Kiss Of Darkness

Heather Graham

A kiss of darkness. A kiss of death.The woods have always been full of whispers in Transylvania, of terrors that go back centuries to the legendary Vlad Dracul himself. Ignoring their professor's grave warning—beware those who would prey upon the innocent—several visiting students travel into the forest…and disappear.Now their professor, Bryan McAllister, believes that a dark cult is at work—and that their next gathering will happen in America. When psychologist Jessica Fraser is approached by Bryan for her assistance, she is hesitant. Something about Bryan unnerves Jessica deeply, yet she cannot ignore the incredible pull she feels toward him.Now, as reluctant allies, they unite to seek the truth. The search takes them from the forested mountains to dimly lit clubs in New Orleans' French Quarter, where perversion goes beyond sexual to life-threatening. And everywhere, whispering on the wind, is the dreaded word…vampyr.

HEATHER GRAHAM

Kiss of Darkness

To Rich Devin, Lance Taubold, Ripper,

Eddy and Jack (and, okay, the duck!),

to Tammy and Brian Russotto and Little Sly,

and Laura Mills-Alcott,

With love and thanks.

And very especially to Bayley Crow—

flooded out by Katrina to meet

Rita and Wilma down in south Florida!

—and her folks,

and the incredible city of New Orleans.

Thanks!

Contents

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

Epilogue

About the Author

Coming Next Month

Please visit New Orleans. This wonderful city,

with its unique heritage, still needs our help.

The Gulf area in general remains desperate,

but we can help by pouring our tourist dollars into

the shops, restaurants and hotels of this region.

Prologue

The land was drenched with blood, after years of desperate fighting, and there would be more.

The knight sat atop his horse at the side of his king, watching as the troops rode through the valley below. Behind them rode Father Gregore, the warrior priest who had so often accompanied the new king on his quest to obtain and hold his domain, murmuring in Latin.

The king cursed softly. “Damn them. So many,” he added, turning to his knight. “After all these years, the feeble son feels he must prove himself to be the equal of his father. Sweet Jesu, will we forever be fighting this scourge? If the invaders reach the village, we will see a savagery beyond anything we have witnessed yet, not to show strength, as it might have been with the father, but because he longs to give the lie to his very weakness.” He spoke with disgust and a hard-won right to bitterness.

The breeze shifted, bringing with it a chill. The knight looked up, noting the sky. Darkness would come early, and according to the priest it would come earlier still today, for what Father Gregore called the Demon Moon would be upon them that night. Gregore was a great astronomer, as well as a healer. Many men had survived the field of battle because of his prowess.

Gregore was an interesting man, to say the least. He had studied for the priesthood in Rome. His father had been a highlander, an ambassador to the papal court. His mother, according to local legend, had been a witch.

Father Gregore had acted strangely throughout the day, cursing and muttering much more than usual. Now, as they assessed their enemy’s strength and planned their defense, he seemed stranger still. The knight respected the priest, though he was wary of his many incantations, intoned in a language bearing no resemblance to anything the knight had ever heard. A chill ran up his spine—an unusual sensation. He had faced ruthless enemies on the field again and again. He had watched his kinsmen and friends fall. Long ago, he had set his mind to the task with the knowledge he could never look anywhere but straight ahead, that there could be nothing but the fight for freedom to guide them.

“He rides with the Devil’s own henchman,” Father Greg