Night’s Mistress (Children of The Night #5)(12)
Author: Amanda Ashley

She surrendered with a sigh, willing, for this night, to follow where he led, to pretend that nothing had changed.

Much later, lying side by side, Logan said, “Tell me what you’ve been doing since you left me.”

“Didn’t we already talk about that?”

“You never really answered me. How many others have you brought across? How many men have there been in your life since you walked away from me?”

She gestured at the two of them, lying entwined in each other’s arms, the perspiration still cooling on their flesh. “Do you really think this is the time or the place to discuss that sort of thing?”

He nibbled her earlobe. “I can’t help it. Not knowing is eating me alive.”

“I’ve never kept count of the men in my life. As for others I’ve turned”—she shrugged—“I really don’t remember.”

“I’ve heard it was no more than a handful.”

Vince Cordova had asked her the same question. She remembered the conversation well. It had taken place shortly after she’d brought him across.

“Am I the only vampire you’ve made?” he had asked.

“No. There were five before you.”

“Are they still alive?”

She made a vague gesture with her hand. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

“Then what are you doing here? I mean, if you didn’t give a damn about them . . .”

She laughed softly. “Why do I care about you?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. That’s why I came.”

She had asked Vince about his relationship with Cara. He had asked if she had ever been in love . . .

“Many times,” she had replied. “But it never lasts. Mortals are such fragile creatures, and they live such a short time.”

“The ones you made, were you in love with them?”

“No.”

“Why did you bring them across?”

She shrugged. “It’s been so long ago, I don’t recall. Curiosity, I suppose. Or maybe boredom.”

“Is that why you brought me across?” he asked bitterly. “Because you were bored?”

She remembered laughing as she said yes.

She hadn’t been completely honest with Vince when he’d asked if she had been in love with those she turned. True, she had been fond of them all in varying degrees, and Vince most of all, but it had been only Hektor, now Logan, that she loved.

So many years since she had brought anyone across, she thought, and now the power to do so was lost to her.

She was supposed to be immortal, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling that the existence she had so taken for granted for centuries was rapidly coming to an end.

She moved closer to Logan. If her days were indeed numbered, then she wanted to spend whatever time she had left here, in Logan’s arms. She had often pondered whether it was better to love or be loved. It was the one question for which she had never found a satisfying answer but, for now, she would gladly take all the love he could give.

With a sigh, Mara closed her eyes.

Propped up on one elbow, Logan studied the woman resting beside him. Centuries had passed since he had last seen her, and yet being with her now made those lost years unimportant. He had asked her how many men she had been with, how many fledglings she had made. Not surprisingly, she hadn’t answered him. She had professed that she couldn’t remember, but somehow he doubted that. More likely, she just didn’t want him to know. She was a lusty wench. No doubt there had been hundreds of men in her life since they’d parted. If he had his way, he would be the last.

He brushed a lock of hair from her neck, then bent down and ran his tongue over her skin. Her scent aroused his hunger, but as his tongue brushed his fangs, he had a vivid recollection of drinking from her earlier that night. She had told him she was changing. He hadn’t really believed it until he had tasted her blood. Instead of being sweet and satisfying, it had been sour. He would have thought she was ill, only vampires didn’t get sick. She feared she was dying. Maybe she was right. But how was that possible?

Mara was the oldest of their kind. Maybe, contrary to vampire mythology, they didn’t live forever. Maybe they were subject to old age and death like every other living creature. Maybe people believed vampires lived forever simply because vampires existed for an incredibly long time, outliving the mortals around them.

“Logan?” She frowned at him in the darkness and he wondered if, along with her other weakening senses, she had also lost her preternatural vision.

“Yes, love,” he murmured, and switched on the light.

“Why are you staring at me?”

“Because you’re beautiful.” He stroked her cheek. “So damn beautiful.” He took a deep breath. “Why do you think you’re dying?”

“I told you. I’m changing. And tonight . . . tonight you said my blood tasted like poison.” She placed her hand over her stomach. “There’s something wrong with me, I can feel it inside.”

“Maybe you need to see a doctor?”

She looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

“There are a few vampire doctors,” Logan said with a shrug. “I don’t know if there are any in California, but I can check around.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“What could it hurt? Wouldn’t you rather know what’s happening than spend all your time worrying and wondering?”

“I guess so.”

Her indecision, her vulnerability, worried him more than anything else. She had always been strong, decisive, often blunt to the point of rudeness.

Cupping her face in his hands, he said, “Whatever’s going on, we’ll see it through together.”

Tears burned her eyes and brought a lump to her throat. “Thank you, Logan.”

“Hey, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, not now, when I’ve just found you again.”

Chapter Seven

Kyle stared at the painting above the mantel. He had painted it in Egypt, during happier times, before he knew what kind of creature Mara was. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. Was she looking back at him? Laughing at him? Damn her! What evil magic had she worked on him that he couldn’t get her out of his mind?

He should burn the painting, burn her out of his heart and his mind. But he couldn’t. Not that he hadn’t tried. He had lost count of the number of times he had tossed the painting, frame and all, into the fireplace and lit a match, only to watch the tiny flame flicker and go out. Destroying the painting wasn’t the answer. He had to see her again, he thought. It was the only way to get her out of his system.