Wiping her eyes on her apron, she let her thoughts drift back in time, remembering how it had been in the beginning… .
She had been walking home from a girlfriend’s house one evening when a large dog attacked her. She had fallen to the ground and curled into a ball, her arms folded over her head, screaming bloody murder, but no one had come to her aid and then, seemingly from out of thin air, a man had appeared. He spoke to the hound in a language Dorothy didn’t understand and the dog had whimpered and run off with its tail between its legs.
“Are you all right?” the man asked.
She had been too scared to speak, too frightened by the blood running down her arms and leg to think coherently.
He had looked undecided for a moment, then swept her into his arms and carried her to the hospital located several blocks away. In the emergency room, she had begged him not to leave her alone, so he had lied to the nurse, saying he was her husband. He had stayed at her side, holding her hand, while they bandaged her arms and stitched the nasty bite in her leg. When they left the hospital, Russell had called for a cab and taken her home.
Dorothy had been afraid she would never see him again, but when the cab pulled to a stop in front of her house, he had surprised her by asking if he could call on her the next night.
They dated for several months and she fell head over heels in love with him. He was tall and dark and in some ways, a total mystery to her. She was fascinated by his Indian heritage, by his bearing, which was almost regal. To her, he seemed like Rhett Butler and Superman all rolled into one.
Things seemed perfect, until she found out she was pregnant. She had been afraid to tell her parents, afraid to tell Russell, but it was a secret she couldn’t hide forever. He wasn’t happy about the pregnancy. Neither was his family—a family she had never met. She had thought it strange that he never took her home to meet his parents—until he did.
Her first thought upon viewing the compound where he lived was that it looked like a prison; later, it became one, at least for her. She learned a lot about Russell that night, including the fact that he was a full-blooded Lakota Indian and that Russell Alissano wasn’t his real name. He had been born Nagin Luta, which meant Red Shadow. The Lakota believed names had power and his tribal name was used only by loved ones and members of the immediate family.
His parents had not made her feel welcome. Russell’s father, Sake Sapa, who went by the name Charles Alissano, insisted she have an abortion immediately. Dorothy had been too afraid of the man to tell him no to his face, but later, when she was alone with Russell, she told him she didn’t want an abortion and that nothing he could say would change her mind.
He didn’t say anything for several, nerve-racking moments.
Fighting back tears, she had waited for him to say he never wanted to see her again. But, once again, he surprised her. Instead of leaving, he had proposed to her. They eloped the next night.
Her parents weren’t pleased.
Russell’s father never forgave him for marrying a white woman.
Dorothy sighed. She had loved her son, she loved her daughter, but sometimes she couldn’t help thinking they would have all been better off if Russell had never come to her aid that fateful night.
Chapter 8
Kay stood in a corner of the cell, her hands fisted around the bars, staring blankly at the far wall.
Earlier, a man had brought her a covered tray and slid it under the narrow gap between the bottom of the cell door and the floor. When she’d uncovered the tray, she found a roast beef sandwich, a can of root beer, and a bottle of water. She had devoured the sandwich in four bites, drained the can in a few quick swallows, and wished for more.
She had sipped the water throughout the day.
But it wasn’t food or water that occupied her thoughts now. There was only one more night until the full moon. Already, she could feel the change starting within her, the tension, the flutter of anticipation.
In the past, she had gone into the wilderness the night before the change occurred, away from people and civilization, where she was free to run and hunt without fear of discovery.
Her wolf had never been caged up, never been confined in a small space.
In such close quarters, would she feel the need to attack Gideon? Would he have to kill her to defend himself? Which one of them was the stronger? How would she live with herself if she destroyed him?
She turned away from the bars and began to pace the cell. In her wolf form, she had razor-sharp teeth and claws and increased physical strength. Gideon also had sharp teeth and great strength. In addition, she knew he had preternatural powers she lacked, plus he had the ability to read her mind. Would he be able to read her thoughts when she was in her wolf form? If so, that would be a decided disadvantage for her; he would know what she intended to do before she did it.
With a sigh, she sank down on the floor. Hugging her bent knees to her chest, she rested her forehead on her arms and closed her eyes. How lonely the days were with no one to talk to and nothing to do but contemplate an uncertain future. How long the nights were when she sat with Gideon, wondering if every breath would be her last.
Her only hope was that, in her wolf form, she would be strong enough to break down the cell door, defeat the witch, and escape before the unthinkable happened and she killed Gideon. Or he killed her.
She glanced over her shoulder to where he lay sleeping. For the first time, she wondered if she should try to kill him before he killed her. But she couldn’t do it.
She had never killed anyone.
He stirred and she quickly put all such thoughts out of her mind.
But not quick enough.
“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” he said mildly.
“Try what?”
He sat up, one brow arched in wry amusement. “It isn’t safe to attack a vampire at rest,” he said. “Most of us are able to sense danger and rouse long enough to defend ourselves.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” She sat cross-legged on the floor, facing him. And then she frowned. “Why don’t you wake up when the witch takes your blood?”
He lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “I would, if she intended to kill me.” He leaned forward, nostrils twitching. “You smell like meat.”
“The witch sent me a sandwich earlier.”
Gideon regarded her a moment before asking, “What was your life like, before this?”
“Pretty ordinary, actually, except for the werewolf thing. I went to work during the week, relaxed on the weekends. I hung out with my best friend, Wanda.” She shrugged. “Nothing special.”
“Is Wanda a werewolf, too?”
“No.”
“Does she know what you are?”
Kay shook her head. She had shared a lot of things with Wanda, but telling her best friend she turned into a wolf once a month hadn’t been one of them.
“I thought werewolves were pack animals.”
“We are, but I wanted to live on my own for a year, and after a lot of arguments with my father, he finally agreed. What about you? What did you do before”—she waved a hand, indicating the cell—“this?”
“Whatever the hell I wanted.” He tugged against the chains that bound his ankles, cussing mightily as the silver burned deeper into his skin. “Dammit!” he snarled.
Kay recoiled as his lips peeled back, revealing his fangs.
The anger drained out of him as quickly as it had risen and he slumped back against the wall, his jaw clenched against the fresh wave of pain caused by tugging against his shackles.
Kay wrapped her arms around her waist as her stomach growled loudly. One sandwich and a can of soda was hardly enough to make up for all the meals she had missed. She looked up, meeting Gideon’s gaze.
“I can ease your pain, if you want.”
“You mean by giving me more of your blood?”
He shrugged. “I’d rather give it to you than have Verah take it.”
Kay bit down on her lower lip, thinking about his offer. She knew he had hypnotized her into drinking from him before, but she had no memory of it. Still, she grimaced at the idea.
“I can make you think it’s hot chocolate with whipped cream on top.”
“Is that how you made me drink it the last time?”
He nodded.
And still she hesitated.
“You’ll need all your strength for tomorrow night,” Gideon reminded her.
He was right, darn it. The way she felt now, she couldn’t fight her way out of a paper bag, let alone break down a door made of iron bars.
Gathering her courage, she scooted to Gideon’s side.
Gideon took a deep breath as Kay’s nearness slammed into him. His fangs lengthened in response to her fear. The scent of her blood called to his hunger. It took all of his considerable willpower to keep from sinking his fangs into her soft flesh. Instead, he spoke to her mind, bending her will to his, implanting the suggestion that she was drinking a cup of her favorite hot chocolate as he bit into his wrist, then held it to her lips.
When he released his hold on her mind, she looked up at him, her gaze slightly unfocused. And then she tilted her head to the side. “Turnabout is fair play.”
“Not much point in giving you my blood if I take it back.”
“You’ll need your strength, too.”
He considered it a moment, then drew her into his arms and gently brushed a lock of hair away from her neck. Keeping a tight rein on his self-control, he said, “I only need a little.”
Hands clenched, heart pounding with trepidation, Kay again tilted her head to the side, granting him access to her throat. What if he didn’t—couldn’t—stop? Well, she thought fatalistically, one way or another, she would soon be out of this place.
“Relax,” he murmured.
“Easier said than done,” she muttered, and closed her eyes as he bent his head to her neck.
Later, when she lay asleep in his arms, Gideon stared into the darkness, his fingertips absently stroking her cheek as he imagined what it would be like to share a cell with a werewolf.
In all his long life, he had never encountered one. He had heard of them, of course—who hadn’t? They were usually depicted as ravening monsters who couldn’t control themselves and killed indiscriminately when the moon was full. Occasionally, they were depicted as social creatures, loyal to their pack, able to change at will and live ordinary lives.