The house smelled of cooked food, of floor wax and flowers, of soap and ashes, of human sweat and hard work.
He paused in the living room, then padded down the short hallway to the nursery. The door was open. Inside, a newborn baby slept in a crib painted white.
New life. Fresh, sweet blood. It called to him. The baby for an appetizer, then the little girl and her brother. Then the parents. His mouth watered as he contemplated the feast awaiting him.
He padded toward the crib, his nails clicking on the wooden floor. Rising on his hind legs, he stared down at the infant. She slept on her stomach, a tiny thumb in her mouth.
A low growl rose in the werewolf’s throat as it opened its jaws to pick up the sleeping child.
At the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway, he dropped to the floor, fangs bared. A man stood in the doorway, a rifle in his hands, his eyes wide with fear, his face a pale oval in the darkness.
The man fired the gun when the werewolf lunged at him. The bullet struck the wolf in the shoulder, but it didn’t slow him down. After knocking the gun from the man’s hands, the werewolf straddled him, his teeth at the man’s throat.
Derek! Stop it!
His head snapped up at the sound of Sheree’s voice.
Come home, Derek. I’m waiting for you.
The werewolf shook its head, blood and saliva spraying from its mouth.
You don’t want to do this. You’ll hate yourself if you do. And I’ll . . . I’ll hate you, too.
He whined low in his throat as the familiar voice whispered through his mind. Sheree. She loved him. And she knew . . . somehow, she knew what he was about to do.
I know you’re strong enough to resist this. Please, Derek, if you love me, don’t kill anyone. Come home to me.
He stared at the man cowering beneath him. Bright red blood leaked from the bite marks in the man’s throat. The scent tantalized the wolf’s senses, urging him to kill the man and take the child.
Derek, please come home to me.
He shook his head, the vampire inside him fighting to subdue the werewolf, but to no avail. Grasping the man’s shoulder in his jaws, the wolf dragged him, kicking and screaming, into the living room, away from the child.
The farmer’s frantic cries roused his wife. She ran into the room, took one look at the wolf, then turned and ran toward the back of the house, sobbing the names of her children.
Mara’s scent drew the werewolf’s gaze toward the front door. She stood outside watching his every move. There was no condemnation in her eyes. The life of a mortal meant little to her. He could kill the man or not. She was his mother and a vampire. She would understand what drove him.
But Sheree would never forgive him. She knew he was a vampire, but she had never thought of him as a monster. That would surely change if he killed the man and devoured his family.
The wolf stared at his prey again. The man’s eyes were filled with terror, the stink of his fear clung to his skin, mingling with the scent of urine. Weak, puny mortal, the werewolf thought derisively. Wetting himself like some frightened child.
Derek, have mercy on the man. Would you deprive his children of their father?
He snarled softly. He had never known his own father, so why should these children have theirs?
Torn, he threw back his head and howled at the uncaring moon.
“Come home with me, Derek.” His mother spoke quietly, but he heard her clearly.
Sheree’s voice echoed Mara’s words. Derek, come home to me.
Growling softly, he licked the blood from the man’s neck, then loped out of the house.
A moment later, his mother shifted to wolf form. She sniffed the bloody wound in his shoulder, noting that it was already healing.
Side by side, mother and son ran through the darkness.
Mara paused briefly, her gaze sweeping the shadows before coming to rest on Edna and Pearl. Both women bowed their heads, acknowledging her superiority, before Mara raced to catch up with Derek. Together, they continued on to the castle, where Sheree and Logan waited.
Sheree sucked in a deep breath when she saw the wolves. She stared at the larger of the two. No one would mistake this creature for anything but a werewolf. Big and black, it was the most frightening thing she had ever seen. He was taller, more muscular than the other wolf, his features somehow distorted. The fur that covered his right shoulder was matted with dried blood.
It was hard to remember that it was Derek when he started toward her. She told herself that there was nothing to be afraid of, that he wouldn’t rip her heart out. But looking at him, she found it hard to believe.
He paused, whining softly when she took an involuntary step backward.
Sheree blinked when the wolf at Derek’s side began to shimmer. A moment later, Mara stood there clad in a pair of jeans and a sweater.