One With the Night (15 page)

“Some observer I am,” Jane exclaimed. “I never noticed those.”

Kilkenny stared into the abyss then descended the stairs, testing each one before he put his weight on it. They creaked, but held. Jane peered into the darkness. “What’s down there?”

“Much th’ same.” His voice echoed up to her.

Lightning cast brilliant light through the windows. She put a foot gingerly onto the ladder and followed him down. “I wonder if there are stairs to the other levels.”

“Likely. Are ye wantin’ ta explore?” His voice was a hoarse whisper in the darkness. He was close. Now that the horses were above them, the space seemed even more filled with Kilkenny. It smelled of dust and stone. He smelled of cinnamon and something else. The fecund wet of spring rain wafted in through the windows.

“No. This is fine. Dry is as much as we can expect. Warm is too much to ask.”

“Up with th’ horses’d be warmer.” He paced away from her, stamping his feet to test the sturdiness of the flooring. Did he really doubt it, or was it merely an excuse to move away?

“Not with wind gusting through that open door frame.” Actually, she was thinking this room was fairly warm after all, what with Kilkenny giving off heat like a bonfire. Or maybe it was her body that was burning. She had begun to throb. She untied her cloak and swung it off, shaking as much water as she could from it. She laid it out on the dusty wood to dry, then wandered to the window embrasures, careful to avoid his restless pacing. The walls were so thick the rain couldn’t gust in through the narrow slits. Outside, the loch was almost invisible through the roaring downpour, except when it was shot into brilliance by the lightning.

“I expect the soldiers thought this tower gloomy,” she murmured. “They couldn’t see in the darkness.” She made her voice light. “You see? There are advantages to being vampire.”

“I will no’ miss it when it’s gone,” he said gruffly.

“Is there nothing about our condition worth missing?” She meant it as a real question. He must have heard that she wasn’t feigning. He stopped his pacing. He’d have to answer her truly now or refuse her direct. Somehow, she didn’t think he’d lie to her.

She saw him set his jaw. “There is a feeling o’ being alive … Probably just ta seduce ye inta livin’ with th’ thing until it can get its teeth inta ye, or ye’d hire th’ first ruffian ye could find ta chop off yer head.” She found the lilting burr attractive, no matter the harsh words.

“Would it be that easy?”

He shook his head. “Nae. Th’ thing makes ye fight against death. It’d only be possible, maybe, right after ye’ve turned and even then…” He trailed off.

“I know that alive feeling. It is wonderful, and … frightening,” she whispered. “But is there nothing else to treasure?” Would he mention what it was like to make love when your body wanted it so badly and every sense was heightened?
God, where did that thought come from?
Perhaps from the heaviness in her core and the tightening of her nipples.

He shrugged, trying to deflect her question. “I like winning when I gamble.”

“The infection makes you lucky?” Now that was a surprise.

“Aye,” he said, disgusted. “I ha’ supported myself since my … change at cards and dice. That’s how I got th’ money ta invest on the ’Change.”

“How lucky?” she asked. This was intriguing.

He strolled closer. “I always win, sharps and Jack Flashes—it does no’ matter. If I need a huitième at piquet, I get one.”

Her mind began to whirl. “Why, the mathematical odds against getting a huitième must be … How many have you had?”

“Dozens.”

“How could you influence the cards that way? Can it be that the energy…? But how would the Companion know what cards were apropos to the game?” She tapped her lip with one finger. “Because
you
know, of course. That is the closest argument for a truly symbiotic relationship between the host and parasite yet. Does it always work?”

“I canno’ win from poor men. Dinnae ask me why.”

That started her to thinking in earnest. “Because you know who is poor from how they’re dressed and you don’t want to take their money. So that effect may not be universal to our kind, it comes from your personal ethics … It would be almost unconscious, of course…” She looked up at him. “We must have a game, so I can see it work.”

His eyes crinkled, so faintly … “But ye would no’ be a fair test, now would ye?”

She sighed. “I keep forgetting. Still, I must observe this phenomenon … why, it could have all sorts of consequences.” If the Companion could meld its power with thoughts in its host’s head … This was exciting!

“Scientific spirit o’ experimentation?” Was his tone rueful or wry?

“You’re making game of me. But we
should
strive to know about our condition.”

“I just want it over.”

She didn’t berate him or ask him to find more good things about being vampire. The bleakness underneath that flat declaration bade her take pity on him. The momentary diversion of the fact that vampires somehow influenced the fall of cards and dice was gone. She realized she was staring at him. She turned away and leaned against the wall, looking out at the furious rain.

He came to stand behind her and cleared his throat. “I ha’ been meaning ta thank ye for what ye did for me that first night, and fer sharing th’ blood ye collect. Ye’re verra kind.”

“It was nothing. You would have done the same.” He was too close.

“Ye dinnae know that.” He shifted awkwardly. His eyes were light in the darkness of the tower room. Did he feel his mistake in standing too close? Would he move away?

“Yes I do.” Her body was reacting as if it had been struck by the lightning that illuminated the loch. The thunder was rolling farther away now. Or maybe that was just the thumping of her heart in her chest. Her thighs were slick. She had been running from the feelings he raised in her ever since he got here. But in truth, she wanted very much to know what it would be like to make love to Callan Kilkenny. Why had she been avoiding him? Was she not a grown woman of nearly thirty? And she was not a virgin. She’d made sure of that. Was he not a grown man, who must know his mind? He had called her innocent. But she wasn’t.

“Ye must ha’ thought me churlish no’ ta thank ye and yer father.” He, too, looked out over the loch so he wouldn’t have to look at her.

“No. I didn’t think you churlish…” She took a step toward him in the darkness. She could feel his ragged breathing. And what of her own? She struggled to master the physical sensations and the emotions that rolled through her. She took a breath.
It is an experiment
. She only wanted to see how the physical act of making love with a vampire, in her new vampire state, compared with her experience, human to human, with Tom Blandings. That was all it was. She felt his reluctance, and yet she was sure he wanted it, too. Was it his honor that kept him from taking her in his arms? She knew he was honorable, for all his pretense of callousness. “I thought you didn’t think yourself worth helping. That’s different.”

“I might ha’ been right.”

Jane had to get some distance here, or she was going to just throw herself at him.

CHAPTER
Ten

The girl turned away from him with a suddenness that seemed to rip the bond of tension grown up between them. She pushed herself toward one of the window embrasures that overlooked the loch. Callan followed her. He seemed to be doing a lot of that. Lord knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. She leaned against the wall. He managed to veer over to another window opening. Panting as though he’d just exerted himself, he looked out. The waters of the loch below were ruffled with the wind.

“It’s deep, so they say,” she remarked. “Deeper than any other lake on earth. Probably just superstition. They say monsters live in it, too.”

Was it deep? On the surface it looked like any other lake. But then, surfaces were always misleading. Beauty could harbor evil beyond belief, for instance. He stared at Jane Blundell instead of the loch. Her profile against the window embrasure was bold. No one would call her nose fashionably pert, for instance, and her chin … her chin was strong. She wore no rouge, and did not darken her eyelashes. She seemed to own naught but severe gray dresses.

It occurred to him that she had much in common with Scotland. No frills or lace, just a strong spine and features you might not appreciate right up until the point where you couldn’t imagine them looking any other way. Only the violet eyes were a concession to conventional notions of beauty. But she was beautiful nonetheless. He looked away in disgust. He was lusting after her again. His loins tightened. Beauty was not a proxy for goodness. He knew that better than anyone. He shook his head against the dark water that began to rise inside his mind.

“What kind o’ monster?” he asked, just to distract his thoughts from their direction.

“An orm. The great primeval worm of the world.”

He drew his brows together. Superstition.

Suddenly she turned to him. “Why don’t you go into politics?” she asked. “I mean after you’re cured. Represent the Scottish interests in Parliament. You could make the English see Scotland as it is and what its people need.”

He snorted in disdain. “All governments are corrupt.”

“Not all,” she protested. “Some try to do good.”

Could a belly feel bleak? If so, his did. “Individual men doing small positive actions,” he managed, turning out again to the cold, indifferent waters of the loch. “Sometimes those are possible. But no’ societies.” He had believed that one could create utopia once.

“Why not?” she challenged.

“Because they descend ta the lowest o’ their members.” He knew that to his cost. Maybe that would satisfy her. He could feel her eyes upon him, but he did not turn to look at her.

“What made you feel that way?” she pressed.

“Woman!” he objected. “D’ye never give a man peace?” He was
not
going into that.

She looked taken aback by his vehemence. Good.

Then he saw her gather her courage. “I have trod carefully on several occasions tonight in order not to frighten you because I can see you have some sorrow or some shame in your past. But that approach doesn’t seem to be working.” She stepped closer to him. “You give nothing of yourself, at least not if you realize you’re doing it. And that doesn’t seem fair, when I have told you about my work, and my hopes for being useful.” She drew a breath, in spite of his glare.

“Frighten me?” he asked through gritted teeth. She was too close. “It would take more than a slip o’ a girl ta frighten th’ likes o’ me.” He turned back to the loch.

She turned to look out her own window with a humph of disgust. “Then maybe you’re frightened of yourself. You are certainly afraid of allowing any kind of human contact.”

They both saw it. Directly below them and not fifty yards away through the sheets of rain, a huge … something … like a gray hump of flesh, rose out of the water. Waves sloshed against the bottom of the tower. The gray hump seemed to slide in a never-ending length until it slipped under the water, only to rise in another place and another like an undulating … snake.

The girl gasped. Instinctively he strode the two steps toward her and took her in his arms as they watched the gray flesh, only slightly lighter than the black of the loch at night, disappear. They stood for a moment in silence. She was trembling in his arms. The feel of her slight shoulders against his chest, her arms around his body, made him tremble, too. The swell of his loins was almost painful. He felt her recollect herself. She straightened and stepped awkwardly away. He let her go, though every fiber in his body screamed at him not to do it.

“What … what was that?” she whispered.

He feigned a calm he did not feel for several reasons. “I expect it was yer monster.”

She leaned into the embrasure, scanning the lake; yet another example of her courage. “Evie said that’s what brought on her labor. But I was down near the loch that night and saw nothing. I thought she was … hallucinating.”

“Apparently she was no’ hallucinatin’.” He calmed his breathing. Monsters could not frighten him. Was he not a monster himself? And a big animal, no matter how strange, could not hold a candle to Asharti, in terms of being fearful.

The girl turned to him, excitement gleaming in her eyes. “But this is wonderful! A creature hitherto unknown, and living right in Loch Ness … Why, this would make a marvelous paper for the Royal Society if one could only make some organized observations! My father would have an irrevocable place in history.”

“Is that what he wants?”

That gave her pause. “Yes…” she answered slowly. “He wanted history to remember him for his work with transfusion. And now he has been sidetracked into finding a cure for me. I think he regrets it.” There was hurt in her eyes. “They laughed at his paper on vampirism.”

“Th’ monster would be only a distraction to him, then.” Callan managed a small smile he meant to be encouraging. “We must ha’ all his intellect bent on finding th’ cure.”

She nodded. “Sorry.” She smiled ruefully. “I appear to be easily distracted these days.” She admitted what she considered her faults so readily. She made herself vulnerable, even laughed at herself. She’d made him laugh tonight. He couldn’t remember the last time he had really laughed, not at crude jokes in taverns, not at jibes by his once-followers. What she’d said tonight wasn’t so much funny as it was … dear.

What was he thinking? He had no right to laugh, or to think her dear. She was prying and dangerous to his peace of mind. Did he possess any peace of mind? And the less time spent in her company the better.

And yet, there she was, not five feet from him, gone silent. He could see the heat growing in her big violet eyes. Callan stared at her and knew that he should have risked being burned to a crisp by lightning rather than come in here with her. His damned cock was stiffening and his balls ached. He’d tried to distract her. Hell, he’d tried to distract himself with talk of luck and such. But here she was with her violet eyes going dark. Now she was stepping closer to him. Didn’t she know her danger?