Dead Sexy

Reaching into her handbag, she withdrew her gun and slipped it under her pillow. Always better to be safe than sorry.

  With a sigh, she turned onto her side and closed her eyes, only to bolt upright a moment later. If he didn’t sleep here, where did he sleep?

  She glanced around the room, but there was no sign of a coffin, no pile of dirt from the place of his birth. Maybe he had lied to her. Maybe this really was his bed! Maybe he was only waiting for her to fall asleep before he crawled in beside her.

  That troublesome thought kept her awake for hours.

  Santiago paced the floor in front of the hearth, keenly aware of the woman in his bedroom. In his bed.

  Damn. After Marishka, he had sworn he would never again let a woman get close to him, never allow one to become important to him. He had seduced them and bedded them, but never, ever, let himself care for them. But this one, this Regan Delaney, had somehow managed to find her way past his defenses. And while his fondness for her might cause him a few restless nights, it could very well cost her a great deal more.

  He swore softly. Loving him had cost Marishka her life, and while he had vowed that he would protect Regan Delaney from Vasile, he wasn’t all that sure that he would prevail. Vasile was not trapped inside when the sun rode the sky. It was Vasile’s very freedom of movement during the daylight hours that had given the werewolf the power to destroy Marishka while she took her rest. Had Santiago been new in the life, he had no doubt that he, too, would have died that day so long ago. But he had been an old vampire, even then. His age and his instinct for self-preservation had served him well that day.

  He paused in midstride, listening as Regan kicked off her shoes, drew back the covers on his bed, and slid beneath the sheets. With his preternatural senses, he could hear each breath she took, each beat of her heart, hear the whisper of blood flowing through her veins…

  His fangs teased his tongue. She was here, in his house, in his bed. His for the taking.

  He resumed pacing, his hands clenched at his sides as he fought the urge to sweep her into his arms and succumb to the hunger burning through him. Every breath he took carried the scent of her hair, her skin, her life’s blood. She would be sweet, so sweet. He could almost feel her in his arms, taste her on his tongue.

  One taste. She need never know. She would never miss it.

  A thought carried him to the bedroom door. He looked down to find his hand on the knob, unable to remember how he had gotten there.

  Swearing a vile oath, he stormed out of his apartment, down the stairs, and across the park. He came to an abrupt halt when his foot touched the sidewalk. What was he doing? He couldn’t go haring off into the night, couldn’t leave Regan alone, unprotected, while Vasile was in the city.

  Santiago’s gaze swept right and left. The werewolf could be here now, waiting, watching.

  Blowing out a deep breath, Santiago returned to his apartment. Entering his bedroom, he made sure the woman was sleeping peacefully. With a sigh, he settled down in the chair beside the closet, his every sense attuned to the mortal female in his bed. He was aware of every breath she took, every beat of her heart, the faint, flowery scent of her hair, her skin.

  His hunger rose, and with it a growing desire to crawl into bed beside her, to take what he wanted, by force if necessary.

  When his fangs pricked his tongue, he fled the room, afraid he would succumb to the sweet temptation she presented.

  In the living room, he flung himself onto the sofa and closed his eyes.

  It was going to be a long night.

  Regan woke slowly, surprised to find that it was still dark outside. She stretched her arms over her head and out to the side, then paused with the sudden certainty that she wasn’t alone in the room.

  Heart pounding, she glanced slowly to the left. There was nothing there. Hardly daring to breathe, she slid a glance to the right, felt her blood freeze in her veins when she saw a pair of hell-red eyes staring at her from out of the darkness.

  It was him. She knew it. The creature who had killed the people in the park.

  The werewolf. And he had come for her.

  She opened her mouth to scream but no sound emerged from her throat.

  The eyes grew larger—and closer.

  She had often watched movies where women in peril seemed unable to move. She had always thought of them as being weak-willed and too stupid to live as she mentally screamed at them to get up and run, for goodness’ sake! She knew now why they didn’t. She couldn’t move, could scarcely breathe past the tight knot of fear growing ever larger and colder within her.

  She was going to die. Quick visions of the mutilated bodies she had seen in the park rose in her mind, filling her with renewed horror. Where was Santiago when she needed him?

  No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the bedroom door flew open and the vampire was there, fangs gleaming in the moonlight, his eyes glowing as hellishly red as the werewolf’s.

  They came together in a rush, two preternatural creatures viciously lashing out at each other with gleaming fangs and razor-sharp claws.

  She screamed as the werewolf’s claws gouged a great hole in Santiago’s chest and then, with a mighty roar, the werewolf ripped the vampire’s heart from his chest…

  She screamed and screamed again as strong hands folded over her shoulders, shaking her lightly.

  “Regan! Regan, wake up!”

  Her eyelids flew open and she saw Santiago bending over her.

  A dream. Relief whooshed out of her in a sigh. It had only been a dream.

  But then she looked into Santiago’s eyes, eyes that glowed with an inhuman light, and wished that she was back in her nightmare. As frightening as it had been, she had been safe in her dream.

  No such safety existed here.

  Santiago took one look at her face and slowly backed away from Regan. Her fear was a palpable thing.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “That must have been some nightmare.”

  “You have no idea,” she replied, her voice shaky.

  “Why are you sleeping on the floor?”

  “I…because I…”

  “Go on,” he coaxed, his tone one of barely suppressed amusement.

  She felt her cheeks grow warm under his knowing grin.

  “Were you, by chance, afraid to sleep in my bed?”

  “Of course not,” she lied. “I…I must have fallen out during the night.” That was a lie, too. Knowing she was in his bed had kept her tossing and turning until, at last, she had dragged the covers and one of the pillows onto the floor.

  Clutching the sheet in one hand, she glanced around the room, still shaken by the last vestiges of her dream. It had seemed so real.

  “Your nightmare,” he said quietly. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

  She shook her head vigorously. That was the last thing she wanted.

  “You are safe here.” One look at her expression told him she knew it for the lie it was. He was a vampire. She was prey. She would never truly be safe in his presence. “Go back to sleep, girl,” he said, his voice gruff. “I will keep you safe until tomorrow.”

  “And then?”

  Before she could protest, he picked her up, blankets and all, settled her on the bed, and tucked her in. “I give you my word that you will be safe so long as you stay here.”

  She nodded, the covers pulled up to her chin. “Would you…would you leave the light on, please?”

  She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She had never been afraid of the dark, never behaved like one of those gutless females she despised. She was a vampire hunter, for crying out loud, not some nervous Nellie. She had hunted vampires and even killed a few. But she had never been in a situation like this before, never had a vampire look at her the way the master of the city looked at her. Never felt such a primal attraction to any male before, man or vampire.

  At her request, he switched on the light. It had been so long since he had needed any kind of illumination to see
by, he sometimes forgot that mortals took comfort in it.

  Leaving the room, he closed the door behind him. If only it was as easy to shut out his awareness of her. As prey. As a woman…

  Going to the condo’s only window, Santiago drew back the heavy blackout drapes and gazed out into the night. Only a few stars remained visible in the sky. It would be dawn soon. He could protect her as long as she stayed here, but if she left his apartment…a muscle worked in his jaw. He could keep her here by force, if need be, though he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  He thought back to the last time he and Vasile had met. Both had come away badly hurt. Both had drawn blood. Both had tasted the blood of the other, and in some way that Santiago didn’t understand, it had changed them. Werewolves were influenced by the full moon. It was then that they changed shape, never during the day. But Santiago’s blood had, in some freakish way, made it possible for Vasile to shift in the daytime, while Vasile’s blood had given Santiago a certain immunity from the deadly effects of the sun, giving him the power to be active during the day if he desired, though he could not walk outside in the sun’s light.

  And now Vasile knew where he made his home, and that Regan was here.

  Chapter 8

  Regan woke to darkness. Frowning, she glanced around the room, wondering what time it was. She didn’t usually wake up in the middle of the night, but the room was dark beyond the faint glow of the lamp on the bedside table. Closing her eyes, she tried to go back to sleep, but it was no use. She was wide awake. Maybe a glass of warm milk would help her relax.

  Slipping out of bed, she went into the kitchen. She ran her hands along the wall, searching for the light switch. It wasn’t until she opened the refrigerator and saw several plump plastic bags filled with red liquid that she remembered where she was.

  Grimacing, she quickly closed the refrigerator door, thinking how bizarre it was that the condos at the Vampire Arms had functional kitchens, complete with ovens and dishwashers. But then, some of the vampires had human lovers, so maybe it wasn’t so odd after all.

  After turning off the light, she made her way into the dark living room.

  A muffled “oomph!” escaped her lips when she bumped into something. She let out a shriek when a hand reached out to steady her.

  “Do not be afraid.” Santiago’s voice poured over her like hot chocolate.

  Murmuring a quick, “I’m sorry,” she backed away from him and cried out as she hit the back of her leg on a corner of the coffee table.

  Once again, his hand was there to steady her. “Stay here.”

  A moment later, the lights came on and she found herself looking up at Santiago. “I couldn’t sleep,” she explained, unsettled by his steady gaze. “I was going to get some hot milk, you know, to help me sleep even though I’m not really tired, but…” A rush of heat burned her cheeks. She was babbling like a fool.

  “It is late morning, Regan.”

  “How can that be?” She stared at him, her eyes wide. “You’re…you’re awake.”

  He shrugged. “So are you.”

  “You know what I mean. Why aren’t you asleep in your…why aren’t you asleep?”

  He grinned, obviously amused by her reluctance to mention the traditional place where vampires took their rest. “I am not yet tired.”

  She glared at him. Stubborn man. He knew very well what she was asking. And she didn’t believe for a minute that it was morning. Everyone knew that vampires were, you should pardon the expression, dead to the world until the sun went down.

  Moving past him, she went to the heavy black drapes that covered the room’s only window and pulled one back, just a little, in case he was telling the truth. After all, she didn’t want him to burst into flame right in front of her eyes.

  She squinted against the bright light of the sun, then glanced at Santiago over her shoulder. “How can you be awake?”

  He backed further into the room’s shadows. “Maybe someday I will tell you.”

  “Another secret?” she asked dryly.

  He nodded.

  “I guess you have a lot of them.”

  “More than you can imagine.” He jerked his chin toward the window. “Do you mind?”

  “What? Oh, sorry.” She dropped the heavy drapery back into place, shutting out the morning light, her curiosity growing by leaps and bounds. She had thought she knew all there was to know about vampires. Apparently, she had been wrong.

  “I regret I cannot offer you breakfast,” he said with a wry grin. “Would you like me to order you something from Sardino’s?”

  “Spaghetti and meatballs for breakfast?” she muttered dubiously. “I don’t think so.” Although it was far more preferable than what he dined on.

  His laugh was warm and rich as he picked up the phone, punched in the number for the restaurant, and handed her the phone. “Order whatever you wish. Tell Sardino to charge it to my account.”

  She didn’t like the idea of eating in front of Santiago again and was thinking about telling him that she really wasn’t hungry when her stomach growled, embarrassingly long and loud. With a sigh, she turned her back to him and ordered a waffle, bacon, coffee, and orange juice.

  “Would you care to shower while you wait?” he asked. “There are clean towels in the bathroom.”

  A shower sounded heavenly. In Flynn’s apartment, she wouldn’t have hesitated, but Flynn didn’t affect her the way Santiago did. And Flynn wasn’t a vampire.

  Santiago was watching her. Though his expression was impassive, she had a feeling he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  Lifting her chin a notch, she said, “Thank you, a shower sounds wonderful.”

  Before she could change her mind, she pivoted on her heel and headed for the bathroom. She closed and locked the door, knowing, as she did so, that nothing as flimsy as a wooden door or a lock would keep him out. She told herself she was just being paranoid. Santiago had no designs on her; he had been nothing but kind to her.

  But he was still a vampire.

  And she was still afraid of him.

  She turned on the shower, undressed quickly, and stepped under the spray. As wonderful as the water felt, being undressed in Joaquin Santiago’s shower made her decidedly ill at ease. It was, she thought as she dried off, probably the fastest shower on record.

  She pulled on her clothes and towel-dried her hair. She wished fleetingly that she had her hair dryer and her makeup, then chided herself for worrying about how she looked. He was a vampire, for goodness’ sake, not a prospective boyfriend!

  Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the bathroom door and went into the living room. She hadn’t paid much attention to her surroundings earlier. Looking around now, she understood why. There was little to see. The walls were white and bare, the carpet a nondescript shade of beige. A brown sofa and matching chair were grouped in front of the fireplace. Somehow, none of the furnishings in this room, as sparse as they were, seemed to suit its occupant.

  “You are just in time,” Santiago said. “The delivery boy left your breakfast outside.”

  With a nod, Regan retrieved the tray and carried it into the kitchen. The walls were white and devoid of any decoration. The appliances were white and, as far as she could tell, had never been used. The space was so sterile, it reminded her of a hospital operating room.

  Santiago followed her to the kitchen, then stopped in the doorway, one shoulder negligently propped against the jamb.

  Sitting at the small, round, glass-and-metal table, Regan lifted the cover from the tray, pleased to see that Sardino had included utensils and a napkin. The waffle looked light enough to float away; the three strips of bacon were cooked just the way she liked them.

  She looked up at Santiago. “Why do I have the feeling I’m the first person that’s ever eaten in here?”

  “Perhaps because you are,” he replied with a faint grin. “Maybe I should stock the shelves.”

  Regan looked at him sharply. “I don’t think that wil
l be necessary.”

  He shrugged. “You know what they say, it pays to be prepared.”

  “Well, don’t bother. I doubt if I’ll be spending much time here.”

  “Maybe I could change your mind.”

  “Why would you want to?”

  “I find myself enjoying your company.”

  She was flattered in spite of herself. Truth be told, she enjoyed his company, too, but there was no future in it. Even if she could get past the fact that he was a vampire, she wasn’t sure if they were even the same species anymore.

  With a shake of her head, Regan concentrated on the food on her plate, acutely aware of Joaquin Santiago’s watchful gaze. She searched her mind for something to break the silence and said the first thing that popped into her head.

  “Do you ever miss real food?”

  His gaze slid over her throat. “Not for years.”

  “What do you miss?”

  “What makes you think I miss anything?”

  “Don’t you?”

  He thought about it a moment, then shrugged. “The advantages of being a vampire far outweigh what I lost.”

  “Advantages?” she scoffed. “Like not being able to go outside during the day? Like drinking blood? Like being unable to have children and being forced to live in this…” She made a gesture that encompassed his apartment. “This prison?”

  “I call being alive a distinct advantage,” he retorted. “If not for the Dark Trick, I would have been dead centuries ago.”

  “But you aren’t alive. Not really.”

  “No?”

  He moved toward her, his eyes so dark they looked almost black as his hands folded over her shoulders and lifted her to her feet. The fork in her hand fell to the table and skittered onto the floor.

  “Not alive?” he asked, his voice soft and silky as he drew her into his arms. “Could a dead man kiss you like this?”

  Kiss? The word jump-started her heart. He was going to kiss her. Before the thought had time to register in her mind, his mouth was swooping down on hers, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that sent frissons of heat exploding through every inch of her body before settling in the pit of her stomach. His lips were surprisingly warm, his tongue like a flame sliding over her lips, imprinting his taste on her skin like a brand.