Dead Sexy

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.

She didn't have to ask who he was. In the deepest part of her being, she knew.

For a moment, she couldn't move, couldn't think, and then she whirled around and bolted for the front door.

She had just wrenched it open when he reached her.

She screamed as he grabbed a handful of her hair and flung her across the room, cried out when the back of her head struck the wall. Lights danced in front of her eyes as she slowly slid to the floor.

He closed the front door, then came to stand over her.

Regan slid her hand into her jacket pocket, her fingers curling around the butt of her pistol. "What do you want?"

"Santiago."

For a moment, she considered denying that she knew the vampire, but one look into the intruder's eyes changed her mind. "He's not here."

"Where is he?"

"Turn around, Vasile. I am right behind you."

Regan glanced past the werewolf to see Santiago standing in front of the door. She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.

The werewolf's lips drew back in a predatory grin. "I knew I would find you here."

"The woman has no part in this."

"No?" Vasile took a step back, his hand once against fisting around a handful of Regan's hair. "I think she does."

"She is nothing to you," Santiago said, his voice cool and detached. "And nothing to me."

Regan looked up at Santiago, chilled to the bone by his words. He doesn't mean it, she told herself. He can't mean it.

Vasile laughed. It was an ugly sound, like dry bones scraping together. "Then you won't care if I kill her."

"Do what you will to the woman," Santiago said impatiently. "It will change nothing between us."

Uncertainly flickered in the werewolf's eyes; then, with a low growl, he gathered Regan into his arms. "You say the woman means nothing to you. We shall see."

Knowing that Vasile could move almost as fast as he could, and knowing that any attempt to interfere would only make things worse, Santiago remained where he was, hoping against hope that the werewolf was bluffing. He should have known better.

Santiago let out a cry of rage when Vasile buried his fangs in Regan's neck. The werewolf bit down hard, then threw her away from him. She slammed into the far wall, fell to the floor, and lay there, limp and unmoving, like a rag doll.

Santiago lunged toward her, but Vasile sprang forward, murder in his eyes as he placed himself between Santiago and Regan.

"Before I kill you," Santiago said, every fiber of his being fixed on the werewolf, "I want to know why you attacked Marishka."

Pausing, Vasile looked over his shoulder. "You don't know?" he said with a sneer. "You expect me to believe she never told you?"

Santiago frowned. "What are you talking about?" He glanced at Regan, his senses surrounding her. Her heartbeat, though erratic, told him she was still alive. "What was Regan supposed to tell me?"

"Not her! Marishka. She was mine! We were to be married. And then she met you. I warned her that I would kill her before I let her go. She should have believed me."

"You killed Marishka because she left you?"

"And now I intend to kill you, and the woman, as well," Vasile snarled. He sprang forward, his body shifting in midair.

In the same instant, Santiago called upon the beast that dwelled within him, reveling in the rush of preternatural power that flowed through him as he, too, shifted into wolf form.

Regan stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. She stared at the scene before her through eyes that refused to focus while a distant part of her mind wondered if she was having another nightmare. Vasile and Santiago were gone and two wolves—one yellow haired, one black—were at each other's throats, claws and fangs slashing and ripping. Blood sprayed through the air in a fine crimson mist. It was an eerily silent battle, and all the more frightening because of it. She wanted to run away but when she tried to move, pain exploded through her limbs, crawled up her neck, and lodged in the back of her head. It couldn't be a dream, she thought. The pain she felt was all too real.

Helpless, she could only watch the deadly dance in morbid fascination. The creatures were both wolves, yet they looked nothing the same, and it wasn't just the difference in their coloring. The fair-haired one seemed distorted somehow, its arms and legs seeming out of proportion to its body; not only that, but its ears were too small, its head too big.

In a sudden rush, the black wolf managed to knock the other wolf off balance. With a victorious howl, it buried its fangs in the yellow-haired wolfs shoulder.

The injured wolf let out a bloodcurdling cry that was almost human, its fangs snapping wildly at the other wolf. Its jaws locked on the black wolfs neck. With a low growl, the black wolf shook himself free. In an instant, the yellow-haired wolf gained its feet and with a wild cry, it leaped through the front window and disappeared into the night in a shower of broken glass.

The black wolf stared after it for a moment, then turned and padded toward Regan.

She took one look at the bloody muzzle and glowing eyes, and slid into welcome oblivion.

Santiago glanced at the window. The urge to follow Vasile and end the feud between them once and for all was strong within him, but he couldn't leave the woman here alone. Though slim, there was always a chance Vasile would double back and try to finish what he had started. It wasn't a chance Santiago was willing to take.

Shifting back to his own form, he knelt at Regan's side and gently examined her from head to foot. He could detect no broken bones but she was badly bruised, and there was a sizeable lump on the back of her head. As expected, the worst wound was the hideous bite in her neck. Just how bad it was would be determined at the next full moon.

Lifting Regan into his arms, he carried her into the bedroom, drew back the covers on the bed, and lowered her onto the mattress. He was certain she would not be pleased to have him undress her, but he couldn't leave her lying there covered in blood. Moving quickly, he stripped off her soiled garments and tossed them aside. In spite of his concern for her well-being, he couldn't help noticing that her body was as lovely as her face.

After washing and bandaging the wound in her neck, he searched the dresser drawers until he found a nightgown. He slipped it over her head, pulled it over her br**sts, and smoothed it down over her hips, all the while thinking it was a crime to cover such perfection. Rummaging through her closet and dresser, he picked out a change of clothing for her, then went into the bathroom and scooped up her comb and brush and all the other feminine doodads on the counter.