“It bothers you, my being a shape-shifter?”
“Isn’t that just another word for Werewolf? I mean, you change into a wolf. Doesn’t that make you a Werewolf?”
“Would it bother you if I was?”
“Well, a little.” There had been a time when everyone believed that Vampires and Werewolves were just creatures of myth and legend, but then the Werewolves and the Vampires had gone to war, leaving no doubt of their existence, or their danger to the human race. For the most part, the shape-shifters had remained neutral.
“Does that mean I won’t be seeing you again?” he asked.
“I didn’t say that.”
“I’m not a Werewolf, Savanah. I swear it on the life of my mother. Does that make you feel better?”
“I guess so.” As far as she knew, the shape-shifters were peaceful creatures, preferring to live in small communities of their own kind.
“So, does that mean you’ll go out with me tomorrow night?” he asked. “We could take in a late movie after my last show.”
She hesitated a moment, then said, “I’d like that.”
But later, in bed, with the covers pulled up to her chin, the image of Rane bending over her crept into her mind again. She saw him clearly. His dark eyes. His sensuous mouth. His very sharp teeth. If he was the wolf, did that make her Little Red Riding Hood?
Rane stood in the shadows outside Savanah’s house, his gaze fixed on a second-story window. He guessed it was her bedroom, since it was the only room showing a light.
Standing there, he closed his eyes, his mind expanding until he felt her thoughts brush his. She was troubled by what had happened on the dance floor, as well she should be. Unable to resist her, he had woven a preternatural spell around her, and then taken a small taste of her life’s blood. She was as sweet as he remembered. Her blood had intoxicated him, burning through him like gentle fire. Like an addict, he craved one more fix even though he knew one would never be enough. Even now, it was all he could think of.
He licked his lips as he recalled the taste of her blood, warm and salty, on his tongue. Did he dare take more tonight? A single thought could carry him quickly to her side. He could take what he wanted, what he craved, and wipe the memory from her mind, as he had done earlier that night….
Muttering an oath, he drew in a deep breath. Patience, he chided. He must have patience. He would drink a little each night, nothing more. He would relish each taste, savor it like rare, vintage wine, until he took it all.
In the clear light of morning, Savanah told herself she had imagined the whole incident. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened on the dance floor. She had been caught up in the thrill of being in Rane’s arms. After all, she had never been with a man who radiated such raw sensuality. All that potent masculinity was bound to have an intoxicating effect on a girl’s senses.
She could hardly wait to see him again. Tonight, she would keep her wits about her. She would ask the questions she had intended to ask last night. And she would try again to get that interview. She grinned inwardly, remembering how Yoda had informed Luke that there was no try. Either she would get that interview or she wouldn’t. And she would.
After taking a quick shower, she dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a white sweater, brushed her hair, and then went downstairs to have breakfast with her father.
He was waiting for her in the kitchen. She smiled as the smell of freshly brewed coffee tickled her nostrils. She had always loved sharing this part of the day with her dad.
“So,” he asked, looking up from the morning paper, “how was your date?”
“Wonderful!”
Her father lifted one brow.
“We went dancing.”
“He must be some dancer, to put that glow in your eyes,” her father remarked dryly.
“Oh, he is.” She smiled at the memory. “He is.”
“I don’t like it,” her father said. “If I thought it would do any good, I’d tell you not to see him again.”
Savanah frowned at her father. “Are you having one of your mysterious premonitions?”
“Not exactly. There’s just something about him…and I don’t just mean the obvious. I mean, why does he keep changing his name every few years?”
“I’d think that would be obvious, but I’ll ask him.” She patted his shoulder as she moved toward the fridge. “I can’t get a story if I don’t see him.”
“Your life is more important to me than any news story.”
“I know, Dad. I love you, too,” Savanah said, then paused. “Do you think I’m in danger?”
“No, not really. The shape-shifters have never been a threat to us. I was just being an old worrywart, I guess.”
“I’ll be fine.” Going to the fridge, she pulled out a carton of eggs for French toast, a package of bacon, and a bottle of orange juice, and proceeded to fix breakfast.
When it was done, she dished it up, got the butter and syrup, then sat at the table across from her father.
“So, what’s up for today?” he asked as he tucked into his breakfast.
“I’m going over to the high school and see what I can dig up on that car accident, and then I’m going to the morgue to see if they turned up anything new on that John Doe those kids found in the vacant lot last week. Nothing really exciting. How about you?”
Her father shook his head. “End-of-the-month paperwork. Interview with some kid who wants to be a reporter. Like you said, nothing really exciting.” He pushed his plate away and reached for his coffee cup. “Ask Chang if there was an unusual amount of blood loss in the John Doe.”
“All right.” Savanah quickly cleared the table. “I’ve got to run. See you tonight.”
“All right, honey. Be careful.”
Frowning, Savanah left the house. It wasn’t unusual for her father to tell her to be careful, but there had been something in his tone this morning, something that bothered her, almost like he was expecting trouble.
Shaking it off, she got into her car and headed downtown.
William Gentry sat at his computer, his fingers flying over the keys. He had asked Savanah to do a story on Santoro the Magnificent, or whatever the hell his name was, on the off chance that she might turn up something on the man that he couldn’t. She was a pretty woman, after all, and men had been known to betray confidences and countries for less.
Leaving the Web, he pulled up the story he was working on. A story in which the magician was the lead suspect. There had been suspicious deaths and disappearances in every town where the man had performed, far too many to be mere coincidence. There was no rhyme or reason to tie the deaths together, other than the fact that all of the victims had been drained of blood.