When there was no answer, she went into the kitchen to see if he had left her a note. Finding none, she hurried upstairs. In her room, she undressed and headed for the shower. She stood there a minute, letting the hot water ease the tensions of the day. She wondered where her dad had gone. It was unusual for him to take off without letting her know he was going out.
Stepping out of the shower, she pulled on her robe, quickly did her hair and makeup, and then spent ten minutes going through her closet trying to decide what to wear. She settled on a pair of camel-colored pants and a white silk shirt.
She had just posted a note for her dad on the fridge when the doorbell rang.
Her date had arrived, right on time.
Taking a deep breath, Savanah stepped into her sandals, her heart pounding a mile a minute.
Rane whistled softly when she opened the door.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling.
“You look good enough to eat.”
“You always say that.”
“It’s always true.” He couldn’t wait to taste her again, to savor the sweetness of her life’s blood, to feel the warmth of it on his tongue.
“Come on in. I just need to grab my coat.”
Rane followed her into the living room. He glanced around, noting the room looked comfortable, clean, and lived in. A home, he thought, something he hadn’t had in more years than he cared to remember. Looking at the photograph on the mantel, he felt a sharp stab of recognition. He had seen the woman before, he was sure of it, though he couldn’t recall her name, if he had ever known it.
“Ready?” Savanah asked, coming up behind him.
“Always ready.”
He gestured at the photograph on the mantel. Savanah bore a striking resemblance to the woman in the picture. “You look a lot like her.”
“Thank you.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes. She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”
“So are you.”
“She died when I was a little girl.”
Rane glanced at the photo again. He remembered the woman now. She had been a Vampire hunter, and a good one. But for her, he would have been dead years ago. Did Savanah know her mother had been a hunter? Was it something that ran in the family? It wasn’t the kind of question he could ask without arousing her curiosity, but he needed to know the answer.
Murmuring Savanah’s name, he trapped her gaze with his. “Listen to me,” he said. “I’m going to ask you a question, one you will forget as soon as you tell me the answer. Do you understand?”
She stared at him, unblinking. “Yes.”
“Did your mother ever hunt Vampires?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
Releasing his hold on her mind, he said, “You must miss her very much.”
Savanah blinked at him a moment, then nodded. “Every day,” she replied wistfully.
Rane felt a sharp stab of guilt. His mother was alive—he could visit her any time he wished—but he hadn’t seen her, or anyone else in his family, in decades.
Pushing the thought aside, he followed Savanah outside, waited while she locked the front door, then walked her to his car. He held the door open for her, then went around to the driver’s side. Sliding behind the wheel, he turned the key in the ignition and the engine purred to life.
The car reminded Savanah of the man—sleek and sexy and way out of her league.
“Does it hurt?” she asked abruptly.
Rane glanced at her, one brow lifted. “Does what hurt?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb.
“When you shift into the wolf. Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Where does your clothing go?”
He looked at her a moment, and then he laughed. “Beats the heck out of me.” It was a good question. Werewolves had to disrobe before they changed or risk shredding their shoes and clothing. He had never before wondered what happened to his own attire when he shifted.
“Why do you change names so often?”
He shrugged. “Boredom?”
“And how do you just…” She lifted one hand and let it fall. “Just disappear?”
“Ah, now, that’s a secret,” he said with a wink.
“Does it have to do with shape-shifting?”
“Hey, we’re on a date,” he reminded her. “No more questions unless they’re of a personal nature.”
“Personal, huh? Like, do you wear plain old white cotton boxers or sexy briefs?” Savanah clapped her hand over her mouth, unable to believe she had uttered the words out loud.
Rane waggled his eyebrows at her. “Or maybe nothing at all,” he said with a wicked grin.
“I didn’t mean…Just forget I said that!”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Rane said, chuckling.
He pulled into the parking lot a few moments later, sparing her the necessity of coming up with a retort.
Rane bought their tickets and they went into the theater. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of buttered popcorn, nachos, and hot dogs.
Being a gentleman, he asked Savanah if she wanted anything to eat or drink, relieved when all she asked for was a small Coke.
There were only a dozen or so people in the theater when they took their seats.
“Hardly seems worth running the film,” Savanah remarked, looking around.
Rane grunted softly. “I hope the small crowd is due to the late hour and not because the movie stinks.”
“Well, I heard it was good,” Savanah said, and then shrugged. “Of course, you never know about critics.”
“Yeah, I rarely agree with the reviews.”
“I know what you mean,” Savanah said, then sat back as the lights dimmed and the previews started.
Rane tried to concentrate on the trailers but it was difficult. He was all too aware of the people in the theater, and particularly aware of the woman beside him. Her scent filled his nostrils. Her nearness stirred his desire and his hunger. He could hear the steady beat of her heart, as well as the heartbeats of other people sitting nearby. It took a great deal of effort to shut out the siren call of all those beating hearts, to close his mind to the scent of prey. It was easier when he was performing on stage. His mind wasn’t on the hunt then, but now…he had an almost overpowering urge to unleash the beast within him. It would be so easy. He could take them all before they realized what was happening….
Taking a deep breath, he glanced at Savanah. Her scent wrapped around him—the fragrance of her skin, the soap she had bathed with, a hint of perfume. And overall, the heady, musky scent of the woman herself. Oblivious to his inner turmoil, she appeared lost in the love story unfolding on the screen. His gaze moved over her face, admiring the delicate curve of her cheek, the fine line of her jaw, the way her nose tilted up at the end just a tiny bit. Her hair fell over her shoulders in a sheen of pale silk.
Muttering an oath, he glanced at the screen, and swore again as the hero swept the heroine into his arms and carried her up a long, winding staircase. At the top of the stairs, he kicked open the first door he came to. Striding inside, he dropped the heroine on an enormous