Night’s Master (Children of The Night #3)(19)
Author: Amanda Ashley

Another moan rose on the wind. And then a voice, low and edged with pain, whispered, “Do it!”

Raphael leaned forward. I heard a strangled sob, a gasp, and then silence. The stink of urine filled my nostrils.

Before I could make sense of what was happening, Raphael was at my side. Taking my hand in his, he led me back to my house. When we were inside, he locked the door behind us.

“Do you own a gun?” he asked.

“A gun! Of course not.”

He swore under his breath. “Whatever you do, whatever you hear, don’t leave the house tonight. Do you understand?”

“What happened out there?”

“Not now. Promise me you won’t leave the house no matter what, and that you won’t open the door for anyone.”

It was the look in his eyes more than his words that made me promise. “Where are you going? What happened out there? What was that thing in the woods?”

A muscle throbbed in his jaw. “You’re better off not knowing.”

“Friends don’t have secrets, remember?”

“Dammit!” He raked a hand through his hair, then pulled me roughly into his arms. “A Vampire attacked a Werewolf. He drained him to the point of death, then…” His arms tightened around me. “You don’t need to know any more than that except that the Were wasn’t going to get better.”

“He said ‘do it.’ What did he mean by that?”

“He wanted me to put him out of his misery.”

It was suddenly hard to breathe. “Did you?”

Raphael’s gaze slid away from mine. “Yes.”

I didn’t even want to think about what that meant, how he had done it, or what would become of the body lying in the woods. Was a mercy killing the same as murder?

“I’ve got to go.” Raphael’s voice and his expression were distant as he released me and walked toward the door. “Be sure to lock up after I leave.”

I followed him to the door. He paused at the threshold, his gaze caressing me, the touch of his hand achingly tender as he stroked my cheek. And then he was gone, disappearing into the night as if he had never been there.

I closed and locked the door, unaware that I was crying until I felt the tears dripping down my cheeks.

Chapter Ten

After leaving Kathy’s house, Rafe returned to the woods. The smell of blood and violent death hung heavy in the air.

He stared at the Werewolf’s body. Whoever had attacked the Were had caught him in the midst of the change, when he was the most vulnerable. They had attacked him and drained him until there was little blood left in his veins, then ripped out his liver and his intestines, condemning him to die a slow, painful death. Had he been in Werewolf form, he would have survived, but caught in the middle of the change, there had been no hope for him.

Rafe blew out a sigh. He felt no remorse for taking the Were’s life. The creature had begged him to do it. It had been the humane thing to do, something he would have done anyway. Still, it was an awesome thing to take a life, even when that life was on the brink of extinction, to drink a man dry, to take his life and his memories and leave only a dry husk behind. There had been little blood remaining in the Were, yet in taking the last of it, Raphael had not only taken the Werewolf’s life and his memories, but the power that came from taking that life, as well. No matter that the Were had been nearly dead, his life force nearly gone, his Supernatural power had flowed into Rafe. He could still taste the last of the Were’s blood on his tongue.

Draping the body over his shoulder, Rafe carried it deeper into the woods; then, using his bare hands, he quickly dug a grave and buried the luckless creature.

He couldn’t prove it, of course, but he was certain that the Werewolf had been killed in retaliation for Cristophe’s death. He was equally certain that a young hothead known only as Dawson was the Vampire who was responsible.

Raphael went suddenly still, all his senses on alert, and then, smiling, he turned around. “Hello, Godmother.”

Mara smiled. “I never could sneak up on you.”

He had always been in awe of the Vampire who was his godmother. She was a beautiful woman, timeless, ageless. Her thick black hair fell to her slim hips in long, rippling waves, her eyes were as green as the waters of the Nile. It was said she had been alive in the days when Antony stood at Cleopatra’s side, that the blood of the Pharaohs ran in her veins. He didn’t know whether that was true or not, but her powers were unmatched by any Vampire in existence. It wasn’t her vast age that fascinated him so much as her ability to walk in the sun’s light, an ability that she had passed to his father and, to a lesser degree, to his grandfather. She looked sexy as hell in a pair of white jeans, white high-heeled boots, and a slinky black silk shirt that revealed a good deal of creamy cle**age. She wore a heart-shaped ruby necklace at her throat that Rafe knew was worth a small fortune.

She moved closer to the grave, her nostrils flaring, and then she looked at Raphael, her eyes narrowing in anger. “Explain yourself! Did I not declare a truce? And yet you have defied me by taking this Were’s life.”

Rafe shook his head. “I killed him at his request, but I’m not the one who attacked him.”

She regarded him a moment, her gaze burning into his, and then she turned her attention to the grave once more. “Dawson,” she murmured, her eyes narrowing. “He dares much!”

Rafe nodded. Mara had declared a truce. To go against her wishes was a foolhardy thing to do. Dawson’s future could now be measured in minutes instead of centuries.

Mara turned her attention to Raphael once again. “The woman in the log house, she means a great deal to you.”

It wasn’t a question, and Rafe saw no reason to confirm or deny it.

“You are very much like your father,” she mused.

“Am I?”

“Indeed. A love for mortal females seems to plague the men in your family.”

Rafe couldn’t argue with that. His maternal grandfather, Roshan DeLongpre, had traveled back in time to find the woman whose photograph had obsessed him. Brenna Flannagan had not only been mortal at the time, but a practicing witch, as well. Roshan had saved her from a fiery death at the stake, brought her forward in time, and married her. His own father, Vince, had fallen in love with Roshan’s adopted daughter, Cara Aideen. His parents seemed perfectly suited to one another, and happier than any couple he knew.

“I’ve not seen Vince in quite some time,” Mara remarked. “How is he? And your mother?”

“Well enough, the last time I heard from them.”

“Have you heard from Rane?”