Night's Promise(66)

“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.