"When the worst of the pain had passed, she knelt beside me, her lips cool as she kissed my cheek. 'Find a place to hide from the sun,' she whispered. 'Or your new life will be over before it begins.' And then she disappeared."
"She left you out there, alone?"
"Yes."
"Just like that? Where did she go?"
"I have no idea. I never saw her again. I never knew her name or where she came from."
"It must have been awful for you."
He nodded. "The next few weeks were filled with confusion and self-loathing. I craved blood the way an addict craves cocaine. Because I was afraid that I would prey upon my own people, I left the Apache and preyed on our enemies.
"I had been roaming the land like a wild animal for about a year when I attacked a man who turned out to be a man of learning." Naveen had been a short, slender man with long brown hair and the face of a saint. He had been an old man, even then.
"He begged me to spare his life," Santiago said after a moment. "He promised that he would do whatever I asked. I kept him as a slave for several years, feeding off him at my leisure. In return, I made sure that he had the best food and drink I could steal. At my request, he taught me to speak English and French and Latin. He taught me of the world, and how to read and write. When he had taught me everything he knew, I let him go. I spent the next seventy-five years traveling the world."
And what a world it had been! Especially for a man who had been raised with the Indians. He had visited every continent, every country, marveling at what mankind had accomplished—the art, the literature, the inventions of the time. So much to see, so much to learn. He had spent years reading every book he could get his hands on. He had toured palaces and cathedrals old and new and wandered through museums and zoos, awed as much by the works of the masters as he was by the strange animals that he saw. If he had to enter such places by night and by stealth, then so be it. Silent as a ghost, he had walked the dark halls of the world's art galleries and museums, admiring the works of Picasso and Chagall, Goya and da Vinci, Michelangelo and Cezanne, Raphael and van Gogh.
Santiago expelled a deep breath. "Eventually, I grew weary of wandering and I settled in the hill country of Romania. It was there that I met Marishka."
"Ah, a woman, at last," Regan murmured. "I should have known there would be a woman sooner or later."
He made a soft sound of assent, remembering the beauty of Marishka's smile, the warmth of her flashing brown eyes. "She was a wild Gypsy woman with the body of a temptress and the soul of a saint."
"You loved her, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"And she loved you?"
"Yes."
"Did she know what you were?"
He nodded.
"And she didn't care?"
"She never knew until it was too late."
"You made her a vampire against her will?"
He nodded again, his expression shuttered, leaving her to wonder if he had regretted bestowing the Dark Trick upon her. As much as she wanted to ask, she didn't have the nerve to probe into something that was still painful even after such a long time.
"Where does Vasile come into all this?"
"Marishka and I settled in a little village outside of Transylvania. Vasile found us there six months later. He killed Marishka while she slept. It wasn't until Vasile came to your apartment that I learned he had been in love with her. He had killed her for leaving him."
"I'm so sorry," she murmured, though the words seemed inadequate.
Santiago nodded. Vasile was here, in the city. It had been Santiago's intent to hunt the werewolf down and kill him for destroying Marishka, but now that would have to wait. Revenge would not restore Marishka's life. It was Regan he must think of now. It was her life that was in danger, and only he could save her. Choosing between revenge and saving Regan's life was no choice at all. Regan had to come first. Avenging Marishka's death would have to wait.
"What about other vampires?" Regan asked.
"What about them?"
"I don't know. I mean, don't you have any vampire friends here in the city?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I do not trust any of them."
"Why not? I mean, you're like them."
"It is not normal for vampires to gather together. Werewolves run in packs. Vampires are by nature solitary creatures."
"Really? I didn't know that." She looked thoughtful a moment. "What about women? You must have known a lot of them in your long life."
"Yes," he replied, looking past her, "but I have loved only one."
She looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise, or perhaps disbelief—it was hard to tell. He wondered what she would say if he told her he was very much afraid he was falling in love with her, and that he feared his growing fondness for her would only bring about her death. No doubt the best thing he could do for Regan Delaney would be to leave her, and yet that was something he could not do. If he left her now, alone and defenseless… no, it was out of the question. He could not leave Regan at the werewolf's mercy; he could not let her face the next full moon alone.
"What of you?" he said, stroking her cheek with the tip of one finger. "Tell me of you."
She shrugged. "There's nothing to tell. I was born in Chicago, the youngest of three children. My parents still live there. My younger brother, Josh, is a test pilot. My older brother, Kevin, is married."
"And you are not."
"No. I guess I'm still looking for Mr. Right."
"Why were you at the scene of the murder in the park?"
"Oh, didn't I tell you?" she said with forced aplomb. "I used to be a vampire hunter, before your kind became an endangered species and put me out of a job."
Santiago looked at her, one brow raised. She had surprised him that time, Regan thought, and wondered, somewhat apprehensively, what his reaction would be. It was entirely possible that she had just made the biggest mistake of her life. Vampires and vampires hunters were like oil and water. They just didn't mix.
"I do not believe you," he said at last.
"Well, it's true!"
He shook his head. "Why would you pursue such a distasteful career?"
She took a deep breath. His hand, resting on her shoulder, seemed suddenly heavy. "A vampire killed my best friend, Amy."
"Ah." He understood the need for revenge all too well.
"We were seniors in high school when she met Dante. Of course, we didn't know he was a vampire. He just seemed like a nice guy. Amy fell for him really hard. The summer we graduated, she spent practically every minute of every night with him. And then one night she didn't come home. The police found her body two days later."