paused, battling with his own emotions before continuing. “I thought you’d want to see her before…This is your daughter.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks, stinging against the cuts and scrapes left by her husband’s hands. She let the tears come. Her daughter.
With hands that trembled, she cradled the child to her and lifted away the bit of blanket that covered her baby’s face. So small. So perfect, Samantha thought. She had the shape of her grandmother’s face and maybe her brow. A small thatch of jet-black hair like Samantha’s own. Pale white skin, nearly colorless in death.
In death.
“Why?” Samantha asked, although she knew why. Her daughter was dead because Samantha was too weak to protect her.
“I can call the sheriff. He can—”
“Arrest my husband for beating me?” They both knew nothing would be done.
Dr. Latimer sat down on the edge of the bed. His gaze was somber, but full of anger. “You don’t have to stay here. I have plenty of work at my place.”
“He’d just follow me. Cause problems for you. Even worse, he’d hurt the people here. Better that he hurt only me.” But it hadn’t been only her. She cradled her daughter’s immobile body tight to her breasts. They tingled and, in response, milk began to flow. There would be no mouth to suckle them.
The doctor stood, looking down at her, hesitant. Clearly uneasy. There was more he had to say. Samantha knew it wasn’t good news.
“Tell me. Whatever it is, just tell me now.”
“The birth and the beating. It tore you up badly inside. I’m not sure you can carry another child.”
Samantha closed her eyes at his words. Her daughter dead and any hope for another gone with her. “Maybe that’s for the best. It’ll keep another child from knowing pain.”
He said nothing, just walked to the door of her bedroom. “When you’re ready, there’s a pretty spot over at my place. Beneath a cherry tree and overlooking the river. You’re welcome to it for the child.”
She was touched by his kindness and all that he’d done. “Thank you, Dr. Latimer. If there’s ever anything I can do for you…”
He hesitated at the door, clearly considering her words. Finally he said, “You can live, Mrs. Turner. Just live.”
And then he walked out, leaving her alone to grieve.
A tear slipped down her cheek, as cold as her memories.
So much killing. So much pain. More than her rightful share in her long and seemingly interminable lifetimes.
Swaying back and forth in the rocker, battered both mentally and physically, Samantha withdrew into herself. Arms wrapped tight around her chest, teeth worrying 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
