Right now, she didn’t have time for any kind of relationship. If she wanted to reclaim her humanity, she had to find Vasile and destroy him. It sounded so easy, yet she knew it would be difficult, perhaps impossible, to accomplish. She wondered if werewolves grew stronger with age, the way vampires did. She would have to remember to ask Santiago.
The thought had no sooner crossed her mind than there was a knock on the door. It could only be him. Her heart did a funny little quickstep as, sitting up, she bid him enter.
He loomed larger than life in the doorway. He had changed into a pair of black sweatpants and a black T-shirt. His feet were bare. Her mouth went dry as her gaze moved over his broad chest and muscular arms. She had a sudden urge to go to him, to run her fingers through his hair, to rain kisses over his cheeks, along the line of his jaw, across his brow.
Just looking at him made her whole body tingle with awareness. She felt very female, very alive. And very vulnerable.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, unable to keep her voice from trembling.
“No. I was…” He paused, then said in a rush. “I was lonely. Would you mind if I held you for a while?”
Remembering the way she melted whenever he kissed her, she shook her head. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” Secretly, she thought it was a wonderful idea. Just not a smart one. Especially now, when her senses were more acute, when she could smell his need and his desire. Was he as aware of her yearnings as she was of his?
She saw the hurt in his eyes before he blinked it away.
He bowed from the waist in a courtly gesture. “I am sorry to have troubled you,” he said, and turning around, he stepped through the doorway.
He even looked good walking away.
Did she really want him to go?
She reminded herself that he was a vampire, master of the city. He could take any woman he wanted.
And he wanted her.
“Joaquin, wait.”
He stopped but didn’t look back at her.
“I’d like to have you hold me.” How could she turn him away when he had held her and comforted her in her darkest hour?
She saw his shoulders tense. “I do not need your pity, Regan.”
“It isn’t pity. I’m lonely, too. And worried about the future.”
Slowly, he turned away from the door. He hesitated a moment, as if having second thoughts, and then he moved toward the bed, slid in beside her, and gathered her into his arms.
His nearness set her heart to beating double-time as she rested her head on his shoulder. It felt all too comfortable to be lying beside him, all too right when it was oh, so wrong! She closed her eyes when he began to stroke her hair. When had anything felt so good? His touch was tender, caring, sensual. His breath was warm against her neck, his body a temptation she didn’t want to resist.
“Ah, Regan,” he murmured huskily, “do you know what a treasure you are?”
She hoped he didn’t expect an answer because she couldn’t seem to find her voice.
“I have lived alone for so long,” he went on. “I told myself it was better that way. It was not until I met you that I realized how empty my existence has been, how lonely I have been.”
“Joaquin…”
He placed a finger over her lips. “Shh. I do not expect anything from you in return, my lovely one. I only wanted you to know that you have enriched my life. Anything you ask of me, save one thing, I will give you.”
She knew what that one thing was. He wouldn’t take her life, even if she wanted him to.
“I won’t ask that of you again,” she said. “I promise.”
“Will you seal it with your blood?”
Her eyelids flew open. “What are you talking about? You mean, like a blood oath?”
“I will taste you. You will taste me.”
“Taste how?” she asked suspiciously.
“Nothing like what you are thinking,” he assured her. “I will prick your finger and taste a drop of your blood, and then you will taste mine.”
“I don’t know…”
“It will not hurt, nor will it bind you to me in any way, or make you as I am.”
She wasn’t worried about him bringing her across. She knew how vampires were made and it took more than a drop of blood. Still, a voluntary exchange of blood was…creepy. Intimate. Intriguing.
“All right,” she agreed reluctantly.
Santiago sat up and settled her on his lap so that her legs straddled his thighs. She watched nervously as, using his thumbnail, he made a small cut in his little finger. A single drop of dark red blood oozed from the tiny wound.
Fighting down her revulsion, Regan leaned forward and licked the blood from the tip of his finger. It was warm and surprisingly sweet.
Taking her hand in his, he made a similar cut in her little finger. Instead of licking the blood, he took her finger into his mouth.
A shaft of liquid heat shot straight to her belly, then spread to every nerve ending in her body.
Still holding her hand in his, he said, “Was that so bad?”
“No,” she replied hoarsely.
Slowly, deliberately, he wrapped his arms around her. His dark eyes glittered with desire; she could feel the male heat of him pressing against her belly.
She stared into his eyes—deep blue eyes, dark with hunger, not for blood, but for her.
Looking into those eyes, she was afraid that he was going to lay her down on the bed and make love to her, and even more afraid that she was going to let him.
“I thought…” It was suddenly hard to speak. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “I thought you said you just wanted to hold me.”
“I am holding you.”
She nodded. If he were holding her any closer, she would be behind him.
His hand slid into her hair, then, drawing her head toward his, he kissed her. He didn’t close his eyes and neither did she.
His eyes…fathomless midnight blue eyes that burned with an inner fire. His tongue teased her lips, his hand massaged her back; his touch like nothing she had ever felt before. How could such a simple thing feel so provocative, so sensual? She squirmed against him and heard him groan. With pain or pleasure, she couldn’t be sure. She only knew that she, too, was feeling aroused, and more so with every stroke of his hand, every stroke of his tongue.
Muttering an oath, he lifted her from his lap, stretched out on the mattress and drew her down beside him, one arm lightly draped over her waist.
“What are you doing?” she asked, feeling bereft of his touch.
“Keeping my word,” he said, his voice ragged. “And believe me, just holding you is the most difficult thing I have ever done.”
Chapter 19
Vasile stared at the body at his feet. Word of the girl’s death had brought him home. Nadia had been one of the young ones, just entering her prime. She had been betrothed to one of their finest young men. Vasile had held great hopes for the pair of them, knowing they would produce strong progeny. Now that hope lay dead at his feet.
“Who did this?” He glanced at the men and women gathered around him. “Who did this!”
“A man from the village. She killed one of his sheep. He shot her while she was feeding.”
A vile oath escaped Vasile’s lips. The girl’s loss was a huge blow. His gaze rested on the other single pack females. Two of them would not be of breeding age for another five or six years. The third, Zina, was approaching middle age. She should have been mated by now, but she had refused all offers, as was her right.
He swore again. He had never intended to mate. His heart had died with Marishka. For years, he had been content to be the leader of the mountain pack, to slake his lust on mortal whores. But now…perhaps it was time to put the past behind him and take a mate. His thoughts immediately turned to Santiago’s woman. He had intended to kill her but then, in one act of sheer stupidity, he had bitten her, thereby making her one of them. According to pack law, she was now under hi
s protection. The irony of it did not go unnoticed.
He swore yet again. And then he smiled. He had made the woman, Regan, one of them. She was a healthy female in her prime, the perfect age to begin breeding. When he returned to America, he would make her his. He knew she would not be willing, which would make their joining that much more enjoyable. He did not want a mate who wouldn’t fight, who wouldn’t challenge him from time to time.
They buried Nadia’s mutilated body in the family plot high in the mountains. When it was done, Vasile took Nadia’s parents aside. “I will avenge her,” he promised.
“I will go with you,” Nadia’s father said.
“No.”
“It is my right.”
Vasile nodded. He had not planned to stay here for more than a day or two, but now, looking into Stefan’s eyes, he knew he couldn’t refuse to let the man accompany him. Family ties ran strong in their kind, as did the need for vengeance.
“When the moon is full,” Vasile said curtly, even though it meant staying longer than he had originally intended.
Nadia’s father bowed his head. “When the moon is full.”
Standing at the window of his house, Vasile gazed out into the darkness. He had not been back here in years. Guilt gnawed at him when he considered the decline of his people. Their spirits were low, their numbers decreasing, their hunting grounds growing ever smaller as civilization spread outward. Other packs were growing larger, stronger. Perhaps it was time to relocate the pack…
He turned as someone knocked at the door.
“Come,” he called.
The woman who entered his dwelling was tall and fair skinned, with short brown hair and dark brown eyes. She inclined her head in his direction, a sign of respect from a member of the pack to its leader.
“What do you want, Zina?” he asked brusquely.
“Have you come home to stay?” she asked, her voice equally brusque.
“No.”
“Your place is here, with us. The pack needs you.”
“They follow you well enough.”
She shook her head. “I am not their leader. Our young men are restless, they need your guidance.” She lifted her chin, the gesture as defiant as her stance, her gaze intent as she met his. “It is time for you to take a mate.”
Muttering an oath, he stalked toward her, his lips peeled back in an angry snarl. “You dare much, Zina,” he warned. It was not the first time she had challenged his authority. She was a strong-willed woman. She had never mated and seemed content to remain single. Long ago, when the pack’s number began to decrease, he had ordered her to mate. To Vasile’s amazement, she had refused. Had she done so in front of the pack, he would have had no choice but to kill her for her insubordination. Instead, he had put her in charge of the pack when he was away.
She stood her ground without flinching. “You need a mate,” she repeated. “It will bind the pack together. It will show them that you have not deserted us.” She took a deep breath. “I offer myself.”
Vasile stared at her, stunned by her audacity. Had she been waiting for him to return to the pack? Was that why she had never taken another as her mate? She was a strong female, the only one the pack would follow. Between them, they would produce strong, healthy offspring. Had he not been consumed with his desire to avenge Marishka’s death, he might have considered taking Zina for his mate long ago even though he bore no love for her, no tender feelings. But he had always admired her courage.
Vasile frowned as he considered her proposition. Werewolves, like feral wolves, mated for life. “You wish to be my mate?”
“I will have no other.”
He grunted softly. “Our pack will soon have a new female. She was blooded by me and as such, she is my responsibility. I intend to have her as my mate as well.”
“She is an outsider.”
Vasile shrugged. “Perhaps, but she will be mine.”
“I will accept her among us,” Zina said, a touch of arrogance in her tone, “but I will not be subservient to her.”
Approaching the woman, Vasile rubbed his body against hers. He took a deep breath, drawing in her scent. She was still in her prime, strong and healthy. He could do worse. He grasped a handful of her hair and drew her head toward his. For a moment, he stared into her eyes and then he kissed her. There was nothing of warmth or tenderness in his touch. It was a token of possession, nothing more.
“Prepare yourself,” he said, his voice rough. “We will join the first of the week.”
“So soon?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No.”
“Tell the others,” he said. If they were going to do it, they might as well do it as soon as possible.
With a nod, she turned and left the house.
Vasile stared after her. Taking Zina for a mate would mean staying here, at least for as long as it took to ensure that she conceived. If they mated in human form, the child would be human; if they mated in wolf form, the child would be born a werewolf, compelled to shift when it reached puberty.
For a time, he contemplated the prospect of fatherhood but, all too soon, his thoughts returned to Santiago’s woman. She would soon learn to accept her new state of being. If she had survived the first change, she would grow stronger with each successive change, making her more suited to be his mate. As the days and weeks passed, Santiago would gradually relax his guard, making it easier for Vasile to take him unawares when next they met.
He grunted softly. Coming home had been the right thing to do. Feeling suddenly restless, he went to look out the window again as a familiar tingling, like the prick of a thousand needles, slithered down his spine.
The new moon was rising. It was time to hunt.
Chapter 20
When Regan woke in the morning, she was alone in the bed. Picking up the pillow Santiago had slept on, she took a deep breath, her nostrils filling with his scent. She knew he had held her all through the night because nightmares had awakened her three times. Each time, it had been Santiago’s voice that had calmed her fears and his touch that had soothed her.
Sitting up, she glanced around the room. Where did he sleep? Was he close by?
Driven by her curiosity, she wandered through the house, hoping she would have some sense of his presence, but maybe that was impossible. When he slept, it was the sleep of the dead.
Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the day before. She blew out a sigh. She wouldn’t find anything to eat or drink here, she thought glumly.
Returning to the bedroom, she dressed quickly and gathered her things together. It was time to go home, time to check her messages, do her laundry, clean out her refrigerator, go grocery shopping, and get in touch with Michael.
Still, she hesitated. The only way to get home was to take Santiago’s car. She didn’t think he would mind. She didn’t like taking his car without his permission, but walking through this neighborhood alone, even in the daytime, was out of the question. Besides, it was a long walk to her apartment, and Santiago wouldn’t need the Speedster before nightfall. She would have it back by then.
She wrote him a quick note, grabbed her handbag and her suitcase, and left his lair. It was creepy, moving through the deserted warehouse by herself. Hurrying as fast as she dared, she picked her way through the gloom and the debris, breathing a sigh of relief when she stepped out into the sunshine. His car was parked at the curb.
She punched in the code for the lock, opened the door, and slid behind the wheel, thinking how amazing it was that he could leave his car parked in this part of town and expect it to be there, untouched, the following night.
She punched in the ignition code, glad that she remembered it, and pulled away from the curb. She had never driven anything as expensive or anything that handled so easily. No wonder he loved this car, she thought, it practically drove itself.
She pulled up in front of her apartment a short time later. Exiting the car, she retrieved her purse and
her luggage, locked the door, and made her way across the sidewalk toward the entrance of her building.
The manager stood near the curb, watering the yard. He was a kindly old man, always admonishing her to find a nice young man and settle down.
He smiled as she approached. “Miss Delaney,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in donkey’s years. I was beginning to worry about you.”
“No need, Mr. DeLuca, I’m fine. I was called away on an emergency.”
“Oh, right! I don’t know where my head is these days. Miss Polly told me she was collecting your mail. I hope it wasn’t anything serious that called you away.”
“No, it was just a…a personal matter that needed my attention,” she said, wondering what he would think if he knew he had a werewolf living in his building. Would he evict her?
“Oh, I fixed that broken window,” Mr. DeLuca said.
“Broken window?”
“On the north side of the apartment. I replaced it while you were gone. I hope you don’t mind.”
Regan frowned inwardly. Broken window? What broken window?
“Ordinarily, I would have asked your permission before entering your apartment,” Mr. DeLuca said apologetically, “but since I couldn’t get ahold of you…”
“No, that’s all right.”
“You know I never intrude on my tenants.”
She laid her hand on his arm. “Thank you for fixing it for me. I should have told her about it, but…I, uh, I was in a hurry when I left, and it was late. How’s Mrs. DeLuca?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.
“Doing much better. The doctor says she’ll be up and around in no time at all.”
“I’m glad.” Evelyn DeLuca was a tiny woman, hardly bigger than a minute, and perhaps the clumsiest woman Regan had ever known. Mrs. DeLuca was forever breaking things, usually crockery, but her latest mishap had resulted in a broken leg. “Tell her hello for me.”
“I’ll do that.”
Entering the lobby, Regan took the elevator to her floor, turned left, and walked down the hallway to her apartment, noting, as she did so, that Mr. DeLuca had painted the hallway in her absence. The walls, once a rather stomach-churning shade of pea green, were now a pale and much more becoming shade of sky blue. She would have to remember to compliment him on his color choice.