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But he would meet the wizard again, and soon. Vilnius would not find him such an easy mark this time!
Hours later, his hunger satiated at last, he made his way to the shed in Karinna's backyard. As he sank into the darkness of oblivion, his last conscious thought was that once he had retrieved his father's sword he would have to find a new lair.
Kari woke early after a long and restless night. She had dreamed of Rourke again, dreamed that he was back inside the painting, and that she was trapped there with him. In her dream, the castle had been warm and cozy instead of cold and forbidding. The walls had been painted a cheery blue, Oriental carpets had covered the stone floors, velvet draperies had hung at the windows. The kitchen had contained the latest state-of-the-art appliances. She had enjoyed wandering through the forest, sailing in the boat, and riding the horse, but most of all, she had enjoyed spending her nights in Rourke's arms. Instead of being frightened or eager to escape the painted world they inhabited, she had been perfectly content to remain there with him.
Now, lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, she wondered if the dream held some deeper meaning, though she had no idea what it might be. Nor did she have time to worry about it. She didn't have the luxury of lying about analyzing her dreams. She had a busy day at work ahead of her.
Throwing off the covers, she headed for the bathroom and a hot shower.
It wasn't until she turned off the water and stepped out of the stall that she realized she was crying.
Chapter 27
Standing in the moonlight, Rourke gathered his power, felt it flowing into him and through him, spreading through every fiber and cell until it hummed through his body. He focused his energy, felt himself rise into the air as if he had wings.
It was exhilarating feeling the rush of the wind against his face as he picked up speed and left the earth behind.
He reached his destination just before dawn. Drifting down, he landed in a fallow field behind the wizard's chateau, then quickly went to ground to await the night.
He rose with the setting sun. As always, he was somewhat bemused by the fact that none of the dirt or debris clung to him or his clothing when he emerged from the bosom of the earth.
The first order of business was to ease his thirst, which he did quickly and efficiently. With his hunger satisfied, he made his way to the chateau.
Set amid a copse of trees and surrounded by a high, white rail fence, it was a lovely old place with weathered gray walls, a blue tile roof, and tall, leaded windows. A faint breeze carried the scent of damp grass and vegetation. Somewhere in the distance, Rourke heard the rush of water flowing over stones.
He frowned as he drew closer to the chateau. The house was closed and shuttered. No lights shone in the windows. No smoke rose from the red brick chimney.
"So, Vilnius," Rourke mused aloud. "Where have you gone?"
He paused briefly at the front door. Under other circumstances, he would have needed an invitation, but not now. Three hundred years ago, Ana Luisa had invited him into her home. No one had ever rescinded that invitation.
At a wave of his hand, the heavy oak door swung open, and he stepped inside.
The interior of the living room was cold and dark, the furnishings rich but austere, from the dark brown leather sofa and matching chair to the wrought-iron lamps and glass-topped mahogany tables. Expensive paintings lined the walls, an Oriental carpet covered the floor. There were few decorations in the room: a graceful Chinese vase, a carved box made of onyx, a large jade elephant.
Rourke moved unerringly through the dark room and down a hallway until he came to the back parlor. This room was also richly furnished. Looking around, Rourke could see that this was the room where the wizard spent most of his time. A big-screen TV took up most of one wall. There were a comfortable-looking overstuffed chair and a couple of side tables. A tall bookcase held a wide variety of books, everything from dictionaries and comic books to the works of William Faulkner, Thomas Aquinas, Tolkien, and Voltaire. But it was his father's sword, hanging above the marble fireplace, that held Rourke's attention.
For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at the elegant lines of the ancient weapon as he remembered the man who had been his father. Thomas Rourke had been a stern and forbidding man, unbending in his beliefs, fiercely loyal to his king and his friends, merciless to his enemies. But he had also been a loving husband and father, one who had always found time to spend with his wife and children.
With a feeling of reverence, Rourke lifted the sword from its place over the mantel. Was it only his imagination, or did the hilt of the sword seem to warm to his touch? He turned the blade this way and that, marveling at the stark beauty of it, the way it fit into his hand as if it had been made for him and no other. Power shimmered along the blade, and with it he heard the deep bass of his father's voice assuring him that he could do anything he desired.
Holding the sword in front of him with both hands, he touched his forehead to the slender blade, silently renewing his vow to avenge himself on Josef Vilnius.
And then he settled down to await the wizard's return.
Ana Luisa ran through the night, reveling in the sting of the wind against her face, the way she flew over the pavement, her feet scarcely touching the ground. She loved being a vampire, loved the sense of power and exhilaration that filled her body upon waking from the Dark Sleep. She thrilled at the hunt. It was such an amazing feeling calling mortals to her, bending their will to hers, knowing she held the power of life and death in her hands.
As a witch, she had enjoyed some of the same abilities--she could move objects with her mind, pass, unseen, through crowds, float in the air--but those abilities had not been as strong or allowed her to feel the exhilarating power that engulfed her now.
So far, she had not taken a life. From childhood, she had been taught that all life was sacred and not to be wasted or taken lightly. Ramon teased her about it, calling her Little Miss Mercy because she always left her prey alive. She knew he sometimes killed those he hunted, but he never took a life when he was with her. Once, she had almost asked him how many people he had killed, but at the last minute, she had decided she didn't really want to know.
It was only when she slowed to gaze at a shooting star that she realized she was no longer alone.
The knowledge came too late. Before she could defend herself, a body slammed into her, driving her down to the ground. She felt the rip of fangs at her throat as Maitland drank and drank. She tried to fight him, but she was no match for his greater strength.
If only she hadn't insisted Ramon send him away, she thought dully, but it was too late now. She could feel herself slipping away. Just before she lost consciousness, she thought she heard Ramon's voice.
