a sensual, feminine gesture. “Is she all right?”
Roshan nodded. They had ever been overprotective parents, but perhaps that was to be expected. Cara was their only child, the only one they would ever have. “She’s fine. She met a man.”
“Really? Where?”
“At The Nocturne.”
Brenna stared at him in disbelief. “The Nocturne! What on earth was she doing there?”
“I have no idea.”
“Roshan, you have to talk to her. Tell her she mustn’t go there again. The Nocturne!” Brenna pressed a hand to her heart. The Nocturne. Merciful heavens!
“Go on up and tell her good night,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “I’m going out to talk to Di Giorgio.”
The bodyguard lived in a small house in the rear of the property. He was a solitary man, seemingly content with his own thoughts and his own company. Roshan knew Frank Di Giorgio had been connected to one of the crime families in Italy when he was a young man, but that had been a long time ago.
At Roshan’s knock, Di Giorgio opened the door, gun in hand.
“Evening, Frank.”
Grunting softly, Di Giorgio shoved the gun into the waistband of a pair of expensive looking trousers, then invited his boss inside.
The bodyguard’s report was brief. Cara had been sitting at the bar in The Nocturne when a young man approached her. He had bought Cara a drink. They had talked and danced one dance. The man seemed harmless enough. He hadn’t said or done anything out of line.
Roshan listened carefully, some of his worry ebbing as he listened to what Di Giorgio had to say. Bidding the man good night, Roshan returned to the house.
Brenna was waiting for him in the living room. She had turned the lights down low and started a fire in the hearth. Smiling, she patted the seat beside her.
Sitting down, he draped his arm around her shoulders.
Brenna sighed. This was her favorite time of the night. Cara was home and safely tucked into bed and all was right with the world.
A wave of her hand turned on the TV. She surfed through the channels until she found a movie she liked, then settled back once again, her head resting on her husband’s shoulder.
Roshan stared into the flames as scenes from the past paraded across his mind. He had fallen in love with Brenna Flanagan when he happened across her image in a book titled Ancient History and Myths, Fact or Fiction. It had been a small pen-and-ink drawing depicting a woman bound to a wooden stake, surrounded by a mob of angry men waving torches over their heads. The caption under the drawing had read: The Burning of Brenna Flanagan, Accused of Witchcraft.
He had become obsessed with that drawing, so much so that he had traveled back in time to the year 1692 where he had saved her from a fiery death. He had brought her back to his time, helped her learn her way around his world. She had blossomed here, free to practice her witchcraft if she wished to do so. While exploring the city, she had come across the Wiccan Way Coffee Shop and Book Store. It had been there that she met Anthony Loken, an evil warlock who had been obsessed with discovering the secret of immortality. Convinced that the blood of vampires held the secret of eternal life, Loken had frequented The Nocturne in search of vampires, luring them to his laboratory where he took their blood and their lives. Due to Myra’s treachery, Roshan had found himself strapped to a table in that lab, bound with heavy silver chains that had burned his flesh and weakened his powers. Only his concern for Brenna, who had also been Loken’s prisoner, had given Roshan the strength he needed to free himself. In the end, Roshan had forced Loken to drink his own potion. The warlock had died a horrible, excruciatingly painful death.
Feeling suddenly restless, Roshan went to stand in front of the hearth.
“What’s wrong?” Brenna asked, switching off the TV.
“I don’t know.”
Rising, she went to stand behind him; her arms slipping around his waist. “Is it Cara? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s probably nothing.”
“If it was nothing, you wouldn’t be so worried.”
Turning in her arms, he brushed a kiss across her cheek. “I’m going out for a while.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just out for a walk. I won’t be long.”
Grabbing his cloak, Roshan left the house. Standing in the shadows, he let his preternatural powers probe the night. Although he sensed nothing amiss, he couldn’t shake the feeling that danger lurked nearby.
Anton Loken Bouchard stood across the street from DeLongpre’s house. Hidden by the darkness, he watched the vampire walk down the long driveway and stop at the gate in the high fence that surrounded the property. Hatred rose up within Anton as he stared at the creature who had killed the father he had never known. Ever since Anton had been old enough to understand, his mother had told him stories of his father. Anthony Loken had been a great man, a wizard without equal. He had been on the verge of a fantastic discovery that would have benefited all mankind when Roshan DeLongpre killed him in a jealous rage.
Every year, on the anniversary of his father’s death, Anton accompanied his mother to the site of his father’s grave, where he lit a black candle and vowed to avenge his father’s death. As someone had once said, revenge was a dish best served cold. Over the years, Anton’s grief and anger had coalesced into a hard icy lump in the core of his being. Avenging his father’s death was the only thing that could melt that painful lump. Revenge. It was so near, so near he could almost taste it. It would be sweet, indeed.
Humming softly, he turned and headed for home. He would be at The Nocturne again tomorrow night. He had a feeling he would find Cara there. It wouldn’t take much to seduce her. She had been sheltered her whole life. A show of interest, a few chaste kisses, and she would be his for the taking.
Cara thought about Anton at work the following day. She couldn’t decide how she felt about him. He was polite and handsome, and yet there was something about him that bothered her. She wasn’t sure what it was that rubbed her the wrong way, but it made her wary and distrustful. Her father had told her to always trust her instincts, though in her sheltered life she’d had little need.
With a shake of her head, she laughed it off. She was just being silly and overly suspicious because she had so little experience with men. Instead of looking for questionable behavior where there was none, she should be flattered that a handsome man found her interesting and wanted to see her again.
He had seemed amused when she told him she worked in a library, but she loved her job—not that she had to work. After all, her father was a rich man, but if she didn’t work, what else would she do with her days? Besides, as far back as she could remember, she had loved books and loved to read; it didn’t matter what. If it had words, she read it. She was certain that a good part of her love of books had been inherited from her father. His library at home was enormous, with bookcases that reached from wall to wall and floor to ceiling. The shelves were filled with a variety of books, many of them rare first editions. Some were so old they were in danger of disintegrating. A few were truly ancient,
