Now in the cozy cabinet, she just needed Trys to show up alone.
Chapter 44
EXACTLY HOW SHE HAD WOUND UP underneath a giant terra-cotta jar of wine in the cargo area eluded Uta. None of the three males, supposedly superior at spatial organization, had managed to arrange the luggage more comfortably. Or perhaps they were punishing her.
Dazed under the singeing glory of the sun, she’d been shoved in the back and told to hold on to the amphora, tight. Since when did people tell her what to do?
A bitter burst of laughter erupted from her—since her whole world had been inverted, the moon no longer her sun.
Unsurprisingly, no one remarked on her hilarity.
She stared out the tinted window, blinking at the white ball of the light, dimmed to not-quite-blinding by the tinted film on the window. It might take her a hundred years to adjust to this new freedom.
Thank all the Illyrian gods for Pedro’s little crisis, providing a distraction from her new state of aimlessness. Her longing for Bel had not changed, but she had no right to hope for him. In her veins, the buzzing power of the homeland waned as they drove from Ayal’s mountain home. Her muscles turned the consistency of mushy human food—gruel, or custard, or that foul-smelling modern invention, Jell-O.
Bel sat in the back seat, catty-corner to her. Close, but across a wide gulf she had created by abandoning him once again. The muscles in his jaw bulged like smooth rocks, occasionally twitching. His lush lips pressed into a thin white line. He wasn’t bothering to block her from his furious pain, and it wrung at her like she was a wet rag. When she had made the decision to die, she certainly had not planned to face him afterward.
Leo hunched over a GPS. Pedro sat straight-backed behind the wheel, intently focused on the road, and doubtlessly ruminating over the fate of his mate. They were no barrel full of apes, or orangutans, or whatever the stupid expression was. She closed her eyes and fixated on the punishment Bel’s emotions wrought inside her.
“Uta?” Pedro asked, startling her.
She glanced at his eyes in the rearview mirror.
“How close do you think Ayal’s house is to the actual place the Hunters and vampires lived together?”
Leo turned down the grating dance music.
Bel twisted to look at her. She wasn’t certain whether she was glad for the eye contact, or if she preferred him shirking it.
She gazed up at the gray fabric lining the ceiling of the vehicle. “Perhaps between fifty to seventy-five kilometers? A good distance in the days of travel by foot.”
“That’s easily covered by horseback,” Bel argued.
“True. And I do not know if the Hunters possessed horses, but Ayal fled the chaos as a child on foot. She likely escaped only because they believed her dead.”
Leo whistled. “Poor girl.”
“Indeed.” Uta inhaled, her pity for the ancient halfling merging with the rest of her despair like puddles coalescing in a rainstorm. “She has been alone for a long time, knowing nothing of happy households or thriving enclaves. I hope she will find happiness now.”
Leo turned and spoke over his shoulder. “Uta, how did you become a vampire?”
Pedro chuckled. “Kid, to vampires, that’s a personal question. Like asking a lady her age, or her weight, only worse.”
“Oh, sorry.”
Uta frowned at Pedro’s reflection. “How gentlemanly of you to correct him.”
Amused creases formed at the edge of his golden eyes. “De nada. Truth is, I don’t want to get covered in blood if you decide to rip his head off.”
A smile tugged at her lips, but she fought it.
“But I don’t understand,” Leo said. “Why is it impolite to ask?”
Bel let out an exasperated breath. “Think, kid—it usually involves a lover, or a near death experience. It’s like casually asking a stranger how he lost his virginity.”
Uta studied Bel’s profile—chiseled cheeks, strong chin. He had been so gawky—all nose and ears—when that human girl from a neighboring vineyard had deflowered him. Uta had heard of their flirtation. From a distance she had sometimes watched him go about his chores or with his friends in the evening—but only when it did not pierce her heart. She had witnessed him steal off with the girl, and because she was neither a pervert nor a masochist, had gone home. Across the thin thread of their bond, she had sensed a change in him after that night, a shadow of fear that everything in his life would be as unsatisfying as his first tumble in the grass with that girl. Uta had wept for days over the disaster she had made of their lives.
He jerked toward her all at once, coloring, his eyebrows knitting together. “What?”
“I did not say a thing.” She shrugged.
He pulled one corner of his mouth to the side in a crooked frown, his fist pressing against his breastbone. “No, but you—”
Sweet Auntie Europa. Time to change the subject. “Leo, I would be delighted to tell you the story.”
“Really?” The child’s voice lifted in boyish delight.
If he became a vampire, he might preserve the same eternal youthfulness Loki had had. To her astonishment, the idea comforted her. Maybe she would offer to turn him, if—
She shook the inkling of optimism right out of her head and closed her eyes, descending into the memory of her ancient past.
“It began when my husband died.”
Bel’s head jerked, and the bench shifted against her side. Had that gotten his attention? It was only a small part of the story.
“Agron had been a minor king, and I ruled in his place, a regent for his son Pinnes. I led our armies into battle against the tribes of Serbia and Macedonia. And our ships captured many Roman vessels. We prospered—too much so. Our successes drew the attention of the Roman senate. They sent two diplomats to negotiate with me. I informed them it was the right of my people to conduct their ships however they chose and if they found piracy profitable, I was pleased for them. They had broken no Illyrian laws.”
Bel snorted. “Of course you did.”
She tamped down a surge of self-pity. He had accepted her, and she had rejected him. She had no right to expect understanding. All she could do was stare at the sneer on his face until he glanced away.
“Just get on with your story,” he said.
“The envoy warned me that Rome did not like my laws, and had the capacity to impose its own. So I had his ship seized. He was killed in the fray.”
Bel shook his head. “You provoked an empire out of pride.”
“No. I exercised my sovereignty to defend the independence of my people. With a great iron hammer, Rome was imposing her version of peace on the region. We preferred to fight than surrender to be flattened. They arrived with twenty thousand troops, two hundred cavalry units, and an entire fleet of two hundred ships.”
She ran her palm along the rough curve of the amphora. Something about the rugged feel of the stoneware dragged her even deeper into the past, and she seethed at the memory.
“My sheep-brained governor Demetrius surrendered. He had coveted my role as regent, and the Romans made him a puppet ruler over half of Illyria. But my men fought for their freedom anyway, and most of them died, martyrs for their homeland.”
Bel tilted his head and the movement caught her eye. She met his gaze.
“Perhaps it seems frivolous to you—a meaningless fight. But it was everything to us, our right to determine our own laws, and rule our own land.”
“No, it doesn’t. I just…” His focus wandered as his words trailed off.
She leaned closer, following his line of sight, and found they had left the mountains behind and entered the large, sparse valley that cradled Ezerum. Grassy golden fields and rocks of a similar color rendered the landscape nearly monochrome in the bright afternoon sun. If Pedro stopped the vehicle, she could stroll right across the land, a dot of red hair in a gray suit on a bland backdrop, could vanish like Ayal.
“Well, get on with it already,” Pedro bar
ked.
She jerked her head up, startled to see him watching her. She drummed her fingernails against the ceramic jug one, twice, before she found where she’d left off. “The Romans besieged me in Scodra, on what is now the Albanian coast. I pretended to surrender, agreeing to their terms and a large tribute. They retreated, but I defied them, so they pushed us north into Dalmatia. I lived on the battlefield with my men. I wanted to fight alongside them, but they would not let me. They guarded my honor as a chaste queen and mother to Pinnes.”
Pedro laughed. “Chaste and maternal is how I always think of you.”
Wistful, she shrugged. She had been those things once.
“Rize found me there, and stole into my tent one night where I dined with my officers. They raised their swords at him, but he lifted only his palms. He looked me in the eye and spoke in a coarse language roughly similar to ours, asking if I was Queen Teuta. I nodded, and from there I only understood a few of his words. Fight, fuck, food—that was the gist of it. He was rugged and dark and handsome, he radiated a mysterious power, and he promised a respite from the terrible monotony of our losing predicament, so I consented to provide all three.”
Near her temple, Bel’s hand squeaked where he compressed the leather seat-back in his big hand. The bond ruled them with a tyranny not unlike an oppressive empire, and even now, after she had trodden on his heart and set fire to his trust, he could not help but be jealous.
She wanted to stroke his ropy forearm and remind him that Rize had been dead for centuries. But if he jerked away from her touch, her instincts would demand she grab hold of him and she might not ever be able to let go.
“My men flanked me. One stepped forward to fight and Rize disarmed him in two clean moves. I demanded he stop before killing the man. One more general put up a fight and it ended similarly. And so I took Rize to my bed.”
Bel’s fingertips dug into the black leather, filling her aching heart with a senseless pleasure.
She licked her lips. “Before we had even undressed or laid down, his fangs speared me and took me beyond any pleasure old Agron had provided. Afterward, in the most basic words, Rize explained what he was—blood, night, fangs, strength. He wanted to make me like him, not out of love, but some need not to be alone.”
“Madre de Dios, you were scary even as a human. No wonder he wanted to turn you.”
She smiled to herself. “I was fierce, yes, and I agreed for all the usual reasons. After that, we attacked the Romans at night, and I fought alongside my men. They loved me even more for it, as if I risked as much as they did. I still cannot forgive myself for that deception.”
Bel’s hand relaxed and his arm slid down the back side of the bench. His eyes, however, did not leave the window.
After a long stretch on this straight highway, the GPS spoke. “In three kilometers, turn right.”
They neared the airport. She would have to rush the remainder of her story.
“Night after night, we defeated the Romans, but they only sent more and more soldiers. Even with the combined strength of Rize and me, they decimated my army. My men refused to surrender, until finally, Rize helped me fake my death.”
Leo whistled. “Man. Where did you go?” Leo asked, his voice unusually solemn.
“We settled on Šolta, close enough to where he turned me that I would thrive. He taught me the old ways, helped me establish a household, and instructed me in my duty to care for them—another, smaller kingdom for me to govern. A few years later, he left me. Soon thereafter, Andre arrived and was turned against his will by those reckless ones bent on repopulating vampires. He ran feral until I tamed him.”
Had Andre ever told Bel about his horrible, early days, left without guidance to survive all the changes? She could not guess, since Bel refused to look at her. She reached out for him over the bond, but sometime during her story, he had erected his emotional wall again.
“Your destination is on the left,” said the automated voice of the GPS.
Finally he turned to her. “I think your friend there will need her own seat on the plane.” He rapped his knuckles on the amphora, his words tripping out quickly with the joke, as if it escaped him without permission.
Uta hesitated before braving a smile. “Yes, I think she will.”
Chapter 45
BEL FOLLOWED UTA ONTO THE PLANE. She nestled the qvevri against the front bulkhead like it was no heavier than a vase of flowers and then took a seat in the farthest back row. If she’d looked up even once to track his choice, he’d have sat next to the wine, but she didn’t—she only stared out the porthole-shaped window, and he found himself next to her, needing to know more of her story.
She’d begun to flip through her Turkish fashion magazine again and didn’t look up.
Across the aisle and up two rows, Pedro slumped in his chair, arms crossed over his stomach, his little white earbuds in his ears. Since he was out of sight, Leo must have chosen the seat by the wine.
Bel didn’t speak until the engines started up and they began to taxi down the runway.
He didn’t give her a warning, just turned to face her. “Did you love Rize?”
She tucked her chin. “Yes, of course. In every way—a father, a brother, a friend, a lover.”
“I see.” He stiffened, hating that he cared.
“You do not see anything. But you may ask me, if you truly want to understand.”
“He left you, and so you created me.”
She laughed, and he blushed, realizing the childishness of his assertion.
“That was not a question. And you already know I did not create this bond on purpose. But the moment you were born, I knew in my every cell that my love for you would be limitless compared to my affection for Rize. He was damaged—beyond repair, I thought—by the death of his family during the massacre.”
“You thought?”
She twisted at the waist to face the window again, and Bel could not fathom her thoughts or read her expression from the sidelong angle. Finally she spoke, and her moist breath fogged the glass.
“The note he left me was astonishing.”
“What did it say?”
The porcelain skin of her throat rippled with a swallow.
Instinctively, he swallowed too. “Please tell me.”
“It said he had begun to hope for a reconciliation, and if he failed, he wanted me to accomplish it.”
“Son of a bitch. After you cut out your tongue to keep your vow of silence?”
“It healed. We always heal, Bel. With enough time.” She took his hand as if offering comfort to a child, frightened from a fall, but not injured. Then she spoke again into the window. “Just like Rize healed.”
Inside his fortress of solitude, panic roiled up in him like a churning wave, the flotsam and jetsam of all that had happened bobbing up only to be dragged back down by the undertow.
“If you believe that, why the hell did you run from me?”
“You are not a wound that can heal. You are a thorn that I carry under my skin. It will pain me as long as we live.” She turned away again. “I am tired of fighting. But it is not just you. It is also Loki, and the war, and Rize’s imbecilic letter. My life is an endless battle.”
Yes, and like the Romans, the Hunters kept coming, taking everything from her, even her will to live. Yet she managed to hold on to her brash pride, and he admired the hell out of her for it.
It is not just you.
Some part of him despised those words—the abandoned boy inside him that needed everything to be about him. He wanted to be enough of a reason to live, and she’d shown him unequivocally he was not.
And she was right. Love didn’t fix everything. Not with him and Lexi, not with Andre and Mila, and not now either.
She wiped the cloud of her breath from the window. “If I am honest, I did not truly love him.”
“No?”
“He was my master and he demanded obedience. We were not equals. In the end, he was only my sire, and it wa
s best for me to strike out on my own.”
“We aren’t equals either, Uta.”
A crease formed between her auburn eyebrows. “Of course we are. We are a part of each other.”
“Uta, you are twenty times older and stronger than me.”
Her gaze raked over his face, her frown only deepening when it landed on his tense mouth. “You think I want you to obey me? On all four thousand Illyrian gods, I could not respect you or desire you like that.” Her slim fingers squeezed his hand. “Bel, since you were a boy, a very young boy, you opened your heart to me—but every time I ordered you about, you laughed in my face. And you still do. I loved you for it then and I still do.”
But not enough to live for. He yanked his hand back, remembering her standing naked and shivering in the cold mountain air. “How does it feel? The sun?”
She pressed the pad of her index finger into the glass of the window. “Incredible, and with every ray, I wish it for Loki.”
Not a celebration—just one more guilty burden.
He crossed his arms, shuddering with the effort it took to pull away. “You are an insufferable martyr, a coward under all your bravado.”
She pouted, jutting her chin.
Still, he couldn’t stop, wanted to hurt her as she had hurt him. “You always run. From your soldiers, your responsibilities and mistakes, from my childhood, and from my love.”
“Yes,” she gasped. Pink tears shimmered in her eyes and she wiped them with the back of her hand like a little girl. “I am. Now you see, when before you did not. Will you still offer your love to a coward?”
Oh hell. He did see. Finally. And he let out a long, slow breath.
No promises. No guarantees.
Only her brokenness, her despair, and under it all, her love.
He tipped his head close to her lips, which pulled into an O before he brushed his own across them. She exhaled a sweet breath and he licked her lower lip. She arched her back, raising her small breasts temptingly. His hand grabbed, squeezing. She opened her mouth and his tongue swept inside. Her animal groan vibrated down his spine and shot blood into his cock.
Blood Reunited Page 25
