Night's Promise (Children of The Night 6)

“I haven’t been to the movies in ages. Would you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Sheree replied, pleased to have company. “I’d like that.”

“Shall we walk?” Mara asked. “It’s such a lovely day.”

“Good idea,” Sheree said, thinking it would give her a chance to walk off a few of those calories she’d just eaten.

“So, tell me about yourself,” Mara said, falling into step beside her. “We didn’t get to talk the other night.”

“There’s not much to tell. I came out here to spread my wings, I guess you could say, but it hasn’t worked out. I’m going back home in a week or two.”

“Oh? I thought you and Derek were . . . never mind, it’s none of my business.”

“Yes, Derek.” Sheree bit down on her lower lip, wondering how much she should share with Mara, and how much, if anything, Derek had already told his sister. “It just didn’t work out.”

“That’s too bad. He seemed very fond of you.”

Sheree was searching for a reply when they reached the theater. Inside, she bought a small popcorn and a soft drink, then glanced at Mara, who stood beside her.

Mara shook her head. “Nothing for me.”

There were only two other people in the auditorium, a teenage boy and girl sitting in the last row, their arms wrapped around each other. Sheree grinned, thinking they were probably cutting class so they could neck.

“If you need someone to talk to,” Mara whispered, “I’d be happy to listen.”

Sheree shook her head. “There’s nothing to say.” Sighing, she stared at the bag of popcorn in her hands. “I was hoping he was the one, you know? I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, but . . .” She twisted a lock of hair around her finger, then shrugged. “He said it would be best if we ended it.”

“I see.” Mara patted her arm. “Perhaps he’s right.”

Sheree stared at the screen, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “I miss him already.”

Derek stood in the shadows, watching Sheree’s house. Lights burned in the living room window, the curtains drawn against the night. But he didn’t need to see her to know she was inside.

He shifted from one foot to the other. He was here to relieve his mother, who had spent the day keeping watch over Sheree. “How is she?”

Mara stood in the shadows behind him. “She told me she misses you.”

Derek glanced over his shoulder. “It’s only been one day.”

“So, you don’t miss her?”

“What are you now, my matchmaker?” he asked irritably.

“I just don’t like to see you alone.”

Derek turned to stare at Sheree’s house again. He was twenty-five years old and he’d never had a steady girlfriend, never dated any woman more than once or twice. While other thirteen-year-olds were discovering and appreciating the differences between boys and girls, he’d been learning how to hunt, how to control the ever-present urge to kill his prey, how to hide what he was from humans, how to defend himself against hunters, how to protect himself if he was caught out in the sun’s light. None of which had prepared him for what he felt for Sheree.

He knew it was possible for a vampire to find happiness with a human. His family was proof of that. Roshan and Brenna, Vince and Cara, Rafe and Kathy, Rane and Savannah—they’d all fallen in love and made it work. The only failed relationship was that of his father and his mother. Loving Mara had killed Kyle Bowden as surely as if she had personally taken his life.

“Derek?”

“What do you want from me?”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“Happy, yeah. I’ll work on that.”

“I wish you would!” she retorted. “It breaks my heart to see you looking so miserable.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

Sighing, she closed the distance between them and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Of course not. I love having you here. You must know that.”

He grunted softly.

“Just think about what I said, that’s all I’m asking, all right?”

“Yeah.” Covering her hand with his, he gave it a squeeze.

“Good. I’ll see you at home later.”

A faint stirring in the air, and she was gone.

Derek stood there for several minutes, then dissolved into mist, crossed the street, and slipped under the crack in the front door.

Sheree glanced at the antique clock on the mantel, unable to believe it was barely nine. Would this day never end? She had considered going out, but she was somewhat unsettled after last night’s incident. She didn’t think she was in any danger from the two men who had accosted her, certainly not the one with the two broken arms. Still, going out alone didn’t seem very wise, all things considered.

She had called her parents earlier in the evening to let them know she’d be coming home, probably next week. Her mother immediately suggested a welcome home party, as if Sheree had been gone years instead of only a few months.

Thinking about it now, she wondered if going back to Philadelphia was such a good idea. Did she really want to get caught up in all those social obligations again? On the other hand, there was no reason to stay here.

Blowing out a sigh, she closed her eyes. And frowned at the sudden feeling that she was no longer alone. Sitting up, she glanced around the room, certain someone was there.

Rising, she grabbed the fireplace poker and tiptoed through the house, turning on lights as she went, peeking behind doors, peering into closets.

There was no one there.

Convinced she was imagining things, and feeling more than a little foolish, she dropped the poker on the bed, then went into the bathroom and turned on the taps in the tub, thinking a nice hot bath might relax her. And if that didn’t do it, perhaps a cup of warm milk or hot chocolate.

After adding some lilac-scented bubble bath to the water, she tied her hair up in a ponytail to keep it out of the way, then stepped into the tub and closed her eyes.

She was cracking up, she thought. First she was imagining an intruder in the house when there was no one there, now she was imagining the scent of Derek’s cologne.

Derek lingered near the ceiling in Sheree’s bedroom. Tempting as it was to slip into the bathroom and watch her bathe, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He wasn’t a voyeur, after all.

Resuming his own form, he looked around her room, wondering if she had decorated it herself. The walls were papered in an old-fashioned blue and white stripe. Curtains the same shade of blue as the paper hung at the single window, the blue captured again in the quilt on the bed. The floor was hardwood, the furniture painted white. Several framed pictures—two landscapes, two seascapes—hung on the walls. A well-read copy of Wuthering Heights lay open on the nightstand.