Immortal Sins

Ramon grunted softly. "Sorry, Maitland, but you heard the lady."

Maitland’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You’re throwing me out?"

"Looks that way." Ramon smiled at Ana. "She’s the lady of the house."

Maitland threw an angry glance at Ana Luisa, then turned on his heel and stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

Ana Luisa nodded and smiled as Ramon introduced her to Nita and Jan, but her mind was on Maitland and the malicious look in his eyes. Perhaps she had been too rash in denouncing the man. She bit down on her lower lip, wondering if what she had just done would somehow come back to haunt her.

Before she could worry about it too much, a sharp pain speared through her. With a gasp, she looked at Ramon. Had something gone wrong? He hadn’t told her there would be pain.

Ana saw Jan and Nita exchange knowing glances. What did they know that she didn’t?

"It’s all right, chica," Ramon said, taking her by the hand. "The hunger is always worse the first night after the change. Come, it’s time to go hunting."

Chapter 26

"You’re leaving?" Kari stared at Rourke, unable to believe what she was hearing. "What do you mean, you’re leaving? Why? When? Where are you going?"

"To retrieve my father’s sword."

"But…I thought…" She frowned, then shook her head in disbelief. "You don’t mean to go after Vilnius, do you? Are you crazy? Have you already forgotten what happened to you the last time you crossed him?"

"The sword is mine," Rourke said adamantly. He stood and began to pace the floor. "It is all I have left of my father. All I have left of my old life. Vilnius has stolen three hundred years from me. I will not let him take the sword, as well."

"But…I…how soon are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night! I can’t possibly get time off from work again so soon." Kari sat up, her fingers drumming on the end table. "That’s not near enough time to book a flight or find a hotel, or…"

"That will not be necessary this time."

"Oh," she said, then frowned. "Why not?"

"I can get there under my own power."

"You can? How?"

"Preternatural flight, I suppose you could call it."

"Why didn’t you go to Romania that way?" she asked, then shook her head. "Never mind. I think I know the answer. You needed my help in getting Ana Luisa here."

Rourke nodded. "I can never repay you for that."

"It was nothing. I was glad to help."

"It was a very great imposition on your funds and your time. I will never forget your kindness, or your generosity."

Kari blinked back the sudden urge to cry. Was he leaving for good? Was this his way of saying good-bye?

Lifting her from the sofa, he drew her into his arms, one hand cupping her cheek. "Nor can I ever thank you enough for freeing me from that wretched painting."

"Rourke…" She looked up at him, her heart aching, her thoughts torn. There was so much that she wanted to say to him, and yet, if he was leaving, the words in her heart were best left unsaid.

He smiled faintly, and then he lowered his head and kissed her, a gentle kiss that flowed through her like sun-warmed honey, thick and hot and sweet. She moaned softly when he deepened the kiss, his tongue dueling with hers as his arm drew her closer.

Her body responded immediately, every nerve ending sparking to life. She wanted him and now he was leaving. She was sorry they had never made love. For a fleeting moment, she was tempted to surrender her will to his, to let him take whatever he wanted. Even knowing he was leaving and that she might never see him again, she was sorely tempted to beg him to make love to her, though judging from his arousal, she wouldn’t have to beg very hard.

"Rourke…"

He looked down at her, his eyes dark with desire. Her skin tingled where his hands touched her. Her lips still felt the heat of his kisses. Her body ached for the fulfillment only he could give, and yet, as much as she wanted him, needed him, she couldn’t say the words. It was bad enough that he had her heart. She could already feel it breaking at the thought of never seeing him again. If they made love and he left her, never to return, she knew she would never recover.

"I’ll miss you," she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

"Will you?"

She nodded, her eyes swimming with unshed tears.

There was nothing to be gained by prolonging the moment, or by promising that he would return. Though it pained him to leave her, he knew it was for the best, for Karinna and for himself. It was time to remember that he was a vampire and she was prey. Expecting them to have a life together didn’t make any more sense than putting a sparrow in a cage with a tiger and expecting them to live happily ever after. It just wasn’t going to happen.

"Ah, Karinna."

"Will I ever see you again?" She hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud. They made her sound weak, needy, pathetic. She wished she could call them back, but it was too late.

He gazed down at her, and though he didn’t speak, she saw the answer in his eyes, tasted it in the tender kiss he brushed across her lips. He murmured her name again and then vanished from her sight.

Kari stared at the place where he had stood only seconds before, thinking he had gone out of her life as quickly as he had come into it.

With a sigh, she went up to bed, only to lie there wondering if things would have turned out differently if she had surrendered to him. If they had made love, would his last kiss have been a promise to return instead of good-bye?

A tear slid down her cheek. She’d never know the answer now.

After leaving Karinna’s house, Rourke stalked the dark streets in search of prey. He fed long and often, feeling his power increase with each feeding, whether it was from a homeless man, a slightly intoxicated woman, or a young punk who was out looking for trouble and found more than he could handle.

Rourke drank from them all and sent them on their way. He needed to be strong for his upcoming journey, but, more than that, he drank for the sheer pleasure of it. He hadn’t told Karinna how much he had missed the warmth of it, the taste of it, the tantalizing scent of it, or how it filled all the cold, empty places inside him. Remembering how he had longed for nourishment when it had been denied him, Rourke drank until he was replete.

He had spent three hundred years in that accursed painting, and not a night had gone by that he hadn’t berated himself for being a fool, not only for going to Ana Luisa’s house, but for letting the taste of her blood, her virgin blood, cloud his senses. Only when he had felt the sting of her blood on his tongue had he realized she was not only a witch, but a virgin, but by then, it had been too late. Weakened by the taste of her blood, he had been helpless to protect himself when Vilnius had stormed into the room.