Dead Sexy

"Why didn't you tell me this before."

"He was not killing children before."

Regan massaged her temple with her fingertips. She could feel a headache coming on. "How do you know it was a vampire who did this and not the werewolf? Did you smell the vampire's scent, too?"

"I cannot tell you all my secrets, Regan Delaney," he replied with a wry grin, "but after tonight, the one who did this will no longer be a threat to your kind, or mine."

Chapter 4

The vampire paused at the edge of the lake, his preternatural senses testing the night air. He had fed earlier, and fed well, but lately the hunger would not be appeased.

He glanced at the burlap bag in his hand, then flung the bag and its contents into the center of the lake, watching impassively as the blood-crusted organs floated on the water before slowly sinking out of sight.

He didn't know who was killing the people inside You Bet Your Life Park, and he didn't care. It provided the perfect cover for his own crimes, although he found ripping out hearts and livers a rather nasty business.

He grunted softly. He didn't know why he found it so odious. He had done far worse things without a qualm.

Turning away from the lake, he walked down the narrow, twisting path that led to the street and the park beyond. It amused him to know that the foolish mortals believed the vampires were confined to the park. Of course, it was true that most of the Undead couldn't cross the force field—but he wasn't one of them.

He was almost to the park when he paused. It was hours until dawn, plenty of time to make another kill.

He was stalking a voluptuous young woman wearing a silver spandex tank top and a black leather miniskirt when he sensed the presence of another of his kind.

The vampire stopped, all thoughts of the woman forgotten. He had not felt fear in over two hundred years, but he felt it now. It was a sudden chill snaking down his spine, a clammy hand clawing at his vitals.

"Karl."

The voice came out of the shadows, as cold and unforgiving as death itself.

The vampire peered into the darkness. "Leave me alone, Santiago. You hear? Go away and leave me alone!"

"You have broken my law. You have killed on my turf."

"You're not the master of the city anymore," Karl said, his voice rising. "You're no better than the rest of us!"

"Am I not? "

Karl muttered a vile oath as Santiago materialized in front of him, his appearance so fast and unexpected that it came as a complete, and unwelcome, surprise.

Karl gasped as Santiago's hand curled around his throat.

"You have violated my law," Santiago repeated. "The tenuous peace we have achieved is at risk because you cannot control your thirst."

Karl stared into merciless blue eyes, his fear increasing as Santiago's voice grew softer and more deadly.

"I might have forgiven you for the others," the master of the city said. "But tonight you killed children. It is the one sin I will not forgive."

"I… I didn't… mean… to kill them," Karl said.

The other vampire snorted derisively. "One kill might be an accident. But two?" He shook his head.

Karl watched in horror as the master of the city lifted his free hand, the long fingers flexing, then curving into claws. He tried to scream as that hand moved slowly, resolutely, toward his chest, but terror trapped the sound in his throat. He thrashed wildly, his fear rising as he stared certain death in the face.

There was a blinding hot pain in his chest as his heart was torn from his body.

And then nothing at all.

Chapter 5

Regan stared at the clock on her bedside table. It was after two in the morning, and she couldn't sleep. Santiago's last words repeated in her mind, over and over again.

After tonight, the one who did this will no longer be a threat to your kind, or mine.

The words had been quietly spoken, but she had heard the ominous undertone. There was no doubt in her mind that Santiago would exact the ultimate price from the vampire that had killed the two teenagers. The very thought sent a chill down her spine. There were only a few ways to destroy a vampire. None of them were easy, or pleasant.

With a sigh of exasperation, Regan threw the covers aside and got out of bed. Going into the living room, she turned on the Satellite Screen, then went into the kitchen for a cup of hot chocolate. She punched in the code and then hit the marshmallow key three times. A moment later, the computer served up a cup of hot chocolate at exactly the temperature she preferred. Cup in hand, she returned to the living room and curled up on the sofa.

She had no doubt that Santiago had destroyed the killer. She should be glad, but she was so tired of all the killing, all the death. The image of the slain teenagers rose in her mind again. She was glad she wasn't the one who had to notify the parents, that she didn't have to see the looks of horror and disbelief on their faces, and that she didn't have to accompany them to the morgue to identify the bodies. Regan shook her head sadly. No parent should have to bury a child.

It was obvious that Santiago had a soft spot for children. Did he ever lament the fact that he would never be a father, never hold a child of his own in his arms? Never see that child grow and have children of its own?

She pounded her fist on the table. She had to stop thinking about him! He consumed far too many of her thoughts, walked in far too many of her dreams.

Where was he now?

Did he feel remorse for the vampire he had killed? Were vampires even capable of feeling human emotions like remorse or grief?

He felt passion, there was no doubt of that, or of the fact that his very nearness aroused her more than it should have.

She shook her head. She wouldn't go there. No matter how appealing he might be, he was still a vampire. There could be no future for the two of them. No sane woman would even consider such a thing.

"So maybe I'm crazy," she muttered, because in spite of everything she knew about Joaquin Santiago, in spite of what she knew he had done tonight, heaven help her, she wanted to see him again.

Feeling restless, Regan threw on her robe and stepped out onto the balcony of her condo. A bright yellow moon played hide-and-seek with a scattering of wispy gray clouds. She heard the faint wail of a siren, the barking of a dog, a baby's cry. Just the ordinary, everyday sounds of the city.

There was nothing ordinary or mundane about Santiago. What was he doing now? Was he standing on the balcony of his condo, looking at the same moon, hearing the same sounds? Or was he prowling the dark streets in search of sustenance? She lifted a hand to her throat. Did he prefer to prey on women, or was anyone who crossed his path fair game?