The minister glanced at Ronan and Shannah. “And if you two will take a place on my right, we’ll get started.” He waited while everyone took their proper place.
The ceremony was brief. Sara scarcely remembered the words she spoke, until the minister said, “Do you, Sara Winters, take James Hewitt to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, so long as you both shall live?”
As she murmured, “I do,” the stark reality hit her.
She and Travis were vampires. They might be married for centuries. When she met his gaze, he smiled, and she knew he was thinking the same thing.
When the ceremony was over, they gathered in front of the church to congratulate each other. Winona and Carl left shortly thereafter, headed for a honeymoon at the Plaza Hotel in New York City.
“How about you two?” Ronan asked. “Got a big honeymoon planned?”
“We’re going to Alaska for a while until we decide where we want to settle,” Travis replied. “We’re leaving tomorrow night.”
“Good choice this time of the year,” Ronan said. “Take care of each other.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Travis said, stifling a grin.
Ronan glared at him. “Stay out trouble, kid. I’m tired of saving your butt.”
Shannah hugged Sara. “I hope you two will be as happy as we are.”
“Me, too,” Sara said.
Shannah took Sara’s hands in hers. “Come see us when you get back. We’re family now.”
“We will,” Sara promised as Shannah and Ronan took their leave.
“Well, Mrs. Hewitt, are you ready to go home?”
Feeling suddenly shy, she nodded, then let out a gasp as her husband swung her up into his arms and transported them to a luxury hotel in Vermont.
Sara’s nerves were humming with excitement as they checked in, then took the elevator to their room.
Inside, she stepped out of her heels and looked around. It was a lovely suite, all done in mauve and green and white.
She shivered with anticipation as Travis moved up behind her. Leaning forward, he nuzzled her neck. “I love you, Mrs. Hewitt.”
“And I adore you, Mr. Hewitt.”
“Remember, you’re only Mrs. Hewitt when we’re alone,” he cautioned as he rained butterfly kisses along the side of her neck.
“I feel like a secret agent,” Sara said with a grin. “The respectable Mrs. Black in public, the mysterious Mrs. Hewitt in private.”
“And both of us love you more than life itself,” he murmured, as his hands cupped her breasts.
Turning to face him, she crooned, “Stop talking, my husband, and show me.”
“My pleasure.” His hands were moving as he spoke, removing her veil, unfastening the long row of button down the back of her gown, his gaze devouring her as she turned and stepped out of her dress.
When he reached for her, she slapped his hands away.
Purring, “My turn,” Sara removed his shirt, her fingertips sliding seductively over his chest and down to his waist. She unfastened his belt, waited while he kicked off his shoes, unzipped his fly, and stepped out of his trousers.
With a low growl, he carried her to bed and stretched out beside her. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire as he rained kisses on her lips, her breasts, her belly. “I want to explore every delectable inch of you, every hill, every valley. Every hidden place.”
Sara closed her eyes as his words and his clever hands aroused her until she was on fire for him.
She cried out as his body melded with hers, making her feel whole and complete for the first time in her life. She was his at last, she thought. Always and everlastingly his.
As he was hers.
As he would be from this night forward and forever.
~ finis ~
Excerpt from Night’s Illusion
8th book in the Children
of the Night series
Coming August 2021
Father Giovanni Lanzoni strolled through the city park’s narrow, deserted, twisting paths. A brilliant yellow moon hung low in the sky, illuminating his way, though he needed no light to guide his feet. He was Nosferatu, one of the oldest of his kind. As such, he was blessed—or cursed—with supernatural senses and preternatural strength.
Like all vampires who had survived more than a century or two, he had grown to love and appreciate the quiet beauty of the night. He enjoyed being able to see clearly in the dark, to hear the flutter of a moth’s wings, to be able to move from place to place with astonishing speed, to think himself across great distances, to move faster than mortal eyes could follow, to dissolve into mist. So many amazing supernatural powers, all his to command.
He had never expected to survive so long. He had always been a pacifist—given to contemplation rather than conflict. As a child, he had dreamed of dedicating his life to the Church. It had proved to be all he had hoped for and more. He had loved the discipline, the interior silence, the sense of inner peace born of service and self-sacrifice. Hearing confessions …
He grinned inwardly. His most recent confession – heard only a few years ago—had come from Nick Desanto. Nick had been born a slave in Egypt and had been turned by the infamous Queen of the Vampires—Mara, herself.
Giovanni had known Mara for centuries. They had met when he was still mortal. He had been a young priest at the time, hoping to render aid and comfort on a battlefield in Tuscany. She had been in search of prey. The only thing that had saved him that night had been her surprising reluctance— or perhaps it had been some ancient superstition about harming a man of the cloth.
They had met again when he was a young vampire in the streets of Paris. He had been badly injured and close to death when she found him. She had generously offered him a little of
