Derek woke with the setting of the sun. Kicking off the sheet, he sat up, listening to the sounds of the house. There was no one home.
After rising, he showered and dressed, then went downstairs.
The newspaper was waiting for him on the coffee table in the living room, folded in half so that the first thing he saw was the story about Selkirk’s death. “Subtle, Ma,” he muttered.
He read the story, then tossed the paper aside. He should have dumped the body where it wouldn’t have been found. It was one of the first things his mother had taught him, but hell, he’d been bleeding like a stuck pig.
He’d been smart enough not to drain the man dry, had sealed the wounds in his neck so there’d be no trace, and figured that was good enough.
Apparently not. Damn reporter!
He’d have to worry about it later. Right now, he needed to feed.
Leaving the house, he paused beside his car and glanced skyward. Two things hit him at the same time: the moon was going to be full tonight, and he had a sudden craving for a thick steak, rare.
Damn. He was a teenager the last time he’d hungered for a steak. It had worried the hell out of his mother, but the cravings had stopped after his first hunt.
He slid behind the wheel, then headed for a popular steak house on Hollywood Boulevard.
The waitress looked a little perplexed when he told her he wanted a thick slice of prime rib, red in the middle, and nothing else.
“No salad? Potato? Rice?”
“Just the steak.”
“And to drink?”
“Just the steak,” he growled.
After the waitress left to turn in his order, Derek sat back in his chair, aware of the covert stares of some of the other diners. When he stared back, they quickly looked away.
When the waitress returned with his order, Derek had second thoughts. He hadn’t eaten solid food in more than ten years. The steak was thick, swimming in red juice. Hoping he could keep it down, he cut a small piece, took a bite, and chewed it carefully, ready to bolt from the restaurant if it threatened to come back up.
It didn’t.
He ate the whole thing, savoring every bite, and wondered what was happening to him.
After paying the check, he strolled down Hollywood Boulevard, hands shoved in his pockets. Hollywood was an interesting place, filled with an assortment of interesting people.
A myriad of sounds and sights and smells pressed in on him from every direction. It had taken some getting used to, at first, the constant overload of noise. In time, he had learned to shut most of it out. But the scent of blood was always there—warm, tantalizing, almost irresistible.
And with it, the urge to hunt, to feed, to kill.
His mother had taught him early on that he didn’t have to take a life. He’d asked her once how many she’d taken.
“It doesn’t matter what I’ve done,” she said. “I did what I had to do at the time. What matters now is what you do. What kind of man you want to be.”
The thing was, he wasn’t a man in the usual sense of the word. Never had been. Never would be.
“Hey, good lookin’, are you lookin’ for me?”
He paused at the sound of a woman’s voice. Turning, he saw her standing under the awning of a hotel. It was hard to tell how old she was under the layers of paint, but he guessed she wasn’t more than twenty, if that. She had a mass of curly brown hair. Her clothes proclaimed her for what she was—a hooker.
“I can show you a good time,” she offered.
“I’ll bet you can.”
Smiling, she moved out from under the awning and linked her arm to his. “My room’s just down around the corner, honey.”
He let her lead him down the street until he drew her into a parking lot.
She balked when she realized where he was taking her. “No way!”
“What’s the matter? Change your mind?”
“Yes. Let me go!”
“Not just yet.” Keeping a firm hold on her arm, he led her into the shadows.
“What are you going to do to me?” She whipped her head back and forth, hoping to find someone to help her, but the parking lot was empty.
“Relax. This won’t hurt a bit.”
She looked up at him through brown eyes wide with fear. “Please let me go. I have a little boy. He needs me.”
“Yeah? Then why aren’t you home with him?”
“I’ve got to earn a living!” She was trembling now.
When they reached the back of the parking lot, Derek folded her in his arms, felt his eyes go red as the hunger rose within him, the brush of his fangs against his tongue.
“No.” She stared at him. “No, please!”
Holding her immobile, he lowered his head to her neck, his fangs pricking her skin. Her blood was clean, though heavily flavored with tobacco and alcohol.
He had intended to drain her dry, but guilt rose up within him when his mind brushed hers. She really did have a son, a four-year-old named Danny. Her mother looked after the boy while Star worked the streets.
Lifting his head, he ran his tongue over the tiny wounds in her neck, then wiped the memory of his bite from her mind.
She blinked up at him, her eyes unfocused.
“How much do you charge for your time?” he asked.
“What?”
“What do you charge?”
“Forty credits for an hour. A hundred for the night.”
“What’s your name? I’ll see that you get it.”
“St . . . Star Anderson.”
“Look at me.” Capturing her gaze with his, he said, “You’re going to go home now. You won’t remember any of this. Tomorrow, you’ll go look for a new job, one that lets you be home nights.”
“Yes.” She nodded, her expression blank. “Tomorrow.”
He walked her to his car, then drove her home, noting the address as he walked her to her door. He released her from his spell when she stepped inside.
Bemused by his unexpected benevolence, Derek slid behind the wheel, only to sit there, staring into the distance.
And then he drove to Sheree’s house.
Chapter Eleven
Pearl and Edna stepped out of the restaurant’s shadow. “That proves it!” Edna exclaimed, nodding.
“He ate a steak, dear,” Pearl said, strolling down the sidewalk. “That doesn’t prove anything.”
“Do I need to draw you a diagram? Vampires don’t eat, not anything! Ever! Don’t you see? The only explanation is the werewolf gene.”
“Or maybe it’s just that he’s half human, and the human part is kicking in. Did you ever think of that?”