Night After Night

384 Pages·2009·1.28 MB·English

by  Kathryn Smith

BROTHERHOOD OF THE BLOOD
For Amie, Amanda, Min, and Heather, the girls who
keep me sane, and make me get away from the desk
and out into the “real world” every once in a while.
And to Jesse and Adele, who listen to me ramble on
about plot and never complain. Extra thanks to Jesse
for reading this book in its early stages.
I’d also like to dedicate this book to all the readers who
took the time to let me know how much they enjoyed
this series, especially Andrea W, who has buoyed
my ego more times than I can count, and Joe F., my
favorite former marine drill sergeant.
And to Stenve, as alwayms. Who loves ya, baby?
Contents
Chapter 1
He should kill her. Whether or not he
could wasn’t… 1
Chapter 2
He heard every word they said. 19
Chapter 3
The woman had a rifle aimed at his head. 42
Chapter 4
She bit his hand. 59
Chapter 5
Vivian knew there would be consequences.
What she hadn’t suspected… 75
Chapter 6
No word from Vivian. 99
Chapter 7
“Why does Rupert hate you?” Vivian
asked him. 115
Chapter 8
Running across Europe with four vampires
and a priest was… 140
Chapter 9
He was such a stupid ass. 156
Chapter 10
It was Vivian’s blood he craved, not her. 175
Chapter 11
Vivian had not forsaken him. 184
Chapter 12
Vivian woke that morning to find the little
maid Shannon… 201
Chapter 13
“Are you in love with Villiers?” It was
Prudence who… 224
Chapter 14
The night was empty without Vivian in it.
That was… 238
Chapter 15
It took both Temple and Payen to tear
Violet off… 255
Chapter 16
Instead of returning to her own room after
the “incident”… 275
Chapter 17
Later that morning, Vivian wrote a reply to
Villiers and… 295
Chapter 18
Vivian was gone. 319
Chapter 19
“The women should remain behind.” 334
Chapter 20
Temple roared as he watched Villiers stab the
woman he… 352
Epilogue
“Seven hundred and thirty years old.” Temple
shook his head… 369
About the Author
Other Romances
Cover
Copyright
About the Publisher

Chapter 1
nm
Somewhere in Europe, 1899
H
e should kill her. Whether or not he could
wasn’t the question that plagued him; it
was why hadn’t he done so already?
Lying on a narrow cot in a cool, dank cell,
Temple listened to the footsteps on the floor
above. Long, determined strides carried his visi-
tor toward the door that led down into the cellar
where they’d sequestered him for . . . he had no
idea how long. He knew that stride almost as well
as his own now. It came out of the fog they’d kept
him in—the fog that had been steadily clearing
for days, though he never once let on that their
drugs no longer worked.
Yes, now that he had regained much of his
strength, he was very tempted to kill his sweet-
smelling captor.
He was tempted to do all kinds of things to
her.
2 KATHRYN SMITH
When they had first taken him, they used some
kind of drug—a poison—on him. It deadened his
nerves and rendered him unconscious. They kept
him that way for much of the journey. And when
they finally arrived at their destination—wher-
ever the hell that was—they switched from their
poison to opium, great amounts of it, given to him
by the one person trusted to deal with him. The
one person who his captors obviously believed
could handle him if the need arose.
Vivian.
Her heart rate almost doubled whenever she
came near him. Temple knew this because he
could hear it. Lying on his bed, in his prison of
silver, he could hear her approach and the muffled
woomp-woomp-woomp beneath her ribs.
Being a vampire had its advantages, and one of
them was knowing when a woman was sexually
attracted to him. Vivian was. She also feared him
with equal or superior passion. It wasn’t personal.
It was because he was a vampire. But regardless
of how wary she was of him, that wasn’t the sole
reason her heart kicked up a fuss whenever she
came near him.
Thank God she couldn’t hear how his heart re-
acted to her.
He could smell the delicate ginger-peach scent
of her skin as she came down the cellar steps. He
didn’t put his bare feet on the floor—three days of
painful, oozing blisters after he tried to escape the
NIGHT AFTER NIGHT 3
first time broke him of that. The floor had flecks
of silver in the paint that burned his soles. And
every hour another guard came and sprayed a
fine mist of holy water through the bars—just in
case blisters—and opium—proved not to be de-
terrent enough.
Still, even the thought of blisters wasn’t enough
to sour the sight of her. And his vision had cleared
enough that he could fully appreciate her. Oh, he
could kill her on the sheer premise that she was
one of them, but there was no denying the woman
was a ripe piece of heaven personified.
She had to be at least six feet tall. It was diffi-
cult to tell as he’d never had the honor of standing
next to her. Clad as she was in a shirt, trousers,
waistcoat, and boots, there was never any chance
of her being mistaken for a man. Her thighs were
far too shapely, her hips too round, her waist too
small, and her breasts . . . Well they were abun-
dant handfuls, and Temple had big hands.
And that was only the beginning of her charms:
skin the color and smoothness of rich cream,
cheeks and lips naturally burnished like a suc-
culent peach. Her eyes were the same shade as a
storm-swept sea—he’d always harbored affection
for inclement weather. But it was her hair that
drew the eye. Nature rarely bestowed a red so vi-
brant on any human head, nor gloss or thickness.
And she was strong too. Fast. More so than a
woman should be. What other special abilities did