Night's Illusion Read online

  HE WAS, UNDOUBTEDLY, THE WORLD’S OLDEST MALE VIRGIN.

  The oldest male virgin vampire, he amended.

  He had been turned on his thirty-ninth birthday. He recalled the event as clearly as if it had happened only last night instead of centuries ago.

  He had been on his way back to the rectory after giving last rites to an aged nun when he was attacked. It had happened so fast, he’d had no chance to defend himself, although he knew now that would have been impossible. He was floating, drifting away into darkness, when the vampire suddenly reared back. Giovanni remembered staring up into a pair of blood-red eyes that somehow managed to look surprised.

  “You’re a priest!” the creature hissed. “I can’t kill a priest! Heaven forgive me,” he murmured, and sinking his fangs into his own wrist, he held the bleeding wound to Giovanni’s lips. “Drink!”

  Giovanni wanted to refuse but something in the monster’s voice compelled him to obey.

  Other titles available by Amanda Ashley

  A WHISPER OF ETERNITY

  AFTER SUNDOWN

  DEAD PERFECT

  DEAD SEXY

  DESIRE AFTER DARK

  NIGHT’S KISS

  NIGHT’S TOUCH

  NIGHT’S MASTER

  NIGHT’S PLEASURE

  NIGHT’S MISTRESS

  NIGHT’S PROMISE

  NIGHT’S SURRENDER

  IMMORTAL SINS

  EVERLASTING KISS

  EVERLASTING DESIRE

  BOUND BY NIGHT

  BOUND BY BLOOD

  HIS DARK EMBRACE

  DESIRE THE NIGHT

  BENEATH A MIDNIGHT MOON

  AS TWILIGHT FALLS

  TWILIGHT DREAMS

  TWILIGHT DESIRES

  BEAUTY’S BEAST

  A FIRE IN THE BLOOD

  HOLD BACK THE DAWN

  ENCHANT THE NIGHT

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  NIGHT’S ILLLISION

  AMANDA ASHLEY

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  HE WAS, UNDOUBTEDLY, THE WORLD’S OLDEST MALE VIRGIN.

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2021 by Madeline Baker

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-5161-9

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-5162-6 (eBook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4201-5162-2 (eBook)

  To my grandson, Luke,

  for his inspiration.

  Love you.

  Prologue

  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 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 pacif ist—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 to harm a man of the cloth—or perhaps it had been some ancient superstition regarding priests.

  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 her ancient blood and it had revived him. And then, for reasons unknown, she had tasted his. They had both undergone some amazing changes since that long-ago night.

  In the years since then, he had made a few friends and an enemy or two—both mortal and immortal—in countries around the globe. As a priest, he had willingly given up all thought of home and family. But now, having lived like a monk for so long, he thought he would gladly give up immortality to know the simple joys of one mortal lifetime. To experience a woman’s love. To father a child. To watch his sons and daughters grow and have children of their own. What good was endless life when you had no one to share it with?

  Leaving the park, he ambled down the street toward his lair.

  The DeLongpre/Cordova cov
en was the closest thing he had to a family. He considered himself blessed indeed to be a part of their lives and to have officiated at their weddings.

  His steps slowed as he gazed at the vast expanse of the sky. Worlds without end, he mused. Times changed, the world itself changed, but he remained forever the same. In mortality, he had been an ordained priest. As such, he had made vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience. He had been celibate in mortality.

  And in death.

  Lately, he had begun to rethink his vow to remain chaste. Though he was, at least in his own eyes, still a priest, he was no longer recognized as such by the Church that doubtless thought him dead long ago. He had no parish, no superior. Why did he cling to a vow that, after so many centuries, was very likely no longer binding? He had broken the others without a second thought.

  Why now, after so many centuries, did he suddenly feel so alone? So lonely?

  He thought of Mara again. She had spent centuries refusing to be tied down. Yet she had been married twice—once to a mortal, and now to Logan Blackwood, the man she had loved for centuries. She had been blessed with a son.

  Others of his kind had found companions. Roshan DeLongpre. Vince Cordova and his twin sons, Rane and Rafe. Mara’s son, Derek. Nick Desanto. Vampires one and all. Yet each had found love. Even feisty ex-vampire hunters Edna Mae Turner and Pearl Jackson—both turned far past their prime—had found life mates.

  Why not him? Perhaps it was time to remember that, in addition to being a priest, he was first and foremost a man.

  He chuckled softly. He was, undoubtedly, the world’s oldest male virgin.

  The oldest male virgin vampire, he amended.

  He had been turned on his thirty-ninth birthday. He recalled the event as clearly as if it had happened only last night instead of centuries ago.

  He had been on his way back to the rectory after giving last rites to an aged nun when he was attacked. It had happened so fast, he’d had no chance to defend himself, although he knew now that would have been impossible. He was floating, drifting away into darkness, when the vampire suddenly reared back. Giovanni remembered staring up into a pair of bloodred eyes that somehow managed to look surprised.

  “You’re a priest!” the creature hissed. “I can’t kill a priest! Heaven forgive me,” he murmured, and sinking his fangs into his own wrist, he held the bleeding wound to Giovanni’s lips. “Drink!”

  Giovanni wanted to refuse but something in the monster’s voice compelled him to obey. The blood had been thick and hot, unlike anything he had ever tasted. He gagged with the first swallow and then, to his horror, he grabbed hold of the vampire’s arm and suckled as if the blood was as sweet as mother’s milk.

  He had cried out in protest when the vampire jerked his wrist away.

  “We have to find you a place to rest,” the vampire muttered, yanking Giovanni to his feet. “And there are things you must know before you rise tomorrow night.”

  The vampire had dragged him to a cave in the Apennine Mountains and tossed him into it with a warning to stay inside until he returned.

  Giovanni had had no intention of doing as he was told, but minutes after entering the cave he had collapsed on the floor. As his vision narrowed and the world went black, he knew he was dying. Sinking into oblivion, he had uttered a prayer begging for mercy and forgiveness with his last breath.

  When awareness returned, it was dark again. Lurching to his feet, he had stumbled toward the cave’s entrance, his gaze searching for the creature who had warned him to wait for his return.

  Hours passed and there was no sign of the vampire.

  As time dragged by, what started as discomfort gradually turned to agony.

  Afraid he was really dying this time, he staggered out of the cave and made his way to the city in search of a doctor.

  Ignorant as he was, he had no idea what was happening to him. He stopped abruptly, nostrils flaring. He didn’t recognize the scent, knew only that whatever it was, he needed it. Veering down a narrow alley, he came upon two men engaged in a knife fight.

  Giovanni took a deep breath. Blood, he thought. The enticing smell was blood.

  Hardly aware of what he was doing, he stepped between the two men. It took no effort at all to control them. One was bleeding from a cut on his neck. As though mesmerized, Giovanni leaned forward to lick it up and then, to his horror, he bit the man. Overcome with euphoria at the taste of fresh hot blood, he hadn’t stopped to wonder at how effortlessly his teeth had bitten through flesh. It was only later that he discovered he had fangs, and that blood was the only thing that could ease the awful hunger that clawed at his insides.

  And later still that he found the courage to admit he was no longer human, but Nosferatu.

  The transformation had not been easy. To his shame, he had taken human lives before he learned it wasn’t necessary to kill his prey to survive. Stricken with guilt, he had gone to confession time and again in hopes of finding forgiveness for the lives he had taken, but he had found none.

  Thrusting his past behind him, Giovanni willed himself to his lair in the bowels of an abandoned church. He had another, more comfortable place where he occasionally passed the daylight hours, but resting here, among the dead, seemed more appropriate for one of his kind.

  Stretching out on the cold stone floor between a pair of ancient coffins, he closed his eyes and surrendered to the deathlike sleep that swallowed him whole.

  Chapter 1

  From his place on the bed, Logan Blackwood watched Mara pace the floor of their Hollywood home. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “You won’t believe this, but I’m picking up some sort of weird vibe from Father Lanzoni.”

  “The old priest? What kind of vibe?”

  “Like he’s . . . lonely.”

  Logan sat up. “Wait a minute? How the devil can you know that?”

  “I have no idea. We’ve never exchanged blood. . . .” Her voice trailed off and she frowned. “Wait a minute. I think maybe we did, a few hundred years ago.” She shook her head. “Assuming I did, why would I suddenly be able to read his thoughts now, after such a long time?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.” Logan grabbed her forearm as she passed by the bed, pulled her down on the mattress, and tucked her beneath him. He had known her for centuries, but he never tired of looking at her. Hair as black as ink tumbled over her shoulders. “Think about me instead.”

  She looked up at him through sultry, emerald-green eyes. “I’m always thinking of you.”

  “Good.” His hand stroked up and down her back.

  In a move too quick even for him to follow, she rolled over, carrying him with her, until she was on top. “Later,” she said, nipping his earlobe. “I need to call Giovanni.”

  “Don’t you think if he wanted help, he would call you?”

  She scowled at him, then sighed. “You’re right. I need to think of a reason to get in touch with him.”

  “I don’t know what it would be,” he muttered. “Everybody in the family is already married.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “Mara, the man is more than old enough to take care of himself.”

  “You’re right, but he’s not just lonely. He’s alone.”

  Logan grunted softly. He knew what that was like. He and Mara had been lovers centuries ago. When she dumped him, he had wandered the earth, feeling lost and lonely for what had seemed like an eternity, until he ran into her again hundreds of years later.

  “I think we need to find him a woman.”

  “A woman! Mara, he’s a priest!”

  She made a face at him. “He’s a man first. And a man needs a woman. Even if he is a priest.” She batted his hands away when he tried to caress her. “Stop that! I need to think.”

  “Making love will relax you and help clear your mind,” he said, leering at her.

  She glared at him. “Do you ever think of anything else?”

  “Not when you’re this clos
e.”

  With a sigh, she stretched out on top of him. It was impossible to ignore Logan when he was looking at her like that, his black eyes hot and heavy-lidded with desire. She had known countless men in the course of her long existence, but she had loved none of them the way she loved this man. As a mortal, he had been arrogant, self-confident, and strong, characteristics that had served him well as a vampire.

  “Hektor.” She threaded her fingers through his long, dark hair, then claimed his lips with hers.

  Logan smiled. Hektor was the name he had worn centuries ago when they met. Rolling her onto her back, he buried himself deep within her sweetness.

  The good Father’s problem would have to wait one more day.

  * * *

  Finding a companion for her old friend was still on Mara’s mind when she woke late the next afternoon. Pulling on a red velvet robe, she kissed her sleeping husband, then went downstairs. One of the perks of being an ancient vampire was the ability to endure the sun’s light.

  Standing on the balcony of her Hollywood mansion, she gazed into the distance.

  The first thing she needed to do was find a woman suitable for Lanzoni. No easy task, she mused, since she had no female friends other than those she considered family. And they were all married.

  An ad on the Internet, she decided with a grin. Wanted, unmarried female, 25-30, preferably a virgin. Must be willing to sleep days. Object: matrimony.

  She could always kidnap some lovely young thing as a last resort.

  But before she went that far, maybe she’d get in touch with a few family members and see if they had any ideas.

  * * *

  Savannah frowned at her husband. “I can’t believe Mara wants our help in finding a woman for Father Lanzoni.”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past her,” Rane Cordova muttered. “But if she thinks he needs a woman, she’ll find him one, whether he wants her to or not. You can bet on that. Pimping for a priest.” He threw back his head and laughed. “Now I’ve heard everything!”