"I have no friends in the city save for Myra at the bookstore. Would it be all right for me to ask her?"
"Sure, if that's what you want."
"Who will stand beside you?" Brenna asked.
"That's a good question. Perhaps Father Lanzoni knows of someone."
"Mrs. Brenna DeLongpre," she murmured. "It sounds pretty, does it not?"
"It sounds perfect," he said, drawing her into his arms. As always, she pressed herself against him, her face lifting for his kiss, her eyes shining with love and happiness.
He gazed down at her a moment, wondering at his good fortune in finding her. Had it been the hand of fate that made him chose Ancient History and Myths, Fact or Fiction from the shelf the night he had been thinking of destroying himself? Was it possible that he and Brenna were always meant to be together? Had Zerena cursed him with the Dark Trick so that he would be able to travel back in time to save Brenna from the flames?
He shook his head, amused by the turn of his thoughts.
"What are you smiling at?" Brenna asked.
"I was thinking about us," he said.
"That always makes me smile, too."
He laughed softly, his hands lightly kneading her shoulders and then, unable to wait any longer, he lowered his head and kissed her.
Sweet, he thought, sweeter than the wine of the gods. Sweeter man the barely remembered taste of his mother's plum jelly. He ran his tongue along Brenna's lower lip, savoring the taste, the softness, before plundering the sweetness within. Desire sparked between them and he cupped her buttocks in his hands, pressing her body closer to his.
She moaned softly, her tongue dueling with his. She ran her hands over his chest, down his arms, reveling in his strength, marveling that a man as strong and powerful as Roshan could be so tender, so very, very gentle. His strength excited her, made her feel small and helpless, but in a good way, because they both knew she wasn't helpless.
With a sigh of regret, Roshan put her away from him.
Brenna made a soft sound of protest deep in her throat. "Why did you stop?"
He shrugged sheepishly. "I don't know. It just seems wrong to ravish you the night before we're to be married."
She made a face at him. "But it was all right last night?"
"Indeed it was, but don't ask me why."
She smiled up at him. "I had no idea you were so gallant," she said, linking her arm with his. "I wonder what else I shall discover about you in the nights to come."
"I can't imagine," he muttered.
Walking back to the church, he couldn't help thinking that marriage to Brenna Flanagan was likely to be a great deal of fun, something that had been sorely missing in his life these past two hundred and eighty-six years.
Brenna arrived at the bookstore shortly after it opened the following morning.
Myra greeted her warmly. "You're early today." She tilted her head to one side. "You look as if you've swallowed a piece of the sun. Tell me, what has put that glow in your eyes?"
"I came to ask you a favor."
"Well, as long as it isn't illegal, consider it done."
Brenna bit down on her lip. Roshan had said the marriage wouldn't be recognized by the state.
"You're not planning a bank heist or anything are you?" Myra asked.
"No, I am getting married."
"Well, no wonder you're grinning like the Cheshire cat. Congratulations! Who's the lucky man?"
"His name is Roshan. I do not know anyone in this city and I… well, I need someone to stand up with me, and I was wondering, if you are not busy, if you would…?"
Myra took Brenna's hands in hers. "My dear, I'd love to."
"Oh, thank you."
"So, when's the happy occasion?"
"Tonight, at nine." She had found a note from Roshan on her bedside table this morning. In it, he had told her that he had spoken to Father Lanzoni and the priest had agreed to marry them that night.
"Tonight!" Myra exclaimed.
Brenna nodded. "I know it seems rather sudden but… " She felt herself blushing. "We did not want to wait any longer. I know I should have given you more notice, but"— she shrugged— "neither Roshan nor I have any family, and… "
"I quite understand," Myra said, patting Brenna's shoulder. "Young love and all, but my dear, that hardly gives me time to find a dress, let alone shoes! Sarafina," she called, "cover for me, won't you? I'm going shopping."
After giving Myra directions to the church and bidding her farewell, Brenna returned to the house. Too excited to sit still, she dusted the furniture, vacuumed the carpets, did a load of wash, put away the dishes in the dishwasher, and still she had hours to wait until sundown.
Finally, she sat down on the sofa and turned on the television, hoping to find a movie that would distract her. After flipping through the channels, she settled on a movie she had seen before. She knew the title now: Ladyhawke. There was something haunting about the story of a gallant knight and a woman who had been cursed by an evil clergyman.
Moments later, Morgana jumped up on the sofa, demanding her attention.
Brenna smiled at the cat as she scratched her ears. "Do you know that I am getting married tonight?" she murmured. "Think of it I will be Mrs. Roshan DeLongpre."
The mere idea made Brenna's heart skip a beat. Of course, it would mean some changes in her lifestyle. She would have to adjust her sleeping habits to his so that they could spend as much time as possible together, and after awhile she might get tired of eating all her meals alone. Maybe he would sit with her in the evening from time to time. But these were trivial matters.
Soon, she thought happily, soon she would be his wife.
Roshan woke with the sun's setting. His first breath carried Brenna's scent to his nostrils. His first thought was that before he slept again, she would be his, though in his mind, she was already his in every way that mattered. Mortal laws no longer had any sway over him, but the marriage was important to Brenna, and that made it important to him, as well.
Rising, he left his lair, eager to see his bride. He found her in the kitchen. She was standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot. He wrinkled his nose against the smell of corn and roasting chicken.
On silent feet, he moved up behind her. "Good evening, my love," he murmured, nuzzling her nape.
She leaned back against him, turning her head for his kiss.
"You've not changed your mind?" he asked.
"Never."
He drew her into his arms so he could kiss her more fully, his senses filling with her nearness. Tonight she would be his, always and forever his. From this night forward, he would share his life with a woman he loved. It was a heady thought, the fulfillment of a wish he had never acknowledged, a hope he had never expected to obtain.
Reluctantly, he released her. "I'll be back soon," he promised.
She nodded. She did not have to ask where he was going. She knew him well enough now that she could tell when he had fed and when he had not.
He kissed her again, quickly, and then he was gone.
Anthony Loken stood over the remains of his latest victim. Like the last four, this one no longer resembled anything remotely human. Hands clenched at his sides, Loken stared at what had been a healthy young man only a short time ago.
Damn! Filled with a growing sense of defeat, Loken paced the lab from one end to the other. He had tried infusing the vampire's blood into the human system in every possible way he could think of. None of them had been successful. Always, the subjects had shriveled and died, sometimes in minutes, sometimes in hours. How did vampires survive when their blood seemed to be toxic? He had tried mixing the vampire's blood with the blood of his subjects, he had tried diluting it with a variety of liquids, but to no avail. He had experimented with the temperature, making the blood warmer and then colder. The results had been the same. The subjects had shriveled and died, most of them screaming in an agony he could only imagine. He had increased the white blood cells. He had decreased the white blood cells. He had mixed the blood with holy water, thinking it might counteract the deadly effects of the vampire's blood. He had tried adding a small amount of salt. No matter what he had tried, the results were always the same.
He slammed his fist into the wall, a wordless cry of frustration and rage rising in his throat. He would not be defeated. He struck the wall again and yet again and then came to an abrupt halt, oblivious to the blood flowing from his knuckles. Frowning, he stared at the empty vials on the counter. Perhaps there had been something amiss in the blood of the vampire. Or perhaps he had been using the wrong subjects…
Of course! He was no mere mortal. He was a warlock of almost unequaled power. His mistake had been in experimenting on puny humans when what he needed was a witch.
Licking the blood from his knuckles, he turned off the lights and left the laboratory. Myra would know where he could find a witch. She would, in fact, have been his first choice had her powers not been greater than his own.
Yes, he thought, his confidence restored. All he needed was a witch and the secret of eternal life and good health would be his.
CHAPTER 22
Because it was quick and easy, Roshan went looking for prey at the Nocturne. There were only a few people in the club this early in the evening. It made hunting dangerous, but then it was always dangerous to hunt when the prey wasn't alone, more so at this time of the night Better to seek prey when the hour was late and mortals were more susceptible to preternatural forces. But tonight he had no choice. He must be at his best when he stood at the altar beside Brenna. He wanted no trace of his hellish thirst lurking in his eyes, no hint that he was thinking of anything other than his bride.
Unbidden came the memory of the day he had wed Atiyana. How young they had both been, innocent and eager and a little afraid. He had never known a woman. She had been a maiden, untouched and untutored. Together, they had learned the ways of love, discovered the pleasures of the marriage bed, waited with joyful hearts for the birth of their first child… His sweet Atiyana, in heaven these many years. What would she think of him if she could see him as he was now?