Night's Promise (Children of The Night 6)

Mara lifted her head, nostrils flaring, but said nothing.

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

She smiled faintly. “All things considered, I could hardly condemn you if you did.” How could she? She had killed more than her share of mortals in the long centuries of her existence.

Derek dropped into his favorite chair and stretched his legs out in front of him.

“You smell of perfume and alcohol,” she remarked.

“I met a woman. I didn’t feed on her.”

“But you wanted to.”

He didn’t deny it. “Do you mind if I stay here for another few days?”

“Of course not. The others are all going home tomorrow night.”

There had been a time when the DeLongpres and the Cordovas had maintained homes in Oregon, but they had all moved shortly after Derek’s birth. Now, they lived in California, though not all in the same town. Derek made his home in Sacramento. Roshan, Brenna, Vince and Cara had homes in San Jose. Rane and Savannah owned a ranch-style house located on several acres near Auburn, while Rafe and Kathy lived in Red Bluff. Mara owned a home in Northern California, but this house in the Hollywood Hills was her favorite.

“Where’s Logan?” Derek asked.

“He went out for a run.”

Derek nodded. Long ago, Logan had been known as Hektor. Mara had turned him over nine hundred years ago. Derek knew of no other vampires who had lived as long, or possessed such strength and power. His own preternatural abilities were almost as strong, bequeathed to him through his mother’s ancient blood.

Like his stepfather and his mother, Derek could run for miles, faster than the human eye could follow, and never get tired. He would never be sick, never age beyond what he was now. Not a bad life, if you didn’t mind existing on a warm liquid diet. Not that he didn’t enjoy hunting as much as the next vampire, but he remembered all too clearly the taste of mortal food: hamburgers and French fries, chicken and mashed potatoes smothered in gravy, beans and rice, apple pie. Sometimes he thought he would willingly trade fifty years of his existence for a steak, thick and rare.

“Tell me about the girl,” Mara said.

“She’s young, pretty.” He grinned wryly. “She likes vampires.”

“How nice for you.”

“Yeah.” Blowing out a sigh, he gained his feet, then kissed her on the cheek. “I’m going to bed.”

Mara watched him climb the stairs to the second floor. He remained a miracle in her eyes, the child she never should have had. She had never wanted a baby, never intended to keep him. She had never had any experience with children, no idea how to care for one. Yes, she had been certain giving the baby away was the right thing to do.

Until she had held him in her arms. One look at her newborn son and she had known why women throughout the ages were willing to endure the pains of childbirth. One look and her heart had swelled with a rush of love unlike anything she had ever known or imagined. One touch, and she had known why mothers fought like grizzly bears to protect their young, why they were willing to live and die for their children. Why she couldn’t give him away.

She had watched him grow, marveling at each new accomplishment: his first tooth, his first step, his first word. His first day of school.

His first taste of blood.

Mara remembered it well. She had received a phone call from his kindergarten teacher. A little girl had fallen on the playground and cut her arm. The teacher had found Derek comforting the girl, and licking the blood from the wound.

Later, at home, Mara had taken him aside and explained that he must never do that again, that mortals would not understand. He had looked up at her through dark gray eyes—eyes wise beyond their years—and nodded that he understood. For a short time before he reached puberty, he had developed a sudden craving for raw hamburger, or for steaks so rare Logan had opined there was little point in cooking them at all.

She had taken Derek hunting the first time, and wondered, as she watched him stalk his prey, if, indeed, it was his first time. There had been no hesitation when he summoned his prey, no sense of uncertainty as he bent the young woman over his arm and buried his fangs in her throat.

He would have taken it all had she not stopped him. Even now, Mara could clearly recall the way he had glared at her, lips drawn back, fangs dripping blood, eyes blazing red with anger as he surrendered his prey.

Unchecked, untutored, he would have been a savage predator.

She had seen no sign of that brutality in the years since then, but deep in her heart, she feared the danger still existed.

Chapter Four

Sheree rolled onto her side and stared out the bedroom window, her thoughts immediately turning to the man she had met last night. She had never known a man who intrigued her as he did, nor one as breathtakingly handsome, or as blatantly sexy.

Almost, he looked too good to be real, as if some benevolent genie had read her mind and conjured a man who was everything she had ever dreamed of. Long dark hair: check. Dusky skin: check. Dark gray eyes: check. Tall and broad shouldered: check. Long muscular arms: check.

She loved the way he looked, with his high cheekbones and eyes that were slightly slanted, the way he moved, as if his feet hardly touched the floor, the way he held her when they danced, the way he looked at her, as if she was the most beguiling woman he had ever met.

Slipping out of bed, she stretched her arms over her head, wishing it was nine at night and she was about to get ready to meet her mysterious stranger instead of nine in the morning on her way to the dentist.

Sheree had arrived at Nosferatu’s Den at nine-thirty that night. She had waited as long as she could, but there was just no way to ignore her eagerness to see him again. She had thought the day would never end. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she’d been able to go to work. At least that would have been a distraction. But she’d been laid off weeks ago. She could have gone job hunting, but none of the ads in the paper appealed to her, and she wasn’t qualified for the ones that did.

Donning a pair of shorts and an old T-shirt, she had plunged into her usual weekend chores: dusting, vacuuming, changing the sheets on the bed. She cleaned the bathroom, did two loads of laundry, and was done by noon. A quick lunch, and the day stretched endlessly before her.

With hours to kill, she had gone shopping for something new to wear that night. Wanting to stand out from the crowd at the Den, she had bought a long silver sheath with a slit up the side her mother would have found scandalous, new underwear—just in case—and a pair of heels.