Dead Sexy (11 page)

And now, after all this time, Marishka's killer was here, in the city. His presence begged the question: Was Vasile here by design or coincidence? Santiago had counted Vasile as his enemy for centuries, always plagued by the mystery of why Vasile had killed Marishka. Had it been a random act? If Santiago hadn't awakened when Vasile attacked Marishka, he would likely have been the werewolf's next victim. But the question remained. Why had
Vasile attacked Marishka? It was a question that had haunted him from the day of her death, and remained a mystery to this day. He had searched the world over for Vasile, his need for answers and his lust for vengeance driving him onward until, after more than three centuries, he had decided the werewolf was dead. Convinced that revenge would forever be beyond him, he had returned here, to the country where he had been born, and forged a new existence.

And now Vasile was here. Santiago smiled, his fangs lengthening in anticipation. Sooner or later, they would meet again and he would have his revenge at last.

Regan woke from a troubled sleep. Her dreams had been peppered with fangs and claws and hideously deformed bodies—and awash in blood. It had poured from wounds and water faucets and dripped from the sky like crimson rain.

With a grimace, she went into the bathroom and rinsed her face with cold water, then went into the kitchen for a soda. She popped the top of the can and took a long drink. If meeting a vampire was going to subject her to such vivid, horrifying dreams, then she wished she had never met Joaquin Santiago!

But there was no time to think about the master of the city now. She had a date with Flynn and he was going to be here in less than an hour.

She took a quick shower, then spent ten minutes fussing with her hair, only to shake it out and let it fall around her shoulders. She dressed in a pair of jeans and a comfy sweater, pulled on a pair of low-heeled boots, brushed her teeth and applied a touch of lipstick, and she was ready to go.

Flynn knocked at the door a few minutes later.

She smiled up at him. "Right on time."

"You know me," he said with a wink. "I never keep a beautiful lady waiting. You ready to go?"

With a nod, she grabbed her handbag, dropped her gun into her jacket pocket, and left the apartment, making sure to lock the door behind her.

"So," Flynn said, handing her into the car, "where would you like to go for dinner?"

Food was the furthest thing from her mind, but some perverse demon made her suggest Sardino's.

Flynn gave her a funny look as he pulled away from the curb. "Are you hoping to run into that bloodsucker you were having a drink with the other night?"

"Of course not, they just have really good food. We can go somewhere else, if you like."

"No, Sardino's is fine."

"Any news on the killings in the park?" she asked.

"Hey, I'm off duty," Flynn admonished lightly. "No shop talk tonight." He looked over at her and smiled. "Did I tell you how pretty you look?"

"No."

He winked at her again. "That's my favorite sweater."

"That's why I wore it," she replied, though she realized that was only a half-truth. It was her favorite sweater, too, but she had worn it with Santiago in mind. Chiding herself for even thinking of the vampire, she turned on the radio, and there was Hunter Double D singing about the danger of falling in love with a fanged female.

"The lovin's good, mister, don't get me wrong, she can woo you and love you all the night long, but by and by, just between you and me, her beast will break out and her fangs you will see…"

Muttering, "sheesh," she switched off the radio.

"What's the matter?" Flynn asked with a grin, "don't you like Double D?"

"The music stinks and the lyrics are ridiculous."

Flynn laughed out loud. "I can't argue with that." He pulled into the parking lot behind the restaurant and cut the engine.

As he helped her from the car, Regan realized coming here really wasn't a good idea. She hoped Mike wouldn't mention Santiago again. Her relationship with the vampire was something she didn't want to talk about with Flynn or anyone else until she herself had figured out what it was.

They had no sooner been seated than Santiago entered the restaurant from the vampire side. He chose a table where she couldn't miss seeing him. He inclined his head in her direction and then sat down. Moments later, a beautiful young vampire with short, curly red hair and long, long legs joined him. The woman kissed his cheek, then sat down.

Regan was perplexed by the sharp stab of jealousy that pierced her when she saw Santiago with another woman. There was no reason for her to be jealous. Sexy looks and devastating kisses aside, he was nothing to her.

Dragging her gaze away, Regan spent the rest of the evening trying to concentrate on what Michael was saying, but time and again she caught herself staring at Joaquin Santiago and his date, found herself wondering what synthetic blood tasted like, and if he drank it warm or cold.

"Regan?"

Blinking, she looked at Mike. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"I asked if you wanted dessert?"

"No, I don't think so."

Mike looked up at the waitress. "Just the check, please."

"I guess I haven't been very good company," Regan said. "I'm sorry."

"You seem a little distracted," Mike said, reaching for her hand. "Is anything wrong?"

"No, I just… it's the killings in the Park. I guess they bothered me more than I thought."

"I didn't want to talk shop," Flynn said, "but there was another killing last night. I tried to call you…" His voice trailed off.

She knew he was wondering where she'd been, but their relationship hadn't reached the point where he had the right to ask or she had the responsibility to tell him.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't home," she said, and then frowned. She never turned her cell phone off. Why hadn't it rung last night? Reaching into her handbag, she checked the phone. Sure enough, it was off. She glanced over at Santiago. He was the only one who could have turned it off; she hadn't been with anyone else. She dropped the phone back into her bag. "Who was the victim this time?"

"Another middle-aged man, same M.O. as the last one."

She wondered if she should tell him about the murders Santiago had mentioned, then wondered why she was even questioning herself about it. The police needed to know. Then again, there was no evidence of the murders and, thanks to the vampire community, no bodies. She bit down on the inside corner of her mouth. If she told Flynn about the other deaths, she would have to tell him how she knew and she was suddenly, unaccountably, reluctant to do so.

They talked of the case for a few minutes, then Flynn paid the check and drove her home.

"Would you like to come in?" she asked as he pulled into the driveway.

"You know I would, but I've got to be in court early tomorrow morning."

"All right."

He walked her to her door, drew her into his arms, and kissed her good night. Some tiny imp inside her couldn't help comparing Flynn's kiss with Santiago's. To her dismay, the vampire's kiss was far and away the more sensual and satisfying of the two.

Flynn gave her a quick hug. "I'll call you during the week."

"I'd like that." She stood in the doorway, watching his car until it was out of sight, her fingertips sliding over her lower lip. What was wrong with her, that Flynn's kisses, while warm and sweet, didn't excite her the way Santiago's did, didn't leave her yearning for more than just kisses? How perverse was she, to prefer the kiss of a vampire to that of a nice, normal, handsome man?

She was still pondering that when she went inside and closed the door.

Even before she switched on the light in the living room, she knew there was someone else in the house.

The man standing in her living room was tall and lean. There was nothing particularly frightening about his appearance. Dressed in faded jeans and a flowered shirt, with his long blond hair falling to his shoulders, he looked like a California surfer, until you looked into his eyes. Dark brown eyes. Feral eyes.

She didn't have to ask who he was. In the deepest part of her being, she knew.

For a moment, she couldn't move, couldn't think, and then she whirled around and bolted for the front door.

She had just wrenched it open when he reached her.

She screamed as he grabbed a handful of her hair and flung her across the room, cried out when the back of her head struck the wall. Lights danced in front of her eyes as she slowly slid to the floor.

He closed the front door, then came to stand over her.

Regan slid her hand into her jacket pocket, her fingers curling around the butt of her pistol. "What do you want?"

"Santiago."

For a moment, she considered denying that she knew the vampire, but one look into the intruder's eyes changed her mind. "He's not here."

"Where is he?"

"Turn around, Vasile. I am right behind you."

Regan glanced past the werewolf to see Santiago standing in front of the door. She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.

The werewolf's lips drew back in a predatory grin. "I knew I would find you here."

"The woman has no part in this."

"No?" Vasile took a step back, his hand once against fisting around a handful of Regan's hair. "I think she does."

"She is nothing to you," Santiago said, his voice cool and detached. "And nothing to me."

Regan looked up at Santiago, chilled to the bone by his words.
He doesn't mean it
, she told herself.
He can't mean it
.

Vasile laughed. It was an ugly sound, like dry bones scraping together. "Then you won't care if I kill her."

"Do what you will to the woman," Santiago said impatiently. "It will change nothing between us."

Uncertainly flickered in the werewolf's eyes; then, with a low growl, he gathered Regan into his arms. "You say the woman means nothing to you. We shall see."

Knowing that Vasile could move almost as fast as he could, and knowing that any attempt to interfere would only make things worse, Santiago remained where he was, hoping against hope that the werewolf was bluffing. He should have known better.

Santiago let out a cry of rage when Vasile buried his fangs in Regan's neck. The werewolf bit down hard, then threw her away from him. She slammed into the far wall, fell to the floor, and lay there, limp and unmoving, like a rag doll.

Santiago lunged toward her, but Vasile sprang forward, murder in his eyes as he placed himself between Santiago and Regan.

"Before I kill you," Santiago said, every fiber of his being fixed on the werewolf, "I want to know why you attacked Marishka."

Pausing, Vasile looked over his shoulder. "You don't know?" he said with a sneer. "You expect me to believe she never told you?"

Santiago frowned. "What are you talking about?" He glanced at Regan, his senses surrounding her. Her heartbeat, though erratic, told him she was still alive. "What was Regan supposed to tell me?"

"Not her! Marishka. She was mine! We were to be married. And then she met you. I warned her that I would kill her before I let her go. She should have believed me."