It didn't take long to find what he was searching for. Every town had a dive where people went to be alone and forget, or to seek companionship for the night, and this place was no different. He found the bar on the outskirts of town, a seedy-looking red brick tavern located at the end of a long dirt road. Cars were parked haphazardly in the lot. The sound of one of those someone-done-her-wrong songs poured from the open windows. A man and a woman stood in the shadows by the front door, their bodies so closely entwined it was impossible to tell where one began and the other left off. They didn't look up when he passed by.
The inside of the tavern was dimly lit. The air was pungent with cigarette smoke and sweat that no amount of cologne or perfume could mask. He wrinkled his nose as he made his way to the bar. There were times, like now, when having a preternatural sense of smell was a curse and not a blessing. Several couples were slow-dancing, if you could call it dancing. It was more like vertical foreplay.
Santiago took a seat near the end of the bar and ordered a glass of red wine. The allure of the vampire was no myth, and while he wasn't sure how it worked, he had only to sit there and wait. In a short time, three women gravitated toward him.
Santiago smiled inwardly. It was like choosing a fine wine for dinner, he mused. Should he have the blonde, the brunette, or the redhead? Or a taste of all three? In the end, he decided on the brunette, since the blonde reminded him of Regan and the redhead simply didn't appeal to him.
He smiled at them all, chatted with them for a few moments, and then asked the brunette to dance.
Smiling smugly at the other two, the brunette put her hand in his and let him lead her onto the dance floor.
"Do you come here often?" she asked as he drew her into his arms.
"No. I am just passing through."
"That's too bad." She made no protest as he drew her closer. "You don't look like the other guys that come in here."
"Indeed?"
She nodded, her brows drawn together in a thought frown. "They seem like boys next to you." she remarked. "Not that you look old," she said quickly, "but there's something about you…"
"I am older than I look." He grinned inwardly, thinking how shocked the woman would be if she knew just how old he really was.
"I'm Lilith." She smiled in a way that told him she had played this game many times before.
He inclined his head. "Joaquin."
"I've never known anyone by that name. It's kind of sexy. Are you sure you can't stay in town a little longer, maybe just overnight? I don't live far from here."
"Alas, I cannot." He gazed deep into her eyes. "Relax, Lilith. I need something from you." He listened to the sound of her heartbeat, heard it slow as she succumbed to his enchantment. He bent his head over her neck, his tongue laving her skin. To anyone watching, it would appear he was kissing her throat. And indeed he was, but only for a moment before his fangs pierced the tender skin. He drank deeply, quickly, his arm tightening around her waist as she went limp in his embrace.
He licked his lips before lifting his head and guiding her back to the bar. He eased her onto the stool, ordered her a glass of orange juice, and compelled her to drink it.
"Lilith?"
"Hmm?" She looked at him as if she had never seen him before.
"I am going to leave you now," he told her. "You will not remember this night or anything that happened."
"No," she said, blinking at him, "I won't remember."
He patted her arm and muttered, "good girl," and then he was gone.
Regan sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on the Satellite Screen, though she had no idea what she was watching. She was thinking about Santiago, wondering where he had gone, who he was with, and, morbidly, what it would be like to drink blood to survive. Did a person's normal revulsion at drinking human blood magically disappear when one became a vampire? Was it something you got used to gradually, like the taste of champagne? Or was it just something you had to accept and learn to live with?
She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She might be able to get used to drinking blood if she had to, but eating human flesh? No way! She tried to imagine herself turning fanged and furry, howling at the moon as she ran through the night searching for prey. Human prey…
"No!" She had to think positive. She had to believe that everything would be all right or she would never get through this. Think positive. They would find the shaman and he would cure her, if necessary, though she clung to the faint hope that Vasile's bite had been benign.
For the tenth time in as many minutes, she went to the window and looked out, but there was nothing to see except the lights from the businesses across the street. She stared at the blinking sign above a soft-serve ice cream parlor. How dangerous would it be to run across the street and buy a cone? It wouldn't take more than a minute or two, five at the most…
She had her hand on the door when her yearning for ice cream was overcome by her good sense. She had always hated movies where the foolish young woman went into the basement or up the stairs and walked right into the killer's arms. She didn't know if Vasile was outside the door, but she knew he was out there somewhere.
With a sigh, she sat down on the bed again. She hated waiting. Everyone in her family knew that. It was a family joke that Regan had hated waiting even before she was born and that was why she had emerged from the womb a month early and had been hurrying through life ever since.
Lost in thought, she looked up, startled to discover that she was no longer alone in the room.
"How did you get in here?" she asked, glancing at the door, which was still closed and locked.
Santiago shrugged negligently. "I slid in beneath the door when you weren't looking."
She stared at him, wondering if he was kidding, and then shrugged. Vampires were supposed to be able to squeeze through tight places by dissolving into mist, though she had never seen it done. Apparently, it was more than a myth.
She couldn't help feeling relieved that he was back. Even if she hadn't known where he had gone, she would have known, just by looking at him, that he had fed recently.
"Do you like it?" she blurted. "Drinking blood, I mean?"
He regarded her through fathomless midnight blue eyes. Although his expression remained impassive, she could almost see him trying to decide whether to tell her the harsh truth or a gentle lie.
After a moment, his voice devoid of emotion, he said, "Yes, I like it."
"Did you always like it? I mean, from the very first?"