Night's Promise(20)

Closing her eyes, Mara surrendered to his kiss. Though she would never admit it out loud, Logan was right. In all her long existence, no man had understood her, or loved her, as he did.

She sighed when he lifted her in his arms and carried her to bed.

“I know just the thing to take your mind off your worries,” he said, a wicked glint in his eyes.

“Yes.” She grinned when he stretched out beside her. “And a wonderful thing it is.”





Chapter Thirteen

Derek rose with the setting of the sun. Still troubled by his need for more than blood and not wanting to talk to his mother about it, or see the worry in her eyes, he dissolved into mist and materialized outside, in his car.

Once he was out of the hills, he hit the freeway. Putting everything out of his mind, he stomped on the gas and lost himself in the thrill of barreling down the road at 140 miles an hour. Not surprisingly, he soon had a cop on his tail.

Slowing, he pulled off the road, put the car in park, and waited.

“I guess you know why I pulled you over,” the cop said.

Derek nodded. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

The cop flipped open his ticket book. “You’re under arrest. I’ll need to see your license and proof of insurance.”

Looking up, Derek trapped the officer’s gaze with his own. “You don’t want to arrest me, officer, or give me a ticket. A warning will do.”

“A warning, yes, of course.”

“Thank you, officer.”

Looking slightly confused, the cop closed his ticket book and returned to his car.

Derek tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he watched the patrol car pull into traffic. He would have been happy to give the guy his driver’s license, only the one he carried was fake. He didn’t have insurance, or a birth certificate, either. As far as humanity was concerned, Derek Blackwood didn’t exist. Usually, he didn’t give it a thought, but sometimes, like tonight, it made him feel like the invisible man. It was a lonely feeling.

Swearing a pithy oath, he put the car in gear and drove back toward Hollywood.

Without conscious thought, he found himself in front of Nosferatu’s Den.





Sheree sat at the end of the bar, listening to the music and wondering what insanity had brought her back here. Only three nights ago, she had decided it wasn’t safe to frequent Goth clubs like this one. She had phoned her mother to let her know that she planned to come home, and would probably be there in a week or two. At least at home, she would never be bored. Life with her parents was like living on a merry-go-round. If they weren’t on the golf course or playing tennis at the club, they were out on the boat, or dedicating a new wing at a hospital, or holding a charity auction to raise money for one cause or another. There were always parties to host and plays to attend, gallery openings, nights at the opera. Life was often hectic, but never dull.

She had left home because she wanted something different, wanted to spread her wings and try living on her own. Her parents had frowned on her decision, but it wasn’t up to them. She had her own money, thanks to a healthy inheritance from her great-grandfather.

Living by herself had been satisfying, in its own way, but also extremely lonely. She didn’t know anyone in California, didn’t have the skills to get a good job. And looking for a vampire hadn’t been as exciting as she had hoped, until she’d met Derek.

Damn. She had sworn she would not think of that man again.

“Can I get you a refill, miss?”

“What? Oh, no. Wait. I’d like a Vampire’s Kiss.” One last drink, and then she was going home to pack. It seemed fitting somehow that it would be the drink Derek had recommended.

The bartender grinned at her. “Coming right up.”

The bartender had just served her drink when two men approached her. Both were built like linebackers, tall and broad shouldered. One had a long scar on his left cheek. They both wore long black coats.

Sheree felt a shiver of apprehension when the scar-faced man sat on the vacant bar stool beside her. He had blond hair, worn long, and eyes that were an odd color, not yellow, not brown, but something in between. The second man stood behind her.

“Could we talk to you for a moment?” Scarface asked.

Sheree shook her head. “Sorry, I was just leaving.”

“This won’t take long.”

“Sorry.” She stood, but the second man blocked her retreat. “What do you want?” She told herself there was nothing to be afraid of. She was in a room filled with people; the bartender was only a few feet away.

“We’d just like to ask you a couple of questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“You were in here earlier in the week.”