Night's Promise

  “Where’s Logan?” Derek asked.

  “He went out for a run.”

  Derek nodded. Long ago, Logan had been known as Hektor. Mara had turned him over nine hundred years ago. Derek knew of no other vampires who had lived as long, or possessed such strength and power. His own preternatural abilities were almost as strong, bequeathed to him through his mother’s ancient blood.

  Like his stepfather and his mother, Derek could run for miles, faster than the human eye could follow, and never get tired. He would never be sick, never age beyond what he was now. Not a bad life, if you didn’t mind existing on a warm liquid diet. Not that he didn’t enjoy hunting as much as the next vampire, but he remembered all too clearly the taste of mortal food: hamburgers and French fries, chicken and mashed potatoes smothered in gravy, beans and rice, apple pie. Sometimes he thought he would willingly trade fifty years of his existence for a steak, thick and rare.

  “Tell me about the girl,” Mara said.

  “She’s young, pretty.” He grinned wryly. “She likes vampires.”

  “How nice for you.”

  “Yeah.” Blowing out a sigh, he gained his feet, then kissed her on the cheek. “I’m going to bed.”

  Mara watched him climb the stairs to the second floor. He remained a miracle in her eyes, the child she never should have had. She had never wanted a baby, never intended to keep him. She had never had any experience with children, no idea how to care for one. Yes, she had been certain giving the baby away was the right thing to do.

  Until she had held him in her arms. One look at her newborn son and she had known why women throughout the ages were willing to endure the pains of childbirth. One look and her heart had swelled with a rush of love unlike anything she had ever known or imagined. One touch, and she had known why mothers fought like grizzly bears to protect their young, why they were willing to live and die for their children. Why she couldn’t give him away.

  She had watched him grow, marveling at each new accomplishment: his first tooth, his first step, his first word. His first day of school.

  His first taste of blood.

  Mara remembered it well. She had received a phone call from his kindergarten teacher. A little girl had fallen on the playground and cut her arm. The teacher had found Derek comforting the girl, and licking the blood from the wound.

  Later, at home, Mara had taken him aside and explained that he must never do that again, that mortals would not understand. He had looked up at her through dark gray eyes—eyes wise beyond their years—and nodded that he understood. For a short time before he reached puberty, he had developed a sudden craving for raw hamburger, or for steaks so rare Logan had opined there was little point in cooking them at all.

  She had taken Derek hunting the first time, and wondered, as she watched him stalk his prey, if, indeed, it was his first time. There had been no hesitation when he summoned his prey, no sense of uncertainty as he bent the young woman over his arm and buried his fangs in her throat.

  He would have taken it all had she not stopped him. Even now, Mara could clearly recall the way he had glared at her, lips drawn back, fangs dripping blood, eyes blazing red with anger as he surrendered his prey.

  Unchecked, untutored, he would have been a savage predator.

  She had seen no sign of that brutality in the years since then, but deep in her heart, she feared the danger still existed.

  Chapter Four

  Sheree rolled onto her side and stared out the bedroom window, her thoughts immediately turning to the man she had met last night. She had never known a man who intrigued her as he did, nor one as breathtakingly handsome, or as blatantly sexy.

  Almost, he looked too good to be real, as if some benevolent genie had read her mind and conjured a man who was everything she had ever dreamed of. Long dark hair: check. Dusky skin: check. Dark gray eyes: check. Tall and broad shouldered: check. Long muscular arms: check.

  She loved the way he looked, with his high cheekbones and eyes that were slightly slanted, the way he moved, as if his feet hardly touched the floor, the way he held her when they danced, the way he looked at her, as if she was the most beguiling woman he had ever met.

  Slipping out of bed, she stretched her arms over her head, wishing it was nine at night and she was about to get ready to meet her mysterious stranger instead of nine in the morning on her way to the dentist.

  Sheree had arrived at Nosferatu’s Den at nine-thirty that night. She had waited as long as she could, but there was just no way to ignore her eagerness to see him again. She had thought the day would never end. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she’d been able to go to work. At least that would have been a distraction. But she’d been laid off weeks ago. She could have gone job hunting, but none of the ads in the paper appealed to her, and she wasn’t qualified for the ones that did.

  Donning a pair of shorts and an old T-shirt, she had plunged into her usual weekend chores: dusting, vacuuming, changing the sheets on the bed. She cleaned the bathroom, did two loads of laundry, and was done by noon. A quick lunch, and the day stretched endlessly before her.

  With hours to kill, she had gone shopping for something new to wear that night. Wanting to stand out from the crowd at the Den, she had bought a long silver sheath with a slit up the side her mother would have found scandalous, new underwear—just in case—and a pair of heels.

  Back at home, she had showered, shaved her legs, washed her hair, and been ready to go by eight-thirty.

  And now it was a quarter after ten, the club was crowded, and he still wasn’t there. Maybe he wasn’t coming. She had just decided to go home when something drew her gaze to the entrance. And he was there, striding toward her, oozing testosterone. He wore black slacks and a black silk shirt, open at the throat.

  Warmth spread through her as she watched him draw closer. And then he was close enough to touch, his smile caressing her as he took her hands in his.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  She shrugged. He was there now; that was all that mattered.

  “You look very pretty this evening, shining like the sun at midnight.”

  Cheeks flushing, she murmured, “Thank you.”

  “Not playing the vampire tonight?” he mused, gesturing at her gown.

  “No. Disappointed?”

  “Not at all. There are enough fake fangs and black wigs in this place already.” He lifted a lock of her golden hair and let it slip through his fingers. “Don’t you know you’re prettier as God made you?”

  He guided her to a booth in the back, slid in beside her, his thigh brushing hers, sending little frissons of anticipation rocketing through her. “So, will you tell me your name tonight?”

  “If you tell me yours.”

  “Derek.”

  “Sheree.”

  “A lovely name for a lovely lady. So, what are you in the mood for?”

  You. She bit back the word, the heat in her cheeks growing warmer as her gaze met his. She breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t spoken out loud, that he couldn’t read her mind.

  He lifted one brow, a mysterious glint in his eye. “Can’t decide?”

  “I don’t know. I always order a Bloody Mary but I think I’d like to try something different tonight.”

  “How about a Vampire’s Kiss?”

  She stared at him. “A what?”

  “A Vampire’s Kiss. It’s a French martini.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s good.”

  She eyed him skeptically. “What’s in it?”

  “Finlandia Vodka, Korbel Champagne, Chambord, and a bit of sugar tinted red for the rim of the glass.”

  “What’s Chambord?”

  “It’s a black raspberry liqueur. It gives the drink its dark color. For a more realistic look, some bartenders drizzle red syrup or grenadine on the inside edge of the glass so it looks like blood dripping.”

  “Have you had it before?”

  He nodded. “It’s an elegant drink. Real
ly quite good. Are you game?”

  She hesitated. Something in the way he said “game” conjured a quick mental image of a fawn being brought down by a hungry lion.

  “Sheree?”

  She realized the waitress had arrived and was waiting for their order. “I think I’ll just have a glass of chardonnay.”

  Derek smiled at the waitress. “Make it two.” He leaned back, his arm resting on the top edge of the booth. “Not feeling daring tonight, after all?”

  She laughed, suddenly self-conscious without knowing why. “I don’t think I want to drink anything that looks like blood.”

  “Ah.”

  Disliking the silence that fell between them, she said, “What do you do for a living?”

  “I play the stock market from time to time.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded.

  “Seems like a risky way to make a living. Especially these days.”

  He shrugged. “I do all right. And I can afford to lose.”

  “Oh?”

  Leaning forward, he whispered, “My parents are very rich.”

  Lowering her voice, she murmured, “So are mine.”

  He wasn’t surprised. Everything about her screamed money, from her shoes to her handbag. “You don’t work, then?”

  “I used to. I was laid off three weeks ago. You don’t know anyone who wants to hire someone with absolutely no skills, do you?”

  “Why do you need a job?”

  “A girl has to do something with her time. The only thing is, I’m not really qualified for anything.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head. “I majored in folklore in college. Not exactly in demand these days.”

  “I guess not. You should have been taking classes in aerospace engineering and computer programming.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Derek smiled at the waitress when she delivered their order.

  Sheree noticed the tip he left was more than the cost of their drinks. A good sign, she thought. She had dated a lot of guys who claimed to be wealthy, but expected her to pay for dinner.

  Sheree took the glass he offered her. “Last night we drank to new beginnings,” she said. “What shall we drink to tonight?”

  His gaze moved over her, blatantly bold. “Getting to know each other better?”

  Everything female within her responded to the heated look in his eyes, the sexual intimacy implied in his suggestion.

  With a nod, she lifted her glass, felt his gaze linger on her throat as she swallowed.

  Derek glanced at the dance floor. Several couples were locked in each other’s arms, rocking back and forth in time to a low, sensual beat.

  He jerked his chin at the dancers, then held out his hand. “Shall we?”

  Her hand was small and warm in his as he led her onto the floor and drew her into his arms. Wonderful pastime, dancing, he thought. The perfect excuse to hold her close, feel the welcome heat of her body against his. Being this close to him made her nervous. He knew it by the sudden uptick in the beat of her heart.

  “So, I gather you’re really into the whole vampire scene,” he remarked after a moment.

  “They fascinate me. Of course, rationally I know they don’t exist, but . . .” She shook her head. “I can’t help believing they do.”

  “And what do you think they’d be like, if they were real?”

  “I’m not sure.” It was hard to focus when he was so close, when his breath was warm against her cheek. He held her lightly, yet she was aware of a barely leashed power lurking just beneath the surface. “What do you think?”

  “I suppose it would depend on the vampire.”

  “Oh? In what way?”

  He drew her closer, inhaling the fragrance of her hair and skin, the faint coppery scent of the warm red tide that flowed silently through her veins. “I imagine vampires are like people in most ways. Some good, some bad. Some brave, some not. Some happy with their nocturnal lifestyle, some wishing for relief.”

  “Hmm. I never thought of that.”

  His knuckles stroked the side of her neck. “You’ve obviously never considered the danger, either.”

  She shivered at his touch. “What do you mean?”

  “Vampires are born predators.”

  “Even the good ones?”

  “Even the good ones.”

  “But you don’t believe they really exist, do you?”

  He was about to say he knew they did when a familiar scent wafted through the air. Looking toward the entrance, he swore under his breath, then led Sheree back to their table.

  “Is something wrong?” Sheree asked, sliding into the booth.

  “Oh, yeah,” Derek said, still standing. “My sister is here.” The lie rolled easily off his lips. After all, he couldn’t very well introduce Mara as his mother, not when she looked younger than he did.

  Sheree glanced past Derek to see a slender woman gliding toward them. “She’s lovely,” Sheree murmured, although lovely didn’t really do the young woman justice. Her skin was smooth and clear, her figure slim and perfect. Hair as black as ebony fell down to her hips.

  The woman smiled as she approached. “Derek, how nice to see you.”

  “Sister, dear.” He didn’t ask what she was doing there, but the question was implied in the tone of his voice.

  “You must be Sheree. I’m Mara.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you. Won’t you join us?”

  “No, thank you.” Mara laughed softly. “I just stopped by for a drink.”

  “Do you come here often?” Sheree asked.

  “Now and then, when I’m thirsty. I don’t want to intrude on your evening, but it was lovely meeting you, Sheree.”

  Rising on her tiptoes, Mara kissed Derek on the cheek, then melted into the crowd.

  “You two seem very close,” Sheree remarked. “I always wanted a sister, or an older brother.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” Derek slid into the booth, his gaze following his mother’s progress toward the bar. What the hell was she doing here? As if he didn’t know. “Do you want another drink?”

  “I don’t think so.” Sheree frowned. “Mara. That name sounds familiar somehow.”

  “Does it?”

  She leaned forward, one elbow propped on the table, her chin resting on her hand. “I overheard a couple of men mention it one night. But they were talking about vampires, so I’m sure it was another Mara.”

  “Of course. What were they saying about her?”

  “Something about her being the oldest, most powerful vampire in existence.” Sitting back, she made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “They claimed she knew Cleopatra.”

  It was nearing one A.M. when Derek walked Sheree to her car. After kissing her good night, he returned to the Den and ordered a real vampire martini: a glass of red wine laced with blood. Sipping it slowly, he thought about what she had said. People—other vampires? hunters?—were talking about Mara. He had to wonder who they were and what, exactly, they had been saying. His mother had kept a pretty low profile for the past twenty-six years. Few outside their family knew she had somehow evolved from vampire to human, a mystery no one could explain, or that she had willingly given up her humanity because of him.

  At Mara’s urging, his stepfather had bestowed the Dark Gift upon her. Her preternatural powers had returned stronger than ever, perhaps because Blackwood’s blood was Mara’s blood. She had always been a force to be reckoned with, but never more so than now. If those talking about her were humans hoping to do her harm, they were in for a hell of a surprise, one that was likely to be their last.

  Like the rest of his family, Derek was in awe of his mother. Although she looked younger than he did, she had been born in Egypt in the time of the pharaohs.

  His mother. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, her eyes a deep emerald green, her hair thick and long and as black as night. Not only was she the most beautiful, but she was the most powerful creature in existen
ce. He had grown up on stories of her life—how she had been raised as a slave in the house of Chuma, one of Pharaoh’s trusted advisers, and how, just a month shy of her fifteenth birthday, her master had given her to Shakir, a wealthy ally, as a gift. There had been no male slaves in Shakir’s household, no eunuchs. Mara had skimmed over the years she’d spent in Shakir’s palace, but it had been easy for Derek to imagine what she had suffered there. She had run away so many times that her master had finally locked her in a cell, releasing her only when he desired her to warm his bed.

  Had it not been for Dendar, the vampire who had come to her in the dark of night, Mara likely would have perished in that foul prison. Dendar had turned her and deserted her, leaving Mara to discover for herself what she had become and how to survive. Fueled by rage infused with preternatural power, she had avenged herself on the men who had used and abused her, and then destroyed the vampire who had made her.

  She had confessed once that she regretted killing her sire. Had I known how wonderful it is to be a vampire, she had said with a sigh, I might have kissed him instead. Knowing his mother would blow off his concern, Derek made a quick call to Logan, advising his stepfather that Sheree had overheard some men talking about Mara.

  He might be worrying for nothing, Derek mused when he ended the call, but why take chances?

  Chapter Five

  Sheree drove home slowly, her thoughts on Derek. And his sister, who was as beautiful as her brother was handsome.

  While getting ready for bed, Sheree tried to remember exactly what the men she had heard talking about Mara had said. Of course, it couldn’t be the same Mara, just an odd coincidence.

  She tried to imagine what it would be like to have lived since the time of Cleopatra, to have watched the world change so drastically. Every new invention must seem like a miracle to someone born back then.

  How did you adjust to such radical changes in your life? But then, modern man had to adjust to changes, too. Horses replaced by cars, candles replaced by gas lights and then electricity. Paperback books going the way of the dinosaur. Landlines being swallowed up by cell phones that grew increasingly more powerful and did practically everything but the laundry. Not that people did much laundry these days, what with disposable clothing and material that shed dirt the way ducks shed water.