Dead Sexy

"If you need me, I will know it. Self-preservation is very strong in my kind, as is the instinct to protect those we…"

Regan's heart skipped a beat as she waited for him to finish his thought.

"Those we care about."

"And you care about me?"

"More than is good for either of us."

"I care for you, too," she murmured, and wondered how and when it had happened. She had known him only a short time. They had shared little more than a few kisses and yet, in spite of the danger that threatened her and the nagging fear that she might be a werewolf, she couldn't think of anywhere else she would rather be, or anyone else she would rather be with.

As if sensing her thoughts, Santiago closed the distance between them and drew her into his arms. "Do you know how beautiful you are? So incredibly beautiful." His hand moved in her hair, lightly massaging her scalp.

A shuddering sigh escaped Regan's lips. How could such a simple touch feel so erotic?

"Your spirit is so strong," he went on, his voice low and whiskey smooth, "and yet you are so fragile. So desirable…" His lips brushed hers lightly. "I never intended to love anyone again."

She blinked up at him. "You… you love me?"

"It does not please you?"

"I didn't think vampires were capable of love." But even as she uttered the words, she remembered the woman he had told her about. The Gypsy girl, Marishka.

Santiago looked down at her, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "Do you think we are only capable of hatred?"

"I… I sort of thought all those human emotions were, I don't know, wiped out when you became a vampire."

He grunted softly. "It would be easier if they were."

"I find it hard to believe that the vampire who killed those teenagers was harboring any tender feelings."

"Like anything else, what is not nourished gradually withers and dies."

"So you have to make a conscious effort to hang onto your human emotions?"

He nodded.

"I'm glad you did."

"As am I," he said, his eyes glowing with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

Regan's heart began to beat a little faster. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she tilted her head back a little, hoping he would kiss her.

But it wasn't her mouth he was looking at. His gaze was focused on the hollow of her throat—and the pulse beating there.

"Joaquin…"

"One taste?" he asked, his voice almost a growl. "A sip, no more."

"Don't, please," she whispered. "You're scaring me."

His arm tightened around her waist. She had often heard of a man's arm feeling like a steel band. Usually, it was just an exaggeration, but not in this case. She saw the change in his eyes, saw the internal struggle as he fought down the urge to take what he wanted by force, if necessary. She had never done drugs, but she thought being a vampire must be a little like being an addict, the craving for blood a constant clamor for one more hit, one more taste, one more…

She had always admired his ability to be in control of the hunger that lurked forever just under the surface. She only hoped he didn't lose hold on that control now.

She stood quiescent in his embrace, afraid to move for fear any movement on her part would be mistaken for flight, arousing the vampire's instinctive urge to hunt. She could feel her heart beating erratically in her chest, hear it roaring in her ears, and knew that, with his preternatural senses, he could hear it, too. He was still staring at her throat.

"Santiago," she implored. "Please, don't…"

"Ah, Regan, you tempt me almost beyond my power to resist."

Hardly daring to breathe, she clung to the word "almost," felt her whole body go weak with relief when his arm fell away from her waist and he backed away from her.

"Rest well," he said, and before she could reply, he turned and slid gracefully under the bed, hidden from her sight by the overhang of the bedspread.

She stood there a moment, her heart still beating wildly, unable to think clearly. So much had happened in the last few days, she feared she was on sensory overload. Too many dead bodies. Learning that werewolves weren't extinct. Being bitten. Living with the fear that she would become a werewolf at the next full moon. Meeting Santiago. Kissing Santiago. How much more could one girl take and remain sane?

She stared at the place where he had stood only moments before. Vampires had amazing powers. Could he see through the bedspread? Would he watch if she undressed for bed, or, rather than take that chance, should she just sleep in her clothes?

Maybe he was already unconscious, trapped in the Dark Sleep of his kind, but how was she to know?

And how was she going to get any sleep, knowing he was in the same room?

Grabbing her overnight case, she went into the bathroom and locked the door, then stood at the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. What would she look like as a werewolf? Would she have blond fur and green eyes? What would it be like to run on all fours? To have a tail? And sharp white teeth, the better to eat you with, my dear?

She had told Santiago she would rather be a werewolf. For one thing, vampires were vampires every day, or night, of the year, whereas werewolves were compelled to change only during the full moon. True, Vasile could shift whenever he wished, but he was a rare exception. If she went into the woods or some other unpopulated place before she shifted, perhaps she could avoid killing anyone.

As for being a vampire, except for Santiago and perhaps a few other ancient vampires, the Undead were helpless during the day, every day of the year, dragged down into the darkness of oblivion whether they wished it or not. They had to drink blood to survive. They had to live in protected areas, and if someone came along and changed the law and that protection was lifted, they would again be hunted because they were different and therefore to be feared and destroyed.

"Eeny, meeny, miney, moe… werewolf or vampire, which way should I go?"

She was losing it, she thought, stifling the urge to laugh. No doubt the men in white coats would show up and haul her off to the funny farm long before she and Santiago reached the Black Hills.

And wouldn't the attendants be surprised when they discovered they had a werewolf in their midst?

"Stop it!" Undressing, she took a quick shower, pulled on her nightgown, and brushed her teeth, all the while refusing to think of anything but the task at hand. There was no Santiago. There were no werewolves. She was getting ready for bed. Soon she would be asleep.