She clung to that thought as bits and pieces of what she had read on the Internet flitted through her mind. Throughout the mythology of the known world, there were stories of humans transforming into animal shapes. Odin had changed himself into an eagle. Loki had taken on the form of a fish. The Greek gods had often transformed into beasts, the better to move among men in secrecy. Jupiter had changed into a bull, Hecuba into a dog.
It was believed that werewolves didn't age and were immune to most human diseases. Not only that, but their bodies were constantly regenerating, which made them pretty much immortal. And since they also healed rapidly, the only way to kill one was to inflict a mortal wound to the heart or the brain.
There were various ways to become a werewolf, such as through sorcery, being bitten by a werewolf, being cursed by a witch, or being born to a werewolf. People who were turned into werewolves against their will weren't considered damned until they tasted human blood; once that happened, they were forever cursed.
Regan thought briefly of Vasile and the people he had killed and mutilated. Surely he deserved to be damned for all eternity…
She lifted a hand to the bandage on her neck, her stomach churning as she imagined herself transforming into a wolf and prowling the moonlit streets of the city looking for prey. A wave of hysterical laughter rose in her throat. Maybe she could go hunting with Santiago! He could drink the blood and she would eat the flesh. She shuddered at the thought. She didn't want to be a werewolf. She didn't want to be cursed forever.
Thinking to dispel her morbid thoughts, she turned on the Satellite Screen, grateful for the sound of human voices. She found an old Tom Hanks comedy, hoping it would distract her, but to no avail. The word "werewolf" whispered in her mind over and over again and with it came the horrific images of the mutilated bodies in the park.
Huddled in a corner of the sofa, she stared at the television screen and waited for sunset.
Chapter 11
Santiago rose at dusk. He paused at the door between his lair and the bedroom closet, listening. Only when he had ascertained that Regan wasn't in the adjoining room did he leave his lair.
He found her in the living room, curled up in a corner of the sofa, asleep. He studied her face a moment, noting that her complexion was still pale. There were dark shadows under her eyes, hollows in her cheeks. She looked worried, even in sleep. He supposed he couldn't blame her. Given a choice, he knew he would rather be a vampire than a werewolf. He wondered if, given the choice, Regan would feel the same.
Sitting beside her on the sofa, he gently brushed a lock of hair from her cheek.
She woke with a start, her body tensing, her eyes widening with fear.
"Do not be afraid," he said quietly. "It is only me."
She blew out a sigh of relief as she slumped back against the sofa once again. "How do you feel?" he asked.
"Fine, now, but…" She looked up at him, her eyes haunted. "Joaquin, I don't want to be a werewolf. If… if it happens…" She shuddered. "If I start to turn furry, I want you to…" She took a deep breath. "I want you to do whatever you have to."
"Let us not worry about that now. It is rumored that there is a cure."
She sat up, her eyes alight with interest. "A cure? Where?"
He told her quickly of the little he knew about the shaman in the Black Hills.
"I have to go there," she said, her voice rising with excitement. "Will you… never mind."
"Will I what?"
Her gaze slid away from his. "Nothing."
"Were you perhaps going to ask me to go with you?"
"Yes, but… I have no right to impose on you. We hardly know each other, and…"
Santiago took her hand in his, turned it over, and lightly kissed her palm. "Did you really think I would let you go alone?"
She shook her head. "No," she said. "No, I guess not."
She sat back, suddenly having second thoughts about the whole thing. Maybe she wouldn't turn into a werewolf. Maybe she should wait and see how Vasile's bite affected her before she took off on a wild goose chase to the Black Hills. She considered putting the trip off, then decided against it. Better to go now. If she found the cure and Vasile's bite hadn't affected her, no harm would be done. And if she was infected, well, she wanted to be cured as soon as possible.
Just worrying about the possibility of turning into a creature like Vasile made her head ache. Better to think of something else. She looked at Santiago. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"When were you born? What was your life like before you became a vampire?"
Leaning back on the sofa, he slipped his arm around her shoulders. "I was born in the time of the conquistadors in what is now New Mexico. My mother was Apache. My father was a conquistador who deserted his post. He was found wandering in Apache land, half out of his mind from exhaustion and lack of water. The People took him in and nursed him back to health. He died in a hunting accident a few years after I was born. My mother soon followed. My grandfather raised me to be a warrior."
"Joaquin Santiago is a funny name for an Apache warrior."
"My Apache name is Nepotonje."
"Ne-pot-on-je? What does it mean?"
"Bear Watcher."
"So, how did you go from being a warrior to a vampire?"
"I had left the village in search of buffalo. The third night, as I sat by my fire, a woman came to me, she asked if she could warm herself. I had never seen anything like her before. She had silver hair that reached past her waist and dark eyes that sometimes looked red in the light of the fire. She was not Apache, yet she spoke my language as if she had been born to it. I offered her food and drink but she refused.
"She said very little but suddenly I was aware that she was sitting close beside me, and then she placed her hand on my thigh. In spite of the heat of the fire, her skin was cool, yet her touch burned like fire itself.
"I started to ask her if she was ill, but she placed her hand over my mouth, silencing me, and then she kissed me. I remember very little after that. When I could think again, she told me she had given me the gift of eternal life. I would have to drink blood to survive, and because the gods would be jealous of my immortality, I would only be allowed to live by night.
"I wanted to question her but I was suddenly wracked with pain. She stood over me, watching dispassionately while I writhed in agony in the dirt at her feet. There was nothing to be afraid of, she said, it was just the death of my old body and the birth of my new one.