indispensable. She had several vials stored in a cool place, but the shelf life was remarkably short, a fact she found odd, given that vampires themselves were nearly immortal.
She had to find him, and soon, before his blood grew rancid.
Before her beauty began to fade.
And if she couldn’t find him, what then?
In a rage, she stormed down the stairs to her workroom, where she gathered up several books and placed them on her worktable. Settling on a high stool, she carefully opened the first grimoire. The parchment was old and yellow, disintegrating in some places.
Rama jumped up on the table, his keen yellow eyes watching intently as Verah perused the pages.
“There must be a spell or an incantation in one of these books that will work as well as his blood,” she muttered. “There has to be!”
An hour later, she closed the ancient text, and reached for another. It had taken her mother a lifetime to collect these moldy old tomes. Surely one of them possessed the spell she needed.
When none of the grimoires yielded the information she sought, she contacted Yanaba. But the Navajo shaman who had helped Verah refine her magic and gifted her with the wisdom of his years had no answers for her.
Verah blew out a breath of exasperation. If Yanaba didn’t have the answer, maybe the spell she was looking for didn’t exist.
----
Chapter 10
Victor Rinaldi listened attentively to the conversation taking place between his father and Russell Alissano. It concerned Kiya’s disappearance, of course. Damn the girl. Even when she wasn’t here, she was nothing but trouble. He was under no illusions about her feelings for him. No doubt she had run off in an attempt to avoid their upcoming engagement.
Well, she could run far and wide, but she wouldn’t be able to hide for long. Her old man was bound to sniff her out sooner or later. For his part, Victor hoped it would be sooner so he could get this marriage over with and move on.
He was tired of pretending to be smitten with Alissano’s daughter, but he was determined to play the game of lovesick suitor to the end. The reward would make it all worthwhile.
His people had lived in the shadows for too long. It was time for the werewolves to shed their veneer of humanity and take their proper place in the world—right at the top of the food chain.
----
Chapter 11
Gideon’s Phoenix lair was located in a ground-floor apartment. There had originally been two barred windows facing the street, but with the owner’s approval, Gideon had had them plastered over with the understanding that, when he moved out, he would restore the windows. He had also replaced the flimsy wooden door with one of reinforced steel and installed a pair of the best dead bolts money could buy. His rent and utilities were paid ten years in advance, assuring that he had electricity and running water whenever he chose to return. The same was true of the other places he maintained here in the States. The lair in New York City was far more lavish than this one. The same was true of his place in Tennessee.
Materializing in the bedroom, he lowered the wolf onto the mattress. Was she out for the rest of the night? If not, how would she react when she awoke in a strange place? Would she remember who he was before she tried to rip his throat out?
He regarded her a moment, thinking that, wolf or woman, she was something to see. Her fur was as black as midnight, her ears small and pointed, her body trim and compact but well muscled. Quite a package, he mused, in whatever form she was in.
Maybe some night he would change into his wolf form and they could run the hills together.
Chuckling softly, he went into the bathroom and closed the door. After removing the filthy rags he had worn for the last three years, he stepped into the shower and turned the water on full blast. Damn, but it felt good! Closing his eyes, he stood under the spray and let the hot water sluice over his head and body. He hadn’t had the
She had to find him, and soon, before his blood grew rancid.
Before her beauty began to fade.
And if she couldn’t find him, what then?
In a rage, she stormed down the stairs to her workroom, where she gathered up several books and placed them on her worktable. Settling on a high stool, she carefully opened the first grimoire. The parchment was old and yellow, disintegrating in some places.
Rama jumped up on the table, his keen yellow eyes watching intently as Verah perused the pages.
“There must be a spell or an incantation in one of these books that will work as well as his blood,” she muttered. “There has to be!”
An hour later, she closed the ancient text, and reached for another. It had taken her mother a lifetime to collect these moldy old tomes. Surely one of them possessed the spell she needed.
When none of the grimoires yielded the information she sought, she contacted Yanaba. But the Navajo shaman who had helped Verah refine her magic and gifted her with the wisdom of his years had no answers for her.
Verah blew out a breath of exasperation. If Yanaba didn’t have the answer, maybe the spell she was looking for didn’t exist.
----
Chapter 10
Victor Rinaldi listened attentively to the conversation taking place between his father and Russell Alissano. It concerned Kiya’s disappearance, of course. Damn the girl. Even when she wasn’t here, she was nothing but trouble. He was under no illusions about her feelings for him. No doubt she had run off in an attempt to avoid their upcoming engagement.
Well, she could run far and wide, but she wouldn’t be able to hide for long. Her old man was bound to sniff her out sooner or later. For his part, Victor hoped it would be sooner so he could get this marriage over with and move on.
He was tired of pretending to be smitten with Alissano’s daughter, but he was determined to play the game of lovesick suitor to the end. The reward would make it all worthwhile.
His people had lived in the shadows for too long. It was time for the werewolves to shed their veneer of humanity and take their proper place in the world—right at the top of the food chain.
----
Chapter 11
Gideon’s Phoenix lair was located in a ground-floor apartment. There had originally been two barred windows facing the street, but with the owner’s approval, Gideon had had them plastered over with the understanding that, when he moved out, he would restore the windows. He had also replaced the flimsy wooden door with one of reinforced steel and installed a pair of the best dead bolts money could buy. His rent and utilities were paid ten years in advance, assuring that he had electricity and running water whenever he chose to return. The same was true of the other places he maintained here in the States. The lair in New York City was far more lavish than this one. The same was true of his place in Tennessee.
Materializing in the bedroom, he lowered the wolf onto the mattress. Was she out for the rest of the night? If not, how would she react when she awoke in a strange place? Would she remember who he was before she tried to rip his throat out?
He regarded her a moment, thinking that, wolf or woman, she was something to see. Her fur was as black as midnight, her ears small and pointed, her body trim and compact but well muscled. Quite a package, he mused, in whatever form she was in.
Maybe some night he would change into his wolf form and they could run the hills together.
Chuckling softly, he went into the bathroom and closed the door. After removing the filthy rags he had worn for the last three years, he stepped into the shower and turned the water on full blast. Damn, but it felt good! Closing his eyes, he stood under the spray and let the hot water sluice over his head and body. He hadn’t had the