Savanah bolted upright, her cheeks wet with tears, her last agonized cry ringing in her ears.
Frantic, she glanced around the room, blew out a sigh of relief when she saw Rane lying beside her.
“Bad dreams?” Sitting up, he drew her into the shelter of his arms.
“Yes. It was awful. I dreamed I…that I…” She couldn’t say the words.
“Let me guess. You killed your first Vampire?”
She nodded.
“Was it the Vampire who killed your father?”
“No.” She looked up at him, her eyes haunted. “It was you.”
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It was just a dream.”
“What if it was a—a premonition?”
“Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know. I knew I was dreaming, but it seemed so real.” She shuddered at the memory. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a Vampire hunter.”
“I guess only time will tell. Do you want a light on?”
She did, but she didn’t want him to think her a coward, so she shook her head. “I’ll be all right.”
Scooting under the blankets again, she turned onto her side. Rane slid his arm around her waist, pulling her close, so that her backside was nestled against his front. Spooning, she thought with a faint grin. Wasn’t that what they called it?
With a sigh, she closed her eyes. Rane was holding her. There was nothing to be afraid of.
It was late afternoon when she awoke. In the light of day, her nightmare didn’t seem as frightening or as real. She told herself it was only natural to dream about killing Vampires; she was supposed to be a hunter, after all. A hunter without a kill, she thought glumly.
Rising, she slipped on a robe and padded into the kitchen, surprised to find Rane sitting at the kitchen table.
His arm snagged her waist as she headed for the coffee-maker. “Good afternoon, sleepyhead.”
“Hi.”
He drew her down and kissed her, driving every other thought from her mind but the heat of his mouth on hers. How could there be such magic in one kiss? she thought, and then grinned. He was a magician, after all.
She sat on his lap, her arms twining around his neck, her tongue mating with his. She shuddered with pleasure as one of his hands cupped her breast while the other slid up her neck into her hair, holding her head in place as he deepened the kiss, his hungry mouth devouring hers.
She moaned softly, her hands clutching his shoulders. “Let’s go back to bed,” she murmured breathlessly.
“A wonderful idea,” he said, his mouth trailing fire along the side of her neck. “But we have company.”
“Company?” she asked, frowning. How could they have company? No one was supposed to know where they were. “Who can it be?” And where were they? No one had knocked at the door.
“Mr. Leon Webb. He’s on the porch.”
The words had scarcely left Rane’s mouth when the doorbell rang.
“Who’s Mr. Webb?”
“An acquaintance,” Rane said. Lifting Savanah from his lap, he took her by the hand and went to admit their visitor.
Webb was tall and muscular, with short-cropped iron-gray hair and eyes so pale a blue they were almost colorless. Clad in a pair of well-worn camouflage pants, a dark green T-shirt, and scuffed combat boots, Savanah thought he looked like a walking ad for Gangs-R-Us. He carried a leather-bound case in one hand.
Rane invited Webb inside, then closed and locked the door behind their guest. “Savanah, this is Leon Webb. Webb, this is Savanah.”
Savanah drew her robe more tightly around her. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, though she wasn’t sure she was pleased at all.
Webb gave her a perfunctory nod, then placed the leather case on the coffee table. He opened it with a flourish, revealing half a dozen handguns.
Savanah looked at Rane askance. What use did he have for a gun?
“I wasn’t sure exactly what you wanted,” Webb said, “so I brought the best of what I have.”
“And ammunition?”
“Of course. The gun’s no good without it.” Webb lifted a nasty looking weapon from the case and handed it to Rane. “I think that’s the best choice. It’s lightweight, good for close-up work. It should take down anything she comes across.”
She? Savanah sat on the sofa, a cold knot of suspicion forming in the back of her mind. “What does he mean, ‘she’?”
“It’s for you,” Rane said.
“Me? Why do I need a gun?” As far as she knew, Vampires were impervious to bullets. She looked at Rane, willing him to read her mind since she couldn’t ask him outright, not with Mr. Webb standing there, listening.
“I want you to have some protection against Werewolves.”
Savanah frowned at Rane. What was he thinking, to mention such a thing in front of this man?
“That should do the trick,” Webb said, apparently not bothered or shocked by Rane’s mention of Werewolves.
After checking to make certain the weapon wasn’t loaded, Rane offered it to Savanah.
She stared up at him. She had never held a gun in her life, much less fired one.
“Go on,” Rane said. “Take it.”
Reluctantly, she did as he asked. The gun nestled in her palm as if it had been made for her. From the look of it, she had expected it to be heavier than it was.
“We’ll take it,” Rane said. “And all the ammunition you’ve got with you.”
Webb nodded. “Anything else I can get you?”
“No, that should do it.”
“I’ve got a couple of paper targets out in the trunk.”
“All right, we’ll take those, too.”
“What about gloves?”
Rane shrugged. “All right. Black. Leather.”
Webb nodded again. “I think I’ve got just what you want.” With a curt nod at Savanah, Webb headed for the door.
Rane followed him, but didn’t go outside.
Savanah stared at the gun still clutched in her hand. Could she actually pull the trigger on a living creature? Would she be willing to take a life to save her own?
Rane returned, alone, a few minutes later.
“Where’s Mr. Webb?”
“Gone.” Rane dropped a large brown paper sack on the coffee table. “There’s ammo inside, a couple of paper targets, and a pair of gloves. We’ll see what kind of marksman you are after the sun sets.”
“Who is he, Webb? What does he do? How do you know him?”