When the DJ pulled up a ballad, Dilworth led Sara onto the patio. Travis’ hands knotted at his sides when the man took her in his arms. They looked good together, both young and glowing with good health, their whole lives ahead of them.
For a moment he hated them. Both of them. Hated Ronan for stealing his mortality. Hated himself for falling in love with Sara, for letting himself hope they could have a life together when he had known from the start that it was impossible.
Sick at heart, he murmured her name. As if she had heard him, she glanced over her shoulder in his direction. And then, to his astonishment, he heard her voice in his mind, whispering his name.
He frowned, wondering how that was possible. He had taken her blood and that enabled him to read her thoughts, but she had never taken his. He hadn’t been reading her mind and yet she had sent her thoughts to him. His frown deepened. She had taken Ronan’s blood. And Ronan was his sire. Had that somehow created a two-way link between himself and Sara?
“Did you say something?” Dilworth asked.
“What?” Sara pulled her gaze from the far corner of the yard. She must be losing her mind, she thought, imagining that Travis was nearby. And yet she had heard his voice in her mind as clearly as if he had whispered in her ear. She hadn’t imagined that.
“I asked if you said something.”
“Oh, it was nothing. I’m thirsty. Let’s go get a drink, shall we?”
It was after midnight when the party broke up. As Sara had feared, Dilworth was the last to leave. They sat on the front porch swing watching the last of the guests drive away.
“Alone at last,” he murmured, slipping his arm around her shoulders.
She forced a smile as she tried desperately to think of a tactful way to tell him to go home. Sadly, nothing came to mind.
“You know I’m crazy about you, don’t you?” His hand cupped her nape, gently drawing her toward him. “It would make our families very happy if you’d say yes.”
Their families had been friends since before she was born. Her parents had always expected her to marry him. She looked up at Dil, searching for the right words, when his mouth descended on hers.
It was a very nice kiss. Proof, she supposed, that he had done it many times. She didn’t know how it affected the others, but she found herself thinking of Travis and how his kisses made her insides curl with pleasure.
Dilworth lifted his head, his gaze searching hers. “There’s no hope for us, is there?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Is there someone else?”
“Yes. No.”
“What is it? Yes or no?”
“There’s someone else, but it doesn’t matter. We can’t be together.”
“Then don’t shut me out, Sara. I know I could make you happy if you’d just give me half a chance.”
Sighing, she gazed into the darkness. Why not? she thought. Dilworth was pleasant company. They had the same background, the same friends. She could think of worse ways to spend her life. And who knew? Maybe, given enough time, she might even learn to love him.
Swearing under his breath, Travis transported himself to another part of the city, afraid if he stayed in the shadows beside the porch any longer, he might do something rash, like throw himself at Sara’s feet and beg her to love him.
Chapter 31
Jason Bowman left his lair, his thoughts churning, his anger rising as he viewed the destruction of the town. They’d had a good thing going here, until Travis and that nosey writer showed up. Now the town was in ruins, Jarick was dead, his coven had scattered, and he was alone. True, Ronan had destroyed Jarick, but it was Travis and the writer who had set everything else in motion. He should have killed them both long ago.
Olivia had told him in no uncertain terms that she’d had enough. She wanted to pack up their belongings and re-locate to the West Coast to be near her parents.
Jason snorted. He had no intention of moving closer to her family. Living among humans was exhausting, always pretending to be what he wasn’t, always fighting the urge to sink his fangs into warm, tender flesh. Here, in Susandale, he hadn’t had to hide what he was. He’d been free to feed when and how he pleased.
With the need for revenge burning hot within him, he stormed out into the night. He didn’t know where to find Ronan or Travis or that troublesome woman who’d run the bath shop, but the writer was right down the street, tucked into bed with Winona.
Carl Overstreet bolted upright as the bedroom door swung open.
“What is it?” Winona asked, her voice thick with sleep.
Frozen with fear, Carl couldn’t answer. He could only stare at the ominous shape stalking toward him, eyes glowing red in the darkness.
Sensing his alarm, Winona sat up, only to let out a terrified cry as the intruder picked her up and threw her across the room.
“No!” Carl screamed the word, but it emerged from his throat as a hoarse whisper as the vampire pushed him down on the mattress and sank his fangs into the side of his neck.
Carl pummeled the creature’s back as he writhed beneath the vampire. In a dim part of his mind, he thought, so, this is what it’s like to be prey.
He knew a moment of relief when the vampire lifted his head, watched in horror as the vampire bit into his own wrist. Bowman’s next words quickly killed that brief moment of hope.
“Drink!”
Sheer terror engulfed Overstreet as
