Dead Sexy (27 page)

"She is an outsider."

Vasile shrugged. "Perhaps, but she will be mine."

"I will accept her among us," Zina said, a touch of arrogance in her tone, "but I will not be subservient to her."

Approaching the woman, Vasile rubbed his body against hers. He took a deep breath, drawing in her scent. She was still in her prime, strong and healthy. He could do worse. He grasped a handful of her hair and drew her head toward his. For a moment, he stared into her eyes and then he kissed her. There was nothing of warmth or tenderness in his touch. It was a token of possession, nothing more.

"Prepare yourself," he said, his voice rough. "We will join the first of the week."

"So soon?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No."

"Tell the others," he said. If they were going to do it, they might as well do it as soon as possible.

With a nod, she turned and left the house.

Vasile stared after her. Taking Zina for a mate would mean staying here, at least for as long as it took to ensure that she conceived. If they mated in human form, the child would be human; if they mated in wolf form, the child would be born a werewolf, compelled to shift when it reached puberty.

For a time, he contemplated the prospect of fatherhood but, all too soon, his thoughts returned to Santiago's woman. She would soon learn to accept her new state of being. If she had survived the first change, she would grow stronger with each successive change, making her more suited to be his mate. As the days and weeks passed, Santiago would gradually relax his guard, making it easier for Vasile to take him unawares when next they met.

He grunted softly. Coming home had been the right thing to do. Feeling suddenly restless, he went to look out the window again as a familiar tingling, like the prick of a thousand needles, slithered down his spine.

The new moon was rising. It was time to hunt.

When Regan woke in the morning, she was alone in the bed. Picking up the pillow Santiago had slept on, she took a deep breath, her nostrils filling with his scent. She knew he had held her all through the night because nightmares had awakened her three times. Each time, it had been Santiago's voice that had calmed her fears and his touch that had soothed her.

Sitting up, she glanced around the room. Where did he sleep? Was he close by?

Driven by her curiosity, she wandered through the house, hoping she would have some sense of his presence, but maybe that was impossible. When he slept, it was the sleep of the dead.

Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since the day before. She blew out a sigh. She wouldn't find anything to eat or drink here, she thought glumly.

Returning to the bedroom, she dressed quickly and gathered her things together. It was time to go home, time to check her messages, do her laundry, clean out her refrigerator, go grocery shopping, and get in touch with Michael.

Still, she hesitated. The only way to get home was to take Santiago's car. She didn't think he would mind. She didn't like taking his car without his permission, but walking through this neighborhood alone, even in the daytime, was out of the question. Besides, it was a long walk to her apartment, and Santiago wouldn't need the Speedster before nightfall. She would have it back by then.

She wrote him a quick note, grabbed her handbag and her suitcase, and left his lair. It was creepy, moving through the deserted warehouse by herself. Hurrying as fast as she dared, she picked her way through the gloom and the debris, breathing a sigh of relief when she stepped out into the sunshine. His car was parked at the curb.

She punched in the code for the lock, opened the door, and slid behind the wheel, thinking how amazing it was that he could leave his car parked in this part of town and expect it to be there, untouched, the following night.

She punched in the ignition code, glad that she remembered it, and pulled away from the curb. She had never driven anything as expensive or anything that handled so easily. No wonder he loved this car, she thought, it practically drove itself.

She pulled up in front of her apartment a short time later. Exiting the car, she retrieved her purse and her luggage, locked the door, and made her way across the sidewalk toward the entrance of her building.

The manager stood near the curb, watering the yard. He was a kindly old man, always admonishing her to find a nice young man and settle down.

He smiled as she approached. "Miss Delaney," he said. "I haven't seen you in donkey's years. I was beginning to worry about you."

"No need, Mr. DeLuca, I'm fine. I was called away on an emergency."

"Oh, right! I don't know where my head is these days. Miss Polly told me she
was collecting your mail. I hope it wasn't anything serious that called you
away."

"No, it was just a… a personal matter that needed my attention," she said, wondering what he would think if he knew he had a werewolf living in his building. Would he evict her?

"Oh, I fixed that broken window," Mr. DeLuca said.

"Broken window?"

"On the north side of the apartment. I replaced it while you were gone. I hope you don't mind."

Regan frowned inwardly. Broken window? What broken window?

"Ordinarily, I would have asked your permission before entering your apartment," Mr. DeLuca said apologetically, "but since I couldn't get ahold of you…"

"No, that's all right."

"You know I never intrude on my tenants."

She laid her hand on his arm. "Thank you for fixing it for me. I should have told her about it, but… I, uh, I was in a hurry when I left, and it was late. How's Mrs. DeLuca?" she asked, quickly changing the subject.

"Doing much better. The doctor says she'll be up and around in no time at all."

"I'm glad." Evelyn DeLuca was a tiny woman, hardly bigger than a minute, and perhaps the clumsiest woman Regan had ever known. Mrs. DeLuca was forever breaking things, usually crockery, but her latest mishap had resulted in a broken leg. "Tell her hello for me."

"I'll do that."

Entering the lobby, Regan took the elevator to her floor, turned left, and walked down the hallway to her apartment, noting, as she did so, that Mr. DeLuca had painted the hallway in her absence. The walls, once a rather stomach-churning shade of pea green, were now a pale and much more becoming shade of sky blue. She would have to remember to compliment him on his color choice.

Unlocking the door, she stepped inside and closed it behind her. For a moment, she just stood there, grateful to be home again.

Dropping her bags on the sofa, she glanced at the window Mr. DeLuca had replaced. No doubt it had been broken the night Santiago had confronted Vasile. She lifted a hand to the back of her head, thinking she was lucky to be alive.

Going into the kitchen, she filled a pitcher with water and then went from room to room, watering her wilted plants. When that was done, she returned to the kitchen. She decided on French toast and sausage for breakfast. It took only minutes to prepare. She put her plate on the table, poured herself a small glass of grapefruit juice and a cup of coffee, and then sat down. She ate slowly, savoring every bite. It felt good to eat without Santiago watching her every move, and yet she missed having him there.

He loved her.

She loved him.

With a sigh, she pushed her plate away, her appetite gone. Why, out of all the men she had known, did she have to fall in love with a vampire? Talk about star-crossed lovers!

Rising, she rinsed her dishes and put them in the dishwasher. She took a shower, washed her hair, and then slipped into an old T-shirt and a pair of shorts. She turned on the radio, found a station she liked, and then spent the next hour and a half dusting, vacuuming, and sweeping—ordinary tasks to keep her from thinking of an extraordinary man.

It worked, until she changed the sheets on her bed, remembering that his were black satin, remembering that she had spent the night in his arms.

She pushed the memory away, gathered her dirty sheets, and shoved them in the washer.

Needing a distraction, she called Michael.

He answered the phone on the second ring. "Reggie! It's about time. How are you? Where are you?"

"I'm fine, Mike. I'm home. Anything new?"

"Nada. Things have been as quiet as a tomb."

She grimaced at his choice of words. "Thank God."

"Yeah. Whoever the killer is, he seems to have left town."

"For good, I hope," she said fervently.

"Yeah. Listen, I'm off duty tonight. How about dinner?"

She hesitated a moment, doubts running through her mind. She was a werewolf now. What if Michael suspected? No, that was silly. She looked the same as always. She knew Joaquin wouldn't like it, but he didn't need to know.

"Reggie?"

She took a deep breath. "Sure. What time?"

"Six? Six-thirty."

"All right. I have some errands to run before then. Why don't I meet you at Mr. Charlie's?" It was a small cafe on the other side of town, favored by cops and others in law enforcement of one kind or another.

"Okay by me. See you then."

"All right."

"And Reggie?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you."

She hesitated a moment before replying, "Me, too, you. See you at six-thirty."

Regan stared at the phone in her hand, wondering what Santiago would say if she told him she had a date, and then she shook her head. She didn't have to tell him anything. Even though he had said he loved her, even though she loved him, that was as far as it went. Try as she might, she just couldn't see any kind of future for the two of them. She was a werewolf. He was a vampire. She lived by day. He lived by night. She was going to find Vasile and destroy him and when she did, she wouldn't be a werewolf anymore. Joaquin would always be a vampire.

Vasile. She had no idea where he was or how to find him. But she would.

She spent the rest of the day pretending nothing in her life had changed. She did her laundry. She picked up her overdue cleaning and then went grocery shopping, wondering all the while what people would think and say and do if they knew there was a werewolf in their midst.

Returning home, she went into the kitchen to put her groceries away, surprised to find that she had bought mostly meat instead of the fruits, vegetables, and whole wheat bread that once made up most of her normal diet.

At five, she took another shower and shaved her underarms and her legs—were they hairier than usual? Standing naked in front of the mirror in the bedroom, she looked at herself critically. As far as she could tell, she looked the same as always. Needing to feel feminine, she decided to forego her usual slacks and a sweater in favor of a dress and heels.

At five forty-five, she picked up her handbag, checked to make sure her gun was inside and loaded, and left the house. If she hurried, she could drop off Santiago's car, catch a cab, and get to the restaurant by six-thirty.

Her heart began pounding a bit erratically as she pulled up in front of Santiago's lair. From the outside, the building was disreputable. The windows were boarded up and there was so much indecent graffiti scrawled across the walls, you couldn't see the color of the building's original paint. She wondered how long Santiago had lived there, and where he would go if some developer came along and bought the property out from under him.