Night's Promise(102)

She nodded agreeably, but, in spite of what Derek had said to the contrary, she was determined to try Pearl’s serum. If he read that rebellious thought, he didn’t remark on it.

It was still early and the streets of San Antonio were crowded with shoppers and tourists.

“Don’t you have to ask the head vampire’s permission to be here?” Sheree asked.

“No.”

“Why not? Your mother said master vampires are very possessive of their territory.”

“Well, that’s true enough, but Mara pretty much outranks every other vampire on the planet. And as her son . . .” He shrugged. “I guess you could say I have diplomatic immunity.”

She grunted softly. “Must be nice.”

Sheree had never been to Texas, although she’d once had a friend who was born there. According to Beth Ann, everything in Texas was bigger, better, and less expensive. Sheree didn’t know if any of that was true or not, but she was surprised to see men, and even a few women, wearing gun belts in plain sight.

A short time later, they turned onto the River Walk. It was a lovely place, with quiet walkways, tinkling waterfalls, and placid pools. Surprisingly, it was located one block below street level. They strolled past elegant Victorian mansions that were built on what had once been farmland belonging to the Alamo. Walking on, they passed the Pioneer Flour Mill, as well as hotels, restaurants, outdoor patios, and a number of shops.

They eventually ended up at the Alamo. Sheree knew little about the Alamo’s history, except for what she had seen in old movies. It was a lovely old place, and the first mission built in the city.

“Too bad it’s closed,” she remarked. “Maybe we could . . .” She paused, nostrils flaring at an unfamiliar scent carried by a vagrant breeze. “What is that awful smell?”

“Hunters. Three of them.”

“How do they know we’re here?” She glanced anxiously at the drifting shadows, but saw nothing.

“I don’t know, but we’re not waiting around to find out.” Grabbing her hand, he said, “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

Moments later, they were in another part of the city. Derek quickly found a young couple walking down a quiet, tree-lined street. He mesmerized them with a look. “Which one do you want?”

“The man.” Sheree fed quickly, carefully. She had never realized how fragile mortals were until she became a vampire.

When she finished, Derek sent the couple on their way.

At home again, he settled into his favorite chair, his legs stretched in front of him, his gaze on his wife. “Are you ever going to forgive me?”

“I don’t know.” There were aspects of being a vampire that appealed to her—staying forever young, never getting sick, her increased strength. Even the blood part wasn’t nearly as bad as she had expected. But there was a whole part of her life that was forever lost to her. She missed her morning coffee. She missed all her favorite foods. She missed jogging in the morning, sunbathing in the backyard, going to lunch at the mall. She could no longer see her reflection in a mirror, or wear her favorite silver jewelry.

But those were superficial things. There would come a time when she would either have to stop visiting her parents or tell them the truth. How else could she explain the fact that her body didn’t age? Or why she couldn’t give them grandchildren . . . Children, she thought, blinking back tears. She would never have a daughter of her own, never know the joy of holding her child in her arms. . . .

Derek’s jaw clenched and she knew he was reading her thoughts again. She let her mind brush his, but it was closed to her. How did he do that?

Uncomfortable with the tension between them, she bid him good night and went to bed.

Derek sat there far into the night, thinking about Sheree. After reading her thoughts earlier, he couldn’t blame her for hating him. He had known he would never have children. When he’d turned Sheree, he hadn’t thought about what she would be giving up. He had thought only of what he would be losing, had known, in that instant, that he would rather live with her hatred than exist without her. In spite of her anger, he knew that, deep down, she still loved him. He had assumed she would forgive him sooner or later. Sometimes he thought she was softening; at other times he was certain she was going to stay mad for a century or two.

Then again, women were pushovers at weddings. Maybe a repeat of their vows would remind her of how much she had once loved him.

It was a slim hope, at best, he mused, but at the moment, it was the only hope he had.





Chapter Forty-Three

“The wedding’s set for a week from tonight,” Sheree told her father. “You and Mom will be there, won’t you?”