Dead Sexy

She had certainly been sleeping in a lot of strange beds lately, she mused as she slipped under the covers and most of them were Santiago's. Taking a deep calming breath, she closed her eyes and waited for sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. Instead, she found herself thinking of Santiago, wondering again what he looked like when he was caught up in the Dark Sleep. Wondering if he slept in his sweats. Or in nothing at all…

Regan woke a little after three in the afternoon. She lay there, her thoughts drifting. She should have called her parents before she left home. She should have let the department know she was leaving town. She should have cancelled the Internet Daily News and asked her neighbor, Polly, to pick up her mail, but everything had happened so quickly. At least she was working again, though she had no idea how long this case would last, or if the department would keep her on once it was solved.

She glanced across the room to the closed bedroom door. Santiago wouldn't be rising for a while yet. She had plenty of time to make a few phone calls. Instead, she let her mind conjure images of Santiago the vampire. Of them all, she decided she favored the memory of the first time she had seen him, that night in You Bet Your Life Park. At the time, he had reminded her of the angel of death. It was still an apt description, she mused. But, coming a close second was the memory of the last time she had seen him, when he had been wearing nothing but a well-worn pair of gray sweatpants. He really had a magnificent build, all smooth tawny flesh and rippling muscle.

She wondered if vampires dreamed when they were trapped in the Dark Sleep, or if it was truly like death. Would he know if she opened the door and peeked inside? Was he aware, on some subconscious level, of what went on around him, or was he really dead to the world?

She sat up when her stomach growled. Rising, she programmed the coffee robot, choosing something dark and rich with a faint hint of chocolate. In moments, the air was redolent with the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. Carrying the cup with her, she went to the window and drew back the curtains. Dark gray clouds hung low in the sky. She saw a faint flash of lightning in the east and heard a distant rumble of thunder.

Her stomach growled again. Letting the curtain fall back into place, she sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the menu on the table. Picking up the desk phone, she called the restaurant across the street and ordered a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, a double-thick chocolate shake, and an order of curly fries. Just before she hung up, she remembered to ask for the name of the person who would be delivering her order.

After getting dressed, Regan went into the bathroom and washed her face and brushed her teeth. She was combing her hair when someone knocked at the door.

"Who is it?" she called.

"Jerry, from the diner."

She grabbed her handbag. "How much do I owe you?"

"Sixteen credits for the meal and two for the delivery."

Regan shook her head. Two credits just to carry her order across the street. Prices were getting higher every day. She dug her wallet out of her handbag and found her credit card, then released the lock on the door and opened it a crack. A young man with a cowlick stood outside, a sack in one hand and her malt in the other.

Taking a step back, Regan opened the door. The young man handed her the sack and the malt, which Regan carried inside. Returning to the door, she handed the young man her credit card and signed the receipt.

Murmuring her thanks, she closed and double-locked the door.

Carrying the sack over to the bed, she grabbed the remote and switched on the Satellite Screen, surfing through the online guide until she found an old Reese Witherspoon romantic comedy that she had seen only ten or twelve times. With her back propped against the pillows, she opened the sack and ate her lunch, which turned out to be surprisingly good—or maybe she was just really hungry.

She was finishing the last of her malt when Santiago emerged from the other room. Tonight he wore black jeans, a dark green shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and black boots.

Regan glanced at her watch. It was only a little after five. "I didn't expect you up so soon."

He shrugged. "The sky is overcast."

"I thought it didn't matter anymore, whether the sun was up or not."

"I am not at my full strength when the sun is high in the sky. Once I succumb to the Dark Sleep, I usually sleep until sunset, though not always."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she didn't say anything.

"We will leave after I have…" He paused.

She knew he was trying to think of a tactful way to say he needed to hunt. She saved him the trouble. "I understand."

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he sat down in the chair across from hers.

"What's it like?" she asked. "Hunting for prey, I mean." Although she couldn't imagine such a thing, there was a good possibility that she would be hunting prey herself if she turned fanged and furry at the next full moon.

He regarded her through narrowed eyes for a moment. "I do not think I can explain it to you," he replied slowly. "There is nothing in the human experience with which you can compare it. The scent of fresh prey in your nostrils, the scent of fear when they realize they cannot escape, the rapid beat of their heart, the rich coppery taste of hot blood flowing over your tongue…" He stopped abruptly. "Forgive me, I did not meant to be so… descriptive."

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Descriptive was right. "I thought you didn't kill anymore."

"The thrill of the chase is the same, only the manner of it has changed." Where he had once hunted his prey with single-minded intent, he now seduced them, oft times with flowers and sweet words. The latter lacked the rush of the former, but the results were the same and, in some ways, seduction was more satisfying.

His gaze slid over Regan, from the top of her blond head to the tips of her dainty toes. She would be sweet indeed, he mused. He would like to woo her and win her, then start at her feet and nibble his way up to her mouth, sampling all her feminine delights along the way.

From the sudden blush in her cheeks, he suspected she might be reading his mind.

He glanced at the window. The sun was down. It was time to go.

"I will not be gone long," he said. "Remember to keep the door locked."

She nodded. Though she tried not to show it, he could see the revulsion in her eyes.

That look stayed with him as he stalked the shadows. He had not given any regard to what others thought of him in hundreds of years. Why did this woman's opinion, from a woman he hardly knew, have the power to make him feel guilty for what he was about to do? He snorted softly. He had nothing to feel guilty about! He was a vampire. It wasn't a lifestyle he had sought, but he had made peace with what he had become and everything it involved years ago.