Page 94 of Twilight Destiny

“I can’t let you see her alone, you know that?”

Kincaid nodded curtly.

“Well, what the hell,” the master vampire muttered. “Maybe it will help.”

Thinking of the brutal way he had fed on the woman, Kincaid murmured, “Don’t let me hurt her.”

“Count on it.”

Rosa woke to the sound of someone pounding on the front door. Pulling on a robe, she padded into the living room. “Who’s there?” she called, switching on the porch light.

“Saintcrow. And Kincaid.”

“Jake!” She unlocked the door, her heart pounding with relief. “I’m so glad … ” Her voice trailed off when she saw his face, the skin pale and stretched taut, the faint red glow in his eyes. Tension radiated from him like heat off a city street in mid-summer. She glanced at Saintcrow. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s in a bad way. I’m not sure bringing him here was a good idea. But I think maybe your blood is the only thing that will help.”

She stared at Jake. He stood beside the master vampire, his head down. He refused to meet her gaze. For the first time, he looked like what he was. “Oh, Jake,” she murmured, her heart breaking, “what has he done to you?”

And still he wouldn’t look at her. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“Come in.”

She led the way into the living room, perched on the edge of the sofa, then looked up at Saintcrow. “You won’t let him … ?”

“No. That’s why I’m here.”

When she brushed her hair away from her neck, Saintcrow said, “Let him drink from your wrist.” When she looked at him askance, he said, “It’s less intimate. Less dangerous.”

With a nod, she rolled up the sleeve of her robe and held out her arm.

Kincaid’s eyes went dark red as he knelt in front of her. She froze as he grasped her arm in both hands and bent his head to her wrist. His bite was sharp and painful.

Saintcrow stood immediately behind Jake, eyes narrowed. After what seemed like forever but was only a few moments, he said, “Enough.”

For stretched seconds, she thought Jake wouldn’t stop, but then he lifted his head and ran his tongue over the tiny punctures in her arm. Rising in one lithe moment, he muttered, “Thank you,” and vanished from the room.

Rosa rubbed her arm as her gaze searched Saintcrow’s. “I’ve never seen him like that. Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know. I hope so.”

“He seemed almost afraid of me.”

“He’s afraid of himself. His control is hanging by a thread. Probably best if I don’t leave him alone too long. Try not to worry.”

Rosa nodded. Far easier said than done.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Kincaid stood outside Luca’s house, his hands knotted at his sides. Even with the necromancer’s death, the place reeked of evil. Taking a deep breath, he mounted the stairs and stepped inside. It had once been a grand place, he mused, as he walked through the rooms. Now, it was filled with magical implements, old bones, a small skeleton under a glass dome. One room held the desiccated body of a cat. Another held ancient instruments of torture. The upstairs held four bedrooms. The largest one looked like a shrine. It had been the woman’s room, he thought. Dresses from another age filled the closet. A satin quilt covered the bed. An old-fashioned, white cotton nightgown was spread across the quilt, as if waiting for the owner to step into the room and put it on.

He descended the stairs to the cellar. The stink of blood and death hung heavy in the air. He stood over what was left of the witch. “You should have killed me,” he muttered, his voice laced with bitterness. “It would have been kinder.”

Going back upstairs, he found a box of matches in the kitchen and went from room to room, setting fire to anything that would burn.

When he left the house, he found Saintcrow standing on the sidewalk.

“Feel better now?” the master vampire asked.