Night's Promise

by Amanda Ashley

  He hissed a sigh of relief when she opened her eyes. “I thought . . .” He pulled her into his embrace, his face buried in her hair.

  A moment later, Mara and Logan burst into the room.

  “Derek, what have you done?” Mara demanded.

  With a low growl, Derek grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Sheree. “You know damn well what I did.” He stroked Sheree’s face. She was pale, so pale.

  “Yes, I know. A little more and she would be dead now.”

  Logan grabbed Mara’s hand and tugged her toward the door. “Let’s go,” he said gruffly. “We’re not needed here.”

  Muttering, “She might not be so lucky next time,” Mara followed Logan into the hallway and closed the door.

  “Why is your mother so upset?” Sheree asked.

  Derek smoothed her hair away from her face. She was almost as white as the pillowcase. “I nearly took too much.”

  Sheree blinked at him. Was that why she felt so light-headed? “I feel so strange, as if I could close my eyes and fly away.”

  “You need nourishment. Come on.” Taking her by the hand, he helped her stand, then swept her into his arms and quickly carried her down the stairs.

  In the kitchen, he set her on a chair, then reached into one of the ice chests and withdrew a chilled bottle of orange juice. After filling a glass, he handed it to her. “Drink,” he commanded. “All of it.”

  When she drained it in only a few swallows, he filled it again. And then again.

  “No more.” Shaking her head, Sheree put the glass on the table.

  Derek’s gaze moved over her face, noting her color had returned. Another few minutes, he thought bleakly, and he would have killed her.

  “I’m fine,” she said, seeing the worry in his eyes.

  “Are you? I could have drained you dry!”

  “I trust you,” she murmured, cupping his cheek in her palm.

  “I only hope that trust doesn’t get you killed.”

  Derek carried Sheree back to bed, stayed with her until she fell asleep, then went into the living room. Logan was stretched out on one of the sofas, ankles crossed, arms folded behind his head.

  Mara paced the floor in front of the fireplace, her quickened steps the first clue that something was bothering her.

  “What’s going on?” Derek asked, sitting on the other sofa.

  “Edna and Pearl,” Logan answered.

  Derek arched one brow. “What about them?”

  “They’re here!” Mara said. “Why the devil are they following us?”

  Logan snorted. “Why do you think? The full moon is only two nights away. I’m guessing they don’t want to miss the show.”

  Derek glared at his stepfather. “It’s not a show, dammit! It’s my life, and it’s hell not knowing what to expect! Do you have any idea what it’s like waiting for whatever the hell is going to happen?” He sprang to his feet, hands clenched at his sides. “I can feel it building inside me, waiting to explode.”

  “Derek,” Logan said, “I didn’t mean—”

  “What if it turns me into a beast I can’t control? Dammit, it’s hard enough to control what I am now!”

  Mara laid her hand on his arm but he shook it off.

  Moving to the fireplace, Derek braced his hands on the mantel, staring down at the ashes in the hearth.

  “I’m afraid,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Afraid of what I might do to her in a moment of weakness.” He picked up the fireplace poker, his hands tightening around it until his knuckles were white with the strain. “Afraid I’ll lose control.”

  “Derek, listen to me—”

  “No!” He rounded on his mother. “You never should have brought her here!” The poker bent in his hands. “If I hurt her . . .”

  “Derek,” Mara said quietly, “I think she’s the answer. You care for her. You’ve protected her. . . .”

  “Sure, when I’m myself.” He shoved the poker into his mother’s hands. “I want you to lock me up tomorrow before dark.”

  “You need to drink from her the night before the full moon.”

  He wanted to refuse but his mother was right. Sheree’s blood satisfied him like nothing else. Perhaps if he drank from her before he turned into a werewolf, her blood would suppress the urge to kill.

  Moving to the window, he stared out at the darkness. He breathed in and his nostrils filled with the scent of rain. A storm was coming. In the distance, a deer rested in a thicket, while an owl hunted the night for prey.

  Prey. It was all around him. Outside, the deer stirred. Before he realized what he was doing, Derek was at the deer’s side, his fangs buried deep in the animal’s throat. The blood was thick and rich and hot and he drank it all, drank until he was sated with the taste and the smell.

  When sanity returned, he rocked back on his heels, horrified by what he had done. He glanced at the moon, barely visible behind the gathering clouds. But he didn’t have to see it to know it was there. He could feel its pull on his preternatural senses, feel it calling to the beast lurking inside him.

  If he was capable of this when the moon was not yet full, what would he do when its pull was at its strongest, and he at his most vulnerable?

  Would animal blood be enough to satisfy him then?

  Mara stood at the window, scarcely aware of Logan’s arm around her waist. She didn’t have to see what had happened to know what Derek had done. She had sensed his overpowering need to kill, the deer’s panic, her son’s remorse. Ever since he was a child, Derek had loved the deer, the squirrels, and the rabbits that roamed the countryside around her home in the Hollywood Hills. He had once nursed a wounded fawn back to life. He had occasionally fed on animals, but never any of the deer.

  “He’ll be all right,” Logan said, his voice pitched above the noise of the sudden downpour and the thunder that accompanied it as the storm broke.

  “Do you really believe that?” She leaned against him, grateful for his strength, his unwavering devotion. “Because I don’t.”

  “Maybe it’s time to pay a call on those two old broads,” he suggested.

  He ducked out of the way when she whirled around. But instead of hitting him, playfully or otherwise, as he expected, she threw her arms around him.

  “Logan, I could kiss you!” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sheree knew a moment of disappointment when she woke alone in bed the following evening. She had hoped Derek would spend the day at her side; now, she wondered where he was.

  There was an odd feeling to the house as she tiptoed down the hall, thinking she might spend some time in Derek’s bed, in Derek’s arms. There was only one more night until the full moon. She knew he was worried about what he might become, what he might do. Perhaps her presence would offer him some comfort.

  But his room was empty.

  She paused in front of the bedroom Mara and Logan shared but lacked the nerve to knock on their door.

  In the kitchen, she tried to determine what was causing her uneasiness. And then she knew. She was feeling the same tension the vampires in the house were feeling.

  Sitting at the table, nibbling on a slice of bread and jelly, she was struck by the realization that she was sharing a house with three vampires. And that no one knew where she was, or who she was with. And that her cell phone was dead, and even if it was working, she could be dead before help arrived, should she need it. It was a sobering thought.

  Muttering, “Stop it,” she poured herself a glass of orange juice. She wasn’t afraid of Derek or his family, so why was she entertaining such morbid thoughts? Maybe, deep down, she was more afraid than she wanted to admit. Well, who could blame her? Mara was the oldest vampire on the planet. As Derek had said, none of the rules applied to her, although Sheree had no idea what rules vampires adhered to, if any.

  And then there was Derek. As much as she loved him, she couldn’t begin to imagine the stress he must be under, or
how he would react if he couldn’t resist the call of the full moon.

  Her nerves grew taut as darkness fell. Where were they?

  She whirled around when she realized she was no longer alone. “Derek . . . oh.” She glanced from Logan to Mara. “Where is he?”

  “He asked us to lock him in the dungeon.”

  “The dungeon! Why? The moon won’t be full until tomorrow night.”

  Mara didn’t answer, just stood there, her expression one of unutterable sorrow.

  “He’s afraid, isn’t he?” Sheree asked. “Afraid he might hurt me.”

  Logan nodded. “That’s part of it.”

  “Did something happen?”

  “He killed a deer last night.”

  “Oh.” It was sad, Sheree thought, but surely it didn’t warrant such concern.

  “He ripped out its throat and drained it of blood,” Logan explained. “He was completely out of control.”

  Out of control. Sheree could easily imagine the carnage if that had happened in the city, among unsuspecting men and women. “Can I see him?”

  “Of course,” Mara said.

  “Just be careful,” Logan added.

  The dungeon was located at the bottom of a long flight of narrow stone steps. There were no electric lights, only a few lanterns that cast flickering shadows on the gray stone walls and floor.

  A number of small cells lined both sides of the cavernous room. A larger, square cell stood at the end of the corridor. Barefoot and shirtless, Derek paced the confines of his prison. A long silver chain linked his left ankle to a heavy bolt in the floor.

  His head came up, his eyes zeroing in on her as she approached. “Go away,” he growled.

  “No. I don’t want you to be alone. Why are you chained to the floor?”

  “The silver grounds me so I can’t use my preternatural powers to escape.”

  “Oh.” She filed that bit of knowledge away, wondering if she would ever know all there was to know about vampires and werewolves.

  “Sheree, I’m sorry I got you involved in all this.”

  The droop of his shoulders, the regret in his voice, tugged at her heart. Forcing a smile, she said, “It hasn’t been all bad.”

  “Just most of it,” he muttered darkly. “Stay there!” he hissed when she moved closer to the bars.

  “I want to help.” She closed the remaining distance between them, then thrust her arm between two of the bars. “Take what you need.”

  He recoiled from her as if she was offering him a cup of hemlock. “I can’t, love. Not now.”

  “Now is when you need it the most.”

  He couldn’t argue with that, but he didn’t trust himself to stop after a sip or two.

  He was still at war with himself when Logan appeared, carrying one of the easy chairs from the living room.

  Logan smiled at Sheree. “You might as well be comfortable if you’re going to stay down here,” he remarked, positioning the chair close to the cell. “Oh, and Mara sent you this.” He pulled a candy bar from his pocket and handed it to Sheree. “It used to be her favorite.”

  “Thank her for me, please.”

  “Sure. Can I bring you anything else?”

  “Not now, thanks.”

  Logan’s gaze moved over Derek. “You doing all right, son?”

  Derek nodded, his jaw clenched.

  “Well, holler if you need anything,” Logan said, and vanished from their sight.

  Sheree sank down in the chair, her fingers tracing the logo on the candy wrapper.

  After a moment, Derek sat on the floor, his arms resting on his bent knees. “Talk to me.”

  “About what?”

  “Tell me about you. What kind of a little girl were you? Dirty face and pigtails?”

  “That was rarely allowed,” Sheree said, pretending to be shocked by the mere idea, and then grinned. “I was an only child and my parents spoiled me shamelessly. I’m afraid I took advantage of them, but they never complained. I had enough dresses and dolls for a dozen girls. And horseback riding lessons and ballet lessons. And my very own TV. Of course, what I really wanted most of all was a little sister, because my best friend had one. Did you ever miss having brothers and sisters?”

  “Not really. But after I turned thirteen, I missed having friends. I couldn’t play outdoors after that and gradually I stopped hanging out with them because it was too hard to explain why I couldn’t go outside, and why I couldn’t grab a hamburger on a Saturday afternoon, or spend the day surfing.”

  “What about girls?”

  He snorted softly. He had never had any trouble in that department. “Dating was easier in some ways. There wasn’t anything unusual about taking in a late movie or going for a walk along the beach after sunset. Things like that. But I never saw the same girl more than two or three times. It was just too hard to hide what I was, to keep coming up with excuses for why I couldn’t take them out for an afternoon at the beach or come over for Sunday dinner, or take in a matinee.”

  Sheree shifted in the chair, thinking he must have had a lonely childhood. How awful, to have to hide who you were, to always be on your guard.

  “It wasn’t all bad,” Derek remarked. “My family spoiled me, too, in their way. I got to do most of the things boys like to do, like hunting and fishing, only we did our hunting and fishing after dark. Logan taught me to wrestle and play baseball, and he took me rock climbing and hiking. . . .” His voice trailed off as his hands clenched at his sides.

  “What is it?” Sheree asked. “What’s happening?”

  “I can feel the werewolf in me trying to get out.”

  “That’s not supposed to happen until tomorrow night, is it?”

  “Who the hell knows?” He raked his fingers through his hair, then stood and began pacing the floor, the thick chain rattling with every step.

  Rising, Sheree folded her hands around the bars. “Derek, drink from me. Maybe it will help.”

  He growled deep in his throat, and then, in a blur of movement, he was standing in front of her, one of her arms clutched in his hand, his head bent over her wrist.

  As his fangs pierced her flesh, she gasped, surprised by the pain. It had never hurt before.

  A low purr filled the air as he drank.

  And drank.

  Sheree closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Mara was at her side.

  “Derek,” his mother said sharply. “Let her go!”

  He looked up, his eyes blood red. And then he snarled at her.

  Mara dissolved into mist, then rematerialized inside the cell. Gripping her son’s arm, she stared into his eyes. “Let her go. Now.”

  He obeyed instantly, then backed away from her.

  A moment later, Mara was again at Sheree’s side. Eyes narrowed, she asked, “Are you all right?”

  Sheree nodded, too afraid to answer lest she burst into tears. Once she recovered, she asked, “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “I wish I knew. I brought you here because I thought your blood would soothe him, as it has in the past, but I was wrong. He’s losing control of himself, just as he feared he would. I think it might be better if you come upstairs.”

  “Let her stay,” Derek said, his voice filled with guilt. “I need her.”

  “Don’t be a fool. What do you think would have happened if I hadn’t stopped you?”

  “Sheree,” he whispered. “Please stay.”

  “I don’t advise it,” Mara said, “but the choice is yours. If you decide to stay, you have only to call me if you need me.”

  “Thank you.”

  With a last warning glance at her son, Mara left the dungeon.

  Sheree sat in the chair again, watching as the red slowly faded from Derek’s eyes. He sank down on the floor, his back braced against the wall. She bit down on her lower lip, searching for something to say, some words of comfort, but nothing came to mind. She had clung to the hope that the full moon would come and go without incident, but it seemed a
foolish hope, given what had just happened.

  Sheree kept Derek company until the rising sun coaxed him to sleep. Exhausted, she went upstairs to bed, only to lie there, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the night would bring. It seemed a given that he would shift into a werewolf. She wished she knew more about such creatures, but the only information she had came from horror movies. They were compelled to change when the moon was full. They terrorized humans, often killing them in hideous ways. She had never believed in werewolves the way she believed in vampires. Now, it seemed werewolves were also real. If vampires and werewolves existed, why not all the monsters of myth and legend? Fairies and trolls, giants and elves, zombies and leprechauns and the invisible man!

  Derek had said little last night, his thoughts obviously turned inward. She could only imagine what he was thinking, feeling. Being a vampire was bad enough, but at least that was something he knew, something he could control, at least most of the time. She knew what he feared was being out of control, that when he was a werewolf he would be a beast with no conscience, no memory of his humanity. That he would savage anything that crossed his path.

  Turning onto her side, she closed her eyes, and prayed that the things Derek feared the most would never come to pass.

  One way or another, things would come to a head when the moon rose tonight.

  Chapter Thirty

  “I win!” Pearl exclaimed, tossing her cards onto the table. “That’s three games in a row.”

  “You always were lucky at cards,” Edna remarked. “I think you cheat.”

  “Well, of course I cheat,” Pearl said. “Are you just now realizing that?”

  “What? You mean to sit there and admit that all these years you’ve been cheating me, your best and only friend?”

  “It’s more fun than losing, dear.”

  Edna had worked herself up into a fine lather when there was a knock on the door of their hotel room.

  Pearl met Edna’s wide-eyed gaze. “What is she doing here?” she asked in a barely audible whisper.