Dead Sexy (21 page)

Regan shifted in the saddle. Where was Santiago? What was taking him so long? Had he found the old shaman?

She glanced from side to side, her nerves strung tight. Were those eyes glowing there, just beyond the trees, or was her imagination playing tricks on her?

She felt warm all over, constricted, as if her skin was shrinking. She looked down at her hands, imagining them turning into paws, her nails into claws.

She practically jumped out of the saddle when a wolf howled somewhere in the distance.

The moon would be full tomorrow night. She could feel herself changing already. Her body felt different, alien, and she was plagued by a restlessness she had never known before.

She knew in the deepest part of her being that if the shaman couldn't help her, she was doomed to become what she feared most.

She wrapped her arms around her waist as the first wolf's mournful howl was picked up by another, and then another. Her horse tossed its head, its ears twitching nervously as it pulled on the reins. Santiago's horse pawed the ground, its eyes showing white. Regan didn't know much about horses but she knew exactly what the animals were feeling.

She had almost decided to dismount and go into the cave in search of Santiago when he stepped outside.

"Did you find him?" she asked anxiously. "Can he help me?"

Santiago didn't say anything. Instead, he lifted her from the back of her horse and drew her into his arms.

Regan stared up at him, her gaze searching his, and then, with a sigh of resignation, she rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes.

There was no need for questions. His silence said it all.

There was no cure.

With her cheek resting against Santiago's chest, Regan listened quietly as he told her what he had found inside the cave. She didn't know how long they stood like that. It could have been minutes, it could have been days. She couldn't move, couldn't think of anything to say. The word 'werewolf' played over and over again in her mind. She was going to be a werewolf. Tomorrow night, when the moon rose in the sky, she would transform into a beast. Her hands and feet would turn into paws, her body would be covered with fur, and she would be compelled to run though the night in search of prey…

She shook the thought aside. Lifting her head, she looked up at Santiago. "Remember what I asked you before?" She took a deep breath. "I want you to do it now, before it's too late."

"Regan…"

"Please, Joaquin. I can't live like this, knowing that I'll become a monster when the moon is full. Please, if you care for me at all."

He cupped her face in his hands. "Let me bring you across."

"No! I don't want to be a vampire, either. Just do it now… but, please, don't hurt me."

A muscle throbbed in his jaw. "Regan, do not ask this of me."

"
Why
not? You've killed before."

His arms tightened around her. "Dammit, Regan, I cannot take your life. Let me bring you across. You will not have to hunt. I will feed you. We can have a good life together."

"Life?" She twisted out of his arms. "What kind of life is that? You'll keep me like a pet, you'll feed me! And it's not just the blood thing, it's all of it. I don't want to live only at night. I don't want to give up all the things I enjoy. I want to get married and have children, and…"

"I love you, Regan Delaney. I will cherish you and look after you for as long as I live. You will want for nothing, I swear it on all that I hold dear."

As it had before, his declaration of love left her speechless. He loved her. Joaquin Santiago, the most feared vampire in the city, loved her.

"Joaquin… I don't know what to say." She wanted to tell him that she loved him, too, but, once spoken, the words could not be taken back, and loving a vampire was a complication she didn't need in her life just now.

"There is no need for you to say anything. I tell you only so you will know why I cannot take your life."

Regan shook her head. "If you really loved me, you'd do as I ask."

"I will do anything but that."

"Please…"

He cut her words off with a slash of his hand. "We will spend the night here."

She glanced at the cave. "Here?" She shivered with revulsion. Two people had died inside the cave. She told herself there was nothing to fear. The dead couldn't hurt you. Unless they were vampires, she thought morbidly.

"It is the only shelter for miles."

"I don't mind sleeping outside. We did it last night."

"It is going to rain."

"It is?" She glanced up at the sky. "There aren't any clouds."

"There will be."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"I can smell the rain."

Regan sighed heavily. She wasn't crazy about sleeping out in the rain, but she was less thrilled with the idea of sleeping in a cave with two dead men.

Santiago's hands squeezed her shoulders reassuringly. "Wait here. I will take the bodies out and bury them."

She wrapped her arms around her middle. She didn't believe in ghosts. Still, she had never spent the night in a place where someone had died a violent death only hours before. She had read somewhere that the spirits of those who died violent deaths sometimes lingered on Earth, refusing to move on. She shook off her fanciful thoughts. Unless you were a vampire, dead was dead.

"You will be more comfortable here," Santiago said, stroking her cheek. "There is an easy chair and a fire pit. And food."

"All right." She stood by her horse, her face turned away from the cave's entrance, while Santiago went inside to retrieve the bodies. Standing there, in the stillness of the night, she realized her senses were expanding. She could detect the scent of death in the air, smell the sweet, coppery tang of the blood that had been shed.

She was already changing, she thought. Her sense of smell was sharper, her vision clearer, her hearing more acute.

Staring into the darkness, she absently stroked the mare's neck. Her life had certainly taken a turn she had never expected. How could she be a werewolf? What kind of changes would she have to make in her lifestyle, other than the obvious? Would people take one look at her and know what she had become? What would her parents think? Not that she could tell them. Her folks were liberal thinkers, at least on the surface, but they had been opposed to any and all laws protecting vampires. She could only imagine how they would react to having a daughter who was a werewolf.

She laughed harshly. She would be one hell of a vampire hunter now! She blinked back her tears. Her parents weren't the only ones she couldn't tell. She couldn't tell her brothers, either. And she certainly couldn't tell Michael! He would never understand.

And then there was Santiago. What would he think when she went furry? Of course, he would probably be sympathetic, being one of the monsters himself.

She blew out a sigh. How could she be a werewolf? Would she remember who she really was when she was running wild? When she was human again, would she remember being a wolf? And what if she killed someone? Would she remember? Or would the memory be mercifully erased from her mind?

She pressed her face to the horse's shoulder. How could she live with herself if she killed someone? Oh, lord, what if she killed someone she knew?

It was a nightmare, she thought, sniffing back her tears, a horrible nightmare from which she would never awaken.

She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket. The butt of the gun felt icy in her hand as she withdrew it. If Santiago wouldn't put an end to this nightmare, she could. She stared at the pistol. The barrel was smooth, shiny in the moonlight. Her finger curled around the trigger. One shot to the head and it would all be over. She looked into the black maw of the barrel, stared at it until she couldn't see anything else. All she had to do was put the gun to her head and squeeze the trigger. Would she feel it? Would it hurt?

"Regan." Santiago's voice wrapped around her like soft black velvet. "Give me the gun."

She looked up to see him standing in front of her, one arm outstretched.

"Regan, listen to me," he said quietly. "You do not want to do that."

"I have to," she said dully. "What else can I do since you won't help me?"

"I will." He took one step toward her, and then another. "Trust me, Regan."

She lowered the gun, her hand trembling, and now the weapon was aimed in his direction.

Santiago paused, his attention focused on the pistol. If she pulled the trigger now… His gaze captured hers again. "Trust me," he repeated.

Time stilled as she stared at him, and then her hand fell to her side. "I'm so afraid."

"I know." He plucked the gun from her grasp and shoved it into the waistband of his jeans, then drew her into his arms. "I will be here with you tomorrow night," he promised, one hand stroking her hair. "You will not be alone."

"Stay with me tonight."

"Regan…"

"Please."

"I will stay until dawn."

"Will you hold me until morning?"

How could he refuse?

Santiago lit a fire in the cave so that Regan could have a cup of hot chocolate. He hoped it might help relax her. For a cave in the Black Hills, it was remarkably well stocked. A large trunk held numerous cans of fruit, meat, and vegetables, bottles of water, and juice.

"Will you be all right for a few minutes?" he asked.

"I guess so, why? Where are you going?"

"Outside to look after the horses."

"All right. You won't be gone long?"

"No."

Leaving the cave, he unsaddled the horses and turned them loose. They moved away from the entrance, then began to graze.

Santiago stared into the distance. Why had a werewolf killed the old medicine man? It made no sense, especially if the rumors were true and the shaman himself had been a werewolf. He shook his head. If the medicine man had been a werewolf, the bites he had received would have healed before he bled to death. There was always a chance the old man had been a threat to the werewolf community… Santiago shook off that line of thinking. What kind of threat could a medicine man who lived like a hermit in a cave have been? He shook his head again. None of it made any sense.

"Joaquin?" Regan's voice called him back into the cave.

He found her sitting in the overstuffed leather chair, a blanket across her knees. She looked very young—and very afraid.

He placed the gun on the shelf; then, lifting her into his arms, he took her place in the chair and settled her on his lap.

"What took you so long?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I was just outside, looking at the view."

She was quiet a moment, and then she said, "Tell me about your life. How did you get to be master of the city?"

"By being stronger and more powerful than all the rest, of course," he said with a faint grin.

"Did you frighten them all into submission?"

"You could say that."

"And what makes you so powerful?"

"Age, for one thing." He stroked her back absently, thinking how soothing it was to hold her, to touch her, to breathe in her very essence. "We grow stronger as we get older."