Dead Sexy

by Amanda Ashley

  It was the most incredible, unforgettable, mind-blowing kiss she had ever known. It heated her blood, made her skin tingle and her toes curl, until she was aware of nothing but the man holding her in his embrace, his mouth moving over hers, by turns teasing and seductive. But for his arms holding her upright, she was certain she would have melted into a pool of liquid desire at his feet.

  She stared up at him, bereft and confused, when he broke the kiss.

  His gaze bored into hers, hot and heavy. “Has any mortal man ever kissed you like that, Regan Delaney?”

  Dazed, she shook her head.

  He smiled at her, a look of pure masculine satisfaction. “I did not think so,” he said arrogantly.

  She couldn’t think of anything to say, couldn’t think at all. Her lips felt swollen and on fire, her legs felt like Jell-O, her mind like Swiss cheese. She would have done anything he asked, she thought, if only he would kiss her like that again. It was disconcerting to discover that one kiss could leave her feeling so muddled. No doubt making love to him would leave her in a disoriented state for days, maybe weeks.

  Lifting one hand, he cupped her cheek. His touch sent shivers of awareness and anticipation skittering down her spine. Right or wrong, she wanted his kisses more than her next breath.

  His widening smile told her he knew exactly what effect his nearness and his caresses had on her senses.

  It was annoying that he read her so easily, she thought irritably, and then grinned. He was holding her close, close enough that she could feel the effect she had on him, as well. It was nice to know it wasn’t all one-sided!

  “I need to go home.” She had to get out of here. She couldn’t think clearly in his presence, couldn’t think of anything but black satin sheets and his mouth on hers, hot and wet. She stepped out of his embrace. She needed a change of clothes, needed to check her messages, sleep in her own bed, and breathe air that didn’t carry his hot, masculine scent to her with every breath.

  “I do not think that is wise.”

  “I don’t care what you think. I can’t stay here indefinitely.”

  “Wait until dusk, and I will take you.”

  “I don’t think there’s any danger during the day. The killings have all been at night.” She frowned. “I thought werewolves only shifted at night when the moon was full.”

  “Most do.”

  “But not Vasile?”

  “No.”

  “Do you mean that he can shift anytime he wants?”

  Santiago nodded.

  “And you don’t have to sleep during the day.” She frowned. “Why do I feel there’s a connection there?”

  “Perhaps because there is.”

  Regan sat down, all thought of going home forgotten. “I’m listening.”

  Santiago considered whether he should tell her the truth, then shrugged, thinking it might be wise to let her know what they were up against.

  Taking hold of the chair across from hers, he straddled it, then folded his arms across the back. “Vasile killed someone I cared for,” he began slowly. “I hunted him down and we fought. During the battle, I bit him. He shifted and he bit me. The taste of his blood was like acid on my tongue. It left me feeling weak, sick. I can only guess that my blood had the same effect on him because he ran away. I am guessing that ingesting my blood drained him of strength, at least for a time. I found a new lair and…” He grinned wryly. “If you will pardon the pun, I slept like the dead for several days.” He did not tell her of Marishka or of the nights he had spent holding her lifeless body in his arms. “When I woke, it was morning and I discovered I was no longer held captive by the Dark Sleep.”

  “So you can go out during the day?”

  “No, but the rising of the sun no longer renders me powerless.”

  “Did your blood affect Vasile?”

  Santiago nodded again. “I believe it is my blood that allows him to shift during the day. I have hunted him for centuries. And now he is here.”

  “And you think he’s looking for you?”

  “Why else would he have come here?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s not looking for you at all. Maybe his being here is just a coincidence. It’s a small world, after all.”

  “Perhaps, but it does not matter. He is killing in my territory and it has to stop.”

  “What does any of this have to do with me?”

  Santiago leaned back in his chair, wondering what she would say, what she would do, if he told her the truth.

  Chapter 9

  In spite of Santiago’s suggestion that she wait until dusk, Regan put on her shoes, dropped her gun into her handbag, and after thanking him for letting her spend the night, she headed for home, one eye on the rearview mirror the whole way. Thankfully, there was no sign of a silver-gray Mercedes.

  She breathed an audible sigh of relief when she was safe inside her own apartment. After the glaring white and sparse furnishings of Santiago’s condo, her home seemed even more colorful and cluttered than usual, but that was the way she liked it, thank you very much. She liked the living room’s dark green walls, the off-white sofa, the flowered red and orange sling-back chair. Modern art decorated the walls; a tall handblown vase held a bouquet of dried red, orange, and gold flowers. The kitchen was painted a cheerful yellow, her bedroom was a bold lilac. She knew her décor was out of fashion. The trend today was earth tones or high-contrast colors, like black and white, but she didn’t care. She had never been one to follow trends in either furniture or fashion.

  She went into the bedroom and changed her clothes, combed her hair and brushed her teeth, and felt a hundred percent better.

  Going into the kitchen, she checked her messages. There was one from her mother, another from her older brother, Kevin, and two from Flynn, one “just to say hello” and one inviting her out to dinner that night.

  After calling Flynn to accept his offer, she threw a load of clothes in the washer, then went into her bedroom and turned on her computer. She spent two hours reading about werewolf mythology before weariness overcame her. Kicking off her shoes, she stretched out on the bed and was instantly asleep.

  Santiago paced the living-room floor, a distant part of his mind wishing he was in his lair in the Byways. He rarely stayed at the condo in the park. Perhaps it was time to redecorate the place so that it would be more to his liking. The white walls made him feel like he was living in a padded cell. A few paintings would relieve the monotony. He glanced disdainfully at the brown furniture, left over from the previous tenant. Perhaps it was time to get rid of that, as well.

  Pausing in front of the door, he swore softly. He didn’t give a damn about the condo’s furnishings. The whole place could burn down, for all he cared. The only reason redecorating the place had even occurred to him was because Regan didn’t like it as it was. Ah, Regan, he couldn’t help worrying about her. It had been years since his inability to walk in the sun had bothered him, but Regan’s life hadn’t been in danger before. She was home now, alone and vulnerable—and Vasile was somewhere in the city.

  Santiago resumed his useless pacing. Regan had insisted she would be safe enough, that Vasile only killed after dark, but Santiago knew better. Marishka had been killed while the sun was high in the sky. He closed his eyes and his mind filled with horrific images…

  He had awakened to the sound of Marishka’s terrified cry. Fighting the Dark Sleep, Santiago had lifted up on his elbows and looked toward her resting place. Vasile loomed over her casket, his lips drawn back in a feral snarl as he drove a wooden stake into her heart and gave it a cruel twist.

  Horror, anger, grief, and disbelief had spiraled through Santiago. With a murderous roar, he had leapt from his resting place and flown toward Marishka’s attacker. Santiago would have torn Vasile limb from limb had he been able, but Vasile had escaped into the sun’s light. Santiago had yearned to give chase but he dared not leave the protection of his lair while the sun was high in the sky. After closing the door to the crypt,
he had gathered Marishka into his arms. He had withdrawn the stake from her limp body and tried to revive her. He had gashed his arm and forced his blood past her lips, but it was too late. Everlastingly too late. Perhaps she would have responded had she been older in the life, or had he been able to get to her sooner.

  At dusk, he had found a new lair. Clutching Marishka close, he had surrendered to the Dark Sleep, all the while wishing that he had let Vasile destroy him, as well. He woke several nights later, his physical wounds healed, though his pain at Marishka’s death burned as bright and clear as the night she had been destroyed. Lost in his grief, he had remained in his lair, Marishka’s body cradled in his arms. He had lost count of how many nights he had held her wasted, mutilated body and wished for oblivion.

  Reluctant to put her outside and let the sun destroy her remains, he had kept her with him until the stench of her decomposing body became unbearable. When he could put it off no longer, he had carried her out into the woods, covered her body with flowers, and left her where the dawn’s light would find her.

  It had taken Santiago over a year to find Vasile. No words were needed between them. They had fought a long and bloody battle and in the midst of it, Vasile had shifted. Santiago’s fangs had pierced the werewolf’s neck. The werewolf had savaged Santiago’s throat. The resulting wounds had left both of them too sick and weak to continue the fight.

  It wasn’t until months later, when his grief at Marishka’s death had begun to pale, that he realized the full implication of the change Vasile’s bite had wrought: he was no longer rendered powerless by the rising of the sun.

  Thinking perhaps the sun’s light no longer had any effect on him, he had decided to put it to the test. That was a mistake he never made again. It had taken almost a year for the burns caused by the sun’s light to heal.

  And now, after all this time, Marishka’s killer was here, in the city. His presence begged the question: Was Vasile here by design or coincidence? Santiago had counted Vasile as his enemy for centuries, always plagued by the mystery of why Vasile had killed Marishka. Had it been a random act? If Santiago hadn’t awakened when Vasile attacked Marishka, he would likely have been the werewolf’s next victim. But the question remained. Why had Vasile attacked Marishka? It was a question that had haunted him from the day of her death, and remained a mystery to this day. He had searched the world over for Vasile, his need for answers and his lust for vengeance driving him onward until, after more than three centuries, he had decided the werewolf was dead. Convinced that revenge would forever be beyond him, he had returned here, to the country where he had been born, and forged a new existence.

  And now Vasile was here. Santiago smiled, his fangs lengthening in anticipation. Sooner or later, they would meet again and he would have his revenge at last.

  Regan woke from a troubled sleep. Her dreams had been peppered with fangs and claws and hideously deformed bodies—and awash in blood. It had poured from wounds and water faucets and dripped from the sky like crimson rain.

  With a grimace, she went into the bathroom and rinsed her face with cold water, then went into the kitchen for a soda. She popped the top of the can and took a long drink. If meeting a vampire was going to subject her to such vivid, horrifying dreams, then she wished she had never met Joaquin Santiago!

  But there was no time to think about the master of the city now. She had a date with Flynn and he was going to be here in less than an hour.

  She took a quick shower, then spent ten minutes fussing with her hair, only to shake it out and let it fall around her shoulders. She dressed in a pair of jeans and a comfy sweater, pulled on a pair of low-heeled boots, brushed her teeth and applied a touch of lipstick, and she was ready to go.

  Flynn knocked at the door a few minutes later.

  She smiled up at him. “Right on time.”

  “You know me,” he said with a wink. “I never keep a beautiful lady waiting. You ready to go?”

  With a nod, she grabbed her handbag, dropped her gun into her jacket pocket, and left the apartment, making sure to lock the door behind her.

  “So,” Flynn said, handing her into the car, “where would you like to go for dinner?”

  Food was the furthest thing from her mind, but some perverse demon made her suggest Sardino’s.

  Flynn gave her a funny look as he pulled away from the curb. “Are you hoping to run into that bloodsucker you were having a drink with the other night?”

  “Of course not, they just have really good food. We can go somewhere else, if you like.”

  “No, Sardino’s is fine.”

  “Any news on the killings in the park?” she asked.

  “Hey, I’m off duty,” Flynn admonished lightly. “No shop talk tonight.” He looked over at her and smiled. “Did I tell you how pretty you look?”

  “No.”

  He winked at her again. “That’s my favorite sweater.”

  “That’s why I wore it,” she replied, though she realized that was only a half-truth. It was her favorite sweater, too, but she had worn it with Santiago in mind. Chiding herself for even thinking of the vampire, she turned on the radio, and there was Hunter Double D singing about the danger of falling in love with a fanged female.

  “The lovin’s good, mister, don’t get me wrong, she can woo you and love you all the night long, but by and by, just between you and me, her beast will break out and her fangs you will see…”

  Muttering, “sheesh,” she switched off the radio.

  “What’s the matter?” Flynn asked with a grin, “don’t you like Double D?”

  “The music stinks and the lyrics are ridiculous.”

  Flynn laughed out loud. “I can’t argue with that.” He pulled into the parking lot behind the restaurant and cut the engine.

  As he helped her from the car, Regan realized coming here really wasn’t a good idea. She hoped Mike wouldn’t mention Santiago again. Her relationship with the vampire was something she didn’t want to talk about with Flynn or anyone else until she herself had figured out what it was.

  They had no sooner been seated than Santiago entered the restaurant from the vampire side. He chose a table where she couldn’t miss seeing him. He inclined his head in her direction and then sat down. Moments later, a beautiful young vampire with short, curly red hair and long, long legs joined him. The woman kissed his cheek, then sat down.

  Regan was perplexed by the sharp stab of jealousy that pierced her when she saw Santiago with another woman. There was no reason for her to be jealous. Sexy looks and devastating kisses aside, he was nothing to her.

  Dragging her gaze away, Regan spent the rest of the evening trying to concentrate on what Michael was saying, but time and again she caught herself staring at Joaquin Santiago and his date, found herself wondering what synthetic blood tasted like, and if he drank it warm or cold.

  “Regan?”

  Blinking, she looked at Mike. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

  “I asked if you wanted dessert?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Mike looked up at the waitress. “Just the check, please.”

  “I guess I haven’t been very good company,” Regan said. “I’m sorry.”

  “You seem a little distracted,” Mike said, reaching for her hand. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No, I just…it’s the killings in the Park. I guess they bothered me more than I thought.”

  “I didn’t want to talk shop,” Flynn said, “but there was another killing last night. I tried to call you…” His voice trailed off.

  She knew he was wondering where she’d been, but their relationship hadn’t reached the point where he had the right to ask or she had the responsibility to tell him.

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t home,” she said, and then frowned. She never turned her cell phone off. Why hadn’t it rung last night? Reaching into her handbag, she checked the phone. Sure enough, it was off. She glanced over at Santiago. He was the only one who could have turned
it off; she hadn’t been with anyone else. She dropped the phone back into her bag. “Who was the victim this time?”

  “Another middle-aged man, same M.O. as the last one.”

  She wondered if she should tell him about the murders Santiago had mentioned, then wondered why she was even questioning herself about it. The police needed to know. Then again, there was no evidence of the murders and, thanks to the vampire community, no bodies. She bit down on the inside corner of her mouth. If she told Flynn about the other deaths, she would have to tell him how she knew and she was suddenly, unaccountably, reluctant to do so.

  They talked of the case for a few minutes, then Flynn paid the check and drove her home.

  “Would you like to come in?” she asked as he pulled into the driveway.

  “You know I would, but I’ve got to be in court early tomorrow morning.”

  “All right.”

  He walked her to her door, drew her into his arms, and kissed her good night. Some tiny imp inside her couldn’t help comparing Flynn’s kiss with Santiago’s. To her dismay, the vampire’s kiss was far and away the more sensual and satisfying of the two.

  Flynn gave her a quick hug. “I’ll call you during the week.”

  “I’d like that.” She stood in the doorway, watching his car until it was out of sight, her fingertips sliding over her lower lip. What was wrong with her, that Flynn’s kisses, while warm and sweet, didn’t excite her the way Santiago’s did, didn’t leave her yearning for more than just kisses? How perverse was she, to prefer the kiss of a vampire to that of a nice, normal, handsome man?

  She was still pondering that when she went inside and closed the door.

  Even before she switched on the light in the living room, she knew there was someone else in the house.

  Chapter 10

  The man standing in her living room was tall and lean. There was nothing particularly frightening about his appearance. Dressed in faded jeans and a flowered shirt, with his long blond hair falling to his shoulders, he looked like a California surfer, until you looked into his eyes. Dark brown eyes. Feral eyes.