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Closing the door, she went into the living room and curled up in a corner of the sofa. She glanced at the two books lying on the table. The volumes listed the known Vampires and Vampire hunters, and obligingly listed the ways to find and destroy the creatures of the night. The only thing the books didn’t explain was how one gained the courage to take stake and mallet in hand and get started.
Rane stood in the shadows outside Savanah’s house, his fists shoved deep into his pants’ pockets as he stared at her silhouette in the window. So, she thought she was a Vampire hunter, did she? The very idea was ludicrous and yet he couldn’t forget the stubborn set of her jaw or the determined look in her eyes. Did she actually mean to take up stake and mallet and go hunting the Undead? To do so would be suicide. Surely she knew that? She had no training, no one to teach her, no one to guide her. If she was foolish enough to go up against a Vampire who had been turned for more than a year or so, she would be way out of her league. Vampires might not be able to abide the sun, but once they had a few years under their belt, many of the stronger ones were able to defend themselves even if they were attacked while at rest. With her inexperience, Savanah would be no match for any but the weakest fledgling.
He frowned as another thought occurred to him. Even though he had stayed out of the war between the Vampires and the Werewolves, there were secret, out-of-the way places in every big city where the Undead gathered. He had kept up-to-date with the war news, listened to the rumors, heard the names of those who had been killed on both sides. When the war ended, there had been a period of relative peace as the Supernatural community withdrew to lick their wounds. After six months or so, the Vampire hunters had gone into retirement. For a time, all had been quiet but then, after a few years, Rane began to hear rumors that another war was being waged. If what he heard was right, this war was being carried out by an unknown assailant who was quietly and methodically killing Vampire hunters. Was it a Vampire? The same one who had killed Savanah’s father? Did that make Savanah the next victim? And was it hunters the killer was after, or the book Savanah had mentioned?
Rane told himself it wasn’t his problem. Savanah was over twenty-one, old enough to know her own mind and make her own decisions. He swore softly. Maybe that was true, in mortal matters, but in Supernatural affairs, Savanah was in way over her head. One way or another, he needed to get his hands on that book before it was too late.
He told himself again it wasn’t his problem, but to no avail. He wasn’t sure how or when it had happened, but he had fallen into the same trap as his grandfather, his father, and his brother. He was in love with a mortal woman, one whose life might be in danger even now.
So, what was he going to do about it? Protect her, or just turn his back on her and walk away as he had on so many things in his life?
Protecting Savanah could be dangerous, he mused, lifting a hand to his face. His cheek and neck still hurt like hell, ample proof that she wasn’t afraid to strike out, given enough provocation. Considering the way she felt right now, she was just as likely to drive a stake into his heart as not. In spite of what he’d said earlier, letting her go was out of the question. He wanted her, and not just her blood. He wanted all of her—her laughter, her smiles, and yes, even her hatred. He wanted her, and he meant to have her.
If he was a mortal man, he could go back and kick in the door, if necessary. However, since he was Nosferatu, breaking down the door would be little more than an empty gesture since he couldn’t go inside unless she invited him, and she wasn’t likely to do that in her present state of mind. He had no explanation for the odd effect thresholds had on the Undead, but he knew from experience that they effectively repelled his kind. Logical or not, thresholds possessed a Supernatural power of their own.
Of course, even though he couldn’t force his way into her house, he could always hypnotize her and call her to him. With his preternatural power, he could compel her to do anything he wished, but there was damned little pleasure in that, he thought irritably. Might as well make love to a robot.
Muttering an oath, he began to pace back and forth in front of her house. He was a Vampire, the most powerful creature on the face of the earth, kept from what he wanted by a stubborn woman and a slab of wood.
But not for long.
Chapter Fourteen
Savanah couldn’t sleep. She had taken a long, hot bath, hoping it would relax her, slipped into her favorite comfy PJs and a fluffy white robe, then drank a cup of herbal tea laced with honey and a touch of brandy, but sleep wouldn’t come.
Rising, she went into her father’s bedroom and curled up in the easy chair next to the window. Sitting there, with her legs folded beneath her and one hand clasped around her mother’s silver crucifix, she made a mental list of everyone her father had known. It was possible that a complete stranger had killed him, but highly unlikely. Murders were usually committed by a family member or a friend of the victim. Since Savanah hadn’t done it, the only family left was her father’s brother, Arthur, who lived in New York City, and his cousin, Frank, who was somewhere in the jungles of Brazil. As for acquaintances, there were too many to name.
Who would have wanted her father dead? And why? If only she knew what her father had been working on, it might have given her a clue, but she had no idea what story he had been pursuing, no way of knowing if there was any connection between his job and his death.
She reread the letter he had left for her. Maybe it hadn’t been an acquaintance or anyone connected with the story he had been working on. Maybe he had been killed by a Vampire. But there hadn’t been any telltale bites on his neck….
Savanah frowned. One of the books had mentioned that Vampires didn’t always bite their victims in the neck.
Suddenly wide-awake, she ran into her office and turned on the light. Being a reporter, she had friends in some strange places, and one of them worked nights in the morgue.
Vance Rutherford answered on the first ring. “Rutherford, County Morgue.”
“Hi, Vance, it’s me, Savanah.”
“Hey, girl, you’re up late. I’ve been meaning to call you, but, well…”
“Thanks, Vance. Listen, I need a favor.” Savanah took a deep breath. “Do you have my…my father’s records there?”
“Sure. Listen, I’m really sorry about what happened….”
“I know. Could you see if there’s any mention in the report about bite marks?”
“Bite marks?” She heard the frown in his voice. “What kind of bite marks?”
