Prince of Twilight by MAGGIE SHAYNE Page A

done.”
    â€œCould it be recreated?” Stormy asked.
    Melina tipped her head to one side, studying Stormy a little too closely again. “Perhaps. A talented witch or sorcerer might be able to create a spell that would work. They could certainly try, with God only knows what sort of results. And no doubt there are some stupid enough or power hungry enough to want to.” She shook her head in disgust. “Which is why we must get the ring out of circulation. It has to be secured. As long as it exists, there is the risk that an innocent life will be lost or altered beyond repair.”
    Stormy agreed. Particularly since the innocent life in question was her own. “What did that last part mean,” she asked. “That part about the Red Star of whatever?”
    â€œWe don’t know. We have no way of knowing what modern astronomers have named whatever star those old ones were referring to. Or if it was a star at all.” Melina carried the notebook to the desk and put it into a drawer, then locked it. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s absolutely everything we know. Brooke and Lupe, because they are second in command to me, are the only two here who know all this. And now you know it, as well.” She moved across the room to Stormy. “Do you think you can find the ring and take it from whoever stole it?”
    Licking her lips nervously, Stormy nodded. “I think I have to.”
    Â 
    It had been so long. Far, far too long.
    Elisabeta lived still. He sensed her, alive and aware, deep inside Tempest’s consciousness. Waiting for him to rescue her.
    And maybe the things he’d overheard while eavesdropping from deep within Tempest’s consciousness were things that required him to take action. To see her. To speak to her. Or maybe he was only allowing himself to believe they did, because he couldn’t be this close and not get a little closer. Close enough to touch.
    The one called Melina—the leader of this little coven—suggested Tempest stay there at the mansion for the night, rather than driving all the way back to the city and her hotel. When Tempest agreed, he sagged in relief, because he couldn’t wait much longer. He needed to go to her.
    But he would have to be careful. As angry as he was that she would betray him by agreeing to help the Sisterhood of Athena steal the ring, he didn’twant to traumatize her unnecessarily. He would, no doubt, be forced to do enough of that later. Soon, in fact.
    He had no idea how she felt about him now. He didn’t how she would react to seeing him again for the first time in sixteen years. But he could not leave without seeing her. So be it.
    The bedroom to which she was shown had a minuscule balcony. Vlad stood beneath it, watching her shadow play against the curtains as she moved around the room beyond them. He tried to be patient when her movements stopped, but he didn’t succeed. Instead, he leapt from the grassy lawn behind the Athena mansion, clearing the rail and landing softly on the balcony. And then he went still, listening and sensing for her in the room beyond.
    The shower was running. The bedroom lights were turned off, but a sliver of illumination came from beneath the closed door of the adjoining bathroom. And so he waited there, aching, silent and bleeding inside.
    Eventually the sound of flowing water stopped. He waited, still and alert, watching her as she stepped into the bedroom wearing only a towel. And then she dropped the towel to the floor, and he swore his body caught fire at the sight of her, nude and damp and beautiful still. So beautiful.
    She crossed the room, tugged back the covers, settled into the bed and closed her eyes.
    She was tired; he felt that in her. And then she sensed something, someone near, might even have known on some deep level that it was him, lurking in the night, hungering. But it didn’t trouble her enough to keep her from sleep. And he