Dead Sexy (17 page)

"I don't know, but promise me you'll be careful. And call me the minute you get home."

"All right, I will."

"Night, Reggie."

"Goodnight, Mike."

Regan slipped the phone back into her bag, then stared out the window, shivering convulsively.

"He is only trying to frighten you," Santiago said.

"Why would Mike want to frighten me?"

"Not Flynn," Santiago said. "Vasile."

She glanced at Joaquin. "Are you going to tell me that werewolves are making clones now? Anyway, that kind of thing was outlawed years ago."

"I do not think Vasile has much use for the law."

She couldn't argue with that.

"Even though he is trying to frighten you, the message was for me."

"What do you mean?"

Santiago looked at her. "I think you know."

She did know. Fear tightened its grip on her as she stared out the window again. Killing a woman who could be her twin was Vasile's way of telling Santiago that he intended to kill her.

The next two nights on the road passed pretty much the same as the first one. They traveled after sunset and they rested during the day.

Now it was night again. Tomorrow night they would reach the Black Hills. Regan glanced up at the sky, at a moon that all too soon would be full, then looked down at her hands, trying to imagine them turning into paws. She ran the pad of her thumb over the ends of her fingernails, trying to imagine them as claws…

"Regan."

She looked over at Santiago, blinking rapidly to keep from crying.

"We will find the shaman."

"What if we don't? What if there isn't any cure?" She clenched her hands in her lap. "I'm afraid."

Reaching across the space between them, he folded his hand over hers. His touch was soothing, comforting. She felt her fears melt away. He would protect her, and would risk his life to do so. "Thank you for coming with me."

"You asked me once if I would rather be a werewolf or a vampire," he said. "Do you remember?"

"Yes."

"What would you rather be?"

"Neither! But if I had to choose, I guess I'd want to be a werewolf. I don't want to hide from the sun. I don't want to drink blood. I don't want to be dead and yet not dead."

"We are dead but not dead. We are Undead.
There is a difference, though it is hard to explain. Vampires can learn to control the craving for blood. And now, with synthetic blood, there is no need to hunt."

"But there are still vampires who hunt for prey, vampires who would kill if they could."

"Yes, but humans also kill, and for far less reason than the need to survive."

"That's true, I guess."

"Werewolves, on the other hand, have no control over the urge to kill. When the moon is full, they must shift. Any animal or human that crosses their path when the moon is full is doomed."

"Are there other werewolves besides Vasile?"

"Yes, though no one knows how many. Some say the number must be small. Others disagree."

"So they're not extinct," she murmured. "Damn."

"Long ago, werewolf packs roamed every country in the world, but they were hunted to near extinction. Now it is believed that there are only thirteen packs remaining out of a hundred or more."

"Thirteen," Regan murmured. "Unlucky."

He grunted softly. "Most of them are located in Europe. There is evidence that their numbers are growing. Last I heard, Vasile's pack was located in the forests of Romania, which makes me wonder again what he is doing here, and if he came alone."

Regan nodded. She knew she should be worried about Vasile and what evil he might be concocting, but at the moment, right or wrong, she was more worried about her own future.

"If we cannot find the shaman," Santiago said, "if he has no cure, I can bring you across if we do it before the full moon."

"You mean, make me a vampire?"

He nodded. "Think about it, just in case." Fanged and furry, or fanged and Undead? It was, she thought glumly, one heck of a choice.

Before sunup, Santiago found a motel where they could spend the day. Regan ate breakfast in the restaurant across the street while Santiago secured their room and then went in search of prey.

She was on her second cup of coffee when he slid into the booth across from her. As always, she couldn't help noticing how attractive he was, or that he moved with a kind of fluid grace that defied description.

"Were you… successful?" she asked, wondering if she really wanted to know.

"Of course. I took what I needed and sent her happily on her way, none the worse for the experience."

"Why don't you just drink the synthetic stuff?" she asked. "I'd think it would be easier. On everyone."

He snorted derisively. "Have you ever tasted it?"

"Of course not."

"If you had, you would know the answer."

"I thought it was supposed to taste just like the real thing."

"Not even close."

"Then why do you keep some in your refrigerator?"

He shrugged. "For emergencies. For an occasional guest." He glanced out the window. The sky was turning light in the east. "Are you about through?"

Regan followed his gaze. "Yes, let's go."

Santiago paid the bill and darted across the street to their motel room. Grabbing her handbag, Regan hurried after him.

It was pretty much like every other motel room she had ever seen—a queen-sized bed flanked by matching nightstands, a dresser, and a portable Satellite Screen bolted to the wall. The carpet was an unremarkable shade of brown. The bathroom had a combination tub and shower. The countertop was puke green.

Regan glanced around, dismayed when she realized there was only one room.

She looked over at Santiago, and quickly looked away.

"It troubles you that there is only one room."

"Yeah."

"Afraid I might want to share your bed?"

She stared at him, wondering why the thought wasn't as repulsive as it should have been. She really was losing her mind, she thought, to even consider sleeping in the same bed with a vampire, no matter how sexy he was, or how attracted she was to him.

"Not to worry," he said dryly. "I will sleep on the floor under the bed."

"
Under
the bed? Wouldn't it be easier to just get another room? I mean, I haven't noticed anyone following us, have you?"

"No, but I will not leave you alone."

"I admire your sense of chivalry, I really do, but…" She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. "I don't know what help you'll be if Vasile happens to show up while you're asleep."

"If you need me, I will know it. Self-preservation is very strong in my kind, as is the instinct to protect those we…"

Regan's heart skipped a beat as she waited for him to finish his thought.

"Those we care about."

"And you care about me?"

"More than is good for either of us."

"I care for you, too," she murmured, and wondered how and when it had happened. She had known him only a short time. They had shared little more than a few kisses and yet, in spite of the danger that threatened her and the nagging fear that she might be a werewolf, she couldn't think of anywhere else she would rather be, or anyone else she would rather be with.

As if sensing her thoughts, Santiago closed the distance between them and drew her into his arms. "Do you know how beautiful you are? So incredibly beautiful." His hand moved in her hair, lightly massaging her scalp.

A shuddering sigh escaped Regan's lips. How could such a simple touch feel so erotic?

"Your spirit is so strong," he went on, his voice low and whiskey smooth, "and yet you are so fragile. So desirable…" His lips brushed hers lightly. "I never intended to love anyone again."

She blinked up at him. "You… you love me?"

"It does not please you?"

"I didn't think vampires were capable of love." But even as she uttered the words, she remembered the woman he had told her about. The Gypsy girl, Marishka.

Santiago looked down at her, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "Do you think we are only capable of hatred?"

"I… I sort of thought all those human emotions were, I don't know, wiped out when you became a vampire."

He grunted softly. "It would be easier if they were."

"I find it hard to believe that the vampire who killed those teenagers was harboring any tender feelings."

"Like anything else, what is not nourished gradually withers and dies."

"So you have to make a conscious effort to hang onto your human emotions?"

He nodded.

"I'm glad you did."

"As am I," he said, his eyes glowing with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

Regan's heart began to beat a little faster. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she tilted her head back a little, hoping he would kiss her.

But it wasn't her mouth he was looking at. His gaze was focused on the hollow of her throat—and the pulse beating there.

"Joaquin…"

"One taste?" he asked, his voice almost a growl. "A sip, no more."

"Don't, please," she whispered. "You're scaring me."

His arm tightened around her waist. She had often heard of a man's arm feeling like a steel band. Usually, it was just an exaggeration, but not in this case. She saw the change in his eyes, saw the internal struggle as he fought down the urge to take what he wanted by force, if necessary. She had never done drugs, but she thought being a vampire must be a little like being an addict, the craving for blood a constant clamor for one more hit, one more taste, one more…

She had always admired his ability to be in control of the hunger that lurked forever just under the surface. She only hoped he didn't lose hold on that control now.

She stood quiescent in his embrace, afraid to move for fear any movement on her part would be mistaken for flight, arousing the vampire's instinctive urge to hunt. She could feel her heart beating erratically in her chest, hear it roaring in her ears, and knew that, with his preternatural senses, he could hear it, too. He was still staring at her throat.

"Santiago," she implored. "Please, don't…"

"Ah, Regan, you tempt me almost beyond my power to resist."

Hardly daring to breathe, she clung to the word "almost," felt her whole body go weak with relief when his arm fell away from her waist and he backed away from her.

"Rest well," he said, and before she could reply, he turned and slid gracefully under the bed, hidden from her sight by the overhang of the bedspread.

She stood there a moment, her heart still beating wildly, unable to think clearly. So much had happened in the last few days, she feared she was on sensory overload. Too many dead bodies. Learning that werewolves weren't extinct. Being bitten. Living with the fear that she would become a werewolf at the next full moon. Meeting Santiago. Kissing Santiago. How much more could one girl take and remain sane?

She stared at the place where he had stood only moments before. Vampires had amazing powers. Could he see through the bedspread? Would he watch if she undressed for bed, or, rather than take that chance, should she just sleep in her clothes?

Maybe he was already unconscious, trapped in the Dark Sleep of his kind, but how was she to know?

And how was she going to get any sleep, knowing he was in the same room?

Grabbing her overnight case, she went into the bathroom and locked the door, then stood at the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. What would she look like as a werewolf? Would she have blond fur and green eyes? What would it be like to run on all fours? To have a tail? And sharp white teeth, the better to eat you with, my dear?

She had told Santiago she would rather be a werewolf. For one thing, vampires were vampires every day, or night, of the year, whereas werewolves were compelled to change only during the full moon. True, Vasile could shift whenever he wished, but he was a rare exception. If she went into the woods or some other unpopulated place before she shifted, perhaps she could avoid killing anyone.

As for being a vampire, except for Santiago and perhaps a few other ancient vampires, the Undead were helpless during the day, every day of the year, dragged down into the darkness of oblivion whether they wished it or not. They had to drink blood to survive. They had to live in protected areas, and if someone came along and changed the law and that protection was lifted, they would again be hunted because they were different and therefore to be feared and destroyed.

"Eeny, meeny, miney, moe… werewolf or vampire, which way should I go?"

She was losing it, she thought, stifling the urge to laugh. No doubt the men in white coats would show up and haul her off to the funny farm long before she and Santiago reached the Black Hills.

And wouldn't the attendants be surprised when they discovered they had a werewolf in their midst?

"Stop it!" Undressing, she took a quick shower, pulled on her nightgown, and brushed her teeth, all the while refusing to think of anything but the task at hand. There was no Santiago. There were no werewolves. She was getting ready for bed. Soon she would be asleep.

She switched off the bathroom light and hurried across the floor to the bed. She slipped under the covers, turned off the bedside lamp, closed her eyes, and took several deep, calming breaths.

They would find the cave. They would find the shaman. He would help her with the cure. And everything would be all right.

Santiago loved her… it was her last conscious thought before sleep found her.

The following evening they stopped at a small sporting goods store to buy suitable clothing and footwear for climbing. Santiago had chosen—what else but black, of course. Black T-shirt, black jacket, black pants, black boots. Regan picked a pair of blue jeans, a red T-shirt, a denim jacket, and brown boots. She also bought a pair of white shorts and sneakers in case the weather was warm during the day.

The store also sold groceries. Santiago followed her up and down the aisles. She looked at him inquiringly when he told her to buy enough food for two.

"The extra food is for the shaman," he explained. "It is customary to take a gift when one is asking for a favor."