Dead Sexy (10 page)

"Do you ever miss real food?"

His gaze slid over her throat. "Not for years."

"What do you miss?"

"What makes you think I miss anything?"

"Don't you?"

He thought about it a moment, then shrugged. "The advantages of being a vampire far outweigh what I lost."

"Advantages?" she scoffed. "Like not being able to go outside during the day? Like drinking blood? Like being unable to have children and being forced to live in this…" She made a gesture that encompassed his apartment. "This prison?"

"I call being alive a distinct advantage," he retorted. "If not for the Dark Trick, I would have been dead centuries ago."

"But you aren't alive. Not really."

"No?"

He moved toward her, his eyes so dark they looked almost black as his hands folded over her shoulders and lifted her to her feet. The fork in her hand fell to the table and skittered onto the floor.

"Not alive?" he asked, his voice soft and silky as he drew her into his arms. "Could a dead man kiss you like this?"

Kiss? The word jump-started her heart. He was going to kiss her. Before the thought had time to register in her mind, his mouth was swooping down on hers, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that sent frissons of heat exploding through every inch of her body before settling in the pit of her stomach. His lips were surprisingly warm, his tongue like a flame sliding over her lips, imprinting his taste on her skin like a brand.

It was the most incredible, unforgettable, mind-blowing kiss she had ever known. It heated her blood, made her skin tingle and her toes curl, until she was aware of nothing but the man holding her in his embrace, his mouth moving over hers, by turns teasing and seductive. But for his arms holding her upright, she was certain she would have melted into a pool of liquid desire at his feet.

She stared up at him, bereft and confused, when he broke the kiss.

His gaze bored into hers, hot and heavy. "Has any mortal man ever kissed you like that, Regan Delaney?"

Dazed, she shook her head.

He smiled at her, a look of pure masculine satisfaction. "I did not think so," he said arrogantly.

She couldn't think of anything to say, couldn't think at all. Her lips felt swollen and on fire, her legs felt like Jell-O, her mind like Swiss cheese. She would have done anything he asked, she thought, if only he would kiss her like that again. It was disconcerting to discover that one kiss could leave her feeling so muddled. No doubt making love to him would leave her in a disoriented state for days, maybe weeks.

Lifting one hand, he cupped her cheek. His touch sent shivers of awareness and anticipation skittering down her spine. Right or wrong, she wanted his kisses more than her next breath.

His widening smile told her he knew exactly what effect his nearness and his caresses had on her senses.

It was annoying that he read her so easily, she thought irritably, and then grinned. He was holding her close, close enough that she could feel the effect she had on him, as well. It was nice to know it wasn't all one-sided!

"I need to go home." She had to get out of here. She couldn't think clearly in his presence, couldn't think of anything but black satin sheets and his mouth on hers, hot and wet. She stepped out of his embrace. She needed a change of clothes, needed to check her messages, sleep in her own bed, and breathe air that didn't carry his hot, masculine scent to her with every breath.

"I do not think that is wise."

"I don't care what you think. I can't stay here indefinitely."

"Wait until dusk, and I will take you."

"I don't think there's any danger during the day. The killings have all been at night." She frowned. "I thought werewolves only shifted at night when the moon was full."

"Most do."

"But not Vasile?"

"No."

"Do you mean that he can shift anytime he wants?"

Santiago nodded.

"And you don't have to sleep during the day." She frowned. "Why do I feel there's a connection there?"

"Perhaps because there is."

Regan sat down, all thought of going home forgotten. "I'm listening."

Santiago considered whether he should tell her the truth, then shrugged, thinking it might be wise to let her know what they were up against.

Taking hold of the chair across from hers, he straddled it, then folded his arms across the back. "Vasile killed someone I cared for," he began slowly. "I hunted him down and we fought. During the battle, I bit him. He shifted and he bit me. The taste of his blood was like acid on my tongue. It left me feeling weak, sick. I can only guess that my blood had the same effect on him because he ran away. I am guessing that ingesting my blood drained him of strength, at least for a time. I found a new lair and…" He grinned wryly. "If you will pardon the pun, I slept like the dead for several days." He did not tell her of Marishka or of the nights he had spent holding her lifeless body in his arms. "When I woke, it was morning and I discovered I was no longer held captive by the Dark Sleep."

"So you can go out during the day?"

"No, but the rising of the sun no longer renders me powerless."

"Did your blood affect Vasile?"

Santiago nodded again. "I believe it is my blood that allows him to shift during the day. I have hunted him for centuries. And now he is here."

"And you think he's looking for you?"

"Why else would he have come here?"

"I don't know. Maybe he's not looking for you at all. Maybe his being here is just a coincidence. It's a small world, after all."

"Perhaps, but it does not matter. He is killing in my territory and it has to stop."

"What does any of this have to do with me?"

Santiago leaned back in his chair, wondering what she would say, what she would do, if he told her the truth.

In spite of Santiago's suggestion that she wait until dusk, Regan put on her shoes, dropped her gun into her handbag, and after thanking him for letting her spend the night, she headed for home, one eye on the rearview mirror the whole way. Thankfully, there was no sign of a silver-gray Mercedes.

She breathed an audible sigh of relief when she was safe inside her own apartment. After the glaring white and sparse furnishings of Santiago's condo, her home seemed even more colorful and cluttered than usual, but that was the way she liked it, thank you very much. She liked the living room's dark green walls, the off-white sofa, the flowered red and orange sling-back chair. Modern art decorated the walls; a tall hand-blown vase held a bouquet of dried red, orange, and gold flowers. The kitchen was painted a cheerful yellow, her bedroom was a bold lilac. She knew her decor was out of fashion. The trend today was earth tones or high-contrast colors, like black and white, but she didn't care. She had never been one to follow trends in either furniture or fashion.

She went into the bedroom and changed her clothes, combed her hair and brushed her teeth, and felt a hundred percent better.

Going into the kitchen, she checked her messages. There was one from her mother, another from her older brother, Kevin, and two from Flynn, one 'just to say hello' and one inviting her out to dinner that night.

After calling Flynn to accept his offer, she threw a load of clothes in the washer, then went into her bedroom and turned on her computer. She spent two hours reading about werewolf mythology before weariness overcame her. Kicking off her shoes, she stretched out on the bed and was instantly asleep.

Santiago paced the living-room floor, a distant part of his mind wishing he was in his lair in the Byways. He rarely stayed at the condo in the park. Perhaps it was time to redecorate the place so that it would be more to his liking. The white walls made him feel like he was living in a padded cell. A few paintings would relieve the monotony. He glanced disdainfully at the brown furniture, left over from the previous tenant. Perhaps it was time to get rid of that, as well.

Pausing in front of the door, he swore softly. He didn't give a damn about the condo's furnishings. The whole place could burn down, for all he cared. The only reason redecorating the place had even occurred to him was because Regan didn't like it as it was. Ah, Regan, he couldn't help worrying about her. It had been years since his inability to walk in the sun had bothered him, but Regan's life hadn't been in danger before. She was home now, alone and vulnerable—and Vasile was somewhere in the city.

Santiago resumed his useless pacing. Regan had insisted she would be safe enough, that Vasile only killed after dark, but Santiago knew better. Marishka had been killed while the sun was high in the sky. He closed his eyes and his mind filled with horrific images…

He had awakened to the sound of Marishka's terrified cry. Fighting the Dark Sleep, Santiago had lifted up on his elbows and looked toward her resting place. Vasile loomed over her casket, his lips drawn back in a feral snarl as he drove a wooden stake into her heart and gave it a cruel twist.

Horror, anger, grief, and disbelief had spiraled through Santiago. With a murderous roar, he had leapt from his resting place and flown toward Marishka's attacker. Santiago would have torn Vasile limb from limb had he been able, but Vasile had escaped into the sun's light. Santiago had yearned to give chase but he dared not leave the protection of his lair while the sun was high in the sky. After closing the door to the crypt, he had gathered Marishka into his arms. He had withdrawn the stake from her limp body and tried to revive her. He had gashed his arm and forced his blood past her lips, but it was too late. Everlastingly too late. Perhaps she would have responded had she been older in the life, or had he been able to get to her sooner.

At dusk, he had found a new lair. Clutching Marishka close, he had surrendered to the Dark Sleep, all the while wishing that he had let Vasile destroy him, as well. He woke several nights later, his physical wounds healed, though his pain at Marishka's death burned as bright and clear as the night she had been destroyed. Lost in his grief, he had remained in his lair, Marishka's body cradled in his arms. He had lost count of how many nights he had held her wasted, mutilated body and wished for oblivion.

Reluctant to put her outside and let the sun destroy her remains, he had kept her with him until the stench of her decomposing body became unbearable. When he could put it off no longer, he had carried her out into the woods, covered her body with flowers, and left her where the dawn's light would find her.

It had taken Santiago over a year to find Vasile. No words were needed between them. They had fought a long and bloody battle and in the midst of it, Vasile had shifted. Santiago's fangs had pierced the werewolf's neck. The werewolf had savaged Santiago's throat. The resulting wounds had left both of them too sick and weak to continue the fight.

It wasn't until months later, when his grief at Marishka's death had begun to pale, that he realized the full implication of the change Vasile's bite had wrought: he was no longer rendered powerless by the rising of the sun.

Thinking perhaps the sun's light no longer had any effect on him, he had decided to put it to the test. That was a mistake he never made again. It had taken almost a year for the burns caused by the sun's light to heal.