Temptation Calls. Caridad Pineiro
her lower lip.
Samantha didn’t know how much time had passed when she finally sensed Ricardo’s presence in the room. “You were somewhere else, amiga. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
She stopped her rocking and gave him a tired smile. “Thank you. Are they gone yet?”
He shook his head. “It’ll be a few more hours before the police go, but they’ll be back in the morning to ask more questions.”
That was the last thing she needed—questions that might reveal her secret.
“The groceries are in the kitchen. I put the milk and other things in the refrigerator. I told the lead detective that I was just returning from shopping, but given my current state,” he motioned to his attire, “I’m certain he didn’t buy my story.”
The story wouldn’t hold up anyway, Samantha thought. A visit to the local market would reveal who had made the purchases. “Thanks for trying.” She laid a reassuring hand on his thigh. Beneath her fingers she sensed his blood, pulsing with life, and she shivered in response to her preternatural desire.
“Are you cold?” Noticing her deep chill, he said, “You need to feed.”
Samantha confirmed his observation and Ricardo left the room, returning moments later with a blood bag for her. “Sara just brought this today. I figured the freshest would be best.”
She thanked him before bringing the bag to her mouth.
Already partially in her vamp state because of her actions when saving the children and the wounds she’d suffered, the prospect of a fresh feeding completely transformed her. Her fangs erupted, elongating. Saliva dampened her mouth in anticipation. She placed pressure on the skin of the bag until her fangs punctured the thick plastic. Greedily she sucked down the blood. Energy coursed through her veins, bringing with it warmth and renewed strength. Some blood spilled onto her lips, spicing her mouth with its unique flavor.
Stingy that even one drop should escape her, she licked her lips. She laid her head back against the rocker and took a deep breath, then another. Calm slowly settled within her, replacing her earlier anger and sadness. Her fangs retracted and all other traces of her vampire nature receded. With renewed energy, she could exert control once more.
Meeting Ricardo’s gaze, she smiled. “I’ll return to the shelter once the police have gone.”
“Stay until morning and I’ll walk you back.”
It was an old argument. Whenever she returned from patrolling the neighborhood, she’d go by the botanica to sit, talk and feed if need be. When it was time to go, invariably Ricardo would suggest she stay.
She examined his face in the dim light cast by the lamp on his nightstand. There was no denying he was a handsome man. Hair the color of fertile earth hung to his shoulders in silky waves. Luxuriant green eyes reminded her of the deepest part of a pine forest. Tonight his gaze was tender and filled with concern for her.
But Samantha had no interest in any man. Not even one as incredibly desirable as Ricardo. Men had only brought pain into her life.
“You know there can never be anything between us,” she finally said.
Ricardo reached out to caress her cheek, but she reared away out of habit. She didn’t like being touched.
His full lips thinned to a tight line. “I would never hurt you. I’m not like whoever did this to you.”
No, he wasn’t, she thought. From the moment he’d sensed what she was with his unusual healing powers, he’d been a source of support. But his understanding wasn’t enough to overcome her many years of suffering. She didn’t trust men. Wasn’t sure that she ever would. But worse yet, she didn’t trust herself or the violence buried within her. The demon inside her was always just beneath the surface, waiting to emerge.
She laid a hand on his thigh once more. “I know you wouldn’t cause me pain. It goes against everything you are. But I can’t make the same promise.”
“Querida, you could never—”
“Hurt someone?” she said. She touched her chest. “Inside me there’s violence. I battle it every second of every day. I wanted to kill those boys tonight—the ones who shot Juan and his friends.”
He didn’t say anything, apparently sensing it would only lead to an argument. “I will set my alarm so you can go before sunrise.”
Samantha shook her head. “There’s no need. I can feel the dawn coming. I’ll know when to leave.”
Ricardo nodded. He slipped beneath the covers of his bed. “Buenas noches.” He shut off the light.
“Good night.” She huddled in the rocker again. In the quiet, she heard the susurrus of his breath, deepening as sleep claimed him. The beat of his heart slowed and blood pumped sluggishly through his veins. The smell of him was sumptuous with the life she lacked.
She was still weak from her earlier wounds and the heat of her transformation came upon her quickly, with her awareness of him as prey. Her fangs emerged. Her eyes adapted to the night, allowing her to see every inch of him: the pulse point throbbing along his neck as his head lay against his pillow, the fine network of veins just below his skin.
With her acute senses, the enticing masculine scent of his sweat was strong. The warmth of his skin as alive as if it was pressed to hers. It would be easy to break through that thin layer. Much easier than through the plastic blood bag. And his blood—it would be so hot and fresh on her lips, fill her with an energy the bagged blood couldn’t match.
Samantha hugged herself tight and buried her head against her knees, battling her urges. She had to go. Her control was too weak from all that had happened.
There was still activity outside, but it had lessened considerably.
She concentrated on those outdoor sounds: the shuffle of feet against the sidewalk; the slam of car doors; the rasp of equipment going back into storage areas; the murmur of voices.
Human voices in the night, unsuspecting of what was near.
The sounds became her sole focus, keeping the demon inside her contained until finally, there was silence.
Taking a last look at Ricardo as he slept, she hurried down to the kitchen where she gathered her things and left.
Dawn would not have come soon enough to spare her friend.
Chapter 2
NYPD Detective Peter Daly never made it home after the drive-by shooting. From the moment the call had come in, just past midnight, he’d been on the job.
It was just as well. He didn’t really have any reason to go home.
The sights at the morgue that morning had been grim. Three dead, all below the age of sixteen. Another one in critical condition. Amazingly, three had survived with barely a scratch.
He was still puzzling about those three as he stood on the sidewalk, examining the scene of the shooting once again. The Crime Scene Unit was supposedly finished here, but Peter thought there had to be something they’d missed. Something that would explain how three kids had escaped a fusillade of bullets.
He stepped backward, off the curb and into the middle of the street where the car had paused. With as many rounds as the Tec-9 could fire, you didn’t need good aim. Just point and shoot. That was enough to hit almost anything within close range.
Which didn’t explain how three of the children had somehow gotten away. Nor could the children explain it either. All they recalled was that they were suddenly whisked into the stairwell next door. The hangers-on in the neighborhood, religious semisuperstitious types from what Peter could see, had murmured that an angelita had saved the children. It was a miracle.
Peter didn’t believe in miracles or maybe even Heaven for that matter. But Hell. Hell was right here, he thought as he ambled back to the