Shadows of Eternity

Chapter Nineteen

“ Y ou’ve been awfully quiet,” Janae remarked as she and Trent got ready for bed that night.

“Have I?”

“You hardly said a thing at the club. Seems like all you did was glare at Rohan. Do you two know each other, or something?”

“In a way.”

Janae frowned. “In a way? What does that mean?”

“Has Leia said anything about him?”

“Well, sure.”

“Well?” he asked impatiently.”

“You know, just that she thinks he’s sexy and she loves to watch him dance and, you know, girl stuff.”

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I’m a guy, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” she murmured, running her hands over his bare chest.

Trent caught both of her hands in one of his. “This is serious, Janae.”

Pulling her hands from his, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s going on?”

“You know I can’t tell you. Let’s just say the people I work for are interested in him.”

Janae’s eyes widened. “Good heavens, is he wanted for something? Is Leia in danger? You have to warn her!”

“Listen, don’t say a word about this. It could cause a lot of trouble for me and for Leia. So, mum’s the word. Got it?”

Janae nodded, her mind racing. Rohan was wanted by the government! Was he a foreign spy? A terrorist? A drug dealer? A serial killer? What if Leia really was in danger? How could she not warn her?

“Remember,” Trent said, pulling on a pair of striped pajama bottoms. “Not a word. Promise me.”

Janae nodded again. She had to trust that Trent knew what he was doing. The last thing she wanted to do was put her best friend’s life in danger.

Later that night, when Janae was sound asleep, Trent went into his office and shut the door. Booting up his computer, he typed in his password and ID number, then pulled up the Vampire Data Base and searched for the name Rohan/Shadow Dancer, which led to a brief bio containing damned little information. His age was estimated to be three hundred, there was a short physical description, and that was it. No mention of the number of kills he’d made or close contacts in the vampire community. No mention of the vamp who had turned him. A lot of hunters had tried to find Rohan through the years. There was a long list of towns, cities, and countries where he’d been tracked. But no one had ever caught him or even come close.

Until now , Trent mused. Smiling, he shut down his computer and went back to bed.

Rohan strolled through the night, thinking Fate must be having a good laugh at his expense. Here he was, in love with a woman whose best friend’s husband was a bona fide vampire hunter on the government payroll. He wondered idly what the good old USA was paying for heads these days. He didn’t know why he was surprised to discover hunters still roamed the country. Maybe it was because it had been over fifty years since the last time he’d run across one. Somehow, he’d figured the Bureau would have found a more modern way to track vampires and destroy them. But apparently, the Von Helsing method was still the best.

Damn!

If it wasn’t so serious, it would have been comical the way Trent’s eyes had widened with surprise when they were introduced. The man had kept a wary eye on him all night, as if he expected Rohan to suddenly go berserk and attack everyone in the nightclub.

Rohan shook his head. Vampires hadn’t survived this long by being stupid. As a rule, they were discreet in their kills, careful not to leave bodies drained of blood lying around in the open. It was rare that they preyed on the rich and famous, or killed those who would be missed, because instances like that tended to show up on the nightly news. Street girls, pimps, transients, druggies and drug dealers—if they came up missing, no one seemed to notice or give a damn.

He had never cared for feeding on the refuse of humanity, but then, he didn’t kill his prey, either. He took enough to satisfy his thirst, erased the memory of what he’d done from the minds of his victims, and sent them merrily on their way, none the worse or the wiser.

Of course, not all vampires were discreet. There had been one, years ago, who had gone through a dozen young Hollywood starlets, leaving a trail of blood and bodies in his wake. There had been lurid photos of beautiful young women with their throats torn out. Headlines screamed MONSTER ON THE LOOSE IN L.A. As quickly as the killings had begun, they had ended. The culprit had never been found. Whoever the vampire had been, he had gained quite a reputation among the vampire community.

Rohan’s thoughts turned to the vampire who had made him. In three hundred years, he’d never run across his sire. Of course, the world was a big place. Still, the number of vampires were relatively few. Was his sire still alive? Or had some hunter like Trent Frumusanu taken his head?

Rohan grunted softly as he started back to his lair. Likely, he would never know.