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Roshan nodded. It was all he could do not to demand that she never go there again. The Nocturne! There was no telling what kind of man she had met in that place. It was a hangout for vampires and other creatures of the night. Of course, he rarely let any other vampire remain in his town too long. Like all of his kind, he was a territorial creature, not disposed to sharing his domain or his food source.
“Where’s Mom?” Cara asked.
Roshan smiled inwardly. His wife was outside, dancing under the stars. She did that from time to time. He enjoyed nothing more than watching her, but tonight she had wanted to be alone.
“Why don’t you go up to bed,” he suggested. “I’ll find her and send her up to you. I know she’ll want to hear about your evening.”
“All right.” Cara kissed him on the cheek and then, humming softly, she went upstairs.
Roshan stared after her a moment and then, muttering, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he went out the back door.
A wide path lined with night-blooming flowers wove its way through the yard. Wrought-iron benches were placed here and there along the way. A small white headstone occupied a small bower, marking the final resting place of Brenna’s cat, Morgana. He had expected Brenna to find another cat to take Morgana’s place, but when he had asked her about it, she had simply said that Morgana couldn’t be replaced, and that had been the end of it. Of course, they’d had their share of pets once Cara got old enough to want one. Dogs and cats, birds and turtles, mice and fish had all come and, thankfully, gone.
Roshan found his wife in the middle of the yard in the midst of a circle of tall trees. He paused in the shadows, watching her dance. It reminded him of the first night he had seen her. She had been dancing in the nude then, too. It was one of his favorite memories, burned forever in his mind.
Tonight, her fiery red hair shimmered like flame in the silvery light of the full moon. Her deep green eyes were flecked with gold and sparkled with delight as she twirled in the moonlight, her only covering the waist-length hair that fell down her back and over her shoulders like veils of crimson silk as she dipped and swayed to music only she could hear. A necklace of amber and jet circled her slender throat. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
After a moment, she stopped dancing, a seductive smile playing over her lips as she turned to face him.
“Come,” she beckoned, holding out one slender hand. “Dance with me.”
“Another time,” he said, stepping out of the shadows. “Our daughter is home and asking for you.”
“Oh.” Moving toward a stone bench, Brenna pulled a velvet gown the color of the midnight sky over her head and smoothed it over her hips in a sensual, feminine gesture. “Is she all right?”
Roshan nodded. They had ever been overprotective parents, but perhaps that was to be expected. Cara was their only child, the only one they would ever have. “She’s fine. She met a man.”
“Really? Where?”
“At The Nocturne.”
Brenna stared at him in disbelief. “The Nocturne! What on earth was she doing there?”
“I have no idea.”
“Roshan, you have to talk to her. Tell her she mustn’t go there again. The Nocturne!” Brenna pressed a hand to her heart. The Nocturne. Merciful heavens!
“Go on up and tell her good night,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “I’m going out to talk to Di Giorgio.”
The bodyguard lived in a small house in the rear of the property. He was a solitary man, seemingly content with his own thoughts and his own company. Roshan knew Frank Di Giorgio had been connected to one of the crime families in Italy when he was a young man, but that had been a long time ago.
At Roshan’s knock, Di Giorgio opened the door, gun in hand.
“Evening, Frank.”
Grunting softly, Di Giorgio shoved the gun into the waistband of a pair of expensive looking trousers, then invited his boss inside.
The bodyguard’s report was brief. Cara had been sitting at the bar in The Nocturne when a young man approached her. He had bought Cara a drink. They had talked and danced one dance. The man seemed harmless enough. He hadn’t said or done anything out of line.
Roshan listened carefully, some of his worry ebbing as he listened to what Di Giorgio had to say. Bidding the man good night, Roshan returned to the house.
Brenna was waiting for him in the living room. She had turned the lights down low and started a fire in the hearth. Smiling, she patted the seat beside her.
Sitting down, he draped his arm around her shoulders.
Brenna sighed. This was her favorite time of the night. Cara was home and safely tucked into bed and all was right with the world.
A wave of her hand turned on the TV. She surfed through the channels until she found a movie she liked, then settled back once again, her head resting on her husband’s shoulder.
Roshan stared into the flames as scenes from the past paraded across his mind. He had fallen in love with Brenna Flanagan when he happened across her image in a book titled Ancient History and Myths, Fact or Fiction. It had been a small pen-and-ink drawing depicting a woman bound to a wooden stake, surrounded by a mob of angry men waving torches over their heads. The caption under the drawing had read: The Burning of Brenna Flanagan, Accused of Witchcraft.
He had become obsessed with that drawing, so much so that he had traveled back in time to the year 1692 where he had saved her from a fiery death. He had brought her back to his time, helped her learn her way around his world. She had blossomed here, free to practice her witchcraft if she wished to do so. While exploring the city, she had come across the Wiccan Way Coffee Shop and Book Store. It had been there that she met Anthony Loken, an evil warlock who had been obsessed with discovering the secret of immortality. Convinced that the blood of vampires held the secret of eternal life, Loken had frequented The Nocturne in search of vampires, luring them to his laboratory where he took their blood and their lives. Due to Myra’s treachery, Roshan had found himself strapped to a table in that lab, bound with heavy silver chains that had burned his flesh and weakened his powers. Only his concern for Brenna, who had also been Loken’s prisoner, had given Roshan the strength he needed to free himself. In the end, Roshan had forced Loken to drink his own potion. The warlock had died a horrible, excruciatingly painful death.
Feeling suddenly restless, Roshan went to stand in front of the hearth.
“What’s wrong?” Brenna asked, switching off the TV.
