Dead Sexy

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.