed knife in a leather sheath, several bottles filled with what she suspected was holy water. A wooden box, its lid carved with runes and symbols, held two leather-bound books, one black, one brown. There was also a small gray velvet box that held a beautiful silver crucifix on a sturdy silver chain.
Savanah slipped the chain over her head, then picked up the books and went into the living room. Curling up in a corner of the sofa, she opened the brown book. She ran her fingertips over the words, words written by a mother she scarcely remembered, and then began to read the precise script that told how to identify a Vampire, listed the Supernatural powers they possessed, detailed how to find them, and how to destroy them.
Vampires were remarkable creatures. They could change shape or cross great distances in the blink of an eye. They could turn into mist, scale the side of a building like a spider, hypnotize a person with a look. Vampires had the ability to confuse or control a person’s thoughts, and to shield their presence so as to become invisible to mortals. They had the power to control the weather; they could call animals and people to them. Their wounds, if not fatal, healed almost overnight. Silver burned their skin, as did holy water. The touch of the sun’s light turned all but the very oldest to dust. They couldn’t enter a home without an invitation and had to leave if that invitation was rescinded. A handy thing to know, she mused, should a Vampire ever come calling.
In reading the next few pages, Savanah learned more about destroying Vampires than she had ever wanted to know. In addition to driving a stake through their hearts, Vampires could be dispatched by severing the head from the body and burying the parts of the creature in separate graves. Fire was another sure way to destroy the Undead. Her mother recommended both staking and beheading in order to ensure that the Vampire did not rise again. A note written in one of the margins noted that the best stakes were made of ash, juniper, buckthorn, whitethorn, or hawthorn, with hawthorn being the wood of choice for most hunters.
Toward the back of the book was a list of Vampire hunters. She skimmed over the names—Abraham Van Helsing, Pearl Jackson, Travis Jackson, Rick McGee, Edna Mae Turner, Edward Ramsey, Tommy Li, Barbara Van Helsing Gentry.
Savanah swallowed the bile that rose in her throat as she tried to imagine her sweet, gentle, cookie-baking mother indulging in such a grisly business not once, but many times.
A small section in the back of the book was devoted to Werewolves. They were harder to find than Vampires since they were able to move about in the daytime, and able to mingle with society with no one being the wiser until the full moon turned them fanged and furry. A single silver bullet to the head or the heart was the best way to kill a Werewolf. Depriving them of oxygen by strangling or suffocation was also effective, though harder to accomplish. Unlike Vampires, once dead, Werewolves did not rise again.
Putting the first book aside, Savanah picked up the second volume. It was far older than the other book. The ink was faded, the pages yellow with age. The flyleaf read:I take pen in hand that my heirs might finish the work I have begun and was signedAbraham Van Helsing.
Thumbing carefully through the yellowed pages, she saw that the book contained a record of known Vampires up to the time of her father’s death. Columns listed the date the Vampire had been turned and, if applicable, the date it had been destroyed. There was also a place to note who had sired the Vampire, if known, as well as a place to include the name of the hunter who had destroyed it.
The first name on the list of Vampires was Mara. Beside her name was a notation declaring that she was the oldest-known Vampire in existence, and that it was believed that, due to her longevity, she had become impervious to the effect of the sun’s light.
Savanah skimmed over the names of the Vampires: Gabriel, Kitana, Petrina. A Vampire named Cristophe had been killed by a Werewolf during the war. Dominic St. John was a Vampire who had killed quite a few of his own kind, then turned the woman he loved. There was a note beside the name Rayven, claiming that he had been restored to humanity. Further down, she read the name Jason Blackthorne, with the same notation. Odd, she thought. Once a Vampire, always a Vampire. Everyone knew there was no cure.
The list went on: Navarre, Alexi Kristov, Grigori Chiavari, Alessandro deAvallone, Rodrigo, Elisabeth Thorn-dyke, Khira, Zarabeth, Laslo, Joaquin Santiago, Roshan DeLongpre and his wife, Brenna. Jason Rourke, Antonio Battista, Ramon Vega. Edward Ramsey, Edna Mae Turner, Travis Jackson, and his grandmother, Pearl Jackson.
A grandmother,Savanah thought.Good grief.
She stared at the notes written beside the last four names. It stated that Ramsey, Turner, Travis and Pearl Jackson had all been dedicated hunters before they were turned. Ramsey had been considered one of the best. His family had been in the business for over a hundred years. It gave her a funny feeling to see his name and the other three hunters added to the list of Vampires. She wondered if it happened often, that the hunter became one of the hunted. How did those who had devoted their lives to destroying Vampires reconcile with becoming one? How did anyone accept such a drastic change in his or her life?
Savanah tried to imagine herself as a Vampire, sleeping by day, hunting for prey at night, never to see the sun again, never to enjoy a turkey dinner at Christmas or a glass of eggnog on New Year’s Eve, never to have children and grandchildren, or do any of the other ordinary things she took for granted.
With a sigh, she turned the page and felt her blood turn to ice. There, in neat black handwriting, she read the names Vincent Cordova, Cara DeLongpre Cordova, Raphael Cordova, Kathy Cordova.
And Rane Cordova.
She stared at the name. It couldn’t be. Not her Rane. It was just a horrible coincidence that he had the same first name as a known Vampire. Sure, he was a shape-shifter, but not a Vampire. He couldn’t be a Vampire. It had to be someone else. But what if it wasn’t? What if he was one of them, a blood drinker, the same kind of despicable creature of the night that had killed her mother?
Even as she tried to deny it, she knew on some deep inner level that it was true. Rane was a Vampire.
It answered so many questions.
It explained so many things.
It explained everything.
Like a splash of cold water came the memory that she had let him make love to her. Let him? She had begged him! Feeling sick to her stomach, she wrapped her arms around her middle and rocked back and forth, and as she did so, she felt something stir within the very depths of her being, something that bubbled up from deep inside her soul like a purifying fountain.
And its name was vengeance.
Chapter Twelve
Rane gazed at the young woman standing pliant in his arms. She was a pretty thing, in her late twenties, with blue-tipped blond hair and green eyes lined with black mascara. Her name was Brandi, and she had been on her way to meet some friends when he waylaid her. He took a deep breath, the scent of her blood arousing his hunger. He savored the anticipation for a moment, then lowered his head and drank, savoring the thick coppery taste on his tongue.
He took only enough to satisfy his hunger, then licked the wounds in the girl’s throat to seal them. By tomorrow, they would be gone. He caressed her cheek, and then he released his hold on her mind and sent her on her way, none the wiser.
He was about to get into his car and head over to Savanah’s place when he was overwhelmed by a rush of Supernatural power. Pivoting on his heel, he came face-to-face with the most beautiful woman he had ever known.
“Mara.”
She stood before him like an enchanted goddess come to life. A white dress clung to her shapely form; her only adornment was a heart-shaped ruby pendant on a fine gold chain. Thick black hair fell over her slender shoulders. Her eyes were a deep, dark green and slightly slanted, like those of a cat. She had been born in Egypt, had known its most famous queen, Cleopatra. Some believed that the blood of pharaohs ran in Mara’s veins, but Rane knew that was only a rumor, perhaps started by Mara herself. According to Vampire lore, she was truly immortal now, impervious to stake or silver, though a well-placed blade could still take her head. Even the sun no longer had any power over her and she walked freely in its light. It was said that whenever she grew weary of her existence, she traveled to Egypt where she rested in the earth of her homeland.