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And then there was Santiago. What would he think when she went furry? Of course, he would probably be sympathetic, being one of the monsters himself.
She blew out a sigh. How could she be a werewolf? Would she remember who she really was when she was running wild? When she was human again, would she remember being a wolf? And what if she killed someone? Would she remember? Or would the memory be mercifully erased from her mind?
She pressed her face to the horse's shoulder. How could she live with herself if she killed someone? Oh, lord, what if she killed someone she knew?
It was a nightmare, she thought, sniffing back her tears, a horrible nightmare from which she would never awaken.
She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket. The butt of the gun felt icy in her hand as she withdrew it. If Santiago wouldn't put an end to this nightmare, she could. She stared at the pistol. The barrel was smooth, shiny in the moonlight. Her finger curled around the trigger. One shot to the head and it would all be over. She looked into the black maw of the barrel, stared at it until she couldn't see anything else. All she had to do was put the gun to her head and squeeze the trigger. Would she feel it? Would it hurt?
"Regan." Santiago's voice wrapped around her like soft black velvet. "Give me the gun."
She looked up to see him standing in front of her, one arm outstretched.
"Regan, listen to me," he said quietly. "You do not want to do that."
"I have to," she said dully. "What else can I do since you won't help me?"
"I will." He took one step toward her, and then another. "Trust me, Regan."
She lowered the gun, her hand trembling, and now the weapon was aimed in his direction.
Santiago paused, his attention focused on the pistol. If she pulled the trigger now… His gaze captured hers again. "Trust me," he repeated.
Time stilled as she stared at him, and then her hand fell to her side. "I'm so afraid."
"I know." He plucked the gun from her grasp and shoved it into the waistband of his jeans, then drew her into his arms. "I will be here with you tomorrow night," he promised, one hand stroking her hair. "You will not be alone."
"Stay with me tonight."
"Regan…"
"Please."
"I will stay until dawn."
"Will you hold me until morning?"
How could he refuse?
Santiago lit a fire in the cave so that Regan could have a cup of hot chocolate. He hoped it might help relax her. For a cave in the Black Hills, it was remarkably well stocked. A large trunk held numerous cans of fruit, meat, and vegetables, bottles of water, and juice.
"Will you be all right for a few minutes?" he asked.
"I guess so, why? Where are you going?"
"Outside to look after the horses."
"All right. You won't be gone long?"
"No."
Leaving the cave, he unsaddled the horses and turned them loose. They moved away from the entrance, then began to graze.
Santiago stared into the distance. Why had a werewolf killed the old medicine man? It made no sense, especially if the rumors were true and the shaman himself had been a werewolf. He shook his head. If the medicine man had been a werewolf, the bites he had received would have healed before he bled to death. There was always a chance the old man had been a threat to the werewolf community… Santiago shook off that line of thinking. What kind of threat could a medicine man who lived like a hermit in a cave have been? He shook his head again. None of it made any sense.
"Joaquin?" Regan's voice called him back into the cave.
He found her sitting in the overstuffed leather chair, a blanket across her knees. She looked very young—and very afraid.
He placed the gun on the shelf; then, lifting her into his arms, he took her place in the chair and settled her on his lap.
"What took you so long?" she asked.
He shrugged. "I was just outside, looking at the view."
She was quiet a moment, and then she said, "Tell me about your life. How did you get to be master of the city?"
"By being stronger and more powerful than all the rest, of course," he said with a faint grin.
"Did you frighten them all into submission?"
"You could say that."
"And what makes you so powerful?"
"Age, for one thing." He stroked her back absently, thinking how soothing it was to hold her, to touch her, to breathe in her very essence. "We grow stronger as we get older."
"You don't look old," she remarked, snuggling against him. "But then, I guess you never will."
"No, I never will. "Neither would she, he thought, but this didn't seem like the right time to bring that up.
She sat quiescent in his arms for so long, he thought she had fallen asleep until she said, "You know a lot about werewolves. Tell me what to expect. Will it… will it hurt when I… ?"
"I am no expert. I cannot tell you if it will hurt. I have heard that it does. I have heard that it doesn't. I suspect it will be less painful if you do not fight it."
"And I'll have to change, whether I want to or not?"
"Yes."
"Will I still be me, inside?"
"That I do not know."
"Will I remember being a wolf?"
"Again, I do not know."
"You must have some idea!" she insisted.
"I have heard the change is painful the first time, but that it gets easier as time goes on. I do not know if you will remember being a wolf, or if you will remember what you do when you are in that form. Vasile is the only werewolf I know and we have never discussed his condition."
With a sigh, Regan settled back into his embrace, her trepidation growing with each passing moment.
"Maybe I'll write a book about werewolves," she muttered. "You know, something like The Werewolves' Guide for Complete Idiots, Everything You Always Wanted to Know but Never Had a Werewolf to Ask."
Santiago smiled at her, thinking it was a good sign that she could find humor, however grim, in her situation.
"Perhaps I will write a companion book about vampires," he remarked with a wry grin.
"I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here with me." Lifting her hand, she caressed his cheek. "You must be… what do you call it? Hungry? Thirsty?"
"Either," he said, stroking her cheek. "Both."
"Does it hurt terribly when you haven't fed for a long time?"
"Yes. It is a pain worse than anything you can imagine. Far worse than mortal hunger."
