Dead Sexy (29 page)

"Great, I'll pick you up at what, six-thirty, seven?"

"I'll check the Net for showtimes and give you a call."

"Sounds good. I've got court in the morning, so we'll have to make it an early night. Hey," he said, noticing the Speedster for the first time as she punched in the code to unlock the door. "When did you get that?"

"What?"

"The Speedster." He whistled softly. "Those things cost a small fortune."

"Oh, that, I… my car's in the shop and I… uh, borrowed this from a friend."

"Must be some friend."

"Yes. Well, good night, Mike."

He slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her good night. "See you tomorrow night."

With a nod, she slid behind the wheel, closed the door, and started the car. She waved to Michael as she pulled away from the curb.

Distracted, she punched her address into the Speedster's computer, then sat back and let the car do the driving. She wasn't taking the car back to Santiago this time; she didn't want to take a chance of barging in on him and the woman. If he wanted his car, he could darn well come and get it.

The Speedster pulled up to the curb and parked. The lights went out, the engine stopped, and the door opened.

Regan grabbed her handbag and got out of the car, only then remembering she hadn't left any lights on in her apartment. "Stop being such a coward," she muttered as she went up the stairs. "You're a vampire hunter and a werewolf. What is there to be afraid of?"

Even as she told herself there was nothing to worry about, she pulled her gun out of her handbag. Better safe than sorry.

Turning down the corridor, she saw a tall, dark shape standing in front of her door.

"Nothing to worry about," she muttered as she aimed at the figure. "Right."

"Are you going to shoot me?"

"Santiago!" she exclaimed. "Damn you! You scared me out of a year's growth! What are you doing here? Why aren't you dancing with your redhead? Oh!" She clapped her hand over her mouth, horrified by what she had said and the unmistakable note of jealousy in her voice.

Shouldering her way past Santiago, she unlocked the door and hurried inside, her cheeks burning.

She bit down on her lower lip when she heard the door close behind her. She knew, without looking, that he had followed her into the room.

Her whole body tingled with awareness as she dropped her handbag on the coffee table and laid her gun beside it. He was here instead of with the redhead.

Heart pounding, she slowly turned to face him. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Do I need a reason?"

"So, you just came here because you had nothing better to do?" she prodded, thinking that if he said he had come for his car, she would smack him.

"I came because I wanted to see you." He took a step toward her. "I came because I saw you with another man and I wanted to rip his heart out." Another step. "I came because I missed you."

She let out a long, shuddering sigh. "Oh."

His arm curled around her waist. "I came because I hoped you missed me."

Her skin tingled where his hand rested on her hip. "Where's your dinner date?" she asked, pleased when her voice didn't tremble. "And what were the two of you doing in a restaurant, anyway? And how did she get past the barrier?"

"So many questions," he chided. His gaze moved over her face, as warm and tangible as a caress.

"Are you going to answer them?"

"An answer for a kiss."

Her heartbeat quickened.

He ran the tip of his finger over her lower lip. "Do we have a deal?"

Dry-mouthed, she could only nod.

Holding her gaze with his, he lowered his head and claimed her lips in a long, lingering kiss. When it was over, he said, "I took her home."

She nodded, and he kissed her again, his tongue exploring the depths of her mouth. "I was at the restaurant because you were there."

She wasn't sure she would survive another kiss like the last two, but she was willing to take a chance. He saved the best for last. If there had been an award for best kiss of the century, he would have won it, hands down.

When he took his mouth from hers, she felt as if he had taken a part of her soul as well.

"As for how Tatiana got past the barrier," he said, his voice low and husky with desire, "she does not reside in the park."

Regan stared up at him, all interest in the red-haired woman forgotten. Rising on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his, certain she would expire on the spot if he didn't kiss her one more time.

He pulled her up hard against him, so close that she couldn't tell where he ended and she began.

His mouth on hers did wonderfully magical, amazing things. She felt as if her feet had left the ground, as if she were flying through a rainbow world where colors had taste and substance and she was alive as never before. His hands cupped her buttocks, holding her fast. Feeling the heat of his desire fanned her own.

She moaned a soft protest when he took his mouth from hers, gasped with pleasure as his tongue traced the curve of her ear, then blazed a trail to the soft, tender skin along the side of her neck. The prick of his fangs came as a surprise, but not an unwelcome one.

A soft exclamation of sensual pleasure rose in Santiago's throat as he sipped the sweet nectar of her life force. The hunger rose up within him, demanding more, demanding that he take it all. She was sweet, so sweet; surely, if he drank his fill of the ambrosia in her veins, he would never be plagued by his hellish thirst again.

Lifting her into his arms, he carried her into the bedroom and stretched out beside her on the bed. He kissed her and caressed her until she was again pliant in his embrace and then he drank from her again, and again.

It wasn't until he realized her heartbeat was fluttering unevenly that the enormity of what he was doing penetrated the haze of pleasure that engulfed him. Rearing back, he stared down at her face. She was pale, so pale. What had he done?

"Regan? Regan!" Taking hold of her shoulders, he shook her. "Regan! Answer me."

Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked up at him, her gaze dreamy and unfocused.

Santiago swore. Bolting from the bedroom, he went into the kitchen, quietly cursing himself for what he had done. He found a glass, filled it with grapefruit juice, and carried it back to the bedroom. Sliding his arm beneath her back, he lifted her to a sitting position. "Drink, Regan."

"Sleepy…"

"No, you must drink." He held the glass to her lips. "Drink, dammit!"

Startled by his gruff tone, she did as he asked.

When the glass was empty, he lowered her down to the bed, then returned to the kitchen. She needed sustenance, but what? He hadn't eaten food in hundreds of years and had no idea how to prepare most of the foodstuffs he found in the refrigerator or the cupboard. A sandwich, he thought. He had watched enough television commercials to know how to prepare a sandwich.

Moments later, he returned to the bedroom carrying a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of milk.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he shook her gently. "Wake up, Regan. You must eat."

"Not hungry. Sleepy…"

Once again, he slid his arm beneath her. He coaxed her to eat and drink, all the while cursing himself for his selfishness. But for the blood of the werewolf in her veins, she would have died and it would have been all his fault. He had to be more careful in the future. She was far too tempting, and his resistance was far too weak where she was concerned.

When she finished eating, he gathered her into his arms and cradled her against his chest, frightened by how close he had come to losing her forever.

He held her all through the night, afraid to leave her alone. In the early hours of the morning, he insisted she take more nourishment. Had she been an ordinary mortal, he would have given her his blood, but he wasn't sure how her body would react. He and Vasile had tasted each other's blood, but they had ingested only a small amount. He had no idea what effect his blood would have on Regan in her current state. It might make her stronger. It might be fatal. It was a risk he didn't dare take.

His skin tingled as dawn's first light brightened the sky, and still he held her, reluctant to let her go, afraid that if he left her, he would never see her again. He told himself he was being ridiculous. The color had returned to her cheeks. Her breathing and her heartbeat were normal. And still he held her, held her until it was too late for him to leave her house and seek his lair.

Swearing softy, he put her to bed, then went in search of a place to spend the day.

Regan woke reluctantly. She had been having such a beautiful dream, she hated to see it end. In it, Santiago had made love to her all night long—slow, sweet love that had satisfied her on every level and still left her hungering for more. She smiled, remembering. He had been a wonderful lover, creative, masterful, yet caring and tender. And because he was a vampire, he never grew weary, never had to rest. He had brought her to fulfillment again and again, made her weep with the beauty and the wonder of it. Now, she felt herself blushing as she remembered all the ways, and all the places, where they had made love. If only it hadn't been a dream…

She felt a little dizzy when she sat up. Once the room stopped spinning, she glanced at her surroundings. She didn't remember going to bed last night; in fact, she didn't remember much of anything after coming home from her date with Michael. She frowned. Santiago had been here, waiting for her. He had followed her into the house. They had kissed and… She frowned. Her recollections grew hazy after that.

Rising, she went into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, washed her hands, face, and neck… felt a jolt when her fingertips touched the skin beneath her ear. With a growing sense of trepidation, she turned her head to the side and looked in the mirror, blinked, and looked again. Good grief, were those bites on her neck?

Leaning forward, she examined the tiny puncture wounds more closely.

Vampire bites. She had seen enough to know what they looked like.

She went suddenly cold all over.

Santiago had bitten her last night.

And taken her blood.

She remembered now, though her recollection was none too clear. He had kissed her until she was lost in his touch and then he had taken her blood. She remembered his voice, thick with worry when he demanded that she eat, that she drink. He had held her all night long. She remembered waking several times, always in his arms, always hearing his voice, low and soothing, telling her to go back to sleep, assuring her that everything would be all right.

Returning to her room, Regan sat on the edge of the bed as a new thought occurred to her. The sun had been up the last time he had offered her something to eat. He couldn't have left the house when the sun was up. So, where was he now?

Recalling that he had slept under one of the motel beds when they were traveling, she stood and looked underneath her bed, but there was no sign of him. She checked the closet, even looked inside the cedar chest at the foot of her bed, though how he could fit his tall frame inside was beyond her.

But he wasn't there, either.

Putting on her slippers, she toured the house, looking in every conceivable place she could think of, but to no avail. Returning to the living room, she sat down on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her. Where could he be? Remembering how he had cloaked his presence from her when they were in the cave, she knew he could be right in front of her and she wouldn't see him if he didn't want her to. A handy trick, she thought, and wondered if werewolves possessed that ability.

Too nervous to sit still, she went into the kitchen and punched in the code for a cup of coffee. When it was done, she carried it out onto the veranda and sat in the sun. The deck had been the main reason she rented the apartment. At night, she could see the lights of the city; during the day, she had a grand view of the mountains beyond.

She tried to relax but it was disconcerting, knowing there was a vampire in the house but not knowing where he was.

She thought about her date with Michael the previous night. He had sensed there was something different about her. How had he known? She looked the same on the outside. Did he have some sort of psychic power she wasn't aware of that allowed him to delve into her mind? Or had he sensed her internal unrest? Even when she wasn't consciously thinking about the next full moon or what had happened during the last one, the memory was always there, destroying her peace of mind, filling her with dread as she contemplated what was coming.

She was glad when the phone rang. Right now, any distraction would be welcome. "Hello?"

"Hey, Reggie."

"Michael. I was just thinking about you."

"Good things, I hope. Listen, I'm not going to be able to make it tonight. I had a phone call from my sister. Her husband was in an accident and she needs me to drive her to the hospital. I'll probably stay with her tonight."

"Sure, Mike, I understand." His sister, Jean, was pregnant and ready to deliver any minute. "Give her my love."

"Will do. I'll give you a call when I get a chance."

Regan said good-bye and hung up the phone, relieved that she wouldn't have to go out tonight and pretend everything was all right.

Picking up her cup, she sipped her coffee, aware of the taste and the aroma in a way she never had been before.

Werewolf. The word whispered through her mind. Sitting there, her face lifted to the sun, it seemed unreal, like a bad dream, but she knew it was all too true. She remembered it all so clearly, the intense pain as her body shifted, her heightened awareness of the world around her, the horrible hunger for flesh, any flesh, the giddy excitement of the hunt, and the exhilaration of the kill. Even in wolf form, she had been aware of Santiago's presence and found comfort in knowing she wasn't alone, just as she found a measure of comfort now, knowing he would be with her during the next full moon.

She shook her head. Why had this happened to her? And where was Vasile? She had to find him—and destroy him. It was the only way to break the curse.