Night's Promise(16)

Taking a deep breath, she slid under the covers and curled up against Logan’s side. She ran her hands over his back and shoulders. His skin was cool and smooth. She knew every inch of it as well as she knew her own. He was the most incredible lover she’d ever had. She draped one arm over his waist, her fingers running back and forth over his belly, grinned when he sucked in a ragged breath. “You don’t really want to go to sleep, do you?”

“It’s why I’m in bed.”

She ran her tongue along his spine. “There are other things to do in bed.”

In a move that would have been a blur to anyone but Mara, he rolled over, ripped the nightgown from her body, and tucked her beneath him. “Is this what you had in mind, woman?”

She grinned up at him, then batted her eyelashes. “Why, you sweet ol’ thing,” she purred in her best southern drawl, “however did you guess?”





Derek woke with the setting of the sun. Kicking off the sheet, he sat up, listening to the sounds of the house. There was no one home.

After rising, he showered and dressed, then went downstairs.

The newspaper was waiting for him on the coffee table in the living room, folded in half so that the first thing he saw was the story about Selkirk’s death. “Subtle, Ma,” he muttered.

He read the story, then tossed the paper aside. He should have dumped the body where it wouldn’t have been found. It was one of the first things his mother had taught him, but hell, he’d been bleeding like a stuck pig.

He’d been smart enough not to drain the man dry, had sealed the wounds in his neck so there’d be no trace, and figured that was good enough.

Apparently not. Damn reporter!

He’d have to worry about it later. Right now, he needed to feed.

Leaving the house, he paused beside his car and glanced skyward. Two things hit him at the same time: the moon was going to be full tonight, and he had a sudden craving for a thick steak, rare.

Damn. He was a teenager the last time he’d hungered for a steak. It had worried the hell out of his mother, but the cravings had stopped after his first hunt.

He slid behind the wheel, then headed for a popular steak house on Hollywood Boulevard.

The waitress looked a little perplexed when he told her he wanted a thick slice of prime rib, red in the middle, and nothing else.

“No salad? Potato? Rice?”

“Just the steak.”

“And to drink?”

“Just the steak,” he growled.

After the waitress left to turn in his order, Derek sat back in his chair, aware of the covert stares of some of the other diners. When he stared back, they quickly looked away.

When the waitress returned with his order, Derek had second thoughts. He hadn’t eaten solid food in more than ten years. The steak was thick, swimming in red juice. Hoping he could keep it down, he cut a small piece, took a bite, and chewed it carefully, ready to bolt from the restaurant if it threatened to come back up.

It didn’t.

He ate the whole thing, savoring every bite, and wondered what was happening to him.

After paying the check, he strolled down Hollywood Boulevard, hands shoved in his pockets. Hollywood was an interesting place, filled with an assortment of interesting people.

A myriad of sounds and sights and smells pressed in on him from every direction. It had taken some getting used to, at first, the constant overload of noise. In time, he had learned to shut most of it out. But the scent of blood was always there—warm, tantalizing, almost irresistible.

And with it, the urge to hunt, to feed, to kill.

His mother had taught him early on that he didn’t have to take a life. He’d asked her once how many she’d taken.

“It doesn’t matter what I’ve done,” she said. “I did what I had to do at the time. What matters now is what you do. What kind of man you want to be.”

The thing was, he wasn’t a man in the usual sense of the word. Never had been. Never would be.

“Hey, good lookin’, are you lookin’ for me?”

He paused at the sound of a woman’s voice. Turning, he saw her standing under the awning of a hotel. It was hard to tell how old she was under the layers of paint, but he guessed she wasn’t more than twenty, if that. She had a mass of curly brown hair. Her clothes proclaimed her for what she was—a hooker.

“I can show you a good time,” she offered.

“I’ll bet you can.”

Smiling, she moved out from under the awning and linked her arm to his. “My room’s just down around the corner, honey.”

He let her lead him down the street until he drew her into a parking lot.

She balked when she realized where he was taking her. “No way!”