“Derek? Is something wrong?”
“No,” he said, his voice oddly thick. “I just need a moment.”
She stared at his back. Even in the darkness, she could see the tension in his shoulders. She reached out to him, then withdrew her hand. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No.” He took several deep breaths before he turned to face her. “Sorry.”
Confused, she murmured, “It’s okay.” Was he apologizing for kissing her?
“We should head back,” he said. “It’s late.”
Nodding, she got into the car as he held the door for her. What the hell had just happened? What was he sorry about? Had she said something wrong, done something that offended him? She replayed everything that had happened in her mind, but could find no reason for his odd behavior. She knew he was attracted to her, knew he’d been just as turned on by that kiss as she had.
He said little on the ride back to the Den. Lost in thought, she hardly noticed.
When they returned to the club, it was closed. Sheree glanced at her watch. How had they gotten down the hill so fast?
Derek handed her out of the car, walked her to her own, and kissed her lightly. “Good night, Sheree. Sweet dreams.”
“You, too.” Sliding behind the wheel, she started the car, then pulled out of the parking lot. A glance in the rearview mirror showed Derek standing on the sidewalk, hands shoved into his pockets, as he watched her drive away. “Weird,” she muttered as she turned the corner toward home. “The whole evening was just plain weird.”
Derek watched Sheree’s car until it was out of sight. What must she think of him, kissing her like there was no tomorrow one minute and then taking her home with no explanation? But he couldn’t very well explain that the scent of her blood had been driving him crazy, or that it had taken all his willpower to keep from sinking his fangs into her throat.
Well, it was over and done, he thought, as he strolled down the street to a dive that was open for another half hour. Plenty of time to find what he was looking for.
He paused inside the doorway. The crowd was thin, with only a dozen men and women. Several couples were wrapped in each other’s arms on the dance floor. The music was slow and heavy, darkly sensual.
Derek made his way toward the bar, aware that the three women seated there watched his every move. One was on the verge of passing out. One looked way too young to be in the place. But the third . . . she was older, not pretty, but striking. And bold. She met his gaze without blinking.
Intrigued, Derek made his way toward her. “Do we know each other?”
She laughed, a deep, throaty laugh. “Surely you can come up with a more original line.”
“I could, but I don’t have time. The club’s about to close.”
“Maybe you could think of a better one while you drive me home,” she suggested.
“Fine by me,” he said. Anything to get her outside.
Smiling, she unfolded from her chair in a sinuous movement that caused the slit in her skirt to part, revealing a glimpse of her leg from ankle to thigh.
“Shall we?” he asked.
“We shall.” She took hold of his arm and they left the club. “Where’s your car?” she asked in a sultry purr.
“Right here.” He turned his back toward her to open the door, heard the soft swish of a wooden stake slicing through the air.
He cursed himself for being careless as he darted to the side, hissed as the stake pierced his flesh, mere inches from his heart. Spinning around, he drove his fist into the woman’s jaw.
She dropped like a stone.
The faint snick of a gun warned him the woman hadn’t been alone. Moving faster than the eye could follow, Derek whirled around, jerked the gun from the man’s hand, and tossed the weapon aside. A quick twist broke the hunter’s neck.
Grimacing with pain, Derek jerked the stake from his back, then tossed it into the storm drain. Breathing hard, he glanced up and down the street. There was no one in sight.
Never one to let a meal go to waste, he buried his fangs in the man’s neck. Most vampires shrank from drinking from the dead. But he wasn’t most vampires. The woman’s blood, sweeter than the man’s, served as dessert.
The scent of fresh blood drew Mara downstairs. She found Derek in the kitchen, rummaging in one of the drawers. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he said brusquely. “Go back to bed.”
“Nothing? You’re bleeding.” She ran her hand over his bare back. “Someone stabbed you. Who?”
“I don’t know. Some woman I picked up in a bar.”
Mara pulled a dish towel from one of the drawers. “Not that little blonde I saw you with!”
“No. A stranger. We left the club together. When I turned my back on her, she stabbed me. There was a man with her.”
“Hunters.” Mara wet the towel in the sink, and wiped the blood dripping steadily from the ragged hole in her son’s back. The wound should have healed by now, she thought, frowning. “Does it still hurt?”
“What do you think?”
“I think a part of the stake is still lodged inside.”
“Well, don’t just stand there. Get it the hell out.”
Reaching into the cupboard over the sink, Mara withdrew a large brown wooden box. Inside, among other odds and ends, was a stainless steel probe. “Hold still.”
Derek hissed, then swore as she began to explore the wound. “Geez, woman, what are you doing in there? Digging for gold?”
“Hold still! I’ve almost got it.”
Moments later, she tossed a long wooden sliver into the sink, along with the probe. Wetting the towel again, she washed the blood from his back. And smiled. The wound was already healing, the deep gash knitting together seamlessly, leaving no scar behind.
“About the hunters,” she said, wiping her hands. “I trust you cleaned up the mess.”
Derek nodded. He had taken the man’s ID and left his body in an alley. The police would assume he’d been the victim of a robbery, or a drug deal gone bad. After dumping the body, he had wiped his memory from the woman’s mind and left her in her car, lucky to still be alive.
“I don’t like this,” Mara said, tossing the bloody towel into the sink on top of his ruined shirt. “I haven’t heard of any hunters in the area. Did you get their names?”
“The woman’s driver’s license identified her as Julia LaHood, thirty-six, with an address in Porterville. The man, Selkirk, was in his forties. Home town in Washington.”