“What are we gonna do with the body?” Jake asked.
“Good question,” Saintcrow muttered. Fledgling vampires turned into dust with the rising of the sun. Ancient ones did not. “We’ll have to burn it. I know a place....Do you hear that?”
Jake lifted his head, brow furrowed. “It can’t be.”
“But it is.”
Striding toward a thick clump of wild blackberry bushes, Saintcrow gazed down at a large wicker basket. A dark-haired baby clad in nothing but an over-ripe diaper lay inside, crying piteously. From the looks of it, it hadn’t been fed, bathed, or changed recently.
“What the hell!” Kincaid exclaimed, coming up beside him. “Where didthatcome from?”
“I have a feeling Elowynne brought it with her for a snack after the fight. Nothing like a little innocent blood to restore one’s strength.”
Jake eyed Saintcrow but said nothing.
Saintcrow stared at the crying child. Its face was pale, tiny arms and legs flailing helplessly. He cursed when he saw the two tiny bites in the child’s upper arm. Elowynne had fed on the kid before the fight. No doubt she had intended to drain it dry when the battle was over.
“What are we gonna do with it?” Kincaid asked. “I took home one of Izabela’s kittens, but I draw the line at babies.” The lure of innocent blood was an enticement all vampires faced.
“I could put it out of its misery,” Saintcrow murmured, the temptation to sink his fangs into that tiny throat almost impossible to resist.
Jake nodded. “That might be best for everybody.”
Saintcrow froze when the child looked up, its tear-filled gaze meeting his. Prompted by some emotion he couldn’t explain, he reached down and lifted the child from the basket. Never in all his long life had he held a baby. When he cradled the infant inhis arms, it snuggled against him. Cursing softly, he knew he couldn’t kill it.
Feeling Kincaid’s gaze, he looked up.
“I don’t believe it,” Jake said. “You’re going to take it home for dinner, aren’t you?”
Saintcrow scowled at him, partly because it was exactly what he wanted to do, partly because the wanting shamed him. “I’ll get rid of the baby. You get rid of the body,” he said curtly, and transported himself to the hotel in Morgan Creek.
Going up to one of the suites, he placed the kid on the bed and took a long, hot shower, washing away the blood and dirt of battle. After wrapping a towel around his waist, he removed the baby’s diaper, his nose wrinkling at the strong odor of feces and urine. Placing the little boy in one of the sinks, he washed the kid from head to foot, then wrapped the boy in a towel. Muttering under his breath, Saintcrow pulled on his jeans and boots, then transported himself and the infant home, thinking how surprised Kadie would be when she woke up.
~ * ~
Kadie woke to the sound of a baby crying. For a moment, she simply lay there, eyes still closed, certain she must be dreaming. But the crying went on. And on.
With a huff, she opened her eyes and sat up. And came face to face with a sight she had never thought to see. Rylan stood beside the bed, a baby awkwardly cradled in his arms.
“I really must be dreaming,” she said as he thrust the child at her.
“You wanted a kid,” he growled. “You’ve got one.”
Kadie blinked up at him, a thousand questions tumbling through her mind. But before she could ask even one, Rylan was gone from the house. With a shake of her head, Kadie stared at the infant in her arms. Where on earth had it come from? And what had possessed Rylan to bring it home?
~ * ~
Saintcrow fled the house, the scent of the baby’s blood a temptation he couldn’t endure, at least until he’d fed. Pure, innocent, warm, undoubtedly sweet. The need to feed and restore his strength sent him to Cheyenne. He mesmerized the first person he saw, his need for blood overpowering. The man was old, his clothing dirty, his stink almost unbearable to Saintcrow’s enhanced senses, but he ignored the dirt and the stench and buried his fangs in the man’s throat. He forced himself to stop before he took too much, released the man from his thrall and went in search of another.
Only when his thirst had been quenched did he return to Morgan Creek. Materializing in the hotel bar, he poured wine in a glass and added a little whiskey, something he rarely did. The liquor burned all the way down. Sitting there, feeling somewhat mellow, he wondered what madness had made him bring the kid home. He could live with the temptation as long as he kept his thirst under control. That wasn’t the problem. It was the changes the boy would make in their lives. Another temptation. Another responsibility.
Saintcrow muttered an oath, remembering how soft the child’s skin had been, the innocent look in his pale blue eyes, the sudden unexpected, unwanted, sense of protection he’d felt when he’d held the boy. He snorted. Some protector he’d be. He was a greater danger to the kid than anything else.
He was still cursing himself for bringing the brat home when Kincaid materialized on the bar stool beside him.
“What did you do with the kid?” Jake asked.
“I left it with Kadie.”