Night's Master. Amanda Ashley

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      He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

      “I think I’m leaving. Good night.”

      “Sit down,” he said curtly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

      I was about to tell him to go to hell when a voice spoke from behind me.

      “Are you ready to go home, Kathy?”

      Relief poured through me when I looked up and saw Raphael. “Yes, I am.”

      Cagin’s eyes narrowed to ominous yellow slits. “What the hell are you doing here, Cordova?”

      “Rescuing my fair lady from the dragon,” Raphael replied. He offered me his hand. “Shall we go?”

      Cagin sprang to his feet, his eyes blazing with anger.

      I clung to Raphael’s hand, my heart pounding. Surely they wouldn’t fight here, in the restaurant. A quick look around confirmed that everyone in the café was staring avidly in our direction, no doubt waiting to see who would throw the first blow.

      “This isn’t the time or the place,” Raphael said quietly. “Sit down and cool off.”

      “This isn’t over.” Cagin spat the words.

      “Just tell me where and when,” Raphael said. Still holding my hand tightly in his, he walked me out of the restaurant. His car was parked in a red zone at the curb. He opened the door for me, and then closed it with a little more force than necessary.

      Still feeling shaky, I watched him walk around the front of the car to the driver’s side. Opening the door, he slid behind the wheel.

      As Raphael pulled away from the curb, I glanced out the side window to see Cagin standing on the sidewalk.

      Raphael drove in silence for several minutes. Tension radiated off of him like heat from a blast furnace. I couldn’t tell if his anger was directed toward Cagin or toward me, or if it was even anger I was sensing.

      My apprehension kicked up a notch when he pulled up in front of a large two-story house located at the end of a long dirt road lined with cypress trees. The house was made of faded red brick and had a tile roof. Four steps led to a covered veranda that spanned the front of the house. I only saw one window. It was on the first floor, and barred.

      I cleared a throat gone suddenly dry. “Where are we?”

      “My place.” He cut the engine and got out of the car.

      His place. Oh, Lordy. Sitting in the restaurant with Cagin suddenly seemed a lot safer than accompanying a Vampire into his lair.

      I was trying to think of a way to convince Raphael to take me home when he opened the car door and reached for my hand. The next thing I knew, he was leading me up the porch stairs. The front door, made of what looked like solid steel, opened seemingly of its own accord. Interior lights came on as I crossed the threshold ahead of Raphael.

      The sound of the door closing behind me sent a shiver down my spine.

      “Make yourself at home,” he invited.

      The living room, sparsely furnished, was decorated in earth tones. The main focus of the room was an enormous fireplace that took up most of one wall. I stared at it, thinking it could easily hold an elephant or two. A deep brown leather sofa was situated in front of the biggest television screen I had ever seen. A pair of matching leather chairs faced the sofa. The carpet beneath my feet was a dazzling white. A large painting hung over the fireplace. It depicted a black knight astride an equally black horse. A large green dragon loomed in the distance. A collection of dragons made of onyx, jade, pewter, and carved wood were scattered on the mantel amid several black candles.

      “Do you mind if I look around?” I asked.

      “Help yourself.”

      An arched doorway to my left opened onto the kitchen. I peered through the doorway, my gaze sweeping the room, noting that the kitchen was bare except for a small black refrigerator and a microwave oven. The countertop was black granite; the floor was white tile. There were no windows in the room, which I thought was odd, especially for a kitchen, and no back door. I wondered if Rafe had plastered over the windows to block the sun.

      A short hallway opened off the kitchen. My feet made no sound on the thick carpet. The first door off the hall was a guest bathroom with a commode, sink, and a small shower. There were no windows in this room, and no mirrors. A small bedroom adjoined the bathroom. The walls were a pale moss green, the carpet white, the furnishings no more than a twin bed made of black wrought iron and an antique chest of drawers made of dark oak. Again, there were no mirrors in evidence, and no windows.

      I tried the door at the end of the hallway, but it was locked. It was Rafe’s room. I knew it as surely as I knew the sun would rise in the morning.

      Backtracking, I returned to the living room, my feet sinking into the carpet’s deep pile as I made my way to the sofa. I had never known anyone who had white carpeting before. My first thought was that bloodstains would be really hard to get out, but then I realized that he probably didn’t bring his dinner home with him.

      Raphael sat beside me. He made a gesture with his hand, and a fire sprang to life in the hearth.

      “You should be a magician,” I muttered, remembering how he had opened the door and turned on the lights, all with a wave of his hand.

      “The Great Cordova,” he remarked with a grin. “I like the sound of that.” And then his expression turned serious. “What were you doing with Cagin?”

      “I wasn’t ‘doing’ anything with him. I was having dinner when he invited himself to join me. How did you know I was there, anyway?”

      “As I said before, I could find you in the dark, ten feet down.”

      I told myself I should be annoyed that he had been following me, or at least looking for me, but I couldn’t be angry because it proved that he had been thinking about me, maybe missing me, and that pleased me to no end.

      “Why does my being with Cagin make you so angry?”

      “I don’t like him. I don’t trust him. Can I get you something to drink?”

      “Like what?” A glass of blood in a crystal goblet? I banished the image from my mind.

      “A glass of wine, a soft drink, a cup of coffee or tea?”

      I blinked at him, surprised that he kept such a variety of beverages on hand.

      Apparently reading my mind again, he said, “I bought them the night after we met.”

      “So, you were that sure of me, were you?”

      “Not sure,” he replied. “Hopeful.”

      “Hopeful that you’d get me here and have your wicked way with me?” I asked, only half kidding.

      He laughed, the way an indulgent parent might laugh at a precocious child. It reminded СКАЧАТЬ