Night's Promise Page 13

  Her questing fingers stilled as she waited for him to go on. There was so much about him she didn’t know. She glanced at his forearm. A faint red line marred his pale skin.

  His gaze followed hers to the faint red line that stood out against his pale skin. “I got that when I was five or six. Fell off my bike and landed on a piece of glass. Any wounds I get now heal almost instantly and leave no scar.”

  “But you can’t be up during the day?”

  “I can, for short periods of time, as long as I stay out of the sun’s light, but I prefer the night. My mother assures me that, in a year or two, the sun will no longer affect me.” He drew in a deep breath, let it out in a soft huff. “I could do it now if I drank from her, but . . .” He shook his head. The thought of drinking from his own mother was abhorrent in ways he didn’t care to contemplate. “Any more questions?”

  She shivered when he ran his fingertips over her lower lip. Though his touch was cool, heat spread through every nerve and cell in her body.

  In a move so quick it was over before she realized it was happening, he rolled over, tucking her body beneath his. She recognized the hunger in his eyes, felt her body’s primal instinct to flee from danger.

  Derek growled low in his throat, his hunger sparked by the scent of fear on her skin, the sudden, rapid beating of her heart. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.

  “I’m not afraid,” Sheree said, forcing herself to relax. “And I’m not prey. But if you’re thirsty . . .” She turned her head to the side. “Drink, Derek.”

  He growled again, though it was more of a purr, and then he bent his head to her neck and took what she offered.

  Sheree closed her eyes as his fangs brushed her skin. How was it possible that something so unnatural—so revolting—could feel so wonderful? She should push him away, never see him again, but she knew she would not—could not. There was something remarkably intimate about letting him drink from her, about knowing that her blood was nourishing him. A little voice in the back of her head reminded her that she would die if he took too much. But even that didn’t seem to matter as pleasure rippled through her.

  She felt bereft when he lifted his head. His tongue laved her skin, sealing the wounds, and then, murmuring, “Forgive me,” he buried his face in the curve between her neck and shoulder.

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” Sheree sifted his hair through her fingers, then softly whispered, “I love you.”

  “I . . .” Derek cursed inwardly, afraid to tell her he loved her, afraid to believe she loved him. Those three words had started feuds, brought kings to their knees, changed the fate of nations.

  He had no idea what havoc those words might cause in his life.

  Or hers.

  Dammit, he had to say something.

  “It’s all right,” Sheree said. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but”—she made a vague gesture with one hand—“I couldn’t keep it in any longer.”

  Sitting up, he raked a hand through his hair, conscious of her steady gaze. “You remember I told you I’d learned something new about myself?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think I’d better tell you about it before this thing between us goes any farther.”

  Sheree’s heartbeat ratcheted up a notch.

  Derek closed his eyes, one hand massaging his brow. How was he supposed to tell her he might turn into a werewolf ? She had accepted his being a vampire without much fuss. Time to find out how she felt about werewolves.

  “Listen, I don’t know how to sugarcoat this, so I’m just gonna say it straight out. My father was a werewolf, but the gene he carried was latent and never manifested. Turns out, I also carry that gene.”

  “Werewolves are real, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you be both at the same time?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll probably find out the next time the moon is full.”

  She fidgeted a moment; then, murmuring, “Excuse me,” she left the room.

  He heard the sound of a kitchen cupboard opening, water running, knew she was trying to ease her nervousness. He didn’t smell fear on her, which surprised him. But she was ill at ease, confused, unsettled. Well, he could hardly blame her. He felt the same way.

  He was debating whether to go to her or just leave when she returned. She hesitated a moment, then perched on the edge of the sofa like a bird poised to take flight at the first sign of danger.

  “Do you want me to go?”

  “I don’t know.” She fiddled with the hem of her sweater. “It doesn’t change the way I feel about you, but . . . well . . .” She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “It’s a lot to take in, I’ll grant you that.”

  “You must be . . . I don’t know . . . worried. Upset.” Her gaze searched his. “Scared.”

  He nodded. Scared didn’t begin to cover it.

  “What do you want to do?” she asked.

  “That’s up to you.”

  Sheree bit down on her lower lip, then drew a deep breath. “I think I’m going to go home and visit my parents for a week or two and sort out my feelings.”

  She was leaving. Hadn’t he known that, sooner or later, she would go? And though he knew it was for the best, he was tempted to use his preternatural powers to make her stay because, heaven help him, he was afraid of what he’d do—what he might become—without her.

  “Derek?”

  “I think that’s a good idea.” It was, he thought, the biggest lie he’d ever told.

  Mara listened quietly as Derek told her about Sheree’s decision to go back to Philadelphia. Though he spoke with no inflection, she knew the girl’s decision had hurt. Her first instinct was to compel the girl to stay, to love her son the way he deserved. The only thing that stopped her was knowing Derek would hate her for it.

  The words I’m sorry seemed inadequate, but, in the end, that was all she could think to say.

  Later, alone in her bedroom, Mara paced the floor, her heart breaking for her son’s pain. For the first time in his life, he had fallen in love. She told herself that Sheree’s leaving was probably a good thing, at least for now.

  Logan materialized in the room a few minutes later. He didn’t have to ask if there was something wrong. The air was thick with the tension radiating off his wife.

  Wordless, he drew her into his arms. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Sheree has decided to go home to her parents and Derek is devastated. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Stay out of it. This is between the two of them.”

  “My son is hurting, and it’s all her fault!”

  “Yeah, well, there’s nothing you can do about it. He’s a big boy now. He doesn’t need you to lick his wounds.”

  She sagged in his arms, her cheek resting on his chest. “I always thought when he grew up I’d stop worrying. He doesn’t need this on top of everything else. The full moon will be here before we know it.”

  He snorted softly. “I’m not looking forward to that, either.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sheree cried while packing her suitcases, cried when she went to bed that night, sobbed quietly in the taxi on the way to the airport and during the flight to Philadelphia, and sniffled on the taxi ride home.

  When her father opened the door, he took one look at her tear-ravaged face and folded her in his arms.

  “Whatever it is, ducky, it can’t be as bad as all that.”

  “Oh, Daddy, you have no idea!” And the worst of it was, she couldn’t tell him everything.

  “It’s got to be man trouble,” Brian Westerbrooke murmured, draping his arm around her shoulders as he guided her into the living room.

  Sheree nodded. “Where’s Mother?”

  “The hospital was having an auction. Naturally, she’s in charge. She took Trudy with her. They should be home in an hour or so.”

  Trudy Simmons lived in the little cottage behind the house.
She had worked for Sheree’s parents for as long as Sheree could remember. She was a sort of jill-of-all-trades, taking up whatever slack was left by the maid, the cook, and the gardeners.

  “Sit down while I pour you a drink,” her father said. “You look like you could use one.”

  Sheree glanced around the room, trying to imagine Derek in her mother’s immaculate parlor, with its pristine white carpets, taupe walls, and Louis XV furniture. There wasn’t a spot of dust to be found. Fresh flowers graced the tables. A trio of magazines was set, just so, on the ornate coffee table in front of the high-backed sofa. The drapes were tightly closed against the afternoon sun.

  “Here you go, ducky.” Handing her a glass of chardonnay, her father joined her on the sofa. “Now, tell me all about it.”

  Sheree told him what she could, how she had met Derek in a nightclub and quickly fallen in love with him, how he had secrets he couldn’t share, and that his life might be in danger.

  Brian Westerbrooke listened attentively, nodding now and then.

  “I didn’t know what else to do,” Sheree said, “so I came home.”

  “Well, that was exactly the right thing to do,” Brian said. “We’re expected at the Somersets’ tonight to celebrate Neil’s promotion. I think a party and several glasses of champagne are just what you need to take your mind off your troubles.”

  Sheree groaned softly as she imagined spending the evening with Neil at the Somersets’. No doubt the Uptons would also be there.

  Why had she ever thought coming home would be a good idea?

  The Somersets’ house was ablaze with lights when Sheree and her parents arrived. Her mother looked elegant in a gown by Dior, her father as handsome as always in Armani. Sheree had chosen a black, off-the-shoulder frock because the color reminded her of Derek and suited her mood at the same time.

  She smiled at Mr. and Mrs. Somerset, tried not to grimace when Neil bowed over her hand and kissed it.

  “How lovely you look,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

  Murmuring, “Thank you,” she tried to free her hand from his, but he seemed determined to hold it. And then she saw Ralph striding toward them, and she knew why Neil wouldn’t let go.

  “Sheree!” Ralph gushed. Ignoring Neil, Ralph kissed her on both cheeks. “You look good enough to eat!”

  Ralph rescued her hand from Neil’s. “The orchestra is tuning up. I believe the first dance should be mine.”

  “And all the rest are mine,” Neil said, smirking.

  Resigned, Sheree followed Ralph into the ballroom. Holding her too close, he said, “I knew you’d come back.”

  “Did you?”

  “How could you stay away, babe?” he said with an arrogant smile. “I knew there was something between us when we danced together at Leonardo’s wedding.”

  All too soon, Neil came to claim her. Holding her even closer than her previous partner, he spent the entire time bragging about his promotion, hinting that all he needed was a good woman, like her, to make his life complete.

  As soon as the song ended, Ralph claimed her again.

  By the end of the evening, Sheree felt like a piece of taffy, having been constantly pulled back and forth.

  Glad that the evening at the Somersets’ was over, Sheree kicked off her heels, hung up her dress, and fell back on her bed. Her feet were killing her.

  Lying there, staring up at the ceiling of her old room, she fervently wished she had stayed in California. By night’s end, she had danced with every eligible man at the party, and foolishly compared them all to Derek, which explained why none of them had appealed to her. None of the men she knew measured up to her vampire. Her vampire, she thought, and wondered if she would ever see him again.

  Slamming her fist against the mattress, Sheree chided herself for being such a coward. Vampire or werewolf, what difference did it make? She loved the man inside. And yet . . . how many times had Derek warned her that she would always be prey? Maybe it was time to pay attention. Then again, which would be worse, risking her life to be with the man she loved, or spending the rest of her life without him?

  There was really no choice.

  Her anger faded as she pictured him in her mind—tall, broad shouldered, as handsome as the devil, as sexy as sin.

  Still, she thought, it might be wise to wait until after the full moon before returning to California. And, in the meantime, she could get her parents used to the idea that she intended to marry a California boy.

  Assuming he would have her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “McDonald is here!” Pearl couldn’t keep a tremor of fear out of her voice.

  “Lou McDonald?” Edna glanced around Drac’s Dive. The dance floor was crowded; the bar was packed with couples, and with singles hoping to score. “Where? I don’t see her.”

  “There, at the far end of the bar. The woman in the long black coat.”

  Edna sent a nonchalant glance over her shoulder. Lou McDonald didn’t look very intimidating. She was no more than five feet tall, with light blond hair and skin almost as pale as that of the vampires she hunted. But her eyes, ah, there was death in her cold blue eyes.

  “We should leave,” Pearl said. “She’s not looking this way. If we hurry, we can sneak out before she sees us.”

  Grabbing Edna’s hand, Pearl edged toward the door. She breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped outside, with Edna close on her heels, only to come to an abrupt halt when a woman stepped in front of them. Pearl had never seen her before, but she recognized the stink of a hunter.

  Before she could dissolve into mist, the hunter slapped a handcuff around Pearl’s wrist. The silver sizzled against her skin.

  Before Edna could react, Lou McDonald had come up behind her with a pair of handcuffs, which she quickly locked in place. With an evil grin, the hunter jabbed Edna in the arm with a needle.

  Edna exclaimed, “Oh, shit, we’re dead!” as McDonald’s accomplice jabbed Pearl’s arm.

  Feeling suddenly light-headed, Pearl watched Edna collapse on the sidewalk moments before everything went black.

  Pearl woke abruptly, instantly aware that thick silver chains bound her to a chair. Wide eyed, she glanced around. A small gray room. No windows. A single door.

  There was no sign of Edna.

  Lou McDonald stood before her wielding a slender, long-bladed dagger. “I want answers,” McDonald said. “And I want them now.”

  “Where’s Edna?”

  “I’m asking the questions here. I want to know Mara’s whereabouts.”

  “Mara?”

  “Answer me!”

  Pearl hissed as the silver blade opened a thin gash in her left arm. Blood flowed in the wake of the blade.

  “I can do this all night,” McDonald said. “And all day tomorrow.”

  “You’d torture me while I’m at rest?”

  “You bet. Where is she?”

  Pearl frowned. “You found us. Why can’t you find her?”

  “If I could, I would. I think she’s using some kind of ancient vamp glamour to shield herself from hunters.” The blade scraped down Pearl’s right arm. “Now, where is she?”

  Fighting the urge to cry out, Pearl sniffed the air. Edna was nearby. Pearl tugged against the chains, but there was no escaping bonds made of silver.

  “Just tell me what I want to know and I’ll make your death quick and painless. Otherwise . . .” The blade opened another gash in Pearl’s left arm. The wounds, which normally would have healed almost instantly, were slow to close. Dark red blood dripped onto the cement floor. The smell of it filled the air.

  “I’ll tell you,” Pearl said, stalling for time, although she couldn’t think of anyone who would come to their rescue. “But only if you tell me why you’re after her.”

  “Are you as stupid as you look? Why do you think I want her? She’s the most powerful vampire on the planet. I’m a hunter. You do the math.”

  “She’ll eat you for breakfast.”

&
nbsp; McDonald dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. “Maybe. But I’m about to retire and . . .”

  “And you want to take down the biggest, baddest vampire of them all before you do?”

  “That’s right. One of us is going down.” McDonald tossed the blood-stained dagger from one hand to the other. “Whatever happened to her son? Is he still alive?”

  Pearl glanced past McDonald, her eyes widening. “Oh, yes,” she said, smiling. “He’s very much alive. He—”

  “Shit!” McDonald whirled around, the dagger tightly clutched in her fist as she came face-to-face with Mara’s son.

  “Are you looking for me?” he asked mildly.

  “Actually, I’m looking for your mother.”

  “If you’d found her instead of me, you’d be dead now.”

  “Where’s Edna?” Pearl asked.

  Derek’s gaze remained on McDonald while he answered the other vampire. “She’s feeding.”

  “My sister!” Lou McDonald’s eyes went wide. “Where’s Cindy? What have you done to her?”

  “I didn’t do anything to her. I simply compelled her to free her prisoner.”

  “Edna.” Pearl’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Of course! She brought you here, didn’t she?”

  Derek nodded. “I heard her call for help.”

  “And you came!” Pearl’s smile was radiant. “Thank you, dear!”

  “Turn Pearl loose,” Derek said.

  McDonald lifted her chin defiantly. “And if I refuse?”

  “You can waste time arguing, or you can let her go. It might not be too late to save your sister. But you’re not getting out of this room until Pearl’s free. The choice is yours.”

  McDonald’s face went white as a harsh wail reverberated from the adjoining room. Glaring at Derek, she unlocked the chains binding the vampire, then ran out of the room screaming her sister’s name.

  “Thank you again, dear boy.” Pearl’s nostrils flared as the scent of freshly spilled blood wafted through the air. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”