Night's Promise (16 page)

She smiled faintly as the sound of his voice penetrated her dreams.

She rolled over, still half asleep, expecting to see him sitting beside her, but there was no one there. A glance at the window showed the sun had not yet set. Sighing, she closed her eyes again and snuggled under the blankets.

It wasn’t a request, but a command, one she could not resist. Rising, she drew on her bathrobe, then made her way to the dungeon.

Derek stood near the cell door, his hands wrapped around the bars, his knuckles white.
Get the keys. They’re on a nail on the wall.

She didn’t want to obey but she was powerless to resist. The keys felt like ice in her hand.

Her mind screamed for her to refuse, but his will was stronger, his voice irresistible. She jabbed the key in the lock, then stepped into the cell.

“Release me,” he said, and she had no choice but to obey.

Kneeling, she unlocked the thick silver cuff that bound him.

“You will stay here,” he said. “You will not call my mother or Logan. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Good girl.” Taking the keys from her hand, he left the cell, locked her inside, then tossed the keys on the chair. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and then he was gone.

Sheree wrapped her hands around the bars. Everything within her screamed for her to call for help, but try as she might, she could not form the words.

Moments later, Mara and Logan materialized in the dungeon. Mara wore a nightgown; a pair of jeans rode low on Logan’s hips.

“What happened?” Mara unlocked the door with a wave of her hand.

“I don’t know. He made me come down here somehow. I wanted to refuse, but I couldn’t.”

“Mind control.” Mara looked at her husband. “He’s stronger than I thought. I’m going after him.”

“I want to go, too,” Sheree said. “Just let me get dressed.”

“No. Logan, stay here with her.”

Logan rubbed his jaw. “I think I should go with you. In his condition, it might take two of us to handle him.”

“Someone has to stay with Sheree in case he comes back.” Mara lightly stroked his arm. “I’ll be all right.”

“Just be careful. We don’t know what he’s capable of now,” Logan admonished, but the warning fell on empty air. Mara was already gone.

Beckoning for Sheree to follow him, Logan said, “Come on, girl, it’s going to be a long night.”

Derek ran through the hills with no destination in mind. His ankle burned where the silver had touched him, but he paid it little heed. All he wanted was to be alone. He felt a small degree of guilt for forcing Sheree to turn him loose, but it had been to keep her safe. Once he realized he could bend her will to his, he knew he had to get out of the castle and put as much distance between the two of them as he could.

He had been running for close to an hour when he caught the scent of a strange vampire. A young male, coming toward him in a hurry, eager for a confrontation. Confident of its outcome.

Slowing, Derek lifted his head, his gaze darting left and right. The vampire appeared as little more than a blur as it raced toward him.

Spoiling for a fight, Derek held his ground, his feet firmly planted as he waited for the vampire’s attack.

With a cry, the other vampire launched himself toward Derek, his hands forming into claws as he reached for Derek’s throat. But Derek was ready for him. With a hiss of triumph, his own hands locked around the other vampire’s neck and he drove him backward, slamming him against the trunk of a tree, his fingers digging deep into the vampire’s throat.

Vampires rarely drank from one another, Derek thought as he sank his fangs into the other man’s jugular, but this fledgling had a lot to learn.

At the touch of Derek’s fangs, the vampire bucked wildly, his hands clawing at Derek’s back, shredding skin and tissue, but the pain didn’t register. The vampire’s blood was thick and rich. Derek drank deeply, absorbing the other vampire’s power into himself, drank until there was neither blood nor fight left in his opponent.

He removed the dead vamp’s tattered shirt and used it to wipe his mouth; then with preternatural speed and power, he quickly buried the body.

Clearing his mind of all thought, he ran for miles, effortlessly, but there was no outrunning the werewolf snarling inside him.

The first pain hit him a short time later. It stole the breath from his body and he howled in protest. He had, on occasion, shape-shifted into a wolf, but that was done quickly, painlessly. This was excruciating, and he howled again.

The next jolt sent him to his hands and knees. The wolf was born moments later in a swift, agonizing transformation that shredded his jeans.

The world looked different through the eyes of the werewolf.

Springing to his feet, he shook himself. As a vampire, his senses were keen, but his werewolf senses were sharper still. Stimuli poured in from all sides, even through the pads of his feet. Exultant, he began to run, needing to feel the earth beneath his paws, the sting of the wind in his face.

To hunt.

To rend human flesh and drink blood.

A house materialized out of the darkness and he ran toward it, nostrils flaring. There was prey inside, two adults and three children.

He had almost reached the house when a familiar scent was borne to him on the wind. Mara. But she couldn’t stop him. No one could stop him.

When he reached the dwelling, he didn’t slow down. The flimsy front door gave way to his weight and he bounded across the threshold, the vampire part of his mind momentarily gloating because his mother could not follow him inside.

The house smelled of cooked food, of floor wax and flowers, of soap and ashes, of human sweat and hard work.

He paused in the living room, then padded down the short hallway to the nursery. The door was open. Inside, a newborn baby slept in a crib painted white.

New life. Fresh, sweet blood. It called to him. The baby for an appetizer, then the little girl and her brother. Then the parents. His mouth watered as he contemplated the feast awaiting him.

He padded toward the crib, his nails clicking on the wooden floor. Rising on his hind legs, he stared down at the infant. She slept on her stomach, a tiny thumb in her mouth.

A low growl rose in the werewolf’s throat as it opened its jaws to pick up the sleeping child.

At the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway, he dropped to the floor, fangs bared. A man stood in the doorway, a rifle in his hands, his eyes wide with fear, his face a pale oval in the darkness.

The man fired the gun when the werewolf lunged at him. The bullet struck the wolf in the shoulder, but it didn’t slow him down. After knocking the gun from the man’s hands, the werewolf straddled him, his teeth at the man’s throat.

His head snapped up at the sound of Sheree’s voice.

The werewolf shook its head, blood and saliva spraying from its mouth.

He whined low in his throat as the familiar voice whispered through his mind. Sheree. She loved him. And she knew . . . somehow, she knew what he was about to do.

He stared at the man cowering beneath him. Bright red blood leaked from the bite marks in the man’s throat. The scent tantalized the wolf’s senses, urging him to kill the man and take the child.

He shook his head, the vampire inside him fighting to subdue the werewolf, but to no avail. Grasping the man’s shoulder in his jaws, the wolf dragged him, kicking and screaming, into the living room, away from the child.

The farmer’s frantic cries roused his wife. She ran into the room, took one look at the wolf, then turned and ran toward the back of the house, sobbing the names of her children.

Mara’s scent drew the werewolf’s gaze toward the front door. She stood outside watching his every move. There was no condemnation in her eyes. The life of a mortal meant little to her. He could kill the man or not. She was his mother and a vampire. She would understand what drove him.

But Sheree would never forgive him. She knew he was a vampire, but she had never thought of him as a monster. That would surely change if he killed the man and devoured his family.

The wolf stared at his prey again. The man’s eyes were filled with terror, the stink of his fear clung to his skin, mingling with the scent of urine. Weak, puny mortal, the werewolf thought derisively. Wetting himself like some frightened child.

He snarled softly. He had never known his own father, so why should these children have theirs?

Torn, he threw back his head and howled at the uncaring moon.

“Come home with me, Derek.” His mother spoke quietly, but he heard her clearly.

Sheree’s voice echoed Mara’s words.
Derek, come home to me.

Growling softly, he licked the blood from the man’s neck, then loped out of the house.

A moment later, his mother shifted to wolf form. She sniffed the bloody wound in his shoulder, noting that it was already healing.

Side by side, mother and son ran through the darkness.

Mara paused briefly, her gaze sweeping the shadows before coming to rest on Edna and Pearl. Both women bowed their heads, acknowledging her superiority, before Mara raced to catch up with Derek. Together, they continued on to the castle, where Sheree and Logan waited.

 

 

Sheree sucked in a deep breath when she saw the wolves. She stared at the larger of the two. No one would mistake this creature for anything but a werewolf. Big and black, it was the most frightening thing she had ever seen. He was taller, more muscular than the other wolf, his features somehow distorted. The fur that covered his right shoulder was matted with dried blood.

It was hard to remember that it was Derek when he started toward her. She told herself that there was nothing to be afraid of, that he wouldn’t rip her heart out. But looking at him, she found it hard to believe.

He paused, whining softly when she took an involuntary step backward.

Sheree blinked when the wolf at Derek’s side began to shimmer. A moment later, Mara stood there clad in a pair of jeans and a sweater.

Logan glanced from mother to son and back again. “So, what are the damages?”

“Nothing serious. He killed a rogue vampire and would have killed a farmer and his family if Sheree hadn’t stopped him.”

Logan glanced at Sheree. “How did you do that?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied, staring at the werewolf. “Somehow I knew what he was doing. I saw him in my mind, not clearly, just vague images, but enough to know what was happening.” She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “I begged him not to hurt anyone.”

“What about the vampire?” Logan remarked. “Anyone we know?”

Mara shook her head. “It was self-defense, in any case. And if Derek hadn’t destroyed him, I would have. He was on my turf.”

Logan grunted thoughtfully. Vampires were notoriously territorial. Just because Mara hadn’t been to Romania in a hundred years or so didn’t mean another vampire could waltz in and claim the land for himself.

Sheree gestured at Derek’s shoulder. “Is he all right?”

“The wound has already healed,” Mara said.

Whining softly, the werewolf stretched out in front of the fireplace, his head resting on his paws, his gaze fixed on Sheree’s face.

He didn’t look any less ferocious lying down. Chewing on a corner of her lower lip, trying to tamp down her fear of the beast, Sheree walked slowly toward him.

A low growl that sounded almost like a purr rumbled in his throat as she knelt beside him. Stroking his head with a tentative hand, she whispered, “Thank you for not killing that man and his family.”

The werewolf’s tail thumped against the floor.

Sheree smiled faintly as she reminded herself it was Derek, but seeing his eyes in the werewolf’s face was beyond bizarre.

The werewolf growled when someone knocked at the door.

“What the hell?” Logan exclaimed. “What are
they
doing here?”

“You might as well go and let them in,” Mara said with an aggrieved sigh. “They saw the whole thing.”

Sheree glanced at the door, wondering who on earth would be coming to call so late at night. Her eyes widened when the two old ladies she had seen in the Den preceded Logan into the room. She noted they were careful to keep a good distance between themselves and the werewolf.