Night's Promise (Children of The Night 6)

“A kiss will suffice.”

Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her gently, then said, with a teasing grin, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to bring you across?”

She swatted him on the arm, then sat up, intrigued and repulsed by the idea at the same time. “Have you ever made another vampire?”

He winked at her. “Not yet.”

“Do you know how?”

“In theory.”

“Is it done the way they do it in the movies?”

“Pretty much. I’d drain you to the point of death, then give you my blood. When you woke the next night, you’d be one of us.”

“Does it hurt?”

“I don’t know. No one ever turned me.”

“You said you’d have to drain me to the point of death. What if you took too much?”

“You would die. None of us, not even Mara, can raise the dead.”

It was a sobering thought and quickly obliterated Sheree’s curiosity.

Derek traced her lower lip with his forefinger. “You would make a beautiful vampire.”

“What do you mean?”

“All vampires have a sort of glamour that enhances their natural appearance. Haven’t you noticed?”

Sheree started to say no, but then she thought about Mara and Logan. There was something indefinable about them, an allure she had been unable to put a name to.

Troubled by his words, she looked at Derek. Had she been drawn to him because of some vampiric magnetism she couldn’t resist?

“Perhaps, in the beginning,” he admitted with a wry grin. “But the attraction between us is very real. Otherwise your blood wouldn’t have such a powerful effect on me.”

He tugged her down beside him, his arm slipping around her waist to draw her body closer to his. Sheree snuggled against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, one hand resting on his chest. Butterflies danced in her stomach at the touch of his lips moving in her hair.

“Sheree, I can’t believe you’re here. Or that you’ve accepted all this . . .” He made a broad gesture with his hand meant to encompass the castle and everything in it. “I can’t help thinking that you were meant to be mine.” He kissed her cheek. “That you will always be mine,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

She raised herself on one elbow so she could see his face. “Don’t you know I’ll be yours for as long as you want me?”

“Then you’ll be mine forever.”

Sheree smiled. It was a wonderful sentiment, but she doubted he’d feel the same when she was old and gray and he was still young and vibrant.

“I will want you until the day death takes you from me.”

“I’d like to believe that,” Sheree said. “I really would. But, honestly, Derek, can you really see yourself making love to some wrinkled old woman?”

“No.” He caressed her cheek. “But I can see myself taking care of you until you draw your last breath.”

It wasn’t fair, she thought bitterly. Why did she have to fall in love with a vampire? Maybe he meant what he said, maybe he would still love her when she was in her eighties, if she lived that long. But how would she feel about him? Would she love him until her dying breath? Or hate him because he didn’t grow old, because she was going to die while he would go on loving and living without her?

“Damn, girl,” Derek muttered. “Talk about looking on the dark side of things!”

“If you’d stay out of my mind, you wouldn’t know what I was thinking!”

“You’re young, love. You’ve got lots of time to change your mind before you turn into that wrinkled old crone.”

“Oh!” Grabbing her pillow, she hit him over the head with it. His laughter only made her angrier and she hit him again and again, her anger gradually turning to laughter until he rolled her onto her back and rose over her. He wasn’t laughing now, and neither was she. His dark gray eyes were smoky with desire as he lowered his head and claimed her lips with his.

Wrapping her arms around his back, she pulled him down until his body covered hers. With a shock, she realized he was naked save for a pair of black briefs that did nothing to disguise his gender or his burgeoning desire.

“Sheree . . .” His eyes flashed red and he groaned, the sound torn from the very depths of his being. “Tell me to stop before it’s too late.”

“Drink, my love,” she urged. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

He went still, his fingers tangled in her hair. She could feel the struggle within him as he fought to control his hunger and his desire. As much as he needed her blood, as satisfying as it might be, she knew that he regretted the necessity—that he was afraid she would think he saw her only as prey.

He whispered words of love in her ear but they weren’t needed. Lost in a blissful haze, she had no thought to deny him, didn’t care what he took as long as he didn’t leave her. After a moment, she felt the warmth of his tongue against her skin, followed by the touch of his fangs at her throat. She arched against him as pleasure flowed from his bite to the very center of her being.

She clutched his shoulders, heard his voice whisper, “Forgive me,” and then all thought was swept away in a tidal wave of such sensual pleasure she thought she might die of it.

Die. . . .

For a terrifying moment, the world went crimson. And then black.

“Sheree! Sheree! Dammit!”

Derek’s voice, laced with terror, called her from the abyss. With an effort, she swam back through layers of blackness to find him hovering over her, his brow furrowed, eyes shadowed with worry.

He hissed a sigh of relief when she opened her eyes. “I thought . . .” He pulled her into his embrace, his face buried in her hair.

A moment later, Mara and Logan burst into the room.

“Derek, what have you done?” Mara demanded.

With a low growl, Derek grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Sheree. “You know damn well what I did.” He stroked Sheree’s face. She was pale, so pale.

“Yes, I know. A little more and she would be dead now.”

Logan grabbed Mara’s hand and tugged her toward the door. “Let’s go,” he said gruffly. “We’re not needed here.”

Muttering, “She might not be so lucky next time,” Mara followed Logan into the hallway and closed the door.

“Why is your mother so upset?” Sheree asked.

Derek smoothed her hair away from her face. She was almost as white as the pillowcase. “I nearly took too much.”