"Do I act dead?"
"No, but…"
"Did you think I was dead when I kissed you?"
She swallowed hard at the memory, which was all too vivid in her mind. "No." She didn't care for the direction their conversation was going at all. "So, how will we find this shaman?"
"He is said to live in a cave at the top of the Black Hills."
"A cave?"
Santiago shrugged. "Some say he is a werewolf himself, and that he lives in the cave as a penance for the lives he has taken."
"But if he has as cure… why wouldn't he use it?"
"Perhaps he likes being a werewolf."
"No," she said vehemently. "I'm sorry, I can't believe that. I can't believe anyone would want to be a werewolf, or a…"
"Or a vampire?"
"Or a vampire."
"And if you had to choose between the two, Regan Delaney, which would you be?" he asked quietly.
"Have you killed a lot of people?"
"Define a lot."
"One is a lot," she said, her voice sharp.
"Then I have definitely killed a lot."
"How many?"
"I have not kept a record." The only kills he remembered were the first ones, when the hunger had been excruciating, the pain overpowering, and the hunt exhilarating.
"Ten?" she prodded. "Twenty? Fifty? A hundred?"
Telling himself to be patient, Santiago took a deep breath. He couldn't blame her, he supposed, for being worried and afraid, or for trying to find out all she could about him. He was, after all, a stranger, and a vampire.
"As I said, I haven't kept a record, but I would guess the number to be rather high. I have regrets, of course," he remarked. "Do I wish those I killed were alive? Yes. Would I wish to be dead in their place? No." He stilled her next question with an upraised hand. "Not all the people I have killed have been prey. Some were killed in self-defense. And some…" He met her gaze. "Some were vampire hunters."
Her face paled a little at that admission. "What about Vasile? Do you know how many… ?"
"I have no idea."
She fell silent, her thoughts turned inward as she watched the moonlit countryside rush by. After a time, Santiago turned on the radio. Regan closed her eyes, lulled to sleep by the car's movement and the music.
Santiago felt himself relax. Not that he minded answering her questions. He couldn't blame her for being curious, couldn't fault her for wondering about his past or how many people he had killed. She had known him less than a month and her life was, after all, in his hands.
It was a beautiful night for a drive. The sky was clear, shimmering with a multitude of stars. There were only a few other cars on the highway. On the radio, Brooks and Dunn were singing an old song about a neon moon. That was how the moon had looked when he had first seen it as a new vampire, he recalled with a wry grin, like a fiery ball of silver neon.
He had awakened after sunset that first night, wondering if the mysterious woman and everything that had happened after she had wandered into his camp had been some kind of fever dream.
Rising, he had emerged from the small cave where he had spent the day in oblivion. After the pain of the night before, he was surprised to find that he felt better and stronger than he had ever felt in his life. Though it was full dark, he could see everything clearly. His nostrils filled with a myriad of smells and odors—the feral odor of animals, the fecund scent of plants and grass and dirt, the stink of a decaying animal in the distance.
His puzzlement at his increased senses was soon swallowed up in a sharp slash of pain that engulfed his whole body. It took him a moment to realize that what he was feeling was hunger, but a hunger unlike any he had ever known before. He felt as if his insides were being shredded with hot knives, shrinking, shriveling.
Frantic to alleviate the pain, he had pulled a piece of dried venison from his war bag. He ate it quickly, then doubled over in pain, retching violently as his body rebelled. Blood, he thought dully. She had told him he would need blood.
When his nausea passed, he wiped his mouth, then walked the short distance to where he had left his horse. At his approach, the mare's nostrils flared, her ears went flat, and she turned and bolted across the prairie.
He had known, in that instant, that his life had been forever changed.
Santiago looked over at the woman sleeping in the seat beside him and knew his entire existence was about to change again.
Chapter 12
The ringing of her cell phone woke Regan. Grabbing her handbag, she fished the phone out. "Hello?"
Michael Flynn's voice came over the line, loud and clear. "Hey, Reggie, where the devil are you?"
"What?" She sat up, momentarily disoriented until she glanced out the car window. She remembered where she was then, who she was with, and where they were going.
"I stopped by your place," Michael said. "Your car was there but you didn't answer the door or the phone." He paused and she visualized him running a hand through his hair. "I was worried."
"I'm fine, Mike. I just decided to take a short vacation."
"Kind of sudden, isn't it?"
"I guess so. I'm sorry, I should have let you know."
"Where are you going?"
"South Dakota."
"South Dakota!" he exclaimed, disdain evident in his voice. "Why on earth would you want to go there?"
She glanced at Santiago. He was watching the road but she was sure he was listening to every word, not only hers, but Flynn's, as well. Vampires were known to have a remarkably acute sense of hearing. "I… it's just a place I've always wanted to see and…"
"Go on." It was obvious from Flynn's tone that he didn't believe a word she was saying.
"I've been a little on edge lately, that's all. I just wanted to get away for a while. I thought a change of scene might do me good, you know?"
"Uh-huh."
"I'll call you when I get back."
"There's been another killing."
She glanced at Santiago again. "Same M.O. as the others?"
"Yeah. This one was a woman." He cleared his throat. "At first… at first I thought it might be you."
When she looked over at Santiago this time, he was watching her.
"Why did you think that?" she asked.
"I heard the report at the station. The victim's general description matched yours—same height, same hair color."
"Where was she found?"