Santiago’s hands squeezed her shoulders reassuringly. “Wait here. I will take the bodies out and bury them.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle. She didn’t believe in ghosts. Still, she had never spent the night in a place where someone had died a violent death only hours before. She had read somewhere that the spirits of those who died violent deaths sometimes lingered on Earth, refusing to move on. She shook off her fanciful thoughts. Unless you were a vampire, dead was dead.
“You will be more comfortable here,” Santiago said, stroking her cheek. “There is an easy chair and a fire pit. And food.”
“All right.” She stood by her horse, her face turned away from the cave’s entrance, while Santiago went inside to retrieve the bodies. Standing there, in the stillness of the night, she realized her senses were expanding. She could detect the scent of death in the air, smell the sweet, coppery tang of the blood that had been shed.
She was already changing, she thought. Her sense of smell was sharper, her vision clearer, her hearing more acute.
Staring into the darkness, she absently stroked the mare’s neck. Her life had certainly taken a turn she had never expected. How could she be a werewolf? What kind of changes would she have to make in her lifestyle, other than the obvious? Would people take one look at her and know what she had become? What would her parents think? Not that she could tell them. Her folks were liberal thinkers, at least on the surface, but they had been opposed to any and all laws protecting vampires. She could only imagine how they would react to having a daughter who was a werewolf.
She laughed harshly. She would be one hell of a vampire hunter now! She blinked back her tears. Her parents weren’t the only ones she couldn’t tell. She couldn’t tell her brothers, either. And she certainly couldn’t tell Michael! He would never understand.
And then there was Santiago. What would he think when she went furry? Of course, he would probably be sympathetic, being one of the monsters himself.
She blew out a sigh. How could she be a werewolf? Would she remember who she really was when she was running wild? When she was human again, would she remember being a wolf? And what if she killed someone? Would she remember? Or would the memory be mercifully erased from her mind?
She pressed her face to the horse’s shoulder. How could she live with herself if she killed someone? Oh, lord, what if she killed someone she knew?
It was a nightmare, she thought, sniffing back her tears, a horrible nightmare from which she would never awaken.
She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket. The butt of the gun felt icy in her hand as she withdrew it. If Santiago wouldn’t put an end to this nightmare, she could. She stared at the pistol. The barrel was smooth, shiny in the moonlight. Her finger curled around the trigger. One shot to the head and it would all be over. She looked into the black maw of the barrel, stared at it until she couldn’t see anything else. All she had to do was put the gun to her head and squeeze the trigger. Would she feel it? Would it hurt?
“Regan.” Santiago’s voice wrapped around her like soft black velvet. “Give me the gun.”
She looked up to see him standing in front of her, one arm outstretched.
“Regan, listen to me,” he said quietly. “You do not want to do that.”
“I have to,” she said dully. “What else can I do since you won’t help me?”
“I will.” He took one step toward her, and then another. “Trust me, Regan.”
She lowered the gun, her hand trembling, and now the weapon was aimed in his direction.
Santiago paused, his attention focused on the pistol. If she pulled the trigger now…His gaze captured hers again. “Trust me,” he repeated.
Time stilled as she stared at him, and then her hand fell to her side. “I’m so afraid.”
“I know.” He plucked the gun from her grasp and shoved it into the waistband of his jeans, then drew her into his arms. “I will be here with you tomorrow night,” he promised, one hand stroking her hair. “You will not be alone.”
“Stay with me tonight.”
“Regan…”
“Please.”
“I will stay until dawn.”
“Will you hold me until morning?”
How could he refuse?
Santiago lit a fire in the cave so that Regan could have a cup of hot chocolate. He hoped it might help relax her. For a cave in the Black Hills, it was remarkably well stocked. A large trunk held numerous cans of fruit, meat, and vegetables, bottles of water, and juice.
“Will you be all right for a few minutes?” he asked.
“I guess so, why? Where are you going?”
“Outside to look after the horses.”
“All right. You won’t be gone long?”
“No.”
Leaving the cave, he unsaddled the horses and turned them loose. They moved away from the entrance, then began to graze.
Santiago stared into the distance. Why had a werewolf killed the old medicine man? It made no sense, especially if the rumors were true and the shaman himself had been a werewolf. He shook his head. If the medicine man had been a werewolf, the bites he had received would have healed before he bled to death. There was always a chance the old man had been a threat to the werewolf community…Santiago shook off that line of thinking. What kind of threat could a medicine man who lived like a hermit in a cave have been? He shook his head again. None of it made any sense.
“Joaquin?” Regan’s voice called him back into the cave.
He found her sitting in the overstuffed leather chair, a blanket across her knees. She looked very young—and very afraid.
He placed the gun on the shelf; then, lifting her into his arms, he took her place in the chair and settled her on his lap.
“What took you so long?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I was just outside, looking at the view.”
She was quiet a moment, and then she said, “Tell me about your life. How did you get to be master of the city?”
“By being stronger and more powerful than all the rest, of course,” he said with a faint grin.
“Did you frighten them all into submission?”
“You could say that.”
“And what makes you so powerful?”
“Age, for one thing.” He stroked her back absently, thinking how soothing it was to hold her, to touch her, to breathe in her very essence. “We grow stronger as we get older.”
“You don’t look old,” she remarked, snuggling against him. “But then, I guess you never will.”
“No, I never will.” Neither would she, he thought, but this didn’t seem like the right time to bring that up.
She sat quiescent in his arms for so long, he thought she had fallen asleep until she said, “You know a lot about werewolves. Tell me what to expect. Will it…will it hurt when I…?”
“I am no expert. I cannot tell you if it will hurt. I have heard that it does. I have heard that it doesn’t. I suspect it will be less painful if you do not fight it.”
“And I’ll have to change, whether I want to or not?”
“Yes.”
“Will I still be me, inside?”
“That I do not know.”
“Will I remember being a wolf?”
“Again, I do not know.”
“You must have some idea!” she insisted.
“I have heard the change is painful the first time, but that it gets easier as time goes on. I do not know if you will remember being a wolf, or if you will remember what you do when you are in that form. Vasile is the only werewolf I know and we have never discussed his condition.”
With a sigh, Regan settled back into his embrace, her trepidation growing with each passing moment.
“Maybe I’ll write a book about werewolves,” she muttered. “You know, something like The Werewolves’ Guide for Complete Idiots, Everything You Always Wanted to Know but Never Had a Werewolf to Ask.”
Santiago smiled at her, thinking it was a good sign that s
he could find humor, however grim, in her situation.
“Perhaps I will write a companion book about vampires,” he remarked with a wry grin.
“I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here with me.” Lifting her hand, she caressed his cheek. “You must be…what do you call it? Hungry? Thirsty?”
“Either,” he said, stroking her cheek. “Both.”
“Does it hurt terribly when you haven’t fed for a long time?”
“Yes. It is a pain worse than anything you can imagine. Far worse than mortal hunger.”
“Have you ever had to go without feeding for a long time?”
“Once.”
“How come?”
“It happened when I was still a newly made vampire. A hunter found my resting place. He would most likely have destroyed me if he hadn’t been a young hunter. He poured holy water over me and then put a stake to my heart. He pierced the skin of my chest and the muscle beneath but at the first sight of blood, he backed off. The pain roused me. When I sat up, he dropped everything and fled. The holy water weakened me and I fell back, the stake still buried in my flesh. It took all my strength to pull it free. I left the crypt as soon as I was able and sought a new resting place. My skin was badly burned from the holy water. It took several weeks for me to regain my strength.”
“And that’s the longest you’ve gone without?”
He nodded, his thoughts turned inward. He had been almost mad with hunger when he recovered enough to hunt. Even now, so many years later, he felt regret for the first mortal he had seen that night. He had taken the young man quickly, savagely, and cast the body aside, the only thing on his mind the need to ease the pain that engulfed him like a living flame.
But that had been long ago. He was older now, wiser, more in control of his passions and his needs. If it were not so, the girl lying so trustingly in his lap would have more to fear than the full moon. He stroked her hair lightly.
“Go to sleep now, my lovely one,” he said. “You will need your strength for tomorrow.”
“I don’t think I can sleep.” She paused, her head tilted to one side. “Listen. You were right. It’s raining.”
He nodded. “Why are you surprised?”
“I’ve never known anyone who could predict the rain. Maybe you should become a weatherman.”
He snorted softly. “No.” He rubbed his knuckles over her cheek. “Go to sleep now.”
“Will you kiss me good night?”
Murmuring, “What do you think?” he lowered his head and claimed her lips with his.
The cave and its meager furnishings faded away. The morrow and its uncertainty ceased to exist. His hellish thirst was no longer uppermost in his mind. There was nothing in all the world but the woman in his arms, the touch of her skin, the scent of her hair, the fire in her kiss. His tongue swept her lips, seeking entrance. She opened to him at once, as eager and hungry as he. His body reacted immediately and predictably.
His hands delved into her hair, softly kneading her scalp as his tongue explored the soft inner recesses of her mouth. She tasted of the soup she had eaten earlier and the cocoa she’d had to drink. He rained kisses over her cheeks, her brow, her eyelids, the sweet curve of her throat. His tongue mated with hers again. The scent of her blood tantalized his nostrils, stirring his other desire. Her tongue brushed his fangs, just the slightest touch, but it was enough to draw blood.
He groaned with pleasure as her sweetness slid down his throat. For a moment, he forgot everything but the taste of her life’s blood and the fact that he hadn’t truly fed for several days. But this was Regan. He had sworn to protect her.
She made a soft sound of protest when he withdrew his lips from hers. “Don’t stop.”
“This is not a good time,” he said, keeping a tight rein on the thirst burning through him. “You are far too tempting, and I am far too hungry, and not just for your sweet flesh.”
She blinked up at him, one hand kneading the muscle in his arm. “But I want you.”
“As I want you, but…” He paused, trying to find just the right words.
“But what?” She ran her tongue across his lower lip. “I want you. You want me. We’re both over twenty-one.”
“One of us is way over,” he muttered.
“Joaquin, I need you.”
He knew the attraction between them was real, just as he knew that her sudden urge to make love was influenced more by the pull of the moon than her own desire. Somehow, it didn’t seem honorable to take her now.
“Regan.” He held her gaze with his. “It is late and you are weary. Close your eyes. There is nothing to fear tonight. I am here with you. I will be with you tomorrow night. Sleep now.”
She looked up at him, her gaze becoming unfocused as he gently bent her will to his. Her body slowly relaxed. Her eyelids fluttered down. In moments, she was asleep.
Santiago stroked her hair, his body humming with desire. It must be love, he thought with a wry grin, else he never would have refused such a welcome invitation.
Chapter 16
Vasile stood in the shadows, his gaze fixed on the heavens. Tomorrow night the moon would be full and the Delaney woman would shift. He had originally intended to kill her, seeing it as the perfect revenge against the man who had stolen Marishka away from him. But in the very act of biting the Delaney woman, he had come up with a better use for her and so, instead of delivering the coup de grace, he had thrown her away from him, careful to make sure he didn’t hurt her too badly. He would need her later, after the revolution.
The werewolves were tired of lurking in the shadows, hiding like sheep. They were meant to be predators, not prey. It was time to reclaim their rightful place in the scheme of things. Vasile had spent the last few years bringing the packs together, urging them to increase their numbers while foolishly neglecting to ensure that his own pack did the same. That was something he intended to rectify immediately. Then, when the time was right, he would be the one to lead them to victory, with Santiago’s woman at his side.
Vasile had called on the pack in South Dakota and ordered them to kill the old shaman in the Black Hills. Foolish old man, offering a cure to those who were misguided enough to want one. In the past, Vasile hadn’t cared. He wanted only the strongest of their kind at his side, but there could be no cure for Regan Delaney. No, he had plans for her. Every king needed a queen, and she would be his. And if Zina objected, well, he would worry about that when the time came.
He could have followed the Delaney woman into the Black Hills, killed the old medicine man himself, and brought her back, but there had been no need.
She would return to her home, and she would bring Santiago with her.
He would kill the meddling vampire when the time was right—and he would make the woman watch.
Though in human form, Vasile threw back his head and howled at the moon.
Chapter 17
Regan woke with a sense of dread. She looked around the cave, but of course there was no sign of Santiago. She wondered where he had gone to spend the day, wondered how she would get through the next few hours until the moon’s rising.
She fixed something to eat, but she had no appetite. She drank two cups of coffee and then, too restless to remain inside, she left the cave. Glancing around, she wondered what had happened to the horses. Had they wandered off during the night? It was probably just as well. At least they would be out of harm’s way when…
She thrust the thought aside. She would not think of that now. The sun was high in the sky; it was a beautiful, clear day. Last night’s rain had left the earth smelling fresh and clean. Birds sang cheerfully in the treetops. Squirrels and chipmunks were scampering on the ground, chattering and chasing each other from tree to tree and branch to branch.
Feeling somewhat like Eve exploring the Garden of Eden, Regan started walking, praying that she wouldn’t come across any snakes or mountain lions along the way. She wouldn’t go far, just a short stroll to stretch her legs. Wildl
ife was plentiful, she noted. A doe bounded across her path. She saw a skunk moving sedately through the trees. A short time later, she happened upon a narrow trail that wound its way upward. Curious, Regan followed it for several yards, smiling when the trail led her to a small pool.
Kneeling at the edge, she rinsed her face and hands and ran her fingers through her hair. When she looked up again, she saw a gray wolf watching her from the other side of the pool, but it wasn’t like any wolf she had ever seen before.
For one thing, it had hazel eyes. For another, she didn’t think it was flesh and blood. She wasn’t sure why she felt that way, unless it was because the creature seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, as if it wasn’t made of flesh and bone, but what was even more strange was that it cast no shadow.
She stared at the wolf, thinking how odd it was that she wasn’t afraid.
She lost track of time as she sat there gazing at the wolf. It seemed as though a river flowed between them, not of water, but of understanding.
She was somewhat startled when she heard a voice in her mind. It was a deep voice, an old man’s voice murmuring, “Pahin Sapa.”
Frowning, she repeated the words, though they meant nothing to her.
The wolf barked once, as if to say “yes.”
Regan leaned forward, thinking she must be losing her mind to think that a wolf was speaking to her telepathically. “Pahin Sapa. Is that your name?”
The wolf barked again.
“What are you doing here?” Regan wondered aloud. “Where did you come from? And why do you have hazel eyes?”
The wolf smiled at her, its tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth.
“This is too weird,” Regan muttered, shaking her head. She glanced up, surprised to see the sun was no longer high in the sky. “Stick around,” she said, “should be quite a show later tonight.”
With a wave of its tail, the wolf turned and disappeared into the trees.
Regan remained where she was for a long while, feeling as though she was caught between two worlds and not sure if she belonged in either one. Tonight she would know if Vasile’s bite had cursed her to become a werewolf or not, and all she could do until then was wait and wonder and worry, though deep inside, she was afraid she already knew the answer.
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