Dead Sexy (41 page)

Regan stood beside Joaquin, her hand clasped in his as they waited for the priest to arrive. They had returned to Santiago's lair in the Byways just before dawn the day before. Regan had succumbed to the Dark Sleep almost as soon as they reached Santiago's lair. Now she stood beside him, her gaze slowly moving around the room. It was a beautiful old church, with burnished wooden pews and intricate stained glass windows. A sweet-faced Madonna stood in one corner, her hand raised in benediction. Flickering candles set in scrolled wall sconces cast a warm glow.

The soft sound of a door opening drew Regan's attention. Glancing to her left, she saw an aged priest walking toward the altar. Short, slender, and gray haired, he leaned heavily on a wooden cane.

A smile spread over the priest's face as he approached the altar.

"Ah, Santiago, my old friend, forgive my tardiness," he said, his brown eyes twinkling.

"Time is something I have in abundance, Father Paul," Santiago replied.

"Would that I could say the same." The priest took Santiago's hand in his. "Some nights the spirit is willing but this old body just wants to go to bed."

"We appreciate your taking time to do this, Father," Santiago said, his voice tinged with genuine reverence and respect.

"Well, now, I can't have the two of you living in sin, can I?" the priest said chuckling. "Who is this lovely young woman?"

"Father, this is my bride, Regan Delaney. Regan, this is Father Paul."

Smiling his good-natured smile, the priest took Regan's hand in both of his. "Delighted to meet you, my dear," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I didn't think my friend here would ever find love again." Eyes narrowed, he tilted his head to the side, his gaze locked on hers. "You are as he is." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact. "Were you brought across of your own free will?"

"Yes, Father."

"Very well, then, join hands, won't you, and we'll begin."

Regan looked at Joaquin, her heart swelling with love for the man who would soon be her husband. His voice was soft and low and intense as he spoke his vows. Regan couldn't help smiling when he promised to love her as long as he lived. The good Lord willing, they would have centuries together.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the priest said, his voice and expression solemn. And then he smiled broadly. "You may kiss the bride."

"Gladly," Santiago murmured. Drawing Regan into his arms, he kissed her tenderly, gently, and then he kissed her again. There was nothing tender or gentle in this kiss. It was a brand, sealing her as his for all time.

"Go in peace, my children," the priest said.

"Thank you, Father," Santiago said.

Regan kissed the old man on the cheek. "Yes, thank you."

Taking her by the hand, Joaquin led her out of the church.

"How do you happen to be friends with a priest?" Regan asked when they were outside. "I mean, it seems odd, doesn't it?"

"Perhaps. I have known the good Father for over forty years."

"However did you meet?" she asked. "He's not a vampire, is he?"

"No. I saved his life one night. It happened in Spain. He was a young priest at the time, on his way back to the church after visiting a parishioner who lived in the slums outside the city. It was raining heavily when two young hoodlums jumped him…"

"They attacked a priest?"

"They didn't know he was a priest. He was wearing a heavy raincoat at the time."

"Go on."

"One of the young men was about to stab him in the back when I came along." Santiago shrugged. "I chased the boys away, then escorted the good Father home."

"Did he know what you are?"

"Not at first."

"And he didn't care, when he found out?"

"He was a bit of a rebel in his youth. I rather think he enjoyed having a vampire acquaintance. When I saved his life, he promised me a favor in return. Tonight he fulfilled that promise."

"You waited quite a long time to collect that favor, didn't you?"

"I wanted to save it for a special occasion. He is the only one I know who would marry us without a license."

"He's a long way from Spain."

"His order sent him here five years ago. And now, my lovely bride," he said, his gaze warming as he looked at her, "we have the whole night ahead of us. Is there anything you would like to do before we go home?"

"There is one thing I need to do," she said. "It won't take long."

The cemetery was located on a green hill east of the city. Regan paused at the entrance, knowing that she couldn't go on with her life until she told Michael good-bye.

"Go," Santiago said, "I will wait for you here." With a nod, Regan opened the large iron gate and made her way along the narrow stone path until she found Mike's final resting place. She read the short epitaph on the headstone:

Michael Seamus Flynn

Beloved son of Timothy and Gladys

May the good Lord keep you safe in His care

Until we meet again

She stood there a moment, remembering the first time she had met Mike and how kind he had been to her, a brand new vampire hunter who had lost her lunch at her first crime scene. He had always been protective of her. She remembered a time when she had been sick with the flu. It had been Mike who had looked after her. He had driven her to the doctor, made sure she had food in the house, and even changed the sheets on her bed. He had been so sweet and so kind and yet, try as she might, she hadn't been able to love him as he deserved. And now he was gone.

Funny how life turned out, she thought as she placed a single white rose on his grave. They had met because she was a vampire hunter and now she was a vampire.

Kneeling, she placed her hand on the grave. "I'm sorry, Mike, so sorry." No matter what anyone said, she would always feel responsible for his death. Tears stung her eyes. "I'm sorry I couldn't love you, but I promise I'll never forget you." She wiped the tears from her eyes. "Never."

She felt a subtle shift in the air as Santiago came up beside her.

"Regan? Are you all right?"

"Yes."

Taking her hand, he lifted her to her feet. "Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head. "Remember when you asked me if I'd rather be a vampire or a werewolf?"

He nodded, his expression impassive as he waited for her to go on.

"Well," she said, looking up at him, "I've been mortal, werewolf, and vamp…"

She watched a muscle clench in his jaw, but he didn't say anything; he simply stood there, waiting, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to hear what else she had to say.

"This way is the best way." Standing on her tiptoes, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. "Come on," she said, taking him by the hand, "let's go home."

Amanda Ashley's next book from Zebra,

NIGHT'S TOUCH
,

will be available in bookstores in July 2007.

A stunning sequel to NIGHT'S KISS, this is a most surprising and exciting novel!

ONE KISS CAN SEAL YOUR FATE…

Cara DeLongpre wandered into the mysterious Nocturne club looking for a fleeting diversion from her sheltered life. Instead she found a dark, seductive stranger whose touch entices her beyond the safety she's always known and into a heady carnal bliss…

A year ago, Vincent Cordova believed that vampires existed only in bad movies and bogeyman stories. That was before a chance encounter left him with unimaginable powers, a hellish thirst, and an aching loneliness he's sure will never end… until the night he meets Cara DeLongpre. Cara's beauty and bewitching innocence call to his mind, his heart… his blood. For Vincent senses the Dark Gift shared by Cara's parents, and the lurking threat from an ancient and powerful foe. And he knows that the only thing more dangerous than the enemy waiting to seek its vengeance is the secret carried by those Cara trusts the most…

Cara Aideen Delongpre sipped her drink, too preoccupied with her own thoughts to pay any attention to the crowd and the noise that surrounded her. She had grown up knowing her mother and father weren't like other parents. Once she had started going to school, she had discovered a whole new world. Other kids went on vacation with their parents when school was out. They went out to dinner and to the zoo and to Disneyland and Sea World. They had birthday parties at Chuck E. Cheese's. Other kids had brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, and cousins and grandparents. When Cara asked why she didn't have brothers or sisters or aunts and uncles, her father had explained that her mother couldn't have children, and that he and her mother didn't have any siblings, and that her grandparents had all passed away.

It was a perfectly logical explanation, but it didn't make her feel any less lonely. It would have been nice to have a sister she could share confidences with.

What wasn't logical was the fact that, in over twenty years, her parents hadn't changed at all. She told herself she was being foolish, that she was overreacting, imagining things. But there was no arguing with the proof of her own eyes. They both looked exactly the way they had when Cara was a little girl. Her mother never gained or lost an ounce. Her face was as smooth and clear as it had always been. The same was true of her father. Roshan DeLongpre looked like a man in his mid-thirties, and he had looked that way for as long as Cara could remember. He had taken her to the movies one night last week and they had run into a couple of Cara's acquaintances. Before she could introduce her father, her friend, Cindy, had taken her aside and asked how long she had been dating that "good looking older man."

Cara stared into her drink, wishing she had the nerve to ask her parents why Di Giorgio aged and they didn't, why their lifestyle was so different from everyone else's. She knew about their aversion to the sun and their liquid diet, but why did that keep them from other normal activities? Why did they encourage her to make friends, but discourage her from bringing them home? And why did they keep the door to their bedroom locked during the day? What were they doing in there?

She looked up as a man sat down beside her. He smiled, then pointed with his chin at her drink. "Can I buy you another?"

"No, thank you."

He lifted a hand. "Hey, no problem. You just looked a little down. I thought you might like some company."

He had a nice voice, blond hair, and dark brown eyes. What harm could it do to share a drink with him?

"Are you sure you won't change your mind?" he coaxed, as if sensing her indecision.

"Well, I would like another."

"What are you drinking?" he asked, signaling for the bartender.

"A virgin pineapple daiquiri."

He ordered her drink and a scotch and water for himself, then held out his hand. "I'm Anton."

"Cara." She hesitated a moment before taking his hand. Though she had been on her share of dates, she tended to be shy around strangers. She wasn't sure why. Maybe because she had never forgotten her father's warning that he had "ruthless enemies." Still, she told herself there was nothing to worry about. Frank was here.

Anton's grip was firm, his skin warm. "Do you come here often?"

"No, this is my first time. I was just passing by and I heard the music and…" She shrugged. "I thought it might cheer me up."

"If you tell me what's got you feeling so blue, I might be able to help."

"I don't think so, but thanks for offering."

Cara glanced out at the dance floor as the lights dimmed. The music, which had been upbeat, changed to something slow and sensual with a dark, sexual undertone. It called to something earthy deep within her.

"Would you like to dance?" Anton asked.

Again, she hesitated a moment before agreeing.

Anton took her by the hand and led her out onto the floor. "So," he said, taking her in his arms. "Tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?"

"Let's see. What do you like to do for fun? Do you work, or are you an heiress? Who's your favorite singer? And, most important of all, are you a chocoholic like every other woman I've ever met?"

She laughed. "Guilty on the chocolate," she said, and then frowned as she realized she had never seen her mother eat or drink anything chocolate. Even the most rigid dieters cheated every now and then.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asked.

"No. I work at the library, and I don't really have a favorite singer." She didn't tell him that she was, in fact, an heiress. After all, he was a stranger and she wasn't a fool. Not that she had anything to worry about, not with Frank Di Giorgio sitting at the far end of the bar watching her like a hawk.

"You're a librarian?" Anton exclaimed.

"Is something wrong with that?"

"No, no, but… well, you're a knock-out. I sort of thought you might be a model or an actress."

Cara smiled, flattered in spite of herself. "Disappointed?"

"Not at all."

When the music ended, he escorted her back to their seats. Their drinks were waiting for them. Cara sipped hers, thinking how glad she was she had stopped in here tonight. Di Giorgio had tried to dissuade her, but she had insisted. Once inside, she almost hadn't stayed, it was such a strange place. For one thing, she was the only one in the place who wasn't wearing black. Voodoo masks and ancient Indian burial masks decorated the walls. Tall black candles flickered in wrought iron sconces, casting eerie shadows over the faces of the patrons; a good number of them wore long black cloaks or capes with hoods.

"So," Anton said, "what do you think of The Nocturne?"

"I'm not sure. Why is everyone wearing black?"

"This is a Goth hangout."

"Oh! Silly me, I should have guessed."

He grinned at her. "I take it you're not into the Goth scene."

"Not really," she replied, and then frowned, thinking that her father would be right at home in a place like this. He had an affinity for dark clothing, and he had a long black cloak. But it was more than that. From time to time, she had sensed a darkness in her father that she couldn't explain and didn't understand.