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.”
“Sit down and roll up your sleeve.”
Santiago shook his head. “I cannot…”
“Do you want her to live?” the doctor demanded brusquely. “Then do as I say. We have no time to waste.”
Muttering an oath, Santiago sat on the chair beside the bed. How would his blood affect Regan? Would it kill her? Taken via a transfusion, it wouldn’t turn her into a vampire, but what would it do? And what would the doctor say if he knew whose blood he was about to take?
Santiago clenched his fist as the doctor prepared to take his blood. Watching, he couldn’t help but laugh inwardly at the thought of a vampire donating blood to a mortal woman. Surely it was a first!
“Is she going to be all right?” Santiago asked, though how anyone could survive such a terrible wound was beyond his comprehension.
“Only time will tell.”
The doctor slapped a bandage on his arm. “I will need to stitch her. You can wait outside.”
“No.”
“Yes. Go.”
With a curt nod, Santiago left the room. As much as he longed to stay, he needed to feed, needed to replace the blood he had lost.
Leaving the doctor’s office, he ghosted down the dark streets in search of prey.
She was lost in a dark fog. No matter where she went, no matter how she searched, she couldn’t find what she was looking for, couldn’t find the light. Her body felt weak, adrift. Lost.
Was this death? Had her spirit left her body? Did one have to search for heaven?
Or, oh horrible thought, had killing Vasile condemned her to hell? She refused to accept that. Vasile had been a monster. Surely killing him was a good thing!
Why couldn’t she find the way out?
Why couldn’t she find him?
She tried to call his name but the words wouldn’t come and then she remembered that he was a monster, too, and that she shouldn’t want him, shouldn’t love him. She wished that they had made love. Right or wrong, it was her one regret.
“Joaquin.” His name formed in her mind. Had she said it aloud? She wanted Joaquin, wanted him to hold her hand and promise her that everything would be all right. They would find the shaman and he would cure her…but then she remembered that the shaman was dead.
“Pahin Sapa? Are you there? Is anybody there?”
She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids were heavy, so heavy. When she tried to move, she felt a sharp, burning pain in her neck where Vasile had bitten her.
But he was dead now, and so was she. So many things she would never be able to do. She would never see her family again, never have a family of her own, never see Santiago…Joaquin, Joaquin! She loved him, but the world was growing darker…
Santiago stood at Regan’s bedside. Her complexion was deathly pale, her breathing shallow, her heartbeat faint and thready. He looked up at the doctor, unwilling to believe what his eyes were seeing.
“Is she going to live?”
The doctor shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and his eyes were kind.
“Is there nothing you can do?”
“She’s too weak. She’s lost too much blood. The wound in her neck…how did she get it?”
“An accident.”
“It looks like the bite of a large animal. The authorities…”
“How much longer does she have?”
“A few hours. Perhaps until morning.” The doctor laid a sympathetic hand on Santiago’s arm. “Can I bring you anything? Coffee? Whiskey?”
“No, nothing.”
“I have patients to visit,” the doctor said. “Stay as long as you wish. Call me when…” He patted Santiago on the shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
After the doctor left the room, Santiago took Regan’s hand in his. It was cold, too cold. He was losing her.
Dammit, he couldn’t let her go! “Regan! Listen to me! You will not die, do you hear me? I cannot live without you.”
He had not wept in hundreds of years, had thought he had lost the power to do so long ago, but he felt the sting of tears in his eyes as he gazed down at her. She lay so still, as if she was already gone.
Using the power of his mind, he commanded her to wake up.
She moaned softly and then her eyelids fluttered open.
He squeezed her hand. “Regan!”
She stared up at him, her gaze unfocused. There was no recognition in her eyes.
“Regan, listen to me.”
“You’re here,” she said, h
er voice little more than a whisper. “You’re the one I’ve been searching for.”
He frowned. “What?”
“I looked for you…in the light…but you weren’t…there.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “I am here with you now.”
“I…love…you.”
“And I love you.”
“I wish…I could…stay.”
“Regan, listen to me. I cannot let you go.”
A faint smile flitted over her lips and was gone. “You can’t…stop me.”
“Yes, I can. Let me bring you across.”
She blinked at him and then shook her head.
“Dammit, I will not let you go! Do you hear me? I need you in my life.”
“I can’t…be a vampire…I hunt…vampires.”
“And you have found one who will never let you go.”
“I’m…sorry…” Her eyelids fluttered down; her hand went limp in his.
He gazed down at her, trying to imagine his existence without her in it, but it was impossible. Without her, he had no reason to go on. She had become his life, the light in his darkness, his purpose for rising in the evening. Without her, what was there to look forward to? He had no need for the world; the world had no need of him.
“Very well,” he said, stroking her cheek. “Rest in peace, my love. I will join you in the morning.”
Her eyelids flew open as her fingers tightened around his. “No! No…you must…not. Promise…me.”
He shook his head. “I have no reason to go on if you are not here. If I cannot have you with me in this life, then I will join you in the next. Surely a merciful heaven will not keep us apart.”
She looked up at him, her eyes clear. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. I have existed alone long enough. I will not do it any longer.”
“This is…blackmail,” she said accusingly.
“There is an old saying: ‘All is fair in love and war.’ And I love you, Regan Delaney, as I have loved no other. In life or in death, you will be mine.”
“Let it be life, then,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “A long, long life.”
Chapter 36
At her words, Santiago lifted her from the bed, blankets and all, and carried her out the back door of the doctor’s office.
With preternatural speed, he made his way out of the village toward a heavily wooded area, searching until he found a small cave that was cut into the side of a hill and hidden behind a tangled mass of shrubbery and foliage.
Inside the cave, he spread the blankets on the ground and then, sitting down, he gathered Regain into his arms. There was little time to waste. Her heartbeat was already so faint that even with his preternatural ability, he could scarcely hear it. Smoothing her hair away from her neck, he kissed the sweet curve of her throat and then, taking a deep breath and praying it wasn’t too late, he bent over her, his fangs piercing the tender skin below her ear.
Ah, the warmth and sweetness of her life’s blood. It filled him with a sense of euphoria such as he had never known. He drank it all and then, tearing a gash in his wrist, he held the bleeding wound to her lips.
“Drink, my love,” he coaxed, stroking her throat to make her swallow. “Drink and live.”
Regan woke slowly. Sitting up, she stretched her arms over her head. She felt wonderful. And then she frowned. Why did she feel wonderful? Why was she naked? And where was she?
Glancing around, she realized she was lying on a blanket in a cave. A cave? What was she doing in a cave? Had they returned to the Black Hills? Where was Santiago? She touched her hand to her neck where Vasile had bitten her. There was no bandage and no ragged wound, only soft, smooth skin.
“All right,” she muttered, “let’s sort this out. I’m alone in a cave and…” She bolted to her feet. Had Santiago left her for dead? Had he buried her in a cave?
She wrapped the thin blanket around her, toga-style, and then moved quickly toward the entrance, only then wondering how she could see so clearly in the dark.
She frowned again, her gaze darting right and left. She could see everything with crystal clarity, and she felt different somehow.
“You’re just being silly,” she said, moving closer to the entrance. “It’s probably because you’re not a werewolf anymore and you’re just feeling normal again.”
But she didn’t feel normal.
As she stepped out of the cave, she realized she was hungry, not for food, but for something to drink. That wasn’t normal, either.
She had recently been close to death. Perhaps that was the answer to everything.
She paused outside the cave, more confused than ever. Her senses were enhanced, the way they had been when she was a werewolf, yet she wasn’t in wolf form and she knew that that part of her was gone, destroyed with Vasile. Why, then, were her senses so sharp? She could hear the tiny black beetle crawling on a leaf to her left, see clearly though the sky was dark and overcast, smell the grass and the dirt and the trees. She knew there was a small stream a few yards away and a honeycomb in the branches overhead, and that a small fox was cowering in a hole not far from where she stood.
She took a deep breath and Santiago’s scent was borne to her on the evening breeze, and then she saw him striding toward her. He smiled when he saw her, though his eyes were guarded.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Never better,” she replied, thinking he was more handsome than ever. “What’s wrong with me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why do I feel so good? I should be dead.”
He took a deep breath. “Undead,” he said quietly.
The word hung between them in the air as bits and pieces of what had happened the night before rose in her memory. The wolves fighting. The weight of the gun in her hand. Santiago’s voice telling her that he loved her, telling her that if she died, he would join her in the morning.
“You did it,” she said, a note of wonder in her voice. “You made me a…”
He nodded. “Vampire.”
“I don’t feel dead.” She ran her hands over her arms, across her breasts, over her face. “I feel as if I could fly.” She tilted her head to the side. “You told me that it was painful when you were brought across. Why didn’t I feel anything?”
“It happened while you were unconscious.”
“I’m a vampire.” She looked at him, her eyes wide. “Does this mean I have to live in the park?”
Grinning, he drew her into his arms. “No, my love. We can live wherever you wish.”
“Are you still going to marry me?”
“Just as soon as I can.”
She stared up at him. “Can we get married tonight?”
“I do not think so. At home, I know a priest who will marry us, but here…” He shrugged. “I am a stranger here.”
Reaching up, she trailed her forefinger across his brow, down his cheek, and over his lower lip. “Can we have our honeymoon now and get married tomorrow night?”
He took her finger into his mouth and suckled it a moment before asking, “Is that what you want?”
She nodded, surprised to feel a blush heat her cheeks. “I almost died last night and all I could think about was how sorry I was that we hadn’t made love. I don’t want to wait any longer.”
He understood her need even better than she did. She had been through a number of terrible ordeals in the last few months. She had been turned into a werewolf and been near death, and now she was a newly made vampire, unsure of her future, wondering if she had made the right decision. Few things were as life-affirming as the act of love.
He brushed a kiss across her cheek. “A blanket in a cave was not what I had in mind for our wedding night.”
“Don’t you know it isn’t the place that matters,” she said, “it’s who you’re with?”
“Nevertheless,” he said, swinging her up into his arms, “I do not intend to spend our first night together in a cave.”
“There is one in the village,” he said, striding swiftly through the night.
The inn was old and small and quaint, with a pointed roof and a bright red door. The grizzled clerk gave Regan and Santiago an odd look when they walked into the lobby hand in hand. Regan couldn’t blame him. Even though Santiago had scrounged up a dress from somewhere, she still looked as though she had been ridden hard and put away wet.
The clerk, who, as it turned out, was also the owner, insisted on being paid in advance. Regan couldn’t blame him for that, either.
She glanced around the lobby while Santiago signed the register. An ancient tapestry depicting a king riding to hounds hung from one wall. A small, round, mahogany table and four elegant chairs occupied one corner. The chairs looked so old and fragile, Regan doubted if all of them put together would hold her weight.
There was no elevator. Santiago took her hand and they walked up the curved stairway to the second floor.
Their room was located at the end of a narrow hallway that was lined with old portraits. Regan wondered if the inn was a family business and the portraits were of the former owners.
A murmured, “Oh, my,” escaped Regan’s lips when Santiago swung her into his arms, opened the carved oak door, and carried her across the threshold. The tiny parlor was done in blue and white with peach accents and was perhaps the loveliest room she had ever seen. The sofa was curved, with a high back. A matching chair sat at a right angle to the sofa. Dainty white doilies, as delicate and lacy as spider webs, covered the arms of the furniture. The framed pictures on the walls were scenes of days gone by—a horse-drawn carriage driven by a man in blue and gold livery, a man and a woman in Victorian clothing strolling alongside a placid lake. Old-fashioned lamps with fringed shades provided the room’s light. Patterned rugs covered the floor. A fire was laid in the marble hearth, needing only the touch of a match.
“Not bad,” Santiago said, glancing around.
“Not bad?” Regan punched him on the shoulder. “It’s beautiful.”
He kissed the top of her head, murmuring, “You are.”
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