Things seemed perfect, until she found out she was pregnant. She had been afraid to tell her parents, afraid to tell Russell, but it was a secret she couldn’t hide forever. He wasn’t happy about the pregnancy. Neither was his family—a family she had never met. She had thought it strange that he never took her home to meet his parents—until he did.
Her first thought upon viewing the compound where he lived was that it looked like a prison; later, it became one, at least for her. She learned a lot about Russell that night, including the fact that he was a full-blooded Lakota Indian and that Russell Alissano wasn’t his real name. He had been born Nagin Luta, which meant Red Shadow. The Lakota believed names had power and his tribal name was used only by loved ones and members of the immediate family.
His parents had not made her feel welcome. Russell’s father, Sake Sapa, who went by the name Charles Alissano, insisted she have an abortion immediately. Dorothy had been too afraid of the man to tell him no to his face, but later, when she was alone with Russell, she told him she didn’t want an abortion and that nothing he could say would change her mind.
He didn’t say anything for several, nerve-racking moments.
Fighting back tears, she had waited for him to say he never wanted to see her again. But, once again, he surprised her. Instead of leaving, he had proposed to her. They eloped the next night.
Her parents weren’t pleased.
Russell’s father never forgave him for marrying a white woman.
Dorothy sighed. She had loved her son, she loved her daughter, but sometimes she couldn’t help thinking they would have all been better off if Russell had never come to her aid that fateful night.
* * *
Chapter 8
Kay stood in a corner of the cell, her hands fisted around the bars, staring blankly at the far wall.
Earlier, a man had brought her a covered tray and slid it under the narrow gap between the bottom of the cell door and the floor. When she’d uncovered the tray, she found a roast beef sandwich, a can of root beer, and a bottle of water. She had devoured the sandwich in four bites, drained the can in a few quick swallows, and wished for more.
She had sipped the water throughout the day.
But it wasn’t food or water that occupied her thoughts now. There was only one more night until the full moon. Already, she could feel the change starting within her, the tension, the flutter of anticipation.
In the past, she had gone into the wilderness the night before the change occurred, away from people and civilization, where she was free to run and hunt without fear of discovery.
Her wolf had never been caged up, never been confined in a small space.
In such close quarters, would she feel the need to attack Gideon? Would he have to kill her to defend himself? Which one of them was the stronger? How would she live with herself if she destroyed him?
She turned away from the bars and began to pace the cell. In her wolf form, she had razor-sharp teeth and claws and increased physical strength. Gideon also had sharp teeth and great strength. In addition, she knew he had preternatural powers she lacked, plus he had the ability to read her mind. Would he be able to read her thoughts when she was in her wolf form? If so, that would be a decided disadvantage for her; he would know what she intended to do before she did it.
With a sigh, she sank down on the floor. Hugging her bent knees to her chest, she rested her forehead on her arms and closed her eyes. How lonely the days were with no one to talk to and nothing to do but contemplate an uncertain future. How long the nights were when she sat with Gideon, wondering if every breath would be her last.
Her only hope was that, in her wolf form, she would be strong enough to break down the cell door, defeat the witch, and escape before the unthinkable happened and she killed Gideon. Or he killed her.
She glanced over her shoulder to where he lay sleeping. For the first time, she wondered if she should try to kill him before he killed her. But she couldn’t do it.
She had never killed anyone.
He stirred and she quickly put all such thoughts out of her mind.
But not quick enough.
“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” he said mildly.
“Try what?”
He sat up, one brow arched in wry amusement. “It isn’t safe to attack a vampire at rest,” he said. “Most of us are able to sense danger and rouse long enough to defend ourselves.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” She sat cross-legged on the floor, facing him. And then she frowned. “Why don’t you wake up when the witch takes your blood?”
He lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “I would, if she intended to kill me.” He leaned forward, nostrils twitching. “You smell like meat.”