begged me to spare his life," Santiago said after a moment. "He promised that he would do whatever I asked. I kept him as a slave for several years, feeding off him at my leisure. In return, I made sure that he had the best food and drink I could steal. At my request, he taught me to speak English and French and Latin. He taught me of the world, and how to read and write. When he had taught me everything he knew, I let him go. I spent the next seventy-five years traveling the world."
And what a world it had been! Especially for a man who had been raised with the Indians. He had visited every continent, every country, marveling at what mankind had accomplished—the art, the literature, the inventions of the time. So much to see, so much to learn. He had spent years reading every book he could get his hands on. He had toured palaces and cathedrals old and new and wandered through museums and zoos, awed as much by the works of the masters as he was by the strange animals that he saw. If he had to enter such places by night and by stealth, then so be it. Silent as a ghost, he had walked the dark halls of the world's art galleries and museums, admiring the works of Picasso and Chagall, Goya and da Vinci, Michelangelo and Cezanne, Raphael and van Gogh.
Santiago expelled a deep breath. "Eventually, I grew weary of wandering and I settled in the hill country of Romania. It was there that I met Marishka."
"Ah, a woman, at last," Regan murmured. "I should have known there would be a woman sooner or later."
He made a soft sound of assent, remembering the beauty of Marishka's smile, the warmth of her flashing brown eyes. "She was a wild Gypsy woman with the body of a temptress and the soul of a saint."
"You loved her, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"And she loved you?"
"Yes."
"Did she know what you were?"
He nodded.
"And she didn't care?"
"She never knew until it was too late."
"You made her a vampire against her will?"
He nodded again, his expression shuttered, leaving her to wonder if he had regretted bestowing the Dark Trick upon her. As much as she wanted to ask, she didn't have the nerve to probe into something that was still painful even after such a long time.
"Where does Vasile come into all this?"
"Marishka and I settled in a little village outside of Transylvania. Vasile found us there six months later. He killed Marishka while she slept. It wasn't until Vasile came to your apartment that I learned he had been in love with her. He had killed her for leaving him."
"I'm so sorry," she murmured, though the words seemed inadequate.
Santiago nodded. Vasile was here, in the city. It had been Santiago's intent to hunt the werewolf down and kill him for destroying Marishka, but now that would have to wait. Revenge would not restore Marishka's life. It was Regan he must think of now. It was her life that was in danger, and only he could save her. Choosing between revenge and saving Regan's life was no choice at all. Regan had to come first. Avenging Marishka's death would have to wait.
"What about other vampires?" Regan asked.
"What about them?"
"I don't know. I mean, don't you have any vampire friends here in the city?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I do not trust any of them."
"Why not? I mean, you're like them."
"It is not normal for vampires to gather together. Werewolves run in packs. Vampires are by nature solitary creatures."
"Really? I didn't know that." She looked thoughtful a moment. "What about women? You must have known a lot of them in your long life."
"Yes," he replied, looking past her, "but I have loved only one."
She looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise, or perhaps disbelief—it was hard to tell. He wondered what she would say if he told her he was very much afraid he was falling in love with her, and that he feared his growing fondness for her would only bring about her death. No doubt the best thing he could do for Regan Delaney would be to leave her, and yet that was something he could not do. If he left
And what a world it had been! Especially for a man who had been raised with the Indians. He had visited every continent, every country, marveling at what mankind had accomplished—the art, the literature, the inventions of the time. So much to see, so much to learn. He had spent years reading every book he could get his hands on. He had toured palaces and cathedrals old and new and wandered through museums and zoos, awed as much by the works of the masters as he was by the strange animals that he saw. If he had to enter such places by night and by stealth, then so be it. Silent as a ghost, he had walked the dark halls of the world's art galleries and museums, admiring the works of Picasso and Chagall, Goya and da Vinci, Michelangelo and Cezanne, Raphael and van Gogh.
Santiago expelled a deep breath. "Eventually, I grew weary of wandering and I settled in the hill country of Romania. It was there that I met Marishka."
"Ah, a woman, at last," Regan murmured. "I should have known there would be a woman sooner or later."
He made a soft sound of assent, remembering the beauty of Marishka's smile, the warmth of her flashing brown eyes. "She was a wild Gypsy woman with the body of a temptress and the soul of a saint."
"You loved her, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"And she loved you?"
"Yes."
"Did she know what you were?"
He nodded.
"And she didn't care?"
"She never knew until it was too late."
"You made her a vampire against her will?"
He nodded again, his expression shuttered, leaving her to wonder if he had regretted bestowing the Dark Trick upon her. As much as she wanted to ask, she didn't have the nerve to probe into something that was still painful even after such a long time.
"Where does Vasile come into all this?"
"Marishka and I settled in a little village outside of Transylvania. Vasile found us there six months later. He killed Marishka while she slept. It wasn't until Vasile came to your apartment that I learned he had been in love with her. He had killed her for leaving him."
"I'm so sorry," she murmured, though the words seemed inadequate.
Santiago nodded. Vasile was here, in the city. It had been Santiago's intent to hunt the werewolf down and kill him for destroying Marishka, but now that would have to wait. Revenge would not restore Marishka's life. It was Regan he must think of now. It was her life that was in danger, and only he could save her. Choosing between revenge and saving Regan's life was no choice at all. Regan had to come first. Avenging Marishka's death would have to wait.
"What about other vampires?" Regan asked.
"What about them?"
"I don't know. I mean, don't you have any vampire friends here in the city?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I do not trust any of them."
"Why not? I mean, you're like them."
"It is not normal for vampires to gather together. Werewolves run in packs. Vampires are by nature solitary creatures."
"Really? I didn't know that." She looked thoughtful a moment. "What about women? You must have known a lot of them in your long life."
"Yes," he replied, looking past her, "but I have loved only one."
She looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise, or perhaps disbelief—it was hard to tell. He wondered what she would say if he told her he was very much afraid he was falling in love with her, and that he feared his growing fondness for her would only bring about her death. No doubt the best thing he could do for Regan Delaney would be to leave her, and yet that was something he could not do. If he left
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