Dead Sexy (38 page)

Regan paced the small, dark confines of the room where Vasile had imprisoned her.

His bride. She was going to be his bride at the moon's rising. The very thought made her sick to her stomach.

Yet even as she swallowed the nausea rising in her throat, some cruel imp inside her mind kept repeating, "There can only be happiness when like marries like." As if she could ever be happy with a monster like Vasile. She had seen his handiwork. She knew what cruelty he was capable of.

She was going to be Vasile's wife, and if that wasn't bad enough, she wouldn't even be his first wife. The woman she had seen in the bedroom earlier had been waiting for Vasile when he returned with Regan in tow. The woman, whose name was Zina, was not at all happy with Regan's presence, or with the fact that Vasile intended to marry her that night. Zina had poured out her anger and jealousy in the most vitriolic and spiteful tirade Regan had ever heard.

Vasile had listened for a short time and then he'd struck the woman across the face, bloodying her nose and mouth. Zina had made no attempt to wipe the blood away. She had glared at Vasile, her eyes narrowed with hatred, and then, shoulders back, she had turned and walked away.

Regan blew out a sigh. Her prison had no windows and she had no idea how long she had been locked up, or if it was day or night.

She blinked back the tears she had been holding and then, sinking down on the floor, she gave in to the misery that engulfed her.

But for Vasile, she would be Joaquin's bride now. Instead, she was going to become Vasile's wife. Strange, that Joaquin no longer seemed like a monster, while Vasile had become the master of evil. But then, Joaquin had a tender side that she doubted Vasile had ever possessed.

She would never see Joaquin again, never hear his voice, feel his arms around her, or taste his kisses. That thought made her tears fall harder and faster. Why was life so unfair? She had finally found a man to love, and it turned out that he was a vampire. And now, when she was ready to give herself to him heart and soul, Fate had stepped in again, snatched her away on the eve of her wedding, and brought her here. Oh, it just wasn't fair!

Rising, she went to the door and turned the knob. It was locked, of course. She had known that. Nevertheless, she twisted the knob back and forth, over and over again, and when that failed, she slammed her shoulder against the door, tears of frustration washing down her cheeks when it refused to give. There was no way out. No way out… no way out. She was doomed to be Vasile's bride. Fear congealed in her belly as a new, horrible thought occurred to her. Oh, lord, would he come to her as a man or a werewolf on their wedding night?

She froze when she heard the snick of the lock being turned. The door opened with a frightful creak, and Vasile stood in the doorway, haloed by the sun's fading light.

When she tried to dart past him, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her body up against his. When she struggled, he wrenched her arm behind her back and gave it a painful twist.

"Stop fighting me," he said with a growl. "You will be mine tonight." Eyes glittering, he cupped the back of her head with his free hand and kissed her. His kiss was hard and cruel, a brutal branding, a threat of what was to come. She gagged when he forced his tongue into her mouth, and then she bit down. Bile rose in the back of her throat when she tasted his blood.

Muttering an oath, he jerked his mouth from hers, then dragged her across the compound to his house. He shoved her inside, slammed the door behind him, and pushed her up against a wall, his body imprisoning hers.

"You will not fight me," he said, his face only inches from her own. "You will accept me as your mate without argument. If you shame me in front of my pack, you will regret it many times before this night is over. Do you understand me?" When she didn't answer, he shook her so hard her teeth rattled. "Do you understand?"

She glared at him, but wisely nodded.

Vasile glanced out the window. "The pack is gathering." He shoved her toward the bedroom. "Go clean yourself up, and change your clothes. You will find a dress in the bedroom. And don't bother trying to escape. One of my men is standing outside the window."

With a curt nod, Regan went into the other room and closed the door. She stood there a minute, then went into the bathroom. She didn't bother to lock the door. If she refused to come out, Vasile would just break it down.

After a moment, she went to the sink and looked at her face in the mirror.

What could not be changed must be endured.

That which does not break us can only make us stronger.

"This is no time for platitudes," she muttered. "I need an escape plan." She laughed humorlessly. There was no way to escape. She was surrounded by werewolves.

She washed her hands and face, brushed the dirt and leaves off her clothing as best she could, finger combed her hair, and all the while, she thought of the beautiful wedding dress hanging in her closet. She would never wear it now.

After returning to the bedroom, she changed into the dress lying on the bed. She didn't bother looking in the mirror. What difference did it make how she looked?

She blinked back her tears, wishing that she and Joaquin had made love, that she had given her virginity to the man she loved instead of having it taken, by force, by a monster. All that waiting and all those cold showers for nothing, she thought. She had intended her virginity to be a gift for her husband. Instead, it would be taken violently as an act of vengeance.

She wondered where Santiago was, if Michael was all right, and if she would ever see her home or her family again.

She blinked back her tears when she heard Vasile's voice outside the bedroom door.

"It's time," he said.

Determined to hang on to her dignity as best she took, Regan took a deep, calming breath, opened the door, and with her head held high, went out to meet her fate.

She wondered if Vasile could hear the nervous pounding of her heart as he led her outside. She felt a sudden sense of embarrassment that she was about to be married in a hand-me-down dress, and then wondered why she cared. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to marry Vasile. She didn't know any of the people who had gathered to watch her being forced into a marriage she didn't want.

Vasile came to a stop and the pack surrounded the two of them in a loose circle.

Regan's heart pounded slow and heavy in her breast. This was it. There was no escape.

Zina stood on Vasile's other side. She could feel the woman's hatred rolling over her like thick black smoke.

Vasile lifted his hand and the crowd fell silent. "This woman is mine," he said in a loud voice. "I have made her a member of the pack, and I now declare that she is my mate and that you will treat her as such from this night forward." He turned his gaze on Regan. "From this night forward, you will be my mate. I promise you my protection and my allegiance."

Regan stared at him. Up until this moment, she had secretly hoped for some last-minute miracle. She knew now that her hopes had been in vain.

"Repeat after me," Vasile said. "From this night forward, you will be my mate."

"From this night forward, you will be my mate."

"I swear to you my loyalty and my devotion."

She spoke the words slowly, feeling as if they were being torn from her throat.

"It is done," Vasile said, and taking her by the hand, he led her back to his house and into the bedroom.

With a leer, he closed the door, then pushed her down on the bed.

"You are mine now," he said.

Regan slared at him defiantly. "Do what you will, say what you will, I will never be yours."

"Willing or not, you will be mine this night." And so saying, he ripped the dress off her body, then stripped away her underwear, his eyes hot as they moved over her. With his gaze riveted on her face, he stood beside the bed and removed his shirt, revealing a chest covered with a mat of thick blond hair.

Regan glared at him. She couldn't do this. She couldn't just lie there and let him rape her without putting up a fight.

She waited until he sat down to remove his shoes and then she bolted off the bed and headed for the door.

Her hand was on the knob when he grabbed a fistful of her hair and gave it a sharp yank. She cried out in pain as she stumbled backward. Snarling at her, he shoved her down on the bed and fell on top of her, his mouth covering hers, his body pinning hers to the mattress.

She writhed beneath him, her nails raking his cheek. He struck her across the face. She bit his shoulder and his cheek.

It was a violent, bitter struggle. Regan was certain he was going to kill her when, suddenly, his body went limp.

Peering over his shoulder, Regan saw the woman, Zina, standing beside the bed, a club in her hand.

"He's mine," Zina said.

"You can have him, and welcome," Regan muttered. "Just get him off of me."

Zina shook her head. "I don't want him. I just want to kill him."

"No!" Regan wriggled underneath Vasile's limp form. "No." She couldn't let anyone else kill Vasile. It was something she had to do herself.

Zina stared at her, obviously confused. "Would you rather have him alive?"

"No, I want him dead! But I want to do it myself."

Zina nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "I'm sorry, but I have to do this." She placed her hand over her stomach. "Not for me," she said, withdrawing a gun from the pocket of her skirt, "but for my baby."

Before Regan could protest, before Zina could fire the gun, Vasile rolled off Regan. With a roar of outrage and betrayal, he shifted. When Regan tried to get out of his way, his jaws closed over her neck. Flinging his head to the side, he threw her off the bed as if she weighed no more than a small child. Blood sprayed from her throat, splattering over the blankets, the ceiling, and the wall.

Regan landed on her back, hard, and lay there, too stunned to move. She could feel the blood flowing over her shoulder and down her arm. So much blood… She knew instinctively that it was a killing wound, but somehow it didn't seem to matter.

Growling low in his throat, the wolf turned on Zina.

White-faced with fear, the woman scrambled backward, firing blindly as she went. The first shot missed, as did the second, and then the wolf was on her.

With a roar, Vasile swatted the weapon from Zina's hand. He was about to rip out her throat when a black wolf burst through the window in a spray of broken glass.

Vasile turned to meet his new attacker, a wolfish grin on his face as he recognized the intruder.

Hackles bristling, fangs bared, the two wolves circled each other, oblivious to everything but putting an end to the centuries-old feud between them.

Regan stared at the gun that was lying only inches from her hand. She needed a gun, but she couldn't remember why. She looked at the blood running down her arm. It seemed a shame for all that blood to go to waste. Too bad Santiago wasn't here… She looked at the weapon again. She owned a gun… she wanted to kill Vasile. It was important for her to kill him, but again, she couldn't remember why.

She glanced at the wolves. They were still fighting ferociously. Both were splattered with blood. The fair-haired one was limping; blood oozed from a deep cut on its foreleg. The black one was also bleeding from several places.

The wolves parted for a moment. Breathing heavily, tongues lolling, they growled at each other.

Regan looked at the fair-haired wolf. He had bitten her. And now she was dying from the wound he had inflicted on her. With all the energy at her command, she reached for the gun. It was heavy, so heavy. She dragged it closer, her finger curling around the trigger. Using both hands, she summoned the last of her energy and lifted the weapon. It was too late for her, she thought dully, but she intended to make sure that Vasile sired no more werewolves.

As if divining her thoughts, he turned to look at her, his eyes filled with savage hatred.

She didn't flinch. Meeting his gaze, she squeezed the trigger and shot him right between the eyes.

He stood there a moment and then he dropped to the floor. There was a charge in the air, like electricity before a storm. The fair-haired wolf shimmered and then it was gone and Vasile lay in its place, a neat round hole between his sightless eyes.

It was over.

The gun fell from Regan's hand. With the last of her energy, she looked at the black wolf. Tears filled her eyes. He had come to save her, she thought, but it was too late. Too late.

"I… love… you," she whispered, and then, with a sigh of resignation, she closed her eyes and waited for death.

With a harsh cry of denial, Santiago shifted to his own form. Kneeling beside Regan, he drew her into his lap. Her face was drained of color. Blood continued to ooze from the terrible gaping wound in her throat. He started at it in horror. So much blood.

Hardly aware of the other woman, who had gained her feet and was now backing into a corner, Santiago gathered Regan into his arms and carried her to the bed. After placing her on it, he ripped the top sheet into strips. He folded one into a thick pad and placed it over the ugly wound in her neck, then he used one of the other strips to hold it in place. He muttered an oath when blood quickly soaked through the makeshift bandage.

She needed a doctor, he thought desperately, and they were miles from civilization, miles from a hospital.

Cursing softly, he swaddled her in a blanket and then, gathering her into his arms, he went outside. A crowd had gathered around the front of the house but he paid them no heed. With all the preternatural speed at his command, he carried her to the nearest village. It cost him precious time to find a doctor. The man took one look at Regan and got to work.

After laying her on a metal table covered with a white sheet, the doctor unwrapped the bandage from her throat. He looked up at Santiago through narrowed eyes. "Did you do this?"

"No."

"Do you know her blood type?"

"A negative."

"What type are you?"

Santiago hesitated a moment, then said, "O."