Night’s Kiss (Children of The Night #1)(18)
Author: Amanda Ashley

Going downstairs, she went into the room with all the books, browsing through them until she found a Bible that looked similar to the one she was used to. Carrying it to the chair, she sat down and began to read, grateful once again that Granny O’Connell had known how to read and had insisted that Brenna learn, too.

She read for a while, then went into the kitchen. Taking an apple from the cold cupboard, she poured milk into the cup, and then carried both outside. Sitting on a stone bench, she admired the shrubs, the changing leaves on the trees, the smooth, green grass. She wondered if Roshan cared for the grounds himself, though she could not visualize him cutting the grass in the middle of the night. It seemed out of character for a vampire to have such a well-tended yard. It was easier to imagine him living in a run-down house surrounded by gaunt trees and dying shrubs.

Birds flitted from branch to branch, their songs lifting her spirits. She nibbled at the apple, which was crisp and sweet. Lifting the cup, she took a drink, thinking again that it tasted far different from the milk at home. But then, here in this strange world, everything was different.

She took a leisurely stroll through the gardens, then went back into the book room. After opening the curtains, she sat down in the chair and began to read again, soothed by the lyrical passages of the Psalms. Sometime later, Morgana padded into the room.

"Morgana, where have you been?" Brenna asked as the cat leaped onto her lap.

The cat blinked at her, arched her back, then curled up and went to sleep.

From somewhere outside, a clock chimed the hour. Four o’clock. Putting the Bible aside, Brenna stroked the cat’s fur and then, feeling suddenly sleepy herself, she rested her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes.

And that was how Roshan found them when he rose an hour later.

He gazed down at Brenna, amazed again by her resemblance to Atiyana, at the pale beauty of her skin, the way her hair spread out over his T-shirt, like a splash of bright red blood. She looked incredibly warm and sexy curled up in the chair, and yet she looked innocent and vulnerable at the same time. It was a potent combination, arousing his desire, his hellish thirst, and a strong urge to protect her all at the same time.

She stirred, a sleepy sound emerging from her throat. He groaned softly as his nostrils filled with the scent of soap and the warm musky scent of woman.

Of prey.

He imagined himself bending over her, sweeping her hair away from her slender neck, burying his fangs in the soft, sweet flesh just below her ear.

He was so intent on fighting his hunger that it took him a moment to realize that she was awake and staring up at him, her face suddenly pale, her eyes wide with horror.

He turned away from her, his hands clenched as he fought his hunger and his desire. It took all his considerable self-control to keep from drawing her into his embrace, from slowly seducing her until she was under his spell, her will subjugated to his. Only his fear of incurring her hatred, and the even stronger fear that, once he had satisfied his desire for her flesh he would be unable to resist giving in to his desire for her blood, kept him from making his fantasy a reality.

When he turned to face her, all his hungers were again under control.

She was still staring up at him.

He took a step toward her.

She lifted one hand. "Stay away from me," she warned.

Roshan shook his head. "Let’s not go through this again. How many times do I have to tell you that I won’t hurt you before you believe me?"

"I know not. Perhaps when I look at you and I do not see your fangs, or see the hunger in your eyes."

He lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender. "You’re perfectly safe."

She looked skeptical.

"Why don’t you go upstairs and get dressed? We need to go shopping."

"Shopping?"

"For clothes. Fashions have changed in the last three hundred years or so."

She glanced around the room. "So have dwellings."

He grinned at her. "Yes. I guess I’d better show you how things work."

She studied him a moment, then nodded.

He watched her walk out of the room, noting the gentle sway of her hips, the way his T-shirt seemed to cling to her body even though it was many sizes too large.

Going into the living room, he paced the floor, her image strong in his mind. She had courage, his little witch. Her fear of him was a palpable thing, yet she had been ready to take him on.

He heard her footsteps on the stairs a few minutes later, and then she was there, walking toward him, her hair falling over her shoulders in glorious disarray. It occurred to him that he had forgotten to buy her a hairbrush and a comb, as well as a toothbrush. He would remedy that tonight.

He frowned when he saw she was wearing her boots, but carrying her dress over one arm.

"I washed my clothes earlier," she said. "They are still damp."

A wave of his hand brought the fire in the hearth to life. Bringing two of the kitchen chairs into the living room, he draped her dress over the back of one, her underwear over the other.

"I’ll show you around the house while we wait for your clothes to dry. So," he mused, "where to start?" He glanced around the room. "Here," he said. "This is a television set."

She regarded him warily.

Roshan picked up the remote. "You turn it on like this," he said, showing her which button to push.

Her eyes widened as the screen flickered to life and an old I Love Lucy rerun appeared.

"What sorcery is this?" she asked softly. "How did you capture all those people in that little box?" She took a step closer. "Have you captured their souls? Why is everything in black and white?"

"And you change the channels like this."

Her eyes grew even wider as he flipped through the channels, the black and white images giving way to color. Cowboys and Indians, old sitcoms, country music videos, news, weather, and sports. He tried to explain what she was seeing, the difference between news programs, which informed watchers of the day’s events, and movies, which were like stage plays and had little basis in fact.

She looked up at him, speechless.

"I know, it’s pretty amazing," he said. "But it isn’t magic, at least not the way you know it. It’s just technology… " He shrugged, not knowing how to explain it to her in terms she would understand. "Anyway, it’s a form of amusement, something to while away the hours if you’ve got nothing else to do. Practically every household in America has at least one." Most had two or more.

He showed her how to turn the lights on and off, stood there, grinning, while she played with the light switch.